A/N: I've really been looking forward to this. C: it's my first attempt at mpreg, because I wondered what a Dunmer-Imperial baby would look like :)

...

He should've known, really.

All the signs were there; he just didn't think it applied to them. That being said, he didn't really notice when Dalamus started getting up early in the morning and coming back to bed a little paler than before; he honestly never thought much of it. It wasn't until he actually heard the Dunmer throw up the entire contents of his stomach that he grew concerned.

Dalamus was over in the spare room, kneeling on the floor over a bucket. One arm was curled around his stomach as he retched, and the white hair that usually fell calmly down to his shoulder blades was flung over one side of his head, probably in hopes of being out of the way. With a frown etched into his face the mage went in and kneeled beside him, pulling his hair back with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. The Dragonborn finally paused long enough to close his mouth, swallow feebly and make a little disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

"Are you okay?"

The elf shook his head, a furrow in his sweating brow as he leaned his forehead against the rim of the bucket. "No… I don't know what's wrong with m –"

A single, strong convulsion wracked his frame right before he threw up again, and when finished he sat back with a tiny whimper and a clutch at his abdomen. "… Me."

"How long has this been going on?"

It seemed to take a bit of exertion to get his eyes to focus on his husband. "A few days… maybe a week?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marcurio was still rubbing circles into his back, voice soft and concerned.

He swallowed hard, made a disgusted sort of face, and shook his head. "I didn't want you to worry… it's no big deal."

"Well, I'm worried. And it is a big deal."

"So I have a little morning sickness, it's not the end of the world. I'm fine." Dalamus' tone was an attempt at finality, but he didn't quite match it since his voice still shook a little.

"If you say so."

Marcurio had barely gotten the words out before Dalamus' stomach lurched and he leaned for the bucket again.

…

"Do we have any mudcrab chitin?"

Marcurio's entire face scrunched in confusion, "No, of course not."

Dalamus groaned in disappointment. "Why not?"

"Because you hate all things that swim."

He couldn't help but smile at how it was worded. "I don't know, I'm really craving mudcrab at the moment."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course," he smiled widely, and looked over at the door. "I'll go see if the market has any."

"And if they don't?" Marcurio crossed his arms as Dalamus pulled on a shirt and his boots.

He was halfway out of the door when he answered. "I'll go kill one myself!"

With a sigh the mage went back to the alchemy lab, where he was boiling a large quantity of dragon's tongue nectar for some salve a customer wanted. Once all the water boiled out, a thick, sticky substance would be left over for whatever use they had in mind. He observed it carefully, reducing and enlarging the flame as needed, and finally left it alone when he was satisfied.

After that he shaved the three days' worth of stubble from his cheeks, leaving the little triangle below his lip neat, and sat down in front of the fire pit to try the telekinesis spell he'd never really gotten the hang of.

He actually had the cooking pot up a few inches when Dalamus came in the house, a basket in one arm and a grin on his face. Needless to say, Marcurio's concentration was shattered and the pot fell rudely back into its holder.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the Dunmer murmured, looking down at the slightly disappointed expression on his husband's face. "If you need me to stay quiet, I will."

"No, no, no, I'm done, I have a headache," he sighed, leaning back in the chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. Dalamus chuckled and approached him, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You shaved," he noted, appreciation in his voice, and kissed him again.

"Did you get your mudcrab?" the mage asked with a smile, enjoying the soft press of his 'wife's' lips.

Dalamus put his hands on his hips. "You know what, I was on my way to get some, but then I decided I wanted some salmon."

"You especially hate salmon."

"I know, but I really wanted some," he licked his lips, then looked at Marcurio with excitement in his eyes. "Guess what else I got."

"What's that?"

"There's this amulet that was stolen by bandits..." he trailed off theatrically, enticing the slight raise of Marcurio's brow, "And we're gonna go get it."

"And why does this excite you so much?"

"It's in the Rift. I thought you might want to stop in Riften, see some old friends."

The Imperial smiled. "When do we leave?"

"Whenever you want."

"After dinner?"

"Good choice."

...

By the end of the day they had made it all the way around the base of the Throat of the World, and stopped in Ivarstead as the horizon blazed a dying gold. The Vilemyr Inn was a quaint little place, with friendly people and good ale, and before long Marcurio and Dalamus went up to their rented room for a good night's rest.

At least, the Dragonborn would've had a good night's rest if he hadn't woken up in the middle of the night with an obscenely painful cramp in his stomach. It wasn't even in one specific area; it just felt like his entire abdomen was trying to squeeze his organs up out of his body. He let out a piteous little groan, rolled out of Marcurio's arms, and trudged across the room to where his bag was. A few seconds of rifling procured a healing potion of some sort - he didn't remember what it was and really didn't care - and he downed it as fast as he could.

Marcurio felt the lack of warmth along his front within seconds, and mumbled out, "Dal, what'cha doin'...?"

"Nothing." he was glad that the Imperial hadn't opened his eyes to ask, lest he see the bottle.

"Come back to bed."

He paused for a few seconds, waiting for his muscles to relax, then shuffled back to the bed when the pain seemed to dull a little. Marcurio's arm looped over his torso, pulling him back against the mage's chest, and he chuckled. "You're gettin' fat."

"I don't know why," Dalamus mumbled; he had, in fact, discovered the little protrusion of his otherwise flat stomach a few days prior.

"Eat a little less salmon?"

Dalamus snorted. "Ass."

…

When Marcurio actually got up in the morning, ready to move on toward Riften, he frowned knowingly at the absence of his husband from the room. He wouldn't go on to bother him immediately, though; if he was having morning sickness again he'd be back soon enough. So he gathered up their things and went down the stairs.

"Your elf friend went outside," Wilhelm – the innkeeper – intoned, not even looking up as he wiped a ring of moisture from the surface of the counter, "He looked pretty sick to me."

With a short word of thanks Marcurio went out to get him. Dal couldn't have gotten far; if he looked sick before he even left the inn, the farthest he would've gone was behind the building.

And that's exactly where he was, a hand to his stomach as he leaned against the wall of the inn. His face was a deathly pale shade of the normal navy and his breaths came in slight snatches.

"We're going to a healer." The Imperial said, voice strict and final as he crossed his arms.

Dalamus opened his eyes, frowned as best he could, "I don't need it."

"Says the one who just threw up his entire dinner."

"It isn't a big deal, Marc," it was actually a whine; eyebrows pitched upwards, fists curled slightly with determination, "I don't need it."

"Is this feeding off of your 'worry' complex?"

"What's a worry complex, Marc?" he looked more guilty than annoyed, but the latter was actually present.

"'I didn't want you to worry,'" he used the exact same words Dalamus used every damn time, "You'd rather let yourself get worse than tell me you were ever bad in the first place."

The Dunmer sighed, swallowed, made a disgusted little face. "Not until we get to

Whiterun."

Marcurio hadn't had a compromise in mind, but there was no way he'd let the elf wait that long. "No. Riften."

"Fine." Dalamus sighed, pushed himself off of the wall. "Alright, let's go."

As they left the little town Marcurio handed the Dragonborn his things. Dal searched his bag for an apple, but only after securing his quiver and bow neatly on his back, and turned to offer the mage one.

The dragons must have been a little pissed off that the dark elf had slain Alduin; along their way to Riften they met not one, not two, not even three, but four of them. In the space of a few hours. Marcurio had never seen the Dragonborn fight so much, and by noon he was exhausted – not only from the fighting, but the amount of souls he had consumed in the last few hours. He more or less begged to stop and sleep – maybe not verbally, but eyes and body language told everything – but the mage didn't want to; the sooner they got to Riften the sooner they could find out what was wrong with Dalamus. So he just got the elf up on his horse, taking his bag off in exchange, and led it on as the Dovakiin began snoring softly.

With Marcurio's persistence and the horse's steady plod, they made it to Riften well after night set in. Masser and Secunda were high in the sky, highlighted by the aurora, and he led the horse over to the stables.

Thus began the task of waking Dalamus up.

"Dal... Dal, wake up," he said softly, reaching up to shake his shoulder in an attempt to make this easy. He didn't even know why he tried that; the elf slept like a rock, unfeeling when unconscious, and it would take much more to rouse him.

So he shook a harder, making the Dragonborn's entire body shake a little, but that only got him a little moan of complaint and a furrow in his brow.

"Dalamus Andreas-Releth, wake the hell up!" he growled, using Dal's entire name before casting a very light fire spell along the Dovakiin's bicep. He didn't feel bad at all; he was resistant to fire, anyway, and it wasn't a very strong spell. So he couldn't help but feel a little accomplished when Dal shot upright on the horse, hand already flying in the direction of his quiver as if he was being attacked.

"Welcome back to Nirn, love," Marcurio teased, thoroughly amused by the annoyed frown on the other's lips.

"Where are we?" the adventurer asked, instead of justifying the snide remark with a response.

"Riften. Now, we could always rent a room at the Bee and Barb, or would you rather sleep on the horse?"

"Stop being mean to me, I just woke up," Dalamus pouted, got off the horse, and cracked his neck - judging from the way he tilted his head. "I'm never sleeping on a moving horse again."

"I'm holding you to that."

With a little snort the elf led his horse up into the stables, got him all settled in, and they headed into the city.

The first one at the Bee and Barb to notice them was Talen-Jei. "Marcurio?"

"The one and only," the mage in question grinned, grasping his old friend's forearm. "Missed me, didn't you?"

"You would think that. I swear, once this one came along, you disappeared!" he grinned widely, reaching for the elf's arm as he said it.

"Nice to see you, too, Talen-Jei."

Marcurio laughed. "Well, I love the guy. What could I do?"

Keerava came over, gave them both hugs. "What brings you back to Riften?"

"We can't just stop in for a visit?" the Imperial asked, feigning insult, but then he smiled, "The Harbinger here has a mission just outside of town."

"You're heading out so soon?"

"Maybe, it depends," he answered with a sidelong glance at Dalamus, who sighed and looked away. Keerava sensed the slight tension in the room and tried to break it; "A few rounds of mead, anyone? On the house."

And, of course, Dalamus was the very first one sitting at the bar.

...

"Come on, Dalamus!"

"No, I don't want to! You bloody well know that!"

"You promised!"

"The hell I did!"

This was the conversation someone would've heard had they passed by the mage who was dragging his Dunmer companion down the wooden walkway. Marcurio was trying to yank the Dovakiin by the back of his studded armor, with Dalamus marching heavily in the opposite direction, even though he wasn't moving forward at all. There was a determined scowl on his face, brow furrowed, teeth bared just a little bit, but he made no progress whatsoever; Marcurio's steady pull backwards overtook his struggle to get away. Soon enough they made it to the Temple of Mara, and he was only able to hang onto the door for a few seconds before he was pulled completely inside.

To Dalamus' credit, the Imperial was actually huffing a little when he finally got his husband inside the temple. Maramal, from another side of the room, gave them an odd look but smiled and went over to meet them.

"Welcome back, you two," Maramal murmured kindly, "I trust these last few months have been well?"

"Yes, excellent," he couldn't hold back a smile as he pressed a kiss to Dal's temple. "Is Nura here?"

The priest's brows dipped in either confusion or concern, "... Of course. She's farther in."

"Thank you." he took his husband's hand, more to keep him from leaving than just to hold it, and went back further into the temple to meet with Nura. The older Nord woman smiled at them when Marcurio greeted her, and asked what brought them to her.

"I think he's sick, but the stubborn ass wouldn't go to a healer. I had to drag him in here as it is," he said it with a slight smile, "Would you mind looking him over?"

"Of course," and she turned to Dalamus. "What are your symptoms?"

"Morning sickness, nausea, these weird cravings, and I had a really terrible cramp last night, like, my entire stomach..." he ran them off boredly, like it was nothing, and ignored the little sigh his husband let out at the last one."And I'm gaining weight for no apparent reason."

"Does it show anywhere other than your abdomen?"

"... No, not really."

"It sounds like you're pregnant to me."

Dalamus just looked at her. Marcurio just looked at her. Neither could control the smirk crawling across their faces, spreading into a grin, giving way to chuckles and finally full blown laughter - gut-busting, tear-jerking laughter that left them slightly breathless. But when they caught their bearings and looked up, the priestess stared back at them with a completely straight face.

Dalamus blanched and Marcurio's throat tightened. They managed it at the same moment, "Oh, my Gods."

"Not all of them, just Mara in particular."

"How is that even... possible?" the Imperial had to ask, breaking his question in two with a hard swallow.

"I've never seen it myself, but legend has it that Mara will bless those who have made a large personal sacrifice for others with a child, especially if the couple in question wouldn't be able to procreate otherwise."

Dalamus spoke up this time, but just barely, "... Why not just make me a woman?"

"Who you are is not for her to control," Nura answered evenly, "Who you love, however, and what becomes of that love, is where her influence lies."

"Gods..." he sighed, sat heavily on the bench behind him.

"If there is any further doubt you would like to absolve, there is a spell that can detect the heartbeat of an unborn infant."

Marcurio's interest was piqued, "Why not use the normal detect life spell?"

"Detect Life is not strong enough to show such a minute heartbeat. For this we use Detect Pulse."

It only took a few moments for Marcurio to learn the spell - as Dalamus watched this process he distantly wondered why the Imperial wasn't bloody Arch-Mage yet - and when he cast it a soft pink aurora surrounded his hand. Nura instructed him to hold his hand close to his husband's stomach, but not on it, as the interference of magic on such a small life may alter its growth. He followed her every direction to the letter, trying to be as careful as he could with what could be his child, and...

There was a pulse.

It was a tiny little thing, soft and barely there, but... it was a pulse, beating into the magic on his palm. He sighed and a large smile spread, unbidden, across his face.

"Dal, she's right... you're pregnant."

...

A/N: I think my favorite part was having Marc drag Dal down the street :3