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“Nausea, increased fatigue and a sense of heaviness, “ Lauma repeats as she eyes him up and down, noting down something on her notepad ever diligently and professionally. “And these symptoms started happening when, exactly?”
“One to two weeks ago,” Flins replies. “I had hoped it would pass by itself, but that hasn’t been the case, unfortunately.”
It had unsettled him quite a lot, truth be told. His body has been a convenient vessel for many centuries now, so having something just happen to it without his own will, even something this mildly unpleasant, is not something he wants to be complacent in.
“I see… And you haven’t had changes to your diet lately?”
“None at all,” he replies, for there was nothing there to change.
“No exposure to large amounts of kuuvahki, elemental energy, abyssal corruption, or similar?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“And no recent battles or injuries?”
“I last fought the Wild Hunt about a moon ago, but I sustained no injuries at the time.”
The woman hums and seems to cross off certain things, brows furrowing because much like Flins himself, she seems to find no obvious explanation for his very physiological changes. He figured it might be a long shot, for he doubts that even someone as accomplished as Lauma tended to treat Snowland Fae regularly, but given her constitution, and more importantly, her discretion, he couldn’t think of anyone better to consult about his recent malaise.
Finally, something like a revelation flicks in her eyes.
“...This may be an invasive question, Mr. Flins,” she starts again slowly.
“By all means, ask away.”
“Could you be… expecting?”
Flins blinks up at her. He wants to laugh at first, at this ridiculous notion, for Fae do not get pregnant by accident, but then he remembers his last encounter with Illuga, roughly three weeks ago.
“I, ah, I’m gonna come—”
“Come,” Flins had panted out, delirious from pleasure, electricity running though him at every one of Illuga’s thrusts in the deepest parts inside of him. “Come inside me, I—hah—want it, I want your seed to—”
Illuga had groaned out then, hips stuttering, heat flooding Flins’s insides, but ever devoted lover that he was, he barely took a moment to compose himself—instead, he had pulled out and replaced himself with his fingers, mouth on Flins at the same time as he pushed his own spent back into Flins, filthy and wet and he had come shortly after with the thought of Illuga breeding him—
“I didn’t know you were into that,” Illuga later whispered into his neck as they laid entangled under the covers, basking in the after-glow for Celestia knows how long before they’d cleaned themselves up.
“... Frankly, neither did I.”
Ice-cold realization washes over him. It shouldn’t normally be possible for someone of his nature, but that last time…
“...While unlikely, it’s… not impossible,” he replies carefully, increasingly doubting his own assessment.
Lauma, sensitive and gracious as ever, does not mention his hesitation even as she surely notices it.
“With your permission, Mr. Flins,” she offers delicately, “I could try examining you more directly with kuuvahki, to see if I sense any disturbances within you.”
The notion of being with child of all things still makes him reel, flames fanning anxiously in his insides, but that is not helpful to him now—instead, he slowly nods at the woman sitting across from him.
“Please, do whatever you must.”
“Very well.” She then stands up and walks up to him, placing one hand on his chest while the other touches the top of his head as he remains seated. “Do tell me if you feel any discomfort.”
He then feels pure force wash over him. It feels cool and tingly, yet warm and comforting at the same time, resonating with something within his being that he knows to be much, much more ancient than himself—pure Frostmoon light and elemental energy thrum through his flames, nurturing them without overwhelming them, and if he focuses, he thinks he can feel something else, something in the torso of his human body—
Lauma’s touch lingers just a moment longer before it fades away, and with it, the heightened sensation of his own body.
She hums thoughtfully, though seemingly not quite satisfied.
“I can’t tell for certain, because it feels quite different from sensing kuuvahki through humans, but… My intuition tells me that there is life within you, Mr. Flins.”
How terrifying, is his first thought, and yet, a strange sense of calm sets over him, a sense of just the right puzzle piece falling into its rightful shape.
“Is there a way to know for certain?” He asks, for once not fully trusting his own judgement.
“I was hoping you might enlighten me on that,” she chuckles lightly as she turns away to go through the shelves in the medicine cabinet. “Ah, but I could ask Columbina to help next time—if you’re comfortable with that, of course. But her assessment would probably be much more accurate than mine…”
“That seems like a sound idea. Thank you very much for being ever so gracious, Miss Lauma,” he tells her as he stands up, sensing the appointment drawing to a close.
“Oh, no need, I hardly did anything,” she replies modestly, even as she turns around and hands him a satchel with what seem to be dried herbs. “But please, take this. Dissolve a pinch in a glass of water, and it should help with the morning sickness. At least, I hope it works on you, too.”
While he doesn’t know whether his affliction can be called morning sickness quite yet, he accepts the medicine pouch with a grateful bow.
“I am ever in your debt, Miss Lauma.”
“Please, you don’t have to repay me,” Lauma brushes him off easily. “Just send Illuga my regards, will you?”
Flins chuckles lightly. “If you insist, then I shall do just that.”
They part with amicable farewell, and while Flins doesn’t have access to water, even just burning some of the herbs in his lantern seems to relieve at least a bit of the light, but awfully persistent nausea that’s been afflicting him recently.
He’s not sure what to think of the revelation, but more than that, he can only imagine the tumult this will cause llluga. He plays with the idea of keeping this hidden—but, no, he has promised his Young Master more transparency as their relationship has deepened, and something of this magnitude should surely be discussed as soon as possible.
He deliberately stops by the Lightkeepers’ HQ in Nasha Town on his way back, taking only a short break to pen his missive at one of the free tables at Speranza—though he does not expect for his eyes to linger on the children that frequent this place as much as they do.
Some serving customers under Katya’s watchful eye. Others huddling in a corner, likely discussing the next exploits of the Conch Gang. Others yet again running past him, shrieking and giggling in delight in what appears to be a game of tag.
He forces himself to focus on penning his letter before making his way towards the Lightkeepers’ hub in Nasha Town, in particular, its aviary.
“Ah, Mr. Flins, how rare of you to come by!”
“Quite. Would it be possible for this letter—” He hands the young Ratnik responsible for communications the paper— “to be delivered to Cliffwatch Camp posthaste?”
“Oh? Is it an emergency?”
“Nothing so dire,” he reassures them, “but I would still appreciate this to be delivered at your earliest convenience.”
“Yessir!” And so, the Ratnik ties the letter to one of the Crowned Eagles marked for ‘emergency’ by the red band on its foot. Oh well. He does feel bad for the worry this will likely inflict on his Young Master, but selfish creature that he is, if it will make Illuga visit him all the sooner...
He avoids lingering too long on any small humans running around the town, but it thankfully doesn’t take him too long to return back to his lighthouse once he’s out of the city. He greets some of the ghosts (little Adina among them), throws some scraps to the local puffins (grey and fluffy chicks among them), follows Lauma’s instructions on her medicine, and he’s just about to head out to fish in anticipation of Illuga’s arrival when there’s a loud bang on his door.
“Flins!?”
His beloved, for once, forgoes decorum and simply opens the door right away, panting and flushed with exhaustion, and clearly, panic. “Are you alright!?”
“My, why wouldn’t I be?” Perhaps too mischievously, Flins cannot contain his glee at just how quickly Illuga arrived at his doorstep. Oh, how he always manages to outdo himself.
His sunshine scoffs and marches up to him, now red with delightfully sincere annoyance on his face. “What do you mean, why wouldn’t you be?” He points his finger angrily at his chest, even as his eyes flit wildly over Flins’ frame, likely checking for any signs of harm or injuries.
“You send me an emergency missive saying to meet you as soon as possible and that we need to talk, and you expect me not to worry!?”
“In my defence, I did tell them that it wasn't an emergency.”
“That’s not the point!” Illuga huffs, and then, seemingly satisfied enough with Flins’ state, pinches his cheek. “Next time, you better explain yourself right away if it’s not that urgent.”
“My sincerest apologies,” he breaks out despite the pull on his face, but he cannot bring himself to mind as he looks down at Illuga’s bright eyes narrowed into an adorable scowl and his cheeks puffed up in what can only be described as the loveliest of pouts. “Let me make it up to you.”
And so, he leans down into a kiss, the hand on his face immediately softening into a caress as Illuga reciprocates, keening into Flins’ touch as he pulls his beloved closer by the waist. They kiss like that languidly, basking in the familiar affection for a good while before Illuga decides to pull away again and demand some answers.
“So, did you simply call me over and worry me for no reason?” He asks with a frown, though the affectionate hand pushing Flins’ hair behind his ear betrays that he is not truly upset.
“As much as I dearly missed you,” Flins replies as he proceeds with the familiar ritual of removing first his own gloves, then Illuga’s, before placing a kiss on the calloused knuckles. “I do have something I’d like to talk to you about.”
“Oh.” Illuga looks with subdued, but all-too-familiar worry. “What is it?”
“Well…” A rare sense of what one might call awkwardness sets over him. “I believe it’s best we sit down for this.”
Illuga nods at him hesitantly, but obediently follows him to sit down on the sofa nonetheless.
“So…?”
“...I suppose it’s best to state it plainly,” Flins responds. “It appears that I am with child.”
Illuga stills. Blinks at him wide-eyed once, twice.
“...That’s not funny,” he finally replies with a scowl.
“I am quite serious, Illuga.”
The use of his name, without any teasing titles, makes his beloved freeze once again.
“... Wait, really?”
“Yes. I’ve experienced some symptoms and I consulted Miss Lauma about it. She is reasonably certain that that’s the cause of it.”
“Wait, so…” He sees the gears start to turn in Illuga’s head before his very eyes, “So I… “ Hands moving between them frantically, “And you…” Illuga starts to flush red, “and when we…” And his eyes finally find Flins’ in their most unadulterated shocked state.
“How?”
“Well, you see, Master Illuga,” Flins tries to comfort him by intertwining their hands, “When two people love each other very much—”
“I know that!” Illuga interrupts indignantly, though slightly less frantic than before. “I mean, I know that you can change your body at will," as Flins often does, like during their last encounter, "but you are still…?”
“Ah. Despite my preferred apperance, those things are less set in stone for the Fae,” Flins explains. “As life forms created ultimately out of elemental energy, we are less governed by our bodies and biology, but rather by our intentions and wishes. If you remember during our last entanglement, I did express a certain desire in the heat of the moment…”
“So you're saying that… you wanted me to come inside you so much that you became pregnant?”
Flins is loathe to put it quite so crudely but... “Essentialy, yes.”
Illuga blinks at him once again, and then slowly brings his free hand to his face while the other one clutches Flins’ hands even tighter. He sees him taken even, uneven, then even again breaths—he knows that Illuga sometimes needs these moments to ground himself, to process, but it always pains him when he knows he cannot do anything but watch and simply be by Illuga’s side.
“...You said you felt some symptoms?” Illuga finally breaks out, face still concealed, voice carefully neutral.
“Only some nausea, and I feel like I’ve gained… weight, for lack of a better word.” He carefully lifts his hand and places it at Illuga’s face, making the other look up at him.
“Just so you know, it is not too late for me to… remove it with little to no repercussions—”
“No!” Illuga suddenly blurts out, startling both Flins, and apparently, himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—And it’s your body so it’s really up to you but—”
“Illuga…” Flins interrupts him before the man can talk himself even more of a panic. “Would you want to keep it?”
Illuga looks down, takes a shaky breath, and then abruptly moves forward to bury his head in Flins’s shoulder. Flins moves back on the sofa for both of them to lie down, the younger Lightkeeper on top of him.
“I… I don’t know.” Flins feels him take another few steadying breaths, and he runs his hands over Illuga’s head in turn. “... Would you?” Illuga eventually asks.
“I never thought about it before, frankly,” Flins replies honestly. He’s only ever appreciated children as small sources of innocent amusement, and he can’t claim to have ever desired idle fancies such as passing on legacies or raising the next generation. He would have been perfectly content observing them from the sidelines as he has done up until this point. Yet the image of a tiny human-fae, resembling himself and Illuga, running around and indulging in sweets and playtime like little Miss Aino or the children in Nasha Town and Piramida…
“I wouldn’t want to make this decision without you,” is what he settles on.
Illuga hums in acknowledgement, but still keeps his face tucked away in the crook of Flins’ neck even as one of his hands trails down idly to rest on his waist.
“... I never thought I’d get to this point,” he slowly admits.
Flins can see why—Illuga doesn’t have to repeat his guilt, his desire to make up for the deaths of others, his inherent need to be useful before allowing himself to be happy, and the little value he puts into his own life in comparison to that of others. They’ve had many arguments on the topic, and Flins has been glad to see his sunshine take slightly better care of himself over the years, even when he still has to needle him about it sometimes.
“The Wild Hunt has died down significantly,” Flins echoes what he guesses to be Illuga’s primary thoughts. “Though our occupation still remains hazardous and uncertain.”
He feels Illuga nod against him. “I… I know what it’s like to lose your parents, and the Wild Hunt can strike at any moment… I wouldn’t want to put our—a child through… any of that.”
Flins, while he cannot relate on a personal level to the loss of family, has seen too many souls die before their time in the harsh land that is Nod-Krai, and the fallout it causes in those who remain. On one side of the coin, orphans are all too common in this land, many learning to count Mora and ask for work before they can read or write, and on the other, too many parents have lost wandering children to the dangers of sudden outbreaks, let alone to more human causes of despair, greed and other tragedies.
Illuga, kind to a fault, is likely thinking of even more possible fates that no innocent child would deserve.
Flins can do nothing but press a kiss to the top of his head. “You know that I will always protect you, and our child.”
Illuga takes another shaky inhale. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise to do whatever I can.” And Illuga knows by now how seriously Flins treats the vows he makes.
Illuga’s hand tightens just a fraction on his waist. “Still, anything could happen. It just takes one unlucky outbreak where I could…”
“Then perhaps the Young Master should reconsider his recklessness, hm?”
Illuha huffs out a laugh. “You know I can’t do that.”
Flins knows all too well. As much as it pains him whenever Illuga gets hurt by throwing himself into danger for the sake of others, he knows that it is both something he cannot change, as well as one of the many reasons he loves Illuga in the first place.
He continues running his hands through Illuga’s hair idly, feeling his beloved’s breath against his nape, his quick heartbeat against his skin.
“For what it’s worth,” he tries slowly, “I think you’d make a lovely father.”
Something like a sob leaves Illuga—something between disbelief and sadness and hope. Flins simply holds him through his trembling shoulders.
It takes a while for him to speak up again. “... Do you still feel sick?”
“Not as much, no.”
“How long do… pregnancies last usually, for Fae?”
“If memory serves me right, about the same as for humans… I suppose it would depend on how much energy I expend on the process, but perhaps Miss Linnea would have more insight than myself.”
Illuga nods against him.
“And would the child be… half-human and half-fae or…?”
“Yes. The specifics may differ on a case-by-case basis, but they do tend to live longer lives and be… sturdier, than humans.”
He feels Illuga relax slightly, to his relief. He doesn’t mention the many tragedies that used to befall Fae nobles who were found to be entangled with lowly creatures such as humans, let alone the bastard children that resulted from those unions—mocked and forced into hiding or otherwise discarded when they didn’t suit someone’s political agenda.
Flins takes in the comforting smell of Illuga, his own type of steadying breath. He lives in a different time now. Villages are much better places to raise children than courts, in any case.
“... Pops would be happy, I think.”
Incorrigible, Flins laments. To think about others first.
But he doesn’t mention it as he replies, “He has been thinking about retiring, hasn’t he?”
Illuga hums an affirmative. “He doesn’t have as much to do these days, but he’s started going hunting with some of the older children again.”
“And Miss Dragana has been sewing some clothes and dolls for Miss Gabieta’s little one, no?”
“Yeah, there’s not as many uniforms to mend, but there have been more people settling into Piramida, so her commissions have been going well… Uncle Marushkin also started playing the flute again, and I saw him teach some kids…”
Understanding passes between them. Should something happen to either of them, even both of them, love still grows abundant—there would be no shortage of it in the people they’ve surrounded themselves with.
“I suppose the hardest part will be to find a suitable replacement for the Cemetery," Flins thinks out loud.
Illuga shifts in his arms to finally look at him. “You’d move away from here?”
“This is hardly a suitable place to raise a child,” Flins replies. “And if we were to commit to this, I certainly don’t intend to be an absentee parent.”
He still sees the doubt swim behind Illuga’s eyes, one hand travelling to Flins’ stomach while the other cradles his face.
“You know,” he finally says as his eyes meet Flins’, “I think you’d make a pretty good dad too.”
That too, is something Flins has never expected to hear in his lifetime.
And yet, Illuga’s gentle voice makes something warm and tender blossom within him nonetheless.
“...How so?”
“You’d be good at telling bedtime stories, for one,” Illuga replies, thumbing idly over Flins’ stomach. “And they’d be spoiled from all the lavish gifts and fancy meals you’d make for them.”
“Well someone would have to prevent them from being fed Mandragora stew—”
Illuga groans indignantly. “I haven’t even eaten them in years!”
“You’re still terribly lucky that you have a natural affinity for kuuvahki to not get sick from them.”
“And you’re made of moonlight, so our baby would be perfectly fine, no?” Illuga pouts up at him.
Our baby—something about the phrase makes his insides blaze hotly, particularly where Illuga is touching his stomach and where he’s certain he feels weight and life under all his layers of clothes.
“...I suppose they would be,” he whispers, before pulling Illuga into a kiss. His beloved makes a surprised sound into his mouth before returning it eagerly, familiar movements of lips and teeth and the slightly shift of hips to align the deepest parts of themselves—
“Wait,” Illuga pulls away suddenly, much to Flins’ dismay. “Should we even…?”
“I haven’t confirmed it without a doubt yet,” he replies, intertwining his hands behind Illuga’s broad shoulders to still keep him close. “But Miss Lauma said she would ask for Miss Columbina’s help. She could probably tell for certain, given my constitution.”
Illuga nods, “Okay,” and then carefully brushes Flins’ bangs out of his face. “Bring me along, next time.”
“It could just be that I have some indigestion issues,” he jokes idly.
Illuga taps at his chest with an eyeroll. “I doubt it, but I’d like to be there for that too.” He then leans down and presses a soft peck on Flins’s lips. “No matter what it is, we’ll get through it together, alright?”
Every time Flins is around Illuga, he thinks he cannot possibly fall for him even more, and yet this man always manages to make his heart light up with sheer love stronger than ever before.
“Of course,” he replies with a kiss on Illuga's cheek.
If he knows anything at all, he knows that they will be alright, no matter what.