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Olivia sits him down one relatively calm day to ask if they could talk. Breathers have become increasingly rare, and they still haven't had much time to get to know each other, so he readily accepts and accompanies her to her shared tent with Henry.
"Henry said he had something to discuss with Tharja, so I'm afraid it's just me for now. I'm sorry if I'm interfering with your time with your friends," she apologizes unnecessarily, motioning for him to take a seat across from her, "I've just been curious about myself and He- your father in your time."
She didn't say it aloud, but a couple of people around camp had gossiped and voiced their thoughts on how surprising it was that the shy dancer and dark mage had gotten married, much less had a child together. Actually, she almost didn't believe it as well until his white hair and her eyes had flashed back at her during their first meeting, promptly falling into her husband's arms when he told her that he was her son.
"Oh mother, don't be sorry! I always have time for a beauty like you," He can't help but offer a cheesy line, especially since his mother seems somewhat nervous, and as a performer he strives to make people feel comfortable around him, a feeling she probably knew quite well. The compliment works and Olivia brings a hand to her mouth to hide her embarrassment, "Is there anything specific you'd like me to tell you?"
"A-Ah, no. Tell me anything. I hope that the memories you made were grand before we... passed on."
It must be awkward to know that another version of you has died, he thinks to himself as he tries to turn the conversation light again. He digs through the memories of when all three of them were together for something bright but that time period itself had unfortunately been short-lived.
"Hm... I wonder... Oh! I have some! There was this one time-"
He tells her about the time they went to a festival and all three of them tried to dance together; it was a failure since Henry couldn't dance, but he'd never laughed so hard in his life and sitting on his father's shoulders to watch the fireworks is something forever grained into his mind. He recalls when he got attached to one of his father's crow friends, the panic Olivia expressed when perched on his head she thought it'd fly away with him, his father's growing chuckles in the background.
There are so many memories he wishes that he could go through again and remembering leaves a bittersweet aching in his chest, but the pink-haired woman seems to enjoy it, and the warmness in her eyes makes him feel extremely fond.
He finishes the story of when Owain had tried to learn magic from his mother but accidentally sent his pants on fire and she giggles a sweet melody, a sound he hasn't heard in a long time. Even though they aren't exactly the same person, the pink tresses and soft smiles are still the same as the mother that left him. Although it's a bit odd that the woman in front of him is around his age, he's glad to have someone to call "mom" again.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but could you tell me more about the Henry of the time, too?" Olivia musters, silence befalling them as Inigo attempts to think up another tale.
His face falls slightly, but only for an instant; Inigo is back to smiles in seconds although now it looks more forced. She's seen him joking around with the other children from the future and knows that this grin is different; as a performer she is attuned to these types of shifts. Henry, upon meeting their son for the first time, said that Inigo seemed so much like her but she thinks he takes after him in this respect. He is always seen smiling but she doesn't know if all of them are true.
"Honestly... I don't really remember much," he confesses, scratching his head. Olivia opens her mouth, perhaps to apologize, but he continues talking to assure her that he's alright.
"Actually, you... had died... before him," he closes his eyes for a moment, and the pink-haired woman stays silent, "but he loved you very much, and tried really hard to keep your memory alive."
Inigo counts five times that Olivia blinks, then looks to the ceiling of her tent. "He always used to tell me stories about you. Even though you weren't around anymore, sometimes it felt like you were still with us."
He takes a deep breath. "He always smiled for me, even though sometimes it felt a bit strained. He always cracked the weirdest jokes to try and make me laugh. He never showed any weakness, but he always told me that I shouldn't be afraid to cry... and shouldn't be afraid to smile, either."
As if perfect timing, the person in question opens the flap of their tent, revealing the darkness outside and carrying two peaches in his arm. "I'm b- oh hey, Inigo! I didn't expect you to be here, I would've brought more if I knew you were coming!"
He hands one to Olivia, who gratefully accepts. If he noticed the rather somber atmosphere lingering in the air, he keeps it to himself. Inigo gets up from his chair and heads towards the exit. "Oh, no, it's fine. But thank you, father."
"Leaving so soon? I hope I wasn't interrupting anything important. Looks like you guys were in the middle of story time!"
Henry grins, looking almost hopeful that he'd stay, but Inigo shakes his head.
"We were just talking about some stuff. I wish I could stay, but it's getting late. Owain doesn't like to admit it, but if I don't get to our tent when nightfall hits he gets worried," he mumbles, but returns the grin with one that doesn't reach his eyes, "I'll see you tomorrow, though, dad!"
He closes the flap, letting out the breath he'd been holding for so long, and revels in the night sky, connecting constellations that his father taught him when he was small. Talking about his father always made him confused, partially because even though he'd raised him, he never felt like he knew the man. He definitely knew that father loved him but he was so focused on mother and never himself. Under his unwavering smile, this world's Henry seemed like a mystery as well.
He listens to Owain's snoring beside him and wonders if mother would have raised him the same way that father did.
Inigo cried the first night, the second night, and really every night after. He was always a crybaby but knowing that his mother would never come back was too much for a mere five year old to handle.
Henry, being himself, didn't know how to say it in a subtle way that wouldn't deal too much of a blow and thus told him flat out. Besides, he always noticed how kids were so sheltered. There were things that shouldn't be told to a child, of course, but he didn't think that the truth should be forever hidden away; Olivia always covered Inigo's ears whenever he tried to tell him about the Risen or anything about the war and he didn't think that was fair.
"Mommy's dead, kiddo," he said when Inigo crawled into his lap and asked why Olivia hadn't come home with him when they'd only gone to the village to buy food.
"What's... dead, daddy?" Inigo asks, eyes widening. Henry mentally curses to himself.
"It means that she's gone to a different place, and she's not coming back."
He remembers it well, the risen dealing a deadly blow and Olivia being unable to intercept it despite her skill and speed. It caught them in an ambush and his staff hadn't reached her in time; it was unexpected and fatal, stabbing her right in the heart. He can still feel her weight on him, blood seeping through his fingers as he caught her in his arms, pastel pink and red mixed together in unison.
Olivia was beautiful even in her last moments. The melancholy made her even more so.
That night, Henry set all of Inigo's stuffed animals by him and kissed him good night on the forehead. He was in his "stuffed animals are too girly!" phase right now, but he seemed too tired from crying to care. Henry offered to sleep with him tonight but Inigo shook his head. Apparently, his friend Gerome didn't cry that much when his father didn't come home one day either. Little boys were too strong for their ages.
"Um... Daddy? C-Could you sing me the song that mommy always used to sing before bed time..?" Inigo managed before Henry blew out the candle on his bedside.
The snow-haired man smiled. "Of course, little guy. Uh... How does it go again? Crud. Let me ask Mr. Bear."
He pretended to ask Inigo's stuffed bear by moving its hands as a small gesture of comfort. The child let out soft giggles as his father tried to remember off the top of his head.
"He knows! Only some of it, though... So... uh..." he cleared his throat, "Be brave little one. Make a wish for each sad little tear."
He kissed both of Inigo's previously tear-stained cheeks, earning a pout, but Henry could tell that his son secretly appreciated the gesture when his tension relaxed a bit.
"Someone's waiting for you..." He would never be a good singer, especially when compared to his late wife; years after the war, he became one of the most well-known masters of dark magic from Plegia to Chon'sin but Henry was awfully tone deaf, even with his Olivia's attempts at teaching him the magic of song. However, Inigo didn't mind and even hummed along until his eyes started to close.
"Don't cry little one, there'll be a smile where a frown used to be..." Henry used his fingers to make a smile on his son's sleeping face, curving his lips upwards, before he retired back to his room. He kind of wished that Inigo had agreed to let them sleep together; the bed could never be as warm as it used to be, ever again.
He'd ask Maribelle for the full set of lyrics. Maybe she'd know. Or maybe Khan Basilio. Maybe remembering the song would do good for him, too.
"I'll hex him if he won't shut up," Tharja offered one day when Henry brought Inigo over to play with Noire. The two seemed to get along well, Noire sitting in Stahl's lap as both she and Inigo tried to make him flower crowns and he tried not to sneeze into Noire's similarly-colored hair. Henry and Tharja watched closely as they drank tea; Henry thought of the time he made flower crowns with Nowi, placing one on Olivia's hair before she could notice, "If he's still crying so much."
"Hm? Oh, nah, I could do it myself," he said, a small smile forming when Inigo laughed. He hoped that when they got back to their (empty) home he'd still be the same, "But there's gotta be another way. I wouldn't want to do that to him."
You shouldn't do it to Noire either, is what he almost says before he stops himself. Henry wanted to be a good father, like the one he never had. Even though he didn't have an example to follow he at least knew that a good father wouldn't put a curse on his son no matter how small it was.
Tharja smirked but said nothing afterwards. He never really thought that she'd settle down or have a kid, but then again no one thought the same for him. Maybe it was a dark mage thing. Olivia almost died of embarrassment when he mentioned he wouldn't mind trying for a kid; he liked the thought, actually, of having someone who'd be like him and her running around, bonding over magic, eating his wife's special chicken soup and playing in the mud.
Tharja's face had grown softer in spending more time with Stahl. She loved her kid and husband; he could tell from the way she looked at them when she thought he wasn't looking. She just didn't know how to express it well and wasn't above experimenting on them either. Apparently, Stahl had said he'd trust her although he probably regretted it by now but they did say that "love stems from trust"... and he did marry Tharja, of all the people.
When he took Inigo home, all Inigo could talk about was how nice Noire's dad was and how he loved flowers. He made Henry a flower crown too, sitting on his father's shoulders as they proudly marched along the path and matched with the fragrant arrays of various flora upon their heads.
"I made one for mommy too," Inigo said, handing Henry an extra crown, making him freeze in his tracks, "So you could put it on top of her grave."
He didn't start crying but the tears were obviously beginning to form. The father let his son down from his shoulders to ruffle his hair, accept the craft and give him a long-lasting hug. "You did good, kid. Your mother would be proud of this."
Little boys were getting too strong for their own good.
He never really cried at night.
Hearing the cries from Inigo's room was enough for the both of them. The boy tried too hard but he was still a crybaby at heart and Henry thought it was a good thing. His inner psyche was too repressed from those years of neglect to cry, no matter how much he wanted to. In fact, he felt like he was failing Olivia sometimes; she thought it was a good thing to wear your heart on your sleeve, to be pure and true to your feelings and had always urged him to let out his own. He never really could. He was thankful for it, though; Olivia said that Inigo looked like him when he cried, and he wasn't sure if he liked knowing that.
The thoughts, however, pooled through his mind constantly. Olivia promised they would be a happy family and that they would raise Inigo together. When they had him, Olivia was already a wonderful mother- he was learning by example from her of how to be a good father.
He didn't want his son to end up like him. She taught him well, as well as she could have when she was alive, but moving on and raising Inigo by himself was so hard. He never thought to remarry and Inigo probably wouldn't like the new presence as well.
He tried many things to help deal with the ever present pain. He'd tried to teach Inigo some basic magic and hexes; he actually had a certain natural gift but he realized that he didn't really want his son to follow the same path he did.
Inigo loved to dance- it was of the many traits he and his mother had in common. If she'd stayed alive, they probably could have made an excellent duo and Henry could only imagine himself giving support from the sidelines as they entertained and filled the crowds up with excitement.
He really took after his mother more than him, and although it was something Henry was thankful for, realizing it always hurt.
The only thing that he could really do was keep Olivia's memory on. It'd be good for both him and his son, so he did.
He spent the few next years telling him him stories about everything, from when he and Olivia saved a puppy together to the awkward courting process and how hard she cried at their wedding. Inigo still cried a lot, but he also seemed much happier. Remembering those memories were bittersweet, but it's really one of the only things he could ever do, and she could never, ever be replaced.
All he sees is red.
Stained upon his sleeves, the liquid pool forming around him, until his vision becomes almost blinded with the vivid color. A white head of hair peeks from the bushes, trembling in fear. He can make out tears forming from his son's eyes even though the blood was seeping from his forehead to his eyelashes.
"I'm sorry Inigo.. this is all I can do for you," Henry says, lying in his pool of blood, managing to chant one more spell from the tome in front of him at the last Risen that was about to attack his son from behind, "I'm sorry that I couldn't protect your mother. I'm sorry that I couldn't make you happy."
Inigo screams as his father surrenders to his fate and closes his eyes. His signature smile is still intact as his son holds him, rocking, pleading, damning him to come back.
A few of his father's beloved crows fly from the trees and next to him, picking at the blood. One rests on his head. Inigo doesn't shoo them away like how his mother used to. They are all he has now, one of the only legacies that his fathers left him.
Inigo goes outside to clear out his head, easily leaving his tent mate asleep. He always slept like a log.
The night sky is still fresh in the air, constellations as clear as ever. If he tries, he can probably connect one to look like Owain posing as if he's the great hero Ike from tales of Tellius and his other escapades, a thought to which he snickers at.
Usually, he danced to rid himself of flashbacks of his father's death but he can sense that he's being followed and reaches to his belt to prepare his sword. He's stronger now. He would rather die than lose the ones he loved again, and hopes that if he's killed by this intruder, he'd wound them enough to deter them from hurting the smiles of the people who looked so much like his mother and father.
"Whoever's there, reveal yourself."
A faint rustling is heard, and Inigo turns behind him to see white hair emerge from a bush. Henry reveals himself, cape nowhere to be seen and smiling sheepishly as he brushes the leaves off of his attire.
"Ehehe... Woops! Sorry about that. Olivia told me that you dance, and I wanted to see it for myself."
The performer flushes pink, muttering something about how he wished that his mother hadn't spied on him one time when she hid in a barrel. Henry noted to ask about it later. "D-Don't scare me like that again! I'll dance for you guys one day! When the war is over. Maybe."
The mage grins, quiet befalling them moments after. Inigo never really took a moment to process how young the one in front of him looked, barely out of his teens if even at all. Father and mother got married young and during the war, probably because they were scared that they wouldn't get the chance to.
He'd make sure that they'd have a proper, grand wedding after all the fighting.
"Father... I'm sorry about earlier," the 'son' mutters, hiding his face in his hands, "I felt rude leaving when you came back."
"Oh, that? Don't worry about it. Like you said, Owain's a worry wart!" Henry approaches him and ruffles his hair, something he in the future was fond of doing as well. Inigo feels like he's five years old again, father telling him all about the stars in the sky and the flowers he loved to pick to give to mom.
"Still, though. I didn't want to leave because you were there. It felt abrupt."
In a fit of impulse and because his heart feels so heavy with thoughts of the past, Inigo suddenly takes Henry's shoulders, bringing him into a tight embrace. And like times before, the tears began to fall.
Henry is shocked and confused but almost immediately returns the gesture. Inigo rests his face into the teen's shoulder and notes of how small this father feels compared to him. He was much taller in his past, but maybe that was because he hadn't hit his growth spurt yet.
Was father always so skinny and fragile? Mages aren't as well-built as berserkers, or mercenaries like him for that matter, but he felt like he could break him if he squeezed too hard. Broken 'i'm so sorries' are wept into his 'dad's' figure. With skinny arms around him, although they aren't particularly strong he feels enveloped in a sense of warmth. It's the same as when he went to the festival when he was smaller and danced with his parents; father had stepped on his toes, but the fireworks were colorful and bright. Father had bought him some candy and his mother a new bracelet to make up for it.
"Uh... Inigo?" the younger figure who resembles his dad so much replies, "Inigo, are you alright?"
"I am now. Now that you're with me again." He stops crying but still lingers into his touch and even though he is so young and inexperienced, Henry still feels like the father that he'd lost long ago.
They weren't the same. Inigo couldn't apologize to the father that he had but another version of him was enough. And this version was one that he'd never take for granted, ever again.
His father looks different from what he remembers. Of course, it's the youth; this Henry is around the same age as he and mother or maybe even younger, but he looks... much happier. He's always ready to crack a joke and laugh, instead of forehead lines and trembling fingers and the pensive smile that he adapted after his mother's death.
Inigo thinks that other Henry, his father, did a wonderful job of raising him. He wishes he could remember more of how he was like but having another copy of him is still something.
"D-Don't tell this to mother," Inigo says, letting go and letting out his shy side, his cheeks tainted with pink.
"Aha, of course, of course... How cute," Henry remarks teasingly, and although his cheeks turn a deeper red, Inigo thinks he wants to hear him laugh again.
(you must try to be brave little one
someone's waiting
to
love you).