He had chased after her, ghosting her until she had turned to him at last. It had been a long journey between flustered stranger to handsome defender - but at last it had come. She was settled, the white ghost of her heart turning steely gray as their bond solidified in her heart and mind as well as soul. A wanderer at heart, they suited one another nigh perfectly. For all his grump, she was subtlety. For all his grousing, she was grace. For all his steel, she was water flowing past his blade.
When she and he had succumb to their core selves, the selves that were as one as their bodies became, it had come as a surprise to the older male that he would suddenly become a father in his old age. A sire to the grandchildren of legends, so late in his metaphorical game.
Today. Today it would come to fruition - not just be a little bulge and sag of his lithe soulmate’s belly. He would lay his eyes on the children. It made her proud, made her scared, wondering what he would feel when he saw, when it became tangibly real.
She is not at all sure why it is that she has been growing weaker and weaker of late, not sure if perhaps she was simply too old to have gotten pregnant healthily. It makes her anxious as she paces the mouth of the den, darts in with twinges, then slinks back out into the sunlight of spring’s early breezes. She whines, high and piteous and yet soft and barely audible. She is uncomfortable, unsure, and trying so hard to not let her nerves overcome her.
This tension, along with three large pups in her older belly, will make her weaker than she had ever been.
The moment that it becomes apparent that it was most assuredly time, she turns from whines to growls when so much as a glimpse of a shadow falls over the mouth of the den. A crow flying earned as much warning as any wolf that might have peeked in on her. Her long and slender snout was full of teeth yet un-dulled by age.
The first child was almost her twin in figure, already clearly leaner than normal wolf pups and very obviously extended in length. She bore the gray of her father and the brown of her mother with little eye marks that mimed her mothers with her father’s cream instead of her mother’s silver. Scylla, Leviathan has time to think, and then the next comes. She chirrups a little with the clearing of her lungs, squeaking a few times until she found Leviathan’s milk, but on the whole is seemed surreal - as if seeing what her mother must have seen herself when she was born.
Next, her mate’s heir. He is harder to release, she must push hard enough and often enough that she is sure her belly will not push any longer. He comes with a long whine from his mother before she can at last clean the dust and flesh from out of his face and off his little ball of a figure. Unlike her daughter, there is no mewling sounds, no whimpers or calls-- the only relief comes from a clear cough and a swift b-line made for her belly when she places him nearer to her teat. Meliodas. Silver eye marks, her flecking in her mane appearing down his spine, black like her across his body with gray like his father in between. A handsome boy.
Suddenly, it is clear that he should not have been the last, that she needed to push -- only, when she tried, her belly would not agree to the task. She whined, pushed, she called out to Matthias at last, the long time since it’s beginning to come worrying her about the baby. It’s little nose was so near, she could feel it--- but it was not happening.
Viserys is on the notes of her frightened song, calling him for his help on her last child.