Chapter Text
Alear stares at himself in the mirror, and briefly considers punching it.
That’s the scared, panicking part of his brain trying to fix things. If he breaks everything that reflects him, then he’ll never need to see himself again. He won’t need to think about this again. Problem solved. Except it isn’t, and this isn’t a problem that he wishes would go away. Actually, he should be happy. Alear should be completely over the moon that this worked exactly the way he hoped it would. He didn’t get his hopes up when he first suspected of his success, because nothing would have crushed him more than thinking that he’d done it and being wrong. He held onto cautious optimism and was rewarded for his patience.
This is going to change his life. For the better, yes, but it will change irrevocably and his own desires don’t always align with those of his surrounding friends and family. He has sacrificed the idea of a quiet life, putting down his sword for good, because he is the last Divine Dragon of this world and Elyos needs him. Would it be so terrible for him to bring some of his desires to life?
The actual issue is that Alear has to talk about this now. He has to tell people. He has to answer questions, and he has barely any knowledge on the matter. If someone asks him how he did it, all Alear can say is that he prayed for it. That’s basically what he did, isn’t it? Sure, there’s magic involved, but like many other types of Divine magic, prayer is fundamental.
Justifying the decision will be its own ordeal; more importantly, Alear doesn’t know how he’s going to tell people that he wished a dragon baby into existence.
“Sigurd, this is going to sound… weird, but I need to ask you a question.”
The Holy Knight is confused as he sets his book down. Alear fidgets with his dragonstone pauldron chain, the largest shard rolling between his thumb and forefinger. The Fell stone is shattered but still seems to give off energy; Sigurd can see wisps of crimson if he focuses hard enough. Even if inert, its presence is a blatant reminder of Alear’s origin as a Fell Dragon. He persists in wearing the gift Veyle created for him so that none will ever forget who he is. It is important, he insisted before wearing it publicly for the first time. Now, it is a frequent source of comfort for Alear. He twists the center shard again, anxiety leaching into the air.
“Is something the matter?” Sigurd asks. Alear’s hand drops from the chain to his stomach, and a flash of alarm goes through Sigurd’s mind. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“Can you promise that you won’t panic?”
The question has the opposite effect on Sigurd. He rises quickly, book forgotten, and Alear takes a step back with a hand still clutching his belly.
“Alear, what happened?”
“I’m okay! I’m not sick! I just—Sigurd, please stop panicking! I’ll tell you if you sit down and let me talk.”
Sigurd sits immediately. Alear takes a deep breath and takes his place next to Sigurd.
“Do you know anything about dragon infants?”
Sigurd’s knowledge on Divine Dragons is second to none. Lumera told him everything she knew so that the memory of the Divine would never be lost. From the grandest magic they could conjure to the smallest details of their winged flight, Sigurd could recall so much. Asking Sigurd is the first step for any research into Divine Dragons. He has made efforts to transcribe as much knowledge as he can, caught in a somewhat manic fear of Elyos losing part of its history should something ever happen to him again, but the process is slower than he would like. He spends most of his days still fighting off Corrupted around the continent. This down-time would have been spent writing, but Alear insisted that Sigurd needs to care for himself.
“I… Yes, I do. Alear, do you—” Sigurd stops himself. “Do you wish for a child?”
Alear tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “I already did, in a way.”
It takes Sigurd a moment to understand. The hand on Alear’s stomach, the plea not to panic, the nervous energy…
It takes all of Sigurd’s self-control to suppress his outburst. A myriad of emotions runs through him in a stampede, although above all else is pride. Mindful not to jostle Alear, Sigurd wraps both arms around the dragon and lets out a short laugh. Alear joins in, and the two find themselves in a mirthful fit; there are so many words that Sigurd wishes to speak, and yet he finds himself unable to calm down long enough to do so.
Marth’s boots thump louder than he would like as he hurries up the stairs of the Somniel’s main building. Only Alear and the Emblems reside here any longer, acting as a secluded refuge. That makes the entire island a welcome place for a private conversation, especially while most of its inhabitants are busy elsewhere. Nobody is here to watch Marth nearly trip over his own feet in his haste (he still has not mastered control over this physical form). He grabs hold of the banister, pausing to calm himself before he breaks a limb off in a panic. He has no heart hammering in his chest, but the sensation of tight anxiety is recognizable regardless.
Certain that his legs won’t give out from under him, Marth continues up the stairs and toward Alear’s room. The door is open, and Alear has changed into his sleep clothes. He is clearly not expecting any visitors, much less Marth, because he jumps at the sound of heavy footfalls.
“I apologize for startling you,” Marth starts to say, but Alear waves off the apology.
“It’s fine. I was just turning in early. I… I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”
Normally, Marth would obey the Fabrication body’s signs of wear and allow his body to rest after returning from combat. This time, he has reason to risk its structural integrity to see Alear. “Sigurd said that I should speak to you as soon as possible.”
A slight frown pulls at Alear’s mouth. Had Sigurd overstepped in telling Marth? Hoping that his friend had not done so, Marth decides to walk to the bed and sit down next to Alear. The moment that he is within arm’s reach, Alear grabs one of Marth’s hands.
“Promise me that you won’t panic.”
Anxiety spikes in Marth, but Alear himself sounds calm. The possibility of Marth being upset is a greater concern, then. It will be okay, Marth tells himself.
“I will not panic.”
“Okay. Good.” Alear takes a deep breath, still squeezing Marth’s hand. “I’m going to have a baby.”
For a split second, Alear seems to misunderstand Marth’s surprised silence as dismay or, even worse, anger. Alear’s hasty attempt to explain collides with Marth’s rush to respond, creating a jumble of words that neither can decipher. It takes a few more attempts before both exhale sharply and stop to formulate their thoughts better.
“A baby?” Marth asks, to which Alear nods silently. “How?”
Marth realizes how silly of a question that is the moment it leaves his mouth. Thankfully, Alear chuckles instead of making fun of him.
“I’m still not sure how I managed to do it, but I channeled my Divine powers into a prayer. It’s similar to the magic that my mother used to heal me. I guess I’ve made another version of myself.”
The explanation makes little sense to Marth, but he is too caught up in the excitement to care. He places a hand on Alear’s stomach and quietly takes in the news. Perhaps he is only feeling what he wishes to, but he can sense a slight bump under his palm.
“You don’t need to do anything,” Alear says suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“ I wanted a child. I didn’t tell you that I was going to do this because it’s not your responsibility to be a parent. This is my decision, for myself.”
Alear’s fingers grasp his nightshirt. Something defensive rises in Marth.
“You do not need to push me away for decisions that you make for yourself.” Marth uncurls Alear’s hand out of its grip, clasping it in his own.
Alear responds hastily, “That’s not what I meant. I want you by my side no matter what.”
“As do I,” Marth reassures Alear. “I will not step away from your life for any reason.”
“You don’t need to do this for me.”
“No matter what you say, I will care for this child just as I care for you.” Marth smiles, his fingertips brushing Alear’s cheek. “Nothing can deter me from this. I already care so deeply, and I have only known for mere moments.”
“You’re not angry that I didn’t tell you before?” asks Alear.
Marth shakes his head. “This is your decision to fulfill your own wish. I have no objection to you pursuing your joy.”
“Most people wouldn’t just bring a baby to their partner. They talk about this. I think,” Alear says. He ducks his head. “I guess it’s hard for humans to conjure up children out of nowhere, so they don’t have this problem.”
“It may happen. Finding orphaned children is not an uncommon occurrence," Marth points out.
Alear makes a face. “But I’m sure they still talk about it before deciding to keep a baby one of them found. I know Chloe has so many stories about couples that happily adopt foundlings, but I don’t think it always happens that way in the real world. Just because one of them wants a baby they found in the woods doesn’t mean the other will.”
“While I would not object to you bringing home orphans from the woods, that is besides the point. I will love this child, because that is what I wish to do,” Marth says firmly, and presses a quick kiss to Alear’s forehead. “You cannot dissuade me, nor can anyone else. Even I could not change my own mind.”
He hopes that his smile will finally convince Alear that everything is alright.
Alear does not press the point further. Instead, he says, “You were really calm about that.”
“You asked me not to panic.”
“I mean— Yes, but your first question was how I was having a baby.”
“I admit that I was not thinking,” Marth replies, blushing in embarrassment. “That was not one of my finest moments of clarity.”
“I don’t mean that. You probably thought that I—” Alear cuts himself off, mouth pulled into a thin line.
“Had another partner?”
“Yes. And it didn’t bother you?”
“Hmm.”
Marth ponders the concept. He stares at the pact ring on his finger, resting against Alear’s hand. If Alear had found another partner, he would have chosen a close, trusted friend. Marth knows Alear’s confidants, knows them to treat Alear with respect and care. All of this musing leads Marth to the same conclusion as with the child: he is unfazed.
“Is that something you would like?” he asks Alear.
“No. Maybe? Not really. Not right now.” The Divine Dragon Monarch, sitting in bed with his pajamas on, still manages to appear regal. Marth may be a biased observer in that regard, watching Alear think as he stares off into the distance. “Maybe never. I love you, Marth.”
”That does not prevent you from loving others as well. We are not a particularly conventional pair, are we?”
“But I’m comfortable with this. I’m glad that you understand how I feel. I’m not sure that anyone else would.”
Marth understands, but he lacks the words to describe how he feels, too. Just as Alear flounders to define what it means for him to give Marth the pact ring, Marth finds it difficult to explain his feelings as its recipient. This is not the same experience he had with Caeda. He loved her, and he loves Alear just as much, but he could say quite plainly (held back only by his bashfulness) that he was in love with Caeda. That is not how he nor Alear speak of their bond. Perhaps it is a different kind of “in love” that Marth is unfamiliar with. He married the sweetheart of his youth, and had no significant experience otherwise. There was Kris, his dear friend, and… well. Perhaps that was comparable to how he felt for Alear? But that seems incorrect as well. He had never kissed Kris, nor thought to raise his friend’s child like his own. Beyond bothersome rumors of royal infidelity that existed solely for the excitement their scandalous nature brought, nobody had ever seriously mistaken Marth’s affection for Kris as romantic.
When it comes to him and Alear, many people are under that impression. They have stopped trying to correct it when brought up in conversation. Whether or not others understand is less important to Marth than ensuring that Alear knows that he is loved.
“My dearest dragon is to be a parent,” Marth chuckles, lifting Alear’s hand to kiss his knuckles. This is one of the many joys of having a Fabrication body, and Marth is so thankful to exist in this form when existing at all is a blessing.
“I’m a little scared,” Alear admits.
“Change always brings uncertainty, even when it is desired. There is no shame in feeling that.”
“I know. It’s just that every big change in my life so far hasn’t been my choice. So many of those changes had awful outcomes, and... I don’t know. It feels like I’m inflicting something horrible on myself, even if I want this.”
Marth understands. Routine is familiar and friendly. It does not carry the threats that novelty brings, inviting in some other unknown reality. To change is to take a risk, and after a lifetime of more risk than anyone could ever desire, Marth wants nothing more than to cocoon Alear in safety.
“I will follow you through it,” Marth reassures Alear.