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It was a particularly still and freezing winter night in the remote woods in Briar Valley — or at least, it would have been, until you venture deep enough into the woods to hear the endless waves of a baby screaming and crying from a cottage too small for his enormous tantrum.
Some of Lilia’s bats have already been flying around wobbly since minutes ago due to the overwhelming noise, and Lilia himself is at wits’ end as well.
“Come on, Silver, please,” for the first time in he doesn’t know how long, Lilia pleads, “You are going to cry yourself a sore little throat at this rate.”
His son isn’t a baby who cries particularly much. He suspected it was the weather at first. Silver’s hand felt colder than usual as it grabbed vehemently at Lilia’s fingers, which caused Lilia quite an unsettled frown, considering that a human baby’s body temperature should easily exceed that of a nocturnal fae.
So now he sits with his son on his lap in front of the fireplace, and it only gives him another cause for concern because — considering how weak human constitutions are, let alone that of a human baby’s — the dry air is only going to make his poor boy’s throat that much more painful as the cries go on and on and on.
In all honesty, he has been summoned to the palace tonight, and he is already late. He would very much like to avoid being struck by Malleus’s lightning, or the Queen’s, even if they mean it as a tease more than a punishment. But he could not bring himself to even move from those tiny fingers. What if his sharp black nails rip that soft, rosy skin? What if his inhuman strength snaps that clumsy, fragile hand? What if?
“Please, my dear, I’m only leaving for one night,” Lilia continues to plead, it might be laughable how helpless he sounds in face of his son’s screaming protests, “The bats and the animals will be here with you. You love playing with them, do you not?”
As a thorough proof that he is not listening at all, Silver gives two small coughs and continues his raging screeches.
Letting out a sigh, Lilia glances around the cottage for anything that might help. He sees the clock hands showing that it’s well past Silver’s bedtime, yet the stubborn little baby is having none of that. It does not matter how exhausted he is, he’s determined that he isn’t letting Lilia go anywhere.
Letting out a heavier sigh, Lilia begins searching his memories for the answer to this dilemma.
“Children so young don’t understand our words yet,” her voice said in the dark abysses of his memories, of a time that he thought was too bright yet too painful to recall.
He opens his eyes and he was there again. In the chamber lit by ghastly green candlelight. He was folding his arms as he mumbled, “What a pain.”
She shook her head mockingly, “I’m sure even a stubborn prick like yourself will change your mind once you meet him.” She gestured at the egg she was cradling in her tail with pride.
“He’s just an egg right now. You don’t know that.”
“I know he would love you, Lilia,” she chuckled confidently, “Children are creatures of love and magic. You keep them close, let them feel loved and safe, and they would cling onto you with their tiny little hands and cry for you if you try to leave them.”
“They’re really a pain.”
“And they’re adorable. You’re a caring person with a big heart beneath that nasty tongue of yours. We both trust you to protect him if the need arises, but we trust you more to care for him the way we do when he hatches into this world.”
Lilia would’ve scoffed and told her how misplaced their trust was, if only she wasn’t always right. He didn’t understand what she saw in him, but he couldn’t say she was wrong. “I have never taken care of children before,” that was his attempt to deter her.
“Neither have I,” she admitted. But then she brought her egg close to her chest, and the air began to swell with her magic. The candlelight flickered, and in an instant, they were no longer ghastly, only soft and ephemeral. They seemed to blink with the colour of her voice as her magic flowed into her child, “I know he doesn’t see or hear me yet. But I’ll make sure that he feels me, that he knows I’m right here.”
And what did she do afterwards? Yes, Lilia remembers. He hasn’t done this in the last century or so but he remembers.
He brings Silver close to his chest — she said it’d make children feel safer — and breathes in.
He remembers the notes, the melody, the words. He remembers, and still he trembled. What if his son doesn’t understand the song? What if his voice scares the baby? What if—
‘Children so young don’t understand our words yet.’
“… you’re right.”
‘Just make sure he feels...’
“I’m right here, Silver, I’m right here.”
With the warmth of the fireplace pushing him on, Lilia begins to sing.
Love is a song that never ends
He remembers. He remembers why he stowed this song away in a tiny little attic in his memories like so many other things that belonged to her.
Life may be swift and fleeting
The song… her words were too true. It could bring him into a dream so real that he could almost feel them there again.
Hope may die yet love's beautiful music
But no. That’s not what she wanted to leave behind. It’s her voice, her tone, her presence, that she wanted her son to remember, that Lilia swore to pass on.
Comes each day like the dawn
And the candlelight that outlined her features that day, the glow of her voice that was like the warmth of fire on his skin, is never forgotten, never gone. It’s right there for him to remember.
It wasn’t a light meant for him. But it was a light that touched him and changed him and inspired him nonetheless. And once touched by such a light, it never fades.
So her song will never end. A century ago Lilia had often sung it to Malleus in her stead. Malleus remembers it, hums it, plays it on his violin. Whenever he does, Lilia knows that his mother would always be there with him. And Lilia could look to the night sky and ask her in his heart whether he was doing this right, whether he honoured her trust.
But now it’s different. Lilia lowers his head and gazes at his son, his own child lying snugly in his arms, his own precious little baby now soothed by the song and his voice, finally feeling exhausted from all that crying, and beginning to drift off to sleep.
“May the night bless you,” is a phrase he was so used to repeating after the lullaby, but he holds his tongue. He brings his son close, brushes aside the growing sprouts of silver hair, and leaves a kiss on his forehead.
The sleeping infant soon lets go of Lilia. With magic, Lilia smoothly slips another layer of pyjama onto Silver to keep him warm and places him gently into the crib. And as the sparkles of his magic fades from his child, he wonders — as he so often wonders lately — how much longer would his magic last.
He puts out the fireplace with a flick of his finger. He could’ve sworn when he first found out about his withering body, he was quite ready to join those on the other side of that night sky. But now, he thinks to himself in the darkness, what could he leave behind for his Silver with so little time?
No. He doesn’t need his song to last forever. He doesn’t need to leave anything behind. Wouldn’t it be better if the path that Silver will choose one day has none of Lilia’s footsteps? He frankly doesn’t know.
If she was truly right, and one day Silver would cling onto him and cry for him when he leaves, then at least, he wishes Silver would understand the words he left in this song.
His bats offer to watch over the baby, but he dismisses them softly, pulling up a chair by Silver’s bedside. He wonders — as he so often wonders lately — since when does it feel so simple for his lips to melt into a smile.
Nobody knows how the child is going to grow from now on. All Lilia knows is that, if children are creatures of love and magic, today right here, he’s willing to give the last of what little he has.
Outside the cottage window, the horned visitor hears and watches as the lights dim while Lilia’s garnet eyes continue to glow over the child. Malleus chuckles silently, wondering how amused his grandmother would be to learn of why Lilia was absent that night.