Kershov had never slept as well as he did with Athene next to him.

It hadn’t even taken that long for the winter dragon to acclimate to someone else sharing his lair - his glorious huntress lent him a contentment Kershov had not believed he was even capable of experiencing. It was not that Athene completed him, for Ker did not think of himself as incomplete. No… the pair was not a mere set of puzzle pieces that had found each other at last, nor two halves of a lonesome heart cleaved in two. Each could stand on their own as a formidable predator prepared to wrend their enemies to pieces. If anything, Athene and Kershov were two weapons that had been forged in the same fire - made indomitable by hardship - and although they were both deadly on their own, as a set absolutely nothing stood in their way. Athene’s presence made Kershov feel magnificently powerful. Unconquerable. Those pools of sunlight glanced his way, and he saw his own worthiness reflected back at him - the traits that had earned his crown and his kingdom… and the fierce heart of a beautiful she-wolf.

Funnily enough, the Ice King had never been frigid when it came to carnal pleasures. Except, with Athene, the primal lust sewn into his DNA seemed to flare like flames on new tinder. No matter how many times he tasted her, touched her, breathed her in, Kershov could not sate himself. It still astonished him to think - to know - that he loved this Valkyrie - and yet he did beyond any glimmer of a doubt. Even when he did not speak those words, which seemed to him far too frail and mawkish when compared to the reality of his obsession. As winter pressed on the land and nights stretched longer, he observed with bated breath how Athene progressed valiantly through her pregnancy. He curled around her when frost glittered at their den entrance, marveling at the softness encroaching on her otherwise flawless musculature. Kershov had so looked forward to this litter - something he had never, ever done in the past - that when Athene suddenly awoke on a chilled spring morning he only had to blink before rising fully awake, primed to listen to any direction his queen might give him.

To his - delight? Confusion? Terror? - Athene did not order him from the den; she did, however, curse at him furiously before laying back down to begin her arduous labor. Kershov knew better than to offer patronizing phrases of encouragement. As if he had practiced for weeks, he wordlessly left their shared chambers only to return not a few minutes later with moss soaked in water, in case Athene grew parched. At that point the ivory beast settled against the far wall of the den to keep a respectful distance. What would it be like, watching his own litter be born? A thrill quickened his pulse… and then the first pup was born. Amelia - missing a limb. Athene arched her posture as if to kill the pup - peered at Kershov, thought better of it - only to utter a low consternated growl upon the birth of the second pup. “Athene?” the gladiator dared murmur. He tried to see more detail through the gloom, but could not tell precisely what was wrong. Eventually, curiosity swelled too much to ignore. He shuffled closer, staring down at all the wriggling bundles fighting for milk…

“A curse?”

He shouldn’t have. He really, really shouldn’t have. But it was perhaps the acutely taboo thing itself that finally forced Kershov to laugh - short forbidden chuckles he tried in vain to choke down, shaking his shoulders and the needle-shaped pinfeathers poking up from them. What witch, indeed. And the Ice King knew that his laughter would only infuriate Athene - would perhaps even make her think that her mate actually had lain with someone else - but the fatal seriousness hardening her beautiful features only made him chortle harder. Because of course Kershov had not so much as glanced at another female in an even remotely sensual way since he had pledged himself to this warrior goddess; when he told Athene that there would be no other, it was as if his mind had constructed a barrier around any sexual thought that did not explicitly involve his mate. In the past, he had slept with Kahlan because she was one of his dearest friends. He’d rutted with Nimueh because the clever bitch had poisoned him into a delirious fog. He did not expect Athene to ever forgive nor forget… yet her deadpan delivery made a rare smile pinch the corners of his bottomless black eyes. That - and the fact that their odd, odd offspring really did look like a hideous curse pulled from the very bowels of hell itself.

“If Nimueh is capable of making a fine, healthy womb such as yours produce such ugly pups… we may need to find a job for her here in Uyaraut. Could you imagine litter warfare? Inflicting atrocious litters upon our enemies as punishment for crossing us?” Dark humor still lit up his eyes like seance candlelight, a wicked grin completing the grimace forever carved into his maw. Before Athene could snap at him - or the bizarre creatures nuzzled against her side - Kershov scooped one babe into his forelimbs to marvel at her: a dark little thing with cloven hooves instead of paws, stubby limbs kicking out to right herself after her father so thoughtlessly pulled her from nourishment. She gave a hearty squeal while he studied her - clearly a hale child despite the glaring wrongness of her appearance. The Ice King swiped the fur of her back with his tongue, mussing her fuzzy coat and earning another indignant puppy sound. “Strange, she tastes and sounds like a wolf pup. I would have thought ‘goat’.” Another chuckle, quieter and more thoughtful. His new hoofed daughter was already searching for her mother’s warmth, struggling to free herself from the gigantic paw that cradled her.

Fascinated, Kershov dipped forward to grab another pup by the scruff - this one resembling a fuzzy newborn chick. Her birdlike limbs clawed comically at the air, each toe looking so delicate and breakable despite the sharp talons tipping each one. Much of her pelt was actually down, similar to that of a duckling; Kershov inwardly wondered if that meant she’d wear a feathered cape that spread over that same area of her body as an adult. The fearsome Pharaoh groomed this girl too until she squeaked - bopping his nose with one of her avien feet. “Giazakisa… and Hathor.” Approval shone clearly in his lyrics at Athene’s choice of names. “The bird-one smells and tastes and sounds like a wolf pup, too. Maybe they are not entirely mistakes?” Gently, so as not to damage the small helpless bodies, Kershov nudged the girls back to their mother’s teats. He had felt invested in his first litter with Athene, looking forward to how Gwyneira and Sergei would grow… but what emotions stirred at the sight of this nest? As deeply as he searched himself, confused and intrigued by his own shift in character, Kershov discovered he had no name for what he felt. It was not something he’d ever experienced before. Baffled pride? Amusement at the joke the universe had just played on him and Athene? Or was the tundra dragga merely in shock, and coping with this surreal nightmare in the only way his war-hardened mind knew how?

He should have wanted to kill the pups. They were absolutely, revoltingly deformed. If Athene changed her mind this instant and turned her jaws on them all, Kershov would not have stopped her from snapping their necks. So why had she paused? For his benefit? Surely the wolfess was just as puzzled - if not more so - than her mate. Perhaps they did not know how to react because there was no “right way,” not in a reality so shockingly new and unexplored. Every pup was unthinkably grotesque. Sobered, Kershov caught Athene’s brilliant topaz windows, face blank.

“You’re the one who has to feed them. Care for them. If you don’t want to…” A silent shrug. “But I told you I’d do everything in my power to support you. These children, mutants as they are, could still be great. Different… but great. As long as we are the ones to guide them. Do you agree?” He turned to comb his stare over the three-legged male, the other downy pup; all of them jostled each other with exuberant energy, identical to any other healthy litter except for their physical idiosyncrasies. Quietly, ever aware that she might snarl at him for being an idiot, the colossal dragga leaned in to place a short, chaste kiss across the bridge of Athene’s muzzle. “You terminate them, you are still mine. You keep them, you are still mine. And they will be ours equally.” If she did not push him away, Ker would continue to groom the bases of the prickets that would blossom into full antlers, for now just sharp spears that jutted from Athene’s brow. “What is your choice, my mate?”