interfectordraconis
[continued from here] Bard still felt himself shake. He almost lost his daughter. His kids were his world and almost losing them always shook him to the core. He needed to protect them. And in this case he couldn’t. Like his wife, he could not protect his daughter from giving birth. However she managed it. She was weak and exhausted, but both her and her son seemed to be strong enough. The babe was resting against Sigrids chest. Bard stroked her sweaty cheek. “Aye. And I am so proud of you, Sigrid. So very, very proud of you and him. He’s perfect.”
“He is perfect,” Sigrid agreed, looking down at the sleeping baby on her chest. He looked so comfortable, so calm, it was almost hard to believe that not long ago she had been terrified that he would not live. “He’s so...little.” He was so tiny and fragile, she was almost afraid that she would break him. She could hardly remember Tilda ever having been this small.
She let out a tired little sigh, giving her father a smile. “Thank you...I really needed you.”










