Sleeping Dragon the halls of æsir trembled

the bebes are here! happy birthday smol dragons <3 also some slight pp of the babies. :0 private for Thurin & the bebes for now. Will make it AW later for well wishers! <3 edit for simplicity there is no posting order!

A sharp jolt of pain startled Gyda out of her fitful and restless slumber. For a moment only the shield-maiden panicked but assumed, after a few minutes had passed and the pain had ceased to be that one of her children had given her a particularly harsh kick. It had not felt as if it had been in her rib cage but rather closer to her hips...but she had been asleep and thus could not say for sure. Yet, she was tire, not yet ready to be awake and after grooming each paw with a quick swipe of her tongue in a cat-like manner she had rested her head upon her paws once more, her eyes closing only to feel another contraction rip through her body. A sharp intake of breath was given as her head snapped to stare at her rotund flank. Still within the last vestiges of sleep it took her a few moments to realize what was happening and panic seized her even then. They were coming. She was afraid and it was painful and her sharp hisses of breath eventually became pants as she felt her water break and the warm liquid ooze down the back of her leg as she stretched out. Her jaw clamped shut as she fought the whimper that threatened to tear from her lips as she pushed. She had been right, at least, her body knew what to do. Yet, as much as she did not wish to be alone in this moment, she also knew that she wanted none with her. She did not want anyone to see this: to see her in pain, to see her frightened. She did not know who guarded her den: whether it was Hush, Dio or @Thuringwethil herself (or perhaps none of them, for surely they needed breaks as well) but Gyda was determined not to draw attention to herself — whether it worked or not she was in no state to care much as the pain tore through her body and she shuddered with her contraction, hunching in on herself as much as she could, a rough exhale given as she gave the final push and with a heavy pant and soft cry of surprise her firstborn came into the world. She gingerly tore the sac and cleaned the small child with sure and quick swipes of her tongue, a soft sob of adoration and disbelief leaving Gyda's lips as the silver child squirmed beneath her ministrations. “I had promised Frigga and Freyja that I would name my first born in their honor,” Gyda whispered to the deaf newborn. “You are my brave little @Freyja.” Gyda murmured before she positioned the firstborn at her side so that she could begin to suckle.

A few minutes respite followed and Gyda watched her newborn daughter with stars in her eyes only to clench her jaw and let out a sharp whimper as another contraction seized her. The secondborn's arrival was just as painful but quicker, Gyda realized and she tried to be mindful of Freyja as she worked to clean her secondborn. Also, a girl though her coloration was silver with black and brown. Beautiful and perfect just as her first daughter. “@Thyri, thunder fighter,” Gyda murmured to Thyri and guided her to a spot beside Freyja so she, too, could nurse.

As the next wave of contractions hit her while the pain and effort to push her thirdborn from her body and into the world left the shield-maiden panting she was growing accustomed, she realized. It was easier, after the first. Freyja had carved the path not just for her siblings but for the first time mother, as well. When the third was pushed free Gyda tore the sac with experienced teeth and cleaned the third child. A boy. Unbeknownst to Gyda he looked similar to her biological father Crete: with a dark back that faded to white. “@Hvitserk, in honor of the mighty Jarl.” A name that Ragnar had intended to name one of his sons but had never came to fruition. A homage to the deceased Jarl in it's own way. Surely, Ragnar wouldn't mind that one of his grandsons bore the name instead.

When Hvitserk was nursing along side his sisters, Gyda's head lowered to her paws, unused to the sensation of them suckling ...unused to children, yet she was content and the contractions had stopped. She fell asleep, lulled by the soft mewling noises of her newborn children. They all lived, and the Goddesses had smiled upon them, as Gyda hoped, they would smile and watch over Gavriel on his journey back to Trigeda.

Yet another contraction tore through her and a strained whine of pain tore from her lips as she bolted awake, briefly disturbing the three children in their slumber or their feeding. “I'm sorry, ssshh,” She cooed to them but dug her paws into the earth as another contraction hit her. She had assumed she had been done as an hour (or so) had passed between Hvitserk's birth and when the first contraction had yanked her from her sleep. She had assumed that she had been blessed with three healthy babes but the Gods had other plans, it seemed. The fourth and final child was born and knowing the motions already Gyda freed the child from the sac and cleaned her as she did the three previous despite the child's insistent squirming and mewling. The fourth was also a girl: but with brown fur that bore the barest hint of silver. Out of the three children to be born it was the lastborn that resembled Gavriel the very most. It made Gyda wish that he was there. “Eske,” Gyda whispered to the child as she guided her to where her siblings were nestled. “spear of the Gods.” Her muzzle touched each in turn then, smiling with exhausted, teary eyes at the fourth beautiful lives she had brought into the world.

<3

Lost but happy, in a state of darkest midnight, Freya Loðbrók squirmed as soon as she was able. There were sensations of wet and warmth, tension and relief, and of some almighty power that she didn't understand but did outright accept. This was her mother. Rey uttered the tiniest little squeak thing — speep — and did a good bit more wriggling before she was asked to suckle, and her gums obliged. This was more out of automatic compliance and general milky awesomeness than actual hunger.

Good morning, hello. This was Gyda's firstborn.

Within the womb, he'd had no conscious sense of self. He'd been but a hardly formed entity floating in what one could only describe as an endless void of darkness. Yet, with each day—hour? minute? second?—the space seemed to decrease. It had become cramped, but he had not known this, for his mind hadn't been operating at that point. There was nothing but also everything, and had he any capacity for true thoughts, perhaps he would have questioned his location and the meaning behind the lessening of the room. Yet, he was not and did not, for the likes of such things remained as being far too complex for him. Eventually, though, there had come a calling. It was another thing that he could not understand, the reasoning for it falling just out of his reach, but his body seemed to know exactly what to do. Thus, he'd allowed for it to happen, offering no resistance as he was pushed from the place he'd not known, straight into a new world that he also did not know. Of the bodies that had come before him, and the single one that had followed afterwards, he knew nothing, as there was nothing to know. They were new to the world, to living, and while he could not understand this just yet, the thoughts would eventually hit him and become something relatable.

Hvitserk could not understand what it was that he was feeling or doing, but he seemed to know that there was a difference. The new world was colder than his previous one had been, but it mattered little to him yet as he'd been moved towards a place of warmth. Instincts drove him to latch onto the first teat that he'd been nudged towards, the liquid that begin to fill his stomach soothing him. Often did he release a squeak or sigh of content, acting with the unknown intent to inform the being that would eventually be known as his mother that he was happy where he was. Even when she'd moved, jostling him slightly as her body had worked to push out his final sister, he'd not complained. It hadn't taken long—or so he would someday assume, given that the concept of time was rather foreign to him—for his source of food to be returned to him, and so he'd been fine for the time being. Soon after that he'd fallen asleep, the stress of being born having taken its toll on his small body.

I rambled... but yay, they're born < 3

When the time was right and Gyda was given over to the will of her body and her babies, the æsir smiled down upon her. There she bore them four new warriors, four new dragons to take up shield and sword against their enemies. They would do righteous things. They would do wondrous things. Though she was not firstborn she did not come out soft and sweet. She came with a thunder, a roar all her own. Thunder fighter indeed. Her little feet lashed out at her sibling, pressing away until she had claimed a teet all her own and she took to her mother's milk greedily and readily. 

When her lone brother pressed against her she gave an indignant snort, her unseeing eyes and unhearing eyes not forced to deal with her own sounds. Her entire world right then was the warmth of her mother, and after her stomach was full, she was capable of appreciating the feeling of her siblings next to her now that she was not fighting for resources. 

Eske's arrival into the world came as a surprise to the Dróttning though this was not something that the spear of the Gods was like to ever know. The newborn knew warmth and that her world had trembled violently as her mother birthed her into the world only to feel a unwelcome chill as her mother cleaned her. Yet, this was not something that Eske allowed quietly. She squirmed and mewled, not yet able to find the wail of displeasure that she truly wanted to go. Breathing was strange and the onslaught of her mother's tongue worked to soothe her despite her desire to be unruly. She fought but won over to the comfort that Gyda provided. A protesting chirp left Eske as she felt Gyda guide her beside her siblings — her body pressed against another plump thing, and blindly she gummed for a teat ...her body knowing what she needed though she understood nothing other than contentedness and discontent. When she was successful in finding one she latched on and began to suckle, a soft coo leaving her lips as the sweet, warm milk smoothed it's way into her stomach.

Thuringwethil had taken to sleeping by Gyda's birthing den and only because her queen was due in a matter of days, she'd often remind herself. None of it had anything to do with Wildfire and the fact the girl wasn't talking to her.

She rests somewhere near by, cloaked in an extra shadow by a tree against the moon. It is only a half sleep, ears up and nearly one eye open, as she gets through the night. Something catches her attention, however, and she's alert once again in a sphinx position, immediately staring at the den to focus her concentration. It continues, soft, inaudible coaxing words and an occasional squeak. Steel eyes began to scan the rest of their surroundings before she notes there's no threat, and slowly picks herself up to inch closer and listen.

The sign of more life has been proven and a soft smile lingers on her features, but she remains silent. No longer is their sleep on her mind, sitting up right and remaining guard of the den until morning.