Vex had begun laboring almost a full day ago, and she had retreated to her whelping den, alone. She'd not seen @Jaganatha since she'd told him to call for @Fury when her time came, and, well, it was here now. How long the travel might take her allied warqueen, Vex didn't know for certain.

Her den was deep and wide, sheltered by the massive tree above — @Kevalin had certainly impressed her. It was lined with needles and dried grasses, and various hare pelts lined it, keeping it nice and warm. It was a birthing chamber fit for a Queen, to be sure... and Vex had very nearly wrecked it — she labored and pushed, but nothing came, and she had thrashed and moved about so much that the bedding was scattered and the pelts were dirt-caked.

Vex left the den, panting and moaning, where she began to pace. How long would this take her?

Vex had not touched the herbs laid out beside her whelping den — she eyed them now through narrowed, fiery eyes, scenting them suspiciously. She, being the daughter of a great general, had been trained in war, and not plants. She did recognize one of them: raspberry leaves. The other was unknown to her, green and leafy. Disdainfully, and through teeth clenched from pain, she asked, "What's this? What..." she grunted, bearing down, "What does it do? And what's the raspberry for?"

Traditionally, she would be provided herbs by the resident midwife... but here, she had none, and no women to assist with her birthing. But surely, surely, she was a Queen — a Queen who could break tradition, for who, no, what, could be greater than she? She would be in danger if these whelps did not deliver. Suddenly she wished for @Vivaan, and she panted, "If... if I called for Vivaan, do you think he would come?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she had not spoken them; this was not the conversation to have with a captive.

Vex knew raspberry could not be poisonous; she ate a mouthful almost as soon as the words had left Kevalin's mouth, but how long it would take to kick in, she didn't know. The other she sniffed and snorted at, then looked to the weir as he suggested a swim. It couldn't hurt. She moved towards it, telling him, "No milk. Just... pain." What if her whelps wouldn't come?

Then, a familiar scent washed over her, and she heard Fury's voice. Relief broke over the Cruor Queen's face, and she growled lowly, "These whelps just won't come, Fury... What do I do?" She jerked her head to Kevalin. "He suggested a swim, but... it has been a full day already." She wouldn't admit it, not yet, but she was afraid — albeit, more for her own life than the lives she had helped produce.

How was she to relax? Vex stared at Fury blankly for a second, maw agape, and then she shook herself, gritting her teeth. A swim it was. She turned towards the weir, for a moment wishing she had not paired with Vivaan; she did not like this. But, she had to remind herself that she was doing this for the Dominion — for what she was building. This was her sacrifice.

She entered the water — it was cool, and she, far too warm. The water washed over her forelegs, easing her aching joints, and she waded further, until her toes barely brushed the silty ground. It was heaven, for but a moment; another contraction came.

Vex could feel them moving, getting into line. She left the water, panting as she pushed. One left her womb, and as she birthed it there on the shore, it was even more pain, and the mess it brought disgusted her. She wouldn't have this in her den.

More contractions, more pain, but the Queen would not break, no matter how severe it got; she would do this in silence. She bore her first girl, and then a second. The last whelp was the worst of them all, pain-wise. When all whelps had been birthed, she thought she was done... but no, out came the rest of the birth a short time later, and then Vex returned to the weir to cleanse herself of the gore.

And then, there were her puppies... Vex hadn't a maternal bone in her body. She stared at them as they cried for her milk, and yet, they, too, required cleaning. Biting back a shudder, she leaned in to bathe her young, and when all the cruor was gone from them, she brought them one by one to her whelping den.

Four whelps. Tradition dictated that only three were worthy. The last stuck out from his gray and cream siblings; he was pure white, with a pink nose. It unsettled her — had she been cursed with an albino? Vex looked to Fury, gaze uncertain. "Something is wrong with this one."

Fury offered her congratulations, but Vex did not feel this birth was something to celebrate; her children cried and squirmed for her milk, and yet she felt repulsed by their touches. She didn't feel any love for them. The Cruor Queen looked to her allied Warqueen, many questions half-hidden in her orange gaze... but then Fury spoke of taking her lastborn.

Perhaps Vex didn't feel love for her children — that didn't mean she didn't feel possessive of them. They were hers, after all. They were the future of the Dominion, and they would all serve their purpose... but it would be by her decree, and under her own guidance. Her expression hardened, and she answered as calmly as she could manage, "No. No... I... I will keep him. When their eyes open, we will know." And yet, there was the matter of nursing them and tending to them. She was wholly unprepared.

Vex snorted softly. It was time to retreat to her whelping den. She moved her whelps one by one to the den entrance, then told Fury tiredly, "Thank you for coming. I must rest now..." She then nodded once to Kevalin, adding on, "I have him to assist further."

Venere came into the world after waiting what felt like forever. She squirmed as her mother's tongue rasped over her, cleaning her, and after she was searching for milk, bumping into her siblings blindly. Before she could nurse, she was moved, and she spent the next several minutes angrily awaiting her first meal.

Fury left. Vex began moving the whelps into the den, and once they were all settled, she grabbed the parsley that Kevalin had left for her. She laid down, and at once she was assaulted by her whelps; they wriggled and fought for the best teat, and she let them suckle, despite how she despised the feeling. Eventually, they would all drop off to sleep, and finally, the Queen could rest.