Screams. Raw, relentless, tangled with desperate, breathless sobs.

Your labor began in the middle of night. A soft pop broke the silence, and then your waters broke in your sleep, soaking through the silk sheets beneath you. The pain came sharp and sudden, dragging you awake.

The next hours dissolved into chaos. Oberyn stormed from the chamber to fetch the maester and midwives, his voice echoing loudly enough to rouse half the palace. Maids hurried to your side, stripping away the ruined linens, dressing you in a soft white shift, preparing the room for what was to come. At first, everything seemed as it should be, the pain fierce, but expected. Your body was doing what it must, preparing itself to bring your child into the world, and you bore it as best you could.

Soon, your bedside grew crowded. The maester and midwives formed a tight half-circle, their voices steady as they guided you, when to push, when to breathe, when to hold on just a moment longer. Beyond the door, Oberyn was kept at bay, held back by your maidens despite his protests.

“Your presence may distract the midwives and your lady, my prince. A little longer, perhaps, and it will soon be over.” That was what the maids told Oberyn.

But midnight bled into dawn, and dawn into midday. Still the chaos raged. So did your cries, hoarse now, fraying at the edges. And still, no sign of the child.

Oberyn remained by the doorway, forcing himself not to lash out at the useless noise and motion crowding the chamber only because he didn’t want to startle you. You’ve already suffered enough. From where he stood, he watched them move you from one agony to the next, urging you to walk around see if the baby descending, to bear down on trembling legs, then helping you to your knees beside the bed to try again. Each effort only seemed to break more from you. Your shrieks rose, sharper, more desperate, while blood spread dark and steady across the floor beneath you.

Panic began to seep into the edges of the room, subtle at first, too-quick glances exchanged between the midwives, hushed words that never quite reached your or Oberyn’s ears. The maester’s voice remained measured, but the tightness beneath it was unmistakable.

“Again, my lady. Breathe, now try to push again.”

But your strength was slipping. Each command felt farther away, as though spoken from the end of a long tunnel. Your fingers clawed weakly at the sheets, your body trembling with exhaustion more than effort now.

At the threshold, another cry out from you broke Oberyn’s restraint finally. “This has gone on long enough,” he snapped, shoving past the maidens who tried to bar his way, kneeling by your side.

“She’s been in labor for hours, why is the child not here?”He glared at the maester. If he hadn’t needed the maester to help you, he swore he would have thrown the old man out immediately.