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There was that knock again.
He knew it before the soft knuckles had even finished their little tune. Taptap-tap-tap. Regis let the sound filter into the office, let the rich wood of the panelled walls tune it until it met his ears as a sweet melody. His eyes closed as a smile grew on a tired face.
“Dad?”
Taptap-tap-tap.
“Are you in here?”
Regis had never heard a more precious voice. Brow rising towards the door, he took a deep breath and cast his eyes to his desk. The piles of askew papers and a few ink wells that had run dry were a foreboding sight. He knew he should stay at the desk, work through them. Some were urgent, after all; desperate attempts to cool the political atmosphere before things spiralled out of control. Some were last-ditch efforts, and others promised to need their own.
Taptap-tap-tap.
You’re hiding from him again, his mind spoke. It was never his own voice. It was softer, it could chastise him gently and even after all these years, it was as though she was still with him. He could hear his reply in his own head. Best let him in, then.
Regis pushed the chair back from the battlefield of his writing desk and made to stand. A sharp sting in his lower back had him think again. He’d been still too long. Cheeks puffed, he fixed his hands on the pinned, hazel leather of the arms and pushed himself up. The soles of his shoes tapped lightly on the mahogany. As he drew closer to the door, he could hear the small huff.
Taptap-tap-
He opened the door before the last note could sound and gazed down at his son. Round, blue eyes widened as small, soft hands clutched his latest creation to his chest. The paper was warped and pierced by a pencil in more than one place.
A steady smile spread on Regis’ features.
“Yes?” he lilted.
Noctis’ eyes creased with an open-mouthed smile. “I made you something.”
“Did you?” Regis feigned surprise, but the pleasant tone was real. “Come and show me.”
He stood aside as Noctis, who barely came up to his mid-thigh, scurried into his study. Short limbs were dressed in navy shorts, a little white shirt and a dove grey, woollen jumper to keep him warm. They were clothes far too dignified for a boy of four, but the lifestyle made its demands both outwith and within the Citadel walls. The hints of his age were there. He was still a child, and all children are born gently wild. He’d forgone his shoes for socks that were just that little too big for him, his shirt was untucked at the back and the mess of ink-black hair that had likely been so tediously tamed that morning had already begun to stray into soft chaos. He’d been put together by order and pulled apart by the vivacity of his youth.
Regis had been both assembled and mussed by order and sensibility. He’d shed the suit jacket, though kept his grey waistcoat on. The sleeves of the indigo shirt had been rolled to his elbows and tie lost for the opening of the top two buttons. Clarus would tell you to get dressed, she said. As ever, he gave his reply in silence. I know.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?” Regis brought his gaze from the white roses on his desk and found the only moving thing in the room.
Noctis was sitting in his chair, legs swinging as he fidgeted with the sheet of paper he’d brought with him. Unlike the avalanche currently occupying Regis’ desk, this sheet would ask nothing of him. It would make him smile. He stepped over and plucked Noct from the chair. He giggled and pushed at him.
“C’mon, you need to see.”
“Alright, let me- argh… There we are.” He grimaced as he took his seat again with Noctis in his lap. Regis ran a tired, pale hand through his own greying hair and settled back.
“You ready?” Noctis asked, biting his bottom lip as he watched his father.
He nodded. “Mhm.”
“Close your eyes.”
“But I-.”
“Close ‘em…” he insisted, trying to cover Regis’ eyes with one small hand and the arm attached.
He obliged. “Alright, alright. They’re closed.”
“Okay…” he trailed off. Paper rustled gently as he prepared his masterpiece for its debut. Regis had to suppress a smile at the half-formed words that came as loud whispers. Finally, he seemed content with his exhibition and Regis could hear the eager grin. “Okay, you can look.”
Short, thick lashes parted and frosted green eyes took in the sight. There were three long swathes drawn in the palest blue pencil he could find. Pink lined the insides of two, while a small, red triangle hovered between round black eyes. The little fox had odd length legs and a few sharp teeth in its smile.
“Now… This is…” Regis toyed, knowing full well the subject of his son’s drawing.
“Is…?” he prompted.
“Carbuncle, of course,” he answered. Noctis’ delighted giggle was perhaps the best sound to have ever graced his study. Father laughed alongside son as he held the picture between finger and thumb. “I’ll have to keep this one.”
“You keep all of them.”
“Do I?” he raised a brow. Noctis looked worried for a moment, before Regis swivelled his chair slightly and opened a drawer in his desk. Piled high with drawings and loose puzzle pieces that were yet to find their original home, Noctis’ collection was growing well. Regis put scandal into his tone. “How did you know?”
Noctis laughed again as he held the picture for another moment, before he lay it in the drawer. Regis left it open to watch it for another second as a small but heavy head pushed under his chin. He smelled like milk and lavender, scents too soft for a room with so many hard edges. Noctis sniffed once, then again. Without having to ask, he sat up in Regis’ lap and opened another, smaller drawer, moved a few sealed envelopes aside until he pulled out a small white paper bag. The small hand delved in loudly and withdrew a single sweet. Pearlescent white with treacle dark stripes, he popped the humbug into his mouth with no hesitation. Without even stopping to see his father’s mischievous smile, Noctis plucked another sweet from the bag and offered it.
He paused for a moment, before accepting the sweet.
“We mustn’t tell Clarus.”
Noctis giggled as Regis took the sweet and brought it to his mouth. The sweet, sharp taste of mint cooled his tongue. It wasn’t long before blue eyes went wide and locked on his father with a somewhat horrified expression.
“Can I take one for Iggy?” he asked with a full mouth, sucking drool back before it could drip over his chin and leave his skin sticky.
A soft smile graced tired features. He carded his fingers through Noct’s soft hair and pushed the sweet into the side of his mouth. “Of course… Though, I believe he prefers chocolate, doesn’t he?”
“Mhm!” Noct confirmed, busy working at the sweet as he settled back to lying on Regis’ chest as his father tore a piece of the bag off and wrapped the humbug in it, tucking it into Noct’s pocket.
He let himself be at peace until there was nothing but the taste of mint and sugar and the small, heavy body flopped onto his chest. Regis absently studied the small chandelier. He jolted when Noctis gasped sharply.
“What? What is it?”
“Look!” he squealed, a short finger pointing to the window. Regis turned his head.
He could see no further than fifty feet from the window until the world became a soft grey haze. The ivy that huddled in the upper left corner of the large, diamond paned window, was the last bold line before the shifting air beyond. Dancing slowly as they made their descent, snowflakes gave their silent ballet. Snow had a muffling effect, and already the world was quieter for it. It hadn’t fallen in Insomnia, and certainly not like this, in years.
Noctis sprang from his lap and scrambled to the window. He clambered onto the pinned leather window seat and pressed his nose up against the glass, tiny hands warm against the cool smoothness and the colder world beyond. When no movement came from behind him, a sense of dread swelled in the little boy. He turned around and looked.
Regis was pinned to his chair, mouth softly open and eyes somewhere far away. He was brought from the gales of his own mind by a soft, meek voice.
“Dad… What’s wrong?”
Softly shocked from his absence, Regis looked at his son.
“Nothing.” He shook his head and clenched his jaw as he stood again. He joined Noctis by the window and hitched his trousers up a little before taking a seat. “It’s just…”
She loved snow.
The winter after her death had been cold in more ways than one. Regis had matched every fallen snowflake with a tear, as though he could wash away the Glacian’s dust. Spring had been a welcome relief.
The little boy, warm and heavy, clambered into his lap again and rested his cheek against his chest. Regis propped his chin up on Noctis’ head and watched the snow fall with him. Before long, the glass began to fog with warm breath and each took turns to wipe it away and make the world clear again. Noctis took to drawing shapes. Little faces in the diamonds. He drew one with a large smile and nuzzled closer to Regis.
“Dad?”
“Yes?” he asked gently.
“Are you happy?”
His eyebrows rose at the question. The older he got, the harder it became to answer. To define. How did one measure happiness? Did he need to? Or was it simply either there or not? Could it be found, if absent? Could it be made to grow until it was a tree too strong to be felled, or was that wish hubris?
Happiness was the warmth radiating from his son’s cheek. It was the smell of his hair and the taptap-tap-tap of his little heart against Regis’ chest.
“Yes…Suppose I am.”
With little arms wrapped around his neck, he felt he’d quelled the troubling of Noctis’ first question, when he asked another.
“And is… Is mom happy?”
Struck gently by innocent concern, Regis shook his head gently before he took a deep breath that lifted Noctis with it. “I… I’m not sure.”
The ache in his chest was one he’d learned to bear, but still feared at times.
“Do-do you think she’d be happy because you’re happy? Iggy’s happy, too; I asked him.” Noctis said, playing with the tassel tie of the curtains. “Clarus smiled yesterday, I saw him. Cor, too. I think… Maybe… We’re all a little happy.”
“Sometimes.”
More often than not, she said.
A soft frown pinched his brow. He leant back until Noctis looked at him with wide blue eyes. The snowflakes reflecting in those sapphire pools shone like Lucian ashes and all the magic of the armiger. It was already in him, but he was yet to learn how to use it. For now, the sparks he could play between his little hands, burning blue feathers and petals, brought what they should to a boy; wonder.
That same wonder could be given by many things. Snow, was one. Butterflies. Chocolate. Frost on a bright, rusted leaf and the crinkling orchestra they made under his feet. Echoes in halls he would grow to fill with presence and majesty. Pondering this, Regis cast a snowflake into his hand and let it grow, spinning in a gentle, skating dance. It bounced delicately against his fingers and spun like the dancer of a music box. Noctis watched in rapturous fascination.
“Are you happy?” Regis asked, watching as his son carefully chose an answer. After biting his lip, he snuggled down again and brushed his fingertip against the snowflake.
“Yeah.”
Regis smiled and rested his cheek on the downy black hair.
“Then I think she’d be very happy.”
Very happy indeed.
He’d all but forgotten the paperwork on the desk, and anything in the world but the child, his child, cuddled up to him, and the snow as it fell. After a few moments, a keen smile played over Regis’ features.
“I think we could be happier.”
Noctis looked up at him with a frown on his little face, but excitement in his eyes. “Yeah? How?”
“Snow calls for hot chocolate…and I know a secret way into the kitchens,” he grinned, green eyes sparkling like frosted holly.
“What secret way?”
“Ah-ah-ah.” He tapped the side of his nose then the button of Noct’s. “It’s secret. I can’t tell you… But I can show you. Do you know the portrait of Queen Veria? The sixty-fourth. One of the finest, brave and wise-.” His tone naturally took ambiance as he spoke in revere of those that had come before.
“The one with the mask?”
Regis mouth closed with a pop as he shut his eyes in lighthearted defeat. “Yes. The one with the mask.”
“It’s there?” Noct questioned, sitting up as he waited for any clue to this new secret.
“It’s near, yes.”
“Let’s go!” He leapt from Regis’ lap and tugged at his hand. “C’mon Dad, we need to get the…”
Regis turned on the windowseat and held Noctis’ hands in his own as a more sober thought crossed the young one’s mind.
“We…” He stepped closer and cupped his hands to whisper into Regis’ ear. “Can we bring Iggy? He can keep it secret! I promise!”
“I think… That’s a wonderful idea. Go and fetch him, I’ll meet you by the painting.”
“Yes!” he said victoriously.
Little feet fell heavy as they thundered away at a sprint. A giggle bounced back up the hall and into Regis’ study, just as he stood and smiled. He’d walked to his desk and closed the drawer of sweets, then paused at the drawings. He held the picture of Carbuncle between finger and thumb, admiring Noct’s messy attempts at signing his name. Beyond that, the drifts of paperwork, forms and laws gripped his desk in frozen, immobile blocks where inkwells were tar pits, ready to catch him and hold him down. They were urgent; they needed to be read and approved or amended.
It broke his heart to do it, but he put the picture in the drawer and pushed it shut. Every scratch of the fountain pen had scarred his head; he’d done too much already today.
Choose happiness, she said. For once, and for him, choose happiness. Just for a little while.
Regis smiled and felt the silk of a white rose petal between finger and thumb as he gave his reply.
Yes, dear.