"It's A Boy"
Note: Fergus is unintentionally sexist and makes one of his biggest parenting snafus, although this won't be apparent for quite some time. Roy reluctantly starts his flying lessons, with some amusing results. Slightly shorter chapter than I would usually post, but I wanted to focus on one thing at a time here. Fergus and Cori are usually on the same page, but as you can see, they're not perfect. Then again, who is? XD
"Chapter 6: Flying Lesson"
September 12th, 1513
Flying lessons didn't happen as soon as Fergus and Cori had hoped. Roy, who had gotten overly excited and tried out his new wings on the first day before his parents could stop him, had ended up careening into a wall. He'd screamed bloody murder, and it soon became clear that he was more frightened than hurt, but after that he simply refused to try at all. For the next six months, whenever Daddy would bring up flying lessons, he would either pretend he didn't hear or vehemently protest until Momma gave him his way. 'He's not ready,' his mother had said, and he quite agreed.
Fergus didn't like it when Cori undermined his authority, and he was not the most patient man in the world, but he had been extremely patient with Roy, all things considered. He understood why the boy was scared, and he did sympathize. Still, the time had come. Fairy pregnancies generally lasted twenty-four months, as opposed to the humans' nine, and they were every bit as uncomfortable. Perhaps even more so, though neither race could make that comparison.
Now, with Cori's due date looming, Fergus's patience had run out. He might not have the time to properly teach their son when there was a new baby to care for, and he wanted to avoid another accident. If Roy didn't know how to fly by the time his new sibling was born, Fergus might not be able to intervene in time if another flying attempt went awry. With flying, the best way to learn it was to do it, and to have someone there to catch.
Roy looked back and forth as his parents argued across the breakfast table, poking disconsolately at his scrambled eggs.
"Cori, he's three years old. Most of us are flying within a week or two of getting our wings, and it's already been six months," Fergus declared, unwilling to back down this time. He reached across the table and poured himself some water from the pitcher. Then, trying to be mannerly, offered it to his wife instead. Cori waved it away, and he took a long drink.
"But he's scared," Cori protested, "If you force him, he might end up hating it."
"Nonsense," He snorted. "Our people don't hate flying."
Roy didn't hate flying, as long as he was a passenger. What he didn't particularly care for was crashing. He had already made his opinions clear, and he saw no reason to butt in and repeat himself. Besides, Daddy hated to be interrupted, and could be a bit gruff when this happened.
Cori frowned. Her mood swings hadn't been bad, but she was more inclined to insist on having her way, and she did so now. "Fergus...I'm his mother, and I don't want him to learn before he's ready."
Fergus steadily met her gaze. "Well, I'm his father, and I don't want him growing up to be a nervous tumblebug. Being afraid of something you have to do doesn't let you off having to do it, and the sooner he learns this the better. Now, I won't be harsh with him, and I won't let him fly into a wall this time. You just trust me and let me handle this. Go put your feet up."
Fergus had meant to sound reasonable and supportive, but as sometimes happened, he come off in an entirely different way than he meant to.
"Well!" Cori took her napkin off her lap and dropped it on the table, sweeping out of the room as gracefully as her pregnant belly would allow. She saw the truth in his words, and she knew her husband hadn't meant to sound like he was patronizing her. Still, his slightly condescending tone, however unintentional it had been, had irked her. Rather than use scathing language around their son, she absented herself from the table.
Roy wanted his mother to take him with her, but this was not to be. He pushed the cold lumps of scrambled egg around his plate and looked up at his father. "You in trouble, Daddy?"
"No more than usual," Fergus hunched his shoulders as the bedroom door slammed. Then, seeing what his son was doing, he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Don't play with your food, son. Are you going to finish it?"
"It's cold," Roy complained.
"That's because you let it sit there for too long." Fergus clumsily ruffled his boy's hair, and Roy smiled in spite of himself. "You know, you shouldn't waste food. It's Mother Nature's bounty."
Roy squinted. "What's a 'boundy'?"
"Never mind. If you're not going to eat, it's time for your first flying lesson."
Roy liked scrambled eggs, but he didn't care for them when they were cold. Still, he dutifully began to eat, drawing it out for as long as possible, until he reluctantly put the last bite into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and probably more than was necessary, but he soon realized that this stalling tactic was futile. He swallowed the mouthful of liquid scrambled eggs and tried one more time to forestall the inevitable. "Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"I don't wanna learn to fly."
Fergus was ready for this. Calmly, he cleared his son's plate and began to wash the dishes. "That's all right. You don't have to want it. But it's still going to happen."
"Nooo!" Roy whined, tears impending.
Fergus froze as a long forgotten memory surfaced. He remembered how his own father had reacted when he had been the one in Roy's shoes. Fergus had whined about something, and...
Pain.
That was all he remembered. Pain in his back, brought on by the wrenching twist of a wing. The almost electric shock of his magic surging to mend the damage. Fergus would never have done such a thing. Never. But it wasn't the sound of the whining that bothered him, nor his son's disobedience. It was the fact that whining and crying might make Roy a target someday. After all, it had happened to him, and the who had done it was his own flesh and blood. His son wouldn't face such a thing, not if he had anything to say about it. This behavior had to be nipped in the bud, and quick.
He hastily dried off his hands and turned to face his son again, his expression as serious as Roy had ever seen it, and he put a finger to the boy's lips. Roy was so surprised by this that he immediately fell silent. Fergus lowered his finger. "Listen to me. Are you listening?"
Roy gulped, then nodded.
Fergus lowered his voice to impart what he thought was a very important life lesson. "No more crying. You're getting too old for that. You're going to be a man someday, and men don't do that. The other boys will tease you for it. Crying is something only girls and women do, and the sooner you realize that, the less trouble you'll have later on. Do you understand?"
Roy didn't understand, but he nodded anyway, swallowing his tears.
Fergus's eyes softened as he tried to ignore his own misgivings. On one hand, he was the father, and he had the final say in what was what. On the other hand, was he expecting too much from such a young child? He thought that, maybe, he was. But he couldn't go back on his word once he had put his foot down. This would only cause confusion.
"I know you're only three years old. But you won't be three years old forever. Momma and I won't always be able to pick you up and carry you. And you're going to have a new brother or sister soon, so we'll be busy with the baby." Fergus picked Roy up out of his chair and sat him on the edge of the table. "And we'll need your help."
"My help?" Roy pointed to himself, his eyes widening. Up until now, all he'd been told was that he'd have someone new to play with. But the idea that his parents might actually need his help? The concept of his parents needing anything from him was a foreign (and rather interesting) concept.
"Of course," Fergus said this as if it should have been obvious. "You're going to be a big brother. That's an important job."
"Wooooowww." Roy's eyes practically had stars in them. Him? Important?
"But you won't be able to do it so well if you can't fly. Did you know that?"
And just like that, the starry-eyed look was replaced by a ferocious toddler scowl.
"But why, though? Why do I gotta fly to be a big brother? I can walk!" Roy folded his arms and pooched out his lower lip.
Fergus didn't have an answer planned, and couldn't think of one on the spot, so he deflected. "Now, I'm going to back up a bit. I want you to come over to me." And he did so.
Roy scooted along the tabletop and reached for his chair, but Fergus shook his head.
"No, let the chair alone."
Roy looked up at Fergus with a calculating frown, then reached for the chair again. He defiantly climbed down and marched over to glower up at his father.
Fergus simply picked him up and put him back on top of the table, and he moved the chairs away for good measure.
"Daddyyy!"
Fergus shook his head. "No, I want you to try. You'll have to learn someday. You don't want to be stuck on the ground forever like a human, do you?"
"I like humans!" Roy folded his arms again.
"You've never even met one," Fergus was mildly exasperated now.
"Don't care. Like 'em anyway."
You wouldn't like them if you knew what they were capable of. Seeing that this tactic wasn't working, Fergus tried something else. "Besides, flying is fun. If you don't learn how, you'll miss out on something great."
Roy wasn't convinced. Flying was fun, huh? Sure. Right. You betcha. Just like lima beans were good, and if he didn't let Momma clean behind his ears he'd accumulate enough dirt back there to grow potatoes. Grown-ups must really think that children were pretty stupid to believe such nonsense. Potatoes were too big to fit behind a person's ears, and lima beans made him want to throw up. And flying...
But when his parents carried him with them when they flew, he did enjoy it. And to be able to do it himself? His wings gave an involuntary flutter, but he immediately stopped when Fergus mistook the action and tried to encourage him.
"That's it. Now, fly to me." Fergus got ready to catch.
Roy looked away. Could he do this? "I don't wanna fall..."
"I won't let that happen. Fly to Daddy, and he'll catch you."
Roy bit his lip. He wished now that he hadn't finished his breakfast; his tummy hurt. Looking up at Fergus, he saw the big hands outstretched, fingers splayed, ready to catch. He remembered how safe he felt when he was being carried in those arms. Roy scooted back and got to his feet, swaying a bit with vertigo as he looked down at the floor.
"Don't look at the floor; look at me. You can do it."
Yeah...yeah, he could do this! Roy clenched his fists and jumped...but he forgot to pump his wings, and Fergus quickly lurched forward and caught him. "I can't do it..."
"Yes, you can," Fergus held him close, patted his back, then put him back on the table.
"But Daddy..."
"What did you forget?"
Roy stared at him, uncomprehending, and Fergus fluttered his own wings in a not-so-subtle hint. Roy gasped, then laughed at his own blunder. "Oh!"
"All right, let's give it another try," Fergus backed up and beckoned with both hands. "Flap your wings, and let them carry you to me."
Roy clenched his fists again, and made a run for the edge of the table, but he lost his nerve at the last second and stopped. He pinwheeled his arms for balance, and his wings buzzed in alarm. The next thing he knew, he was sailing upwards at a diagonal, and Fergus dodged to his right and caught him.
"There, you see? You did it!" Fergus beamed, a rare expression on his square-jawed face.
Roy gasped and fluttered his wings. "I did?"
"It was a bit clumsy, but you did it. Want to try again?"
"Yeah!"
Fergus put Roy back on the table and backed up a little bit further. Now that his son had some confidence, his flight path should, in theory, be straight and true.
Roy shifted from foot to foot, getting ready. He fluttered his wings slowly, then with greater speed; his bare feet soon left the varnished wood of the table, and he wobbled a bit as he hovered in place for a moment. His wings, so tender and unused to supporting his slight weight, immediately felt the strain of it. Even so, they continued to support him and would only grow stronger with time. With the proudest grin Fergus had ever seen on his little face, he flew to his father and wrapped his arms tightly around his neck. "I did it!"
"I knew you could. Come, let's go tell Momma. That'll make her happy again."
Fergus knocked softly on the bedroom door, and when Cori told him to come in he put Roy down. He whispered in the boy's ear, and opened the door.
Roy flew across the room to land clumsily on the bed beside his mother, fairly deafening his parents with his joyful shriek of, "MommaMommaMomma, I did it! I 'flewed'!"
Cori's initial reaction was a delighted smile, but as she hugged her son close she found herself near tears. "And I missed it...Oh, Fergus, why didn't you come and get me?"
"I..." Poor Fergus was utterly dumbfounded, and he didn't realize what he had done wrong, or if he had done anything wrong at all. "Technically, you didn't miss his first flight..."
"Fergus..."
"I'm sorry, Cori...I wasn't thinking."
Cori sat Roy beside her on the bed and smiled again. She couldn't wait until this baby was born and her mood could go back to normal; her feelings were so mixed and muddled lately! "No, I'm sorry. I'm just very tired today. Roy, Momma's very proud of you."
Roy smiled a little and nodded, but then frowned when Cori got a slightly pained look on her face and held her round belly. "Momma? Your tummy ache?"
Cori tried to smile reassuringly, then looked up at Fergus.
Fergus had been through this once before, but he paled. "Is it time? Should I get the midwife?"
"Time for what?" Roy asked. It couldn't be breakfast time, because they had just eaten.
Cori distractedly stroked his hair as the pain ebbed. "I'm not sure yet."
A few hours later, she was most definitely sure.