Fatherhood
Blinky had never intended to become a father. It had simply happened, mostly without him even noticing. It had crept up on him; a slow realization that he cared more deeply for James Lake Jr than he had ever intended, or than he had ever thought possible.
It wasn't as though the idea of fatherhood was unappealing to him — far from it — it had simply never seemed as though it was going to happen for him, and he had been okay with that. He had his books, he had Aaarrgghh!, and that had always felt like enough.
And then, one night, standing on a rooftop of the human town that had sprung up above Trollmarket, it had occurred to him, quite unexpectedly that he did in fact have a son. Not a biological son, true, but biology was less important than how one felt. Far less important, apparently, given that Jim's actual father had abandoned him as an infant.
Blinky's only regret was not having said what he did sooner, while Jim had still been human, so that he would know that Blinky had already felt that way, and that it had nothing to do with the transformation. How he looked was irrelevant; Jim had become a part of his family a long time ago.
If only he had known what Merlin had been planning to do, Blinky liked to think he would have told Jim sooner; perhaps it would have come up while discussing his options with him, considering Merlin's plan from all angles and deciding together whether or not it was worth the risk. In reality, he wasn't so sure. Would it have occurred to him to say those particular words? They had been spoken on the spur of the moment, the truth they had revealed only apparent afterward.
A son. He had a son.
For a moment, Blinky had felt guilty; as though by saying such a thing aloud, especially in light of Jim's recent transformation, he was somehow pulling him away from his true family; claiming him for his own. He had dismissed the thought quickly; he didn't know Barbara Lake as well as he would have liked, but he knew her enough to be certain that nothing would drive a wedge between her and her son, not even Merlin and his accursed potions. As for Jim's father, well, if he had truly chosen to walk out and abandon his infant son — and on his birthing day no less — quite frankly he had given up any rights he had to the boy.
Anyway, it had been clear at the time that Jim had needed to hear those words. They had helped him. To Blinky's surprise, he had needed to say it too; he hadn't realized quite how much until it was out there.
Blinky glanced around him in a way that he hoped appeared casual, trying to check on Jim without making it obvious that was what he was doing. He found him exactly where he had been the last time he had looked, seated on the ground, back hunched a little as he leaned forward to rest an elbow on a knee. He seemed to stare directly forward, looking at nothing.
They couldn't rest here for long; they only had so much nighttime in which to travel, and miles yet to cover before the sun began to rise. Seeing the clear signs of exhaustion in both Jim and Claire, Blinky had called a stop anyway. The journey so far had not been especially arduous, but Claire was human, and Jim still half, and neither of them had the stamina of most trolls. Jim was also injured from the battle. The two of them were seated together, Jim's arm wrapped protectively around her, Claire leaning her head against his body. She was sleeping. Jim was not.
Blinky watched for a moment out of the corner of his leftmost eye; still, after all these days, trying to reconcile the troll he saw now with the human boy that he had watched grow into a skilled trollhunter. It was difficult. Not impossible, but difficult. From a distance Jim looked so different. It wasn't until he got closer, spoke to him, watched his mannerisms and felt the warmth of his personality, that he could see someone he recognized underneath. It would take time, but he would grow accustomed to it. And so, he supposed, would Jim.
That was going to take longer.
Blinky knew from personal experience that a change of that nature was not an easy thing to adjust to. He had enjoyed his brief foray into humanity, but only on the proviso that it was a temporary affliction, one that would eventually be rectified, albeit with no guarantees as to when. For Jim, there was no such promise.
Blinky had never expected to be a father, but now that he had realized that he was, he intended to do it right. It occurred to him that there was probably more to parenthood than helping your son build a vespa and teaching him how to wield a sword made of daylight. Like, for example, guiding him through the transition from one species to another, and helping him begin to accept himself when he could barely recognize his own reflection.
Actually, now Blinky thought about it, this was probably not going to be your typical father-son relationship.