Chapter Text
The foe Alfred found himself locked in combat against was like none he’d ever faced before. Their fighting styles were somehow identical, each of them able to predict the other’s every move. Their weapons clashed, time and time again, until the Firenese king finally gained the upper hand.
His opening found, Alfred pierced his lance through the foe’s armor, striking them through the abdomen. The force of the blow knocked the enemy right off of their horse, sending them toppling straight to the ground. The helmet that had been obscuring their face was removed by the impact of their head against the pavement, allowing Alfred to finally get a closer look at this mystery foe: a young, thin man who appeared to be in his late teenage years. Kneeling down to peer at his face, Alfred saw the features of his own; his hair was even the same color. The only thing distinguishing this dying enemy from Alfred himself was his eyes: one blue, one red.
A horrible realization dawned upon him: this was his and Alear’s child . He’d slain his own flesh and blood, just as Alear’s wicked father had done to all of her and Veyle’s siblings. Alfred scrambled to lift up his son from the growing puddle of crimson beneath him, cradling the boy’s slender frame in his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” Alfred stammered out, his eyes quickly becoming bleary with tears. “I-I had no idea!” His vision was now completely blurred, unable to make out any of his surroundings other than the unmistakable red of his son’s blood.
Suddenly, the harsh wail of a newborn rang out. Alfred wiped his wet eyes with the fabric of his sleeve, allowing clarity to return to the world. The enemy he’d slain had somehow turned into an infant, with all the same features and the same deep, fatal wound in his middle, the blood still spilling from the gash. Alfred recognized the infant, his heart sinking as the baby in his arms continued to cry. This was the very child Alear had just given birth to. The same baby that had-
Jolting awake with quick, frantic breaths, Alfred sat up and looked around at his surroundings. He was safe in bed, in his and Alear’s room in the Somniel. He turned his head, finding Alear still sleeping by his side, her chest still rising and falling as always. He didn’t dare disturb her. The Divine Dragon had been utterly exhausted from giving birth, and worn out from the subsequent intense sobs that had racked her body once the infant had…
He found himself unable to breathe, his chest tightening as though someone had forcibly squeezed him. The memory of the previous day’s events came rushing back like a stampede of cavalry. Their baby was gone. Born too early and much too weak to survive outside his mother’s womb, the new parents had only gotten to hold their son for a few, too-short minutes before he passed, his light gone out like the flickering flame of a burning candle.
It was not a nightmare Alfred had experienced, but rather a quick glimpse of what their son might have looked like had he been given the chance to grow up, then a grim reminder of the awful reality. A cruel trick by his own mind.
Dreams such as these had been commonplace ever since their first child was stillborn two and a half years ago. He’d drift off each night, hoping that in sleep he could experience a short reprieve from the truth that surrounded and followed him like a miasma, only to see their daughter’s face in his dreams and helplessly watch her die, again and again. Alfred had confided in Céline after he’d spent several months a victim to the cruelty of his nightmares, and the princess had confessed to having had similar nightmares throughout the years of Alfred himself suddenly dropping dead. She’d assured him that they would slowly cease over time, just as hers had begun to.
He’d been dismayed to learn that his sister had been experiencing the same horrors within her dreams as he had, even if he had also felt some level of solidarity from having someone to share the experience with. But Céline’s nightmares at least had the silver lining of helping remind her to cherish her brother and the time they still had together. His were nothing more than a permanent reminder that his child was gone, and nothing he or Alear could do would ever bring her back.
That child’s impending birth had been a public affair: he and Alear had been overjoyed to learn they were expecting an heir, and they’d hardly been able to wait to announce it to all their family and friends. They’d waited so, so long for the infant’s arrival- what sparse knowledge on dragons remained had suggested that Alear’s gestation period would last around a year and a half. It had allowed ample time to construct a nursery in the Somniel and to update the one in Firene Castle, and for Alfred to personally sew and embroider handmade clothes and stuffed toys. Alfred didn’t even enjoy sewing, but he wanted their child to be able to appreciate having handmade gifts from their father; they were personal mementos to remember him by once he was gone. The extensive length of Alear’s pregnancy had also been long enough that by the time it’d neared its end, the entire continent had been waiting with bated breath for the day the next Divine Dragon would enter the world.
That was, until one fateful day, only a few weeks before the day Alear was expected to give birth, when she no longer felt the child moving within her. She hadn’t been too worried then, figuring the baby simply didn’t have much room to move around anymore with how big she’d grown. But the pair had met with Firene’s royal physicians anyway, just to be safe. The moment they’d received the news that their baby had died was forever burned into Alfred’s memory, any attempts at scrubbing it away proving futile. After Alear had given birth to an infant who showed not even the smallest hint of a sign of life, she’d spent the next hour weeping harder than she had even at the death of Queen Lumera, whom the baby was supposed to have been named for but ended up being buried next to.
None of the doctors or midwives were sure what had happened. There was no one explanation they could agree upon for the cause of the infant’s prenatal death. It’d happened so suddenly, for as far as anyone could tell, the baby had been perfectly healthy up until then.
When news of the tragedy had inevitably spread, they’d received visitors in Firene from every corner of Elyos, leaving bunches of forget-me-nots and chrysanthemums along with their condolences.
This second pregnancy had been a much more private matter. None but the couple’s most trusted allies were told, out of fear that something would again go horribly, terribly wrong. Whispers had begun circulating when the Divine Dragon Monarch started to wear clothing that obscured her figure and lessened her public appearances, but nothing had been confirmed to the public. That, Alfred supposed, was the one thing he and Alear had to be thankful for this time. He wasn’t sure if either of them would be able to bear the death of their child becoming a continent-wide affair for a second time.
The sun had not yet risen, Alfred realized. He figured he ought to go for a jog. Perhaps if he pushed himself hard enough in his early-morning workout, he could forget, just for a short moment, that he and his wife had lost yet another child. The Firenese king silently changed into his workout gear before heading out to run as many laps around the Somniel as he could before his legs gave out.
He focused with all his might on the burning in his legs, on the beating of his heart, on his breathing, on the breeze against his face as he raced around the Somniel in solitude. He ran as fast as his body would allow him, some small part of him hoping in vain that he could free himself from the grief and sorrow that weighed him down like a suit of heavy armor if he just kept going.
Panting heavily, Alfred eventually found himself slowing to a halt by the pool when his body could take no more. He collapsed onto one of the poolside benches, bringing a hand to his forehead as he slowed his breathing. He closed his eyes, the location allowing him the chance to reminisce. For once, a memory came to mind that could bring a smile to his face.
He’d been swimming laps, Alear watching as she’d lounged on a cushioned bench, a hand on her swollen belly.
“You might want to slow down,” Alear had lovingly teased. “If you’re not paying attention, you might crash into one of the walls!”
“I'm not all that focused on the speed,” Alfred had told her. “I'm just trying to stay a strong swimmer! I’ve got to keep up good form if I want to teach our little daisy how to swim someday.”
He remembered the quizzical look on Alear’s face when he’d first used that nickname to refer to the baby. He’d reminded her of what the flower symbolized: new beginnings. They’d received bouquet after bouquet of them during Alear’s first pregnancy, and Alfred had embroidered them onto a blanket in the nursery.
As the sun began to rise, Alfred rose in turn, walking towards the pool to stare at his reflection in the water. He brought a fingertip to the water’s surface, watching the ripples form. Twisting and turning so that he could get a view of his full figure, he couldn’t help but feel dismayed at just how similar he looked to how he did when he and the Divine Dragon had first met. She’d been able to save his life by blessing him with better health after he’d finally opened up to her about his illness, but she hadn’t been able to grant him muscles.
He supposed it didn’t really matter, not right now. No amount of muscles nor training could ever help him and Alear bear a healthy child if what killed them was in his very blood. One stillbirth could be chalked up to unforeseen misfortune. But with this second child’s early death, Alfred could no longer hide from the possibility that he was the problem. He himself had inherited his frailness from his father, who had passed during an epidemic when Alfred and Céline were still children. It was impossible to tell just how far back this history of illness could be traced through his lineage. When his and Alear’s first child had passed, Queen Ève had confided in the two that she, too, had lost a baby before Alfred had been born. Perhaps the reason their children couldn’t survive was the curse of frailty that ran through his very blood.
The entertaining of such a notion, one Alfred had been trying so desperately to escape from the possibility of, filled his eyes with tears. He’d caused Alear so much pain; he’d failed as a father before his children could even be born, just by sharing his blood with them. If he’d been quicker to accept the possibility that he had been the reason for their first child’s death, perhaps Alear could have conceived a child with a surrogate and delivered a strong, healthy baby. It wouldn’t have made a difference to Alfred- he’d have raised the child as his own either way. Someday, once Alear had had sufficient time to grieve and felt ready to try for another child, he could suggest the option to her. The Firenese royal bloodline could continue through Céline, it wasn’t imperative that he be the one to produce a legitimate heir.
Morning was beginning to dawn. It was possible Alear had awoken by now, Alfred realized. He ought to return to their bedchambers; if she was awake, he didn’t want to leave her all alone. His duty as a husband was to remain steady by her side and support her throughout all the trials life faced them with. The last thing he wanted was to make his wife think that he had left her too.
As Alfred reentered their private quarters, he saw Alear stir in bed. The Divine Dragon was a heavy sleeper- his footsteps and the opening of the door wouldn’t have been enough to wake her. She must have already been awake. Still, she remained silent. Alfred quietly climbed back into bed, gently stroking Alear’s cheek. It was wet, and there were tears staining the pillow and bedsheets as well. He silently cursed himself for leaving his wife’s side at all. He should’ve stayed here with her, so she didn’t have to wake up by her lonesome, with neither her child nor her husband there with her.
“I’m here, Alear,” he reminded her, attempting to make up for not having been there when she’d awoken.
Alear tried to respond, but found herself unable to get any words out, with only a few hoarse sobs escaping her. She was clutching something tightly to her chest. Fixing his gaze on it, Alfred recognized the object: a plush Firenese cat he had sewn as a gift for this second baby.
“You went to the nursery?” Alfred asked, figuring that must have been she’d retrieved the stuffed animal from.
“I did,” Alear answered. “When I woke up, I held on to some small bit of hope that everything had just been a bad dream. I saw the bassinet was empty, so I went to the nursery and I just… I’d hoped I could find him there.”
Alfred extended his arms, wrapping his wife in a loving embrace. She stayed frozen in place, refusing to let go of the stuffed cat as she clung to the memento of their child’s brief existence.
Alear eventually turned to lie on her back, still holding the plush as she gazed up at the ceiling.
“I wish I had someone to pray to,” she spoke up after several minutes of silence. “People pray to me for all manner of things. And I do what I can to help them, but I can’t do anything for myself.” She closed her eyes for a few moments before adding, “…Or for our children.”
Before Alfred could speak, the Divine Dragon continued to pour out all that she had been feeling. “People see me as a deity, and I guess I am, in a way. But really, I’m so powerless,” she explained, her eyes welling up with tears yet again. “I think people are going to realize that soon enough. After all, the Divine Dragon herself can’t deliver a healthy child. Why should people have faith in me to help them with that if I can’t even do it for myself?”
“Alear, that’s not true”, Alfred protested, heartbroken to hear his beloved wife speak of herself in such a way. “You’re not powerless. Look at all you’ve accomplished, people revere you for a reason!” He took a deep breath. “Neither of us want to say it, but we both know the problem is me.”
“What?” Alear questioned, turning to face her husband. “Alfred, please…”
Feeling tears prick at his eyes, Alfred continued on as he desperately tried to hold them back. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m the reason our…” He was trying so hard to be strong for her, but he could no longer conceal his despair. “I’m the reason our babies keep dying,” he choked out as his cries escaped him.
“I was worried you’d feel this way,” Alear sighed as she rubbed her husband’s back. “Please, please don’t say things like that. This isn’t your fault. And I know it’s not mine either, it’s just that I wish, so desperately, that there was something I could’ve done. That I could save our babies like I saved you.”
“I saw him when he was born… he was so weak. Just like me, and just like my father.”
“But that was because he was born too early, wasn’t it?” Alear reminded him. “When we talked to the doctors about what might’ve caused it to happen, they didn’t say anything about illness on the father’s side.”
Alfred didn’t know how to respond. Of course, he wanted to believe she was right. That whatever had caused the deaths of their children had nothing to do with him, and that there was still hope that someday they’d be able to bear a strong, healthy child. But how much more pain was he willing to put the both of them through? How many more babies did they have to lose before they either had one who survived or accepted that it wasn’t meant to be?
“I still want to try again someday,” Alear told her husband. “Not anytime soon, of course. We need time to grieve, but… I’m not ready to give up.”
“…When that time comes, I think you should have the child with a surrogate,” Alfred suggested. “I promise, I’ll still love them as my child either way. I’ll be their father all the same.”
Alear shook her head. “I’m not giving up on either of us. I know it’s going to be a long road, but I truly believe we’re going to get there someday.”
Ever the optimist, she was. Alfred had always done his best to be one as well, but he didn’t know how much he wanted to believe in this if another mishap could cause the two of them so much grief and suffering.
“Remember when I told you I didn’t agree when you said you weren’t ‘worthy’ of being my friend?”
“Yeah, of course I do.” It’d been so many years ago, but Alfred still recalled it as one of the most important moments of his life.
“Well, you’re far more than worthy, both of being my friend and my husband. And you’re just as worthy of being the father to our children.”
“It isn't a question of worthiness”, Alfred sighed. “It’s about what runs in my blood. My father was just as frail as I used to be, and my mother lost a child too.”
For the first time since before their newborn son’s death, Alear smiled. “And what happened the next time she was pregnant after that?” She cupped her husband’s cheek. “She had you. You were her miracle. And someday, we’re going to have a miracle too.”
He knew well enough that miracles were indeed possible, with or without the power of Emblems. If Alear had chosen to keep believing in a miracle, then Alfred supposed he was going to believe as well. He was her husband, after all. He’d vowed to support her in sickness and in health, in spite of every obstacle they would face.
“Well, we’ve already fought so hard to get here,” Alfred considered. “I guess we can’t give up now, right?”
“That’s right,” Alear answered. She placed a sweet, tender kiss on Alfred’s forehead. “When we’re ready to try again, you and I are going to do everything we possibly can to ensure that our child is safe and healthy. We’re going to keep fighting for our miracle, okay?”
Alfred finally found the strength within him to smile as well. “We will,” he vowed. “And until that day comes, I won’t ever leave your side again.”