Tyrion was pacing so hard he might wear a hole in the floor. His beloved wife had been in labor for two days, and he wasn't even allowed in the room. Jaime had been keeping him company, trying to get him to eat. But Tyrion always refused.

My wife hasn't gotten to eat in two days, why should I?

When the door finally opened and the maids left with bundles of blood-soaked linen, his heart stopped. Tyrion couldn't stomach the idea of losing his wife the way his father lost his mother. He rushed into the room, expecting the worst. But you were awake and alert, cradling your newborn son. A dwarf.

But you were smiling at the babe. You looked exhausted and happy. Tyrion hated himself for not being able to reciprocate that happiness. All he could think about were the ways his son would struggle.