Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

“And Lilina didn’t believe me until I showed her the shell that Father kept!” Roy exclaims, to which Lyn is visibly trying not to laugh. Alear has no idea how this story is helpful to the matter at hand, but he listens politely anyway. The campfire pops as the heat evaporates the remaining moisture in the wood, steam and smoke intertwining as it rises into the night sky. Shadows dance along the tree trunks as Roy raises his hands to gesture wildly as he speaks.

“So dragons keep their babies’ eggshells?” Alear asks.

“I don’t think they do, actually. That was just Father being sentimental.”

“That’s exactly like Eliwood,” Lyn adds with a little sigh. For all that she avoids reminiscing about Lord Eliwood and Lord Hector with Roy, she seems to enjoy it.

Alear suddenly has a thought. “Wait, so how did you get out of the shell? You can’t transform, right? You were born like a... you looked like a human baby, right? Or does the shell break on its own? I’m imagining a chicken egg, but it just occurred to me that it might not be... accurate.”

“My mother had to break the shell for me, I believe. She said that she heard me calling from inside, and knew it was time for me to hatch.”

Roy’s birth being described in such bizarre language makes Alear laugh. It suddenly occurs to Alear that he himself was probably born in a similar manner, a little dragonling inside of an egg. Did he need his mother’s assistance to break free? Did Roy need his mother’s help because he was more human than dragon? Alear knows so little of the process, and yet he dove headfirst without thinking. Being a parent is a great responsibility. A little life is dependent on him to live, to learn, to grow into an individual. Rather than taking his time to consider the repercussions, Alear wanted something, so he took it. No consideration, no awareness, just the urge to have—

“Something on your mind?” asks Lyn, her hand over Alear’s shoulder jolting him out of his thoughts.

“Oh! Nothing important,” Alear lies easily, forgetting that he’s speaking to two Emblems who have known him for longer than he actually remembers. Lyn looks unimpressed while Roy’s face reflects his concern.

“Alear,” both of them say, albeit with different tones of voice. They’re not as perceptive to his thoughts as Marth, but the Emblems are by no means oblivious.

“It’s nothing, I promise. I just got a little in my own head about this whole thing. I know I’ll be okay when it happens.” Alear tries to reassure them with a little smile. “I’m in great hands.”

“Your physical well-being isn’t the only thing to worry about.”

Lyn taps a finger against Alear’s nose, catching him off guard. He goes cross-eyed trying to look, and she uses the distraction to then tap him on the forehead.

“What’s going on up here is important too, but you need to let us know what you’re feeling.”

“Right…”

Roy and Lyn won’t badger him for an answer, but Alear knows that they will talk to Marth. Holding them off is only delaying the inevitable. He wraps both arms around himself, leaning to rest his weight against the log at his back.

“I realize how little I know about having a child, and wonder why I didn’t think about this more beforehand. I shouldn’t have decided so quickly.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” asks Roy, but Alear shakes his head quickly.

“No, absolutely not. I want this, but… I should know better than to be impulsive. Taking something for myself just because I want it isn’t…” The shadow of a sob buries itself in Alear’s chest, and he pauses to wait for it to abate. “That’s not what a good dragon does.”

“Oh, Alear…”

Lyn reaches for him easily, slides her arms around his shoulders and lets him rest his head on her shoulder. Roy moves closer as well, bumping his foot against Alear’s to catch his attention.

“You are not fated to be the parent that he was. You are capable of being a good father,” says Roy. “You want what is best for your child, and I know that you can provide that.”

“I don’t just want to be better than him. Anyone with half of a conscience could do that. I need to be a good person, a good parent, or what’s the point?”

The bitterness is too difficult to keep from his voice. Even surrounded by those who would never allow him to stray from the right path, Alear finds it difficult to have faith in himself.

“It seems to me that you’re judging yourself based on him, not your own actions. You haven’t even had a chance to meet your child yet, and you’re berating yourself. How is that fair to you?” asks Lyn, brushing the bangs out of Alear’s face where he let them fall.

“It’s not about me.”

“Wrong, it is about you. What did I just say about your well-being?”

“Lyn—”

“Alear, really. Listen to me for a moment.” Lyn manages to rearrange Alear into an awkward hug so that he has to tilt his head back to see her face. “If you’re constantly second-guessing yourself, you can’t make any decisions at all. Sometimes you’re going to be wrong. As long as you’re willing to learn from your mistakes, you’re going to be fine.”

“What happens when I make a mistake that can’t be fixed?” Alear whispers, and grits his jaw to avoid tearing up.

Roy gently pries Alear’s fingers out of the claw-like fists that he unknowingly clenched them into. “You do the best that you can. There is no reason for you to shoulder all of this anxiety on your own. This child will have two wonderful fathers, and more aunts and uncles to dote on them than they’ll know what to do with.”

Alear doesn’t know how to refute that. No, he’s actually going to be a terrible father and everyone has misjudged him? Nobody will want to help him raise a child? He’s going to ruin everything before it even begins? It dawns on him that this entire fit of despair is rather ridiculous. Lyn and Roy are right; he’s digging the hole that he’s so afraid of falling into. Instead of saying yet another silly, self-deprecating thing, Alear decides to use his time wisely asking more pertinent questions.

“Say… Does this mean Sigurd will be a grandfather?” he asks, and Lyn lets out a startled, high-pitched cackle into the night.

Corrin peeks into the bassinet, her excitement barely contained. There’s nothing much to see other than a single marbled-pattern egg laying in a nest of blankets, but she hasn’t torn her eyes from it in over an hour.

“Is it really that interesting to look at?” Alear asks with exasperated amusement.

“I’ve never seen a dragon egg before!” she insists. “It’s fascinating how different we are, even as dragons. I wonder if that’s because of my mother? But Roy’s mother was like me, so…”

She breaks off into ponderous muttering, gently rearranging the blanket nest. Alear chuckles from his bed and rolls onto his side; he’ll let Corrin dote over the egg while she’s here. Marth’s smiling face greets Alear, and the Hero-King brushes Alear’s bangs out of his face.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m good,” Alear replies, leaning into the touch. Marth’s hand smooths down the side of his face to cradle his cheek.

Corrin starts singing. Both Alear and Marth giggle at just how enamored she is over a baby she hasn’t even seen yet. It’s not just her; Roy, Byleth, and Celica showed a quiet fascination too. It’s as if something drew them closer under a draconic pull, but Corrin and Roy were the most affected.

“And now, we wait. Again,” says Alear. Sigurd had assured Alear that the surprisingly small egg was perfectly healthy as far as he knew, and that in a month’s time the infant would call out to begin hatching. Marth’s face had taken on a humorously baffled expression at the time, terribly lost at trying to follow every explanation. It’s cute. Of course Marth has memories of being a father, but the Emblem had no direct experience of this kind. It’s new, it’s uniquely this Marth’s own, and he meets it with as much focus and severity as a battle.

He could probably be a little less nervous about it, actually. Too much stress will make him trip over his own feet again.

Marth suddenly chuckles to himself.

“Apologies. I had a thought just now. This baby will be identical to you, so I will finally know what you looked like as a child.”

“Oh high heavens, no,” Alear replies with a flustered blush.

He can’t help but wonder, despite his embarrassment, if this baby will come to resemble him exactly. It’s an amusing thought to consider all the little idiosyncrasies that his dragonling will inherit, like the way his bangs cross over at the center for some reason, or how the white half-moons at the base of his nails are a little flatter on just his ring fingers, or if the same eye will go blue—

Alear goes still. Marth notices instantly, as he always does when a mood strikes Alear. While he doesn’t voice anything, he does rub his thumb across Alear’s cheekbone and raise his eyebrows in silent questioning. Are you alright? Answering with a little nod, Alear casts his eyes to the side. He doesn’t want to bring this up now, but Marth will undoubtedly want to know later.

Yet another thing that Alear hadn’t considered. Would this child be born exactly as Alear was, of Fell and Mage Dragon? Would the shell crack and reveal a head of red hair and two striking red eyes? The Fell offspring of a Divine Dragon would know the difference separating parent and child even without being told. Eventually, there would need to be a discussion. There would need to be honesty (the kind that Alear didn’t receive, because his mother wasn’t given enough time), and reassurance (that would need to be strong enough to stand up to a whole continent’s judgement), and responsibility (because Alear did not create a child for a purpose, and his baby needed to know that existence was not a punishment or a privilege to be earned—

Marth pats Alear’s cheek three times, tap tap tap, under the guise of playful teasing. Alear blinks.

“I can hardly contain my joy at knowing I will meet this child soon.”

(Coded words that, when scrambled and rearranged, really mean there is nothing to fear.)

“It won’t be long now.”

(Please help me bear my anxieties.)

A kiss seals the promise.

Alear sits up to clear his head. Every time he thinks of his child, a million different worries stampede through his mind and render him paralyzed under a new reason for him to doubt his decision. It’s getting old, and it’s getting annoying. How is he going to appreciate his new family if all he can conjure up is another imaginative way he messed up? He’s about to open his mouth and ask Corrin if she could give them some space, but he’s distracted by her making baby-talk at the egg. She’s babbling at it, honest-to-goodness speaking nonsense at an egg. The little one probably doesn’t even have fully-formed ears to hear her with yet.

“Corrin, I don’t think the baby can understand words like that…”

“But you’re a smart, cute dragon, aren’t you?” the Crux of Fate coos at the little treasure in the bassinet anyway. Alear gives up, his bad mood all but vanished at the bizarre display.