Afternoon of the fifteenth day of the first month, 214. New Hibera.
The bath chamber of one Richard Aengus is warm enough thanks to the tiny (to big folks) speck of fire glowing in the fireplace near the king's bathtub, wherein the king himself lies there soaking in the water, glowing his lovely little shade of pink.
From a short distance, though, from the middle of a couch, is a globe of equally luminescent white: Orin Barrin, the king's half-brother and physician.
"Richard?"
"Mmmmmm?" comes the drowsy reply.
"It's been nearly three months. You've not yet opened up fully about what it is you were dreaming while Squeaky was growing in your belly. I would very much care to know, old boy."
A frown droops the king's jowls beneath that floofy pink beard. His glow dims slightly. "Motherhood, Orin."
"Motherhood?"
"I dreamed you had told me that our father, the king, truly had both the parts of a boy and a girl, that he had been my true mother, and that I had been born just like him, but that my set of such, ahem, women's parts had been magically hidden away."
"Oh dear."
"You rectified that with a spell."
"Good heavens."
"And then Marta, in Her wisdom, saw fit to bless me with twin daughters, Lora and Lara."
"Bless you, Richard?"
"Impregnate, yes. Bless me!"
"With the mother's light and the belly growing and the milk in the breasts and all?"
"Quite!"
"And--" And at this, Doctor Orin Barrin bursts into squeaky, shrill hoohahs of laughter.
Richard merely frowns deeper. "What? What is so funny?"
"Merely--hee hee! Merely picturing you in a maternity gown, laid up in a bed--" the doctor pat-pats his fleshy hands between his legs "screaming and panting and puffing as you push out not just one baby, but two!"
"Hmph."
"It's truly ludicrous!" The laughter, though, eases away. Tears, not to be missed, fill the king's eyes as the old butterball sinks lower into his bath. "I'm sorry, Richard. . . . It. . . it must have seemed quite real to you, all of it."
"I carried them to term and delivered them, Orin. They--" he cups a hand over a nipple, his voice draining to a whimper, "they suckled at my breasts."
To this, the physician worms off the couch, toddling over to wrap his wet brother in a hug.
"All a matter of your brain's trying to make sense of Squeaky having been in you. You didn't know about all of it, and I never got to tell you before putting you to sleep," a gentle kiss to the king's forehead, "so you made sense of it all the only way that you knew how. Your mind fabricated the whole affair, wanting there to be order in all the pain and growth you knew, instinctively, that you were feeling despite being asleep."
A sob escapes the pink monarch, whose chin sinks into the physician's white-robed chest. "I would rather have those two baby girls in my arms, at my bosom, then to have ever known about that rodent!"
Patting the king's back, gentle and soft, follows.
"I suppose, dear Richard, I was a passably good uncle to them?"
A chuckle.
"A splendid one, Orin. Splendid."
"Then we have but two solutions to this. Only one of them makes reasonable sense."
Richard Aengus wiggles off his half-brother's belly, eyes opening wider.
"We hurry up and find you a pinkwing wife from a distant kingdom so that you can sire children in your old age."
"Or?"
A groan from the physician.
"Or, against any proper semblance of sense, we find a way to make those dreams come true."
A grin starts to slip onto the king's fat face.
"The wife, Richard. The wife. I would much prefer your having a queen on the throne, not your being the queen. A wife!"