Morning of the tenth day of the seventh month, 214.
The Eastern Reach of Hibera.
The royal bedroom.
Gentle knocking at the bedroom door is enough noise to draw Marian Aengus' attention away from the knitting in her pudgy hands. A couple of magically glowing lamps sit on a small table by her bed, offering a little more light to the room other than that she and her unborn children naturally produce.
"Come in?"
And thus enters a certain whitewinged fairy, three inches high, in a white robe with a red sash around the belly and his normal doctor's bag of supplies in his hand.
"Orin!"
"Marian." A few steps carry the doctor forward across the floor; his free hand waggles at the "Knitting?"
"Yes!" Up goes the pink baby jumper, identical to the one-piece pajama jumpers that the Tubbians wear under their robes except for the slits in the back for what will be little, but growing, nubs of wings.
"Pink, hm? You don't know If they're boys or girls yet, sister."
"But they will be pink, either way, Orin, so I'm perfectly safe as long as I don't add any lace or frills or the like."
"I suppose this is true. . . . Now, set that aside, and let's sit you up a little more."
The doctor carefully takes the clothing in progress, setting it on the bedside couch with his bag, before putting arms around the Queen Mother to help lift and resituate her bulk on her mound of pillows.
"Mmph! Dear me! Oswald said it looked as if you were gaining flesh, Mary! By the feel of you, I'd say he's right!"
"Come, come, Orin! Speak for yourself! You've been eating as often as I have! I know you can't pass up a good meal, and you said months ago that you were going to force Oz to eat right alongside the two of us, so he might be a proper Tubbian yet."
Plump, pink pointer finger waggles just below Orin Barrin's round snout before finally tickling the newest of flabby rolls under his chin, setting the doctor to blushing and giggling.
"Stop, Mary! We're both dreadfully ticklish!"
The gesture is returned, the doctor's own pointing finger jiggling at the fairy queen's jowls. "Well, Mary, Oz was right. You're getting a bit plumper in the face. Now, let's see about the babies, hm?"
"And we're both three hundred and eight, and we're both old, and we're both fat." A snort from the Queen Mother. "I"ll not hear another word of any of that."
"Enough! Now, carefully, down with the sheets and up with the gown, if I'm to see your belly."
Sheets are drawn back; nightgown is tugged loose and rolled up, revealing the great, pink dome of a stomach, gleaming its cold, but brilliant, lavender.
"Wonderful!"
White finger, cold and fleshy, touches warm middle, setting the Queen Mother to giggling and squirming. After a moment, the doctor lets his finger poke a little deeper, tracing the pink, glowing, fetal outlines.
"It's working, my darling sister! Or ought I say that it's worked? All four lights are notably larger, now, than when I checked last month, even the little runt of the litter." A smirk at the mother-to-be. "You pink pig."
"Oink, then, Orin!"
A hand is placed down on the fairy queen's belly, lightly pressing and rubbing there. The infants squirm a bit in turn, calling forth more maternal merriment and a quickening of the breath.
"They're doing fine, Mother. In fact, they're doing amazingly well. All four of them seem to have taken quite happily to the abundance of food that Mommy has been sending them. We'll keep doing that. I don't fancy that you'll have aught to fear."
A chuckle as the doctor returns gown and sheets to their proper positions before giving his half-sister a kiss to her jowly cheek.
"Except, of course, delivering four fat, round babies when you're a mother for the first time!"