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Gentle flames flickered. The old wood of his home cracked at every movement of the old chair he was sitting in. Rocking back and forth in the dead of night, the little needle poked his finger for the upteenth time this evening.
He held up the cloth and realized with dawning realization that he had accidentally sewn the fabric inside out. But a boy Silver’s age would hardly notice. Surely in a few months he would be big enough to inherit Lilia’s clothes so it didn’t matter whether the stitches looked like that of an amateur - at last, he was more well versed in wielding a sword than a sewing needle.
He looked over the slightly more gray hue of the fabric he was stitching to Silver’s beige shirt. It was a large strip. When had he gotten so big?
Wasn’t it just yesterday that his boy would ask to be put on his hip while Lilia cooked? Wasn’t it just yesterday when Silver would have to roll up his pant legs when he ran around the house because they were still too long? Wasn’t it just yesterday that Lilia, for the first time in his long life, had to pick up a needle to attach the button of the eye of his son’s favorite toy?
He could still remember how he had simply tied a rag around a handful of down feathers from an old pillow and attached two slightly dissimilar buttons to mimic a face. He had done so when Silver had still been so young that he would cry whenever his papa would retrieve his hand from the grip of the baby. Lilia slightly lamented his idea because since then, his little human didn’t need him sitting beside him at all cost.
Right now, he would’ve loved sleeping next to the cradle with Silver still holding on to his finger like it was his most precious possession.
But, one of these days, his son wouldn’t need him anymore. And in turn, the old fae will reach the end of his service soon too - his service for the royal family and at long last, the service of a father.
A sting in the far back of his eyes appeared as he dwelled on his son’s face when he would inevitably find out that his papa was not going to live forever like he wished for. Lilia did not want Silver’s face to be sad when he went.
Eyes as clear and bright as his should not be tainted with a cloud of sorrow. Especially for someone as ephemeral as Lilia - there was no telling whether he would even make it to his eighteenth birthday.
He was but dew in the morning sun in Silver’s life, but to Lilia, Silver was his everything.
The former general continued sewing the fabric to the shirt until way into the night. Just as the flame in the fireplace dwindled to nothing, he was finally done. He held it in the air and deemed it good enough. As he put away the sewing kit, he halted by the doorframe and silently thumbed the engraved numbers as if in a trance.
The most recent one reached about his navel.
Lilia only realized he was smiling when his cheeks began to hurt and falter on their own.
Was it possible for Lilia to love someone he was not supposed to love?
With the fireplace extinguished and the shirt and a pair of pants in hand, he climbed the stairs to Silver’s open room door. He folded his clothes into the closet and closed it as if he had never opened it.
He looked towards his slumbering son on his way out, but that made him pause. With the elegance of a cloud, he strode over to peer at his sleeping son. His face was illuminated by the cool light of the moon reaching its zenith and streaming right in through the window.
At the foot of the bed, a crochet blanket lay. Sebek’s siblings had shown their little brother and Silver how to crochet since Lilia never learned that skill himself. The blanket was a gift for his birthday and now the boy wouldn’t sleep without it.
With tender hands, Lilia lifted the worn blanket to Silver’s chest and smoothed out the edges. His hands lingered on the tiny chest taking deep breaths - still sleeping peacefully and so alive. He sat at the edge and simply… watched.
Every hitch in his breathing, every frown, every sigh… he committed all to memory.
But now not to compare it to the glimpse he caught of the Dawn Knight that now haunted his dreams. No, Lilia couldn’t see anyone else than just… his son. His son.
His son.
After all that had happened, was he not supposed to hate?
Why was it then that all he felt was fondness, devotion and love? Why was it that his heart swelled in pride when others would call him ‘Lilia’s little boy’? A human and a fae and yet…
The love of a parent transcends all thresholds - hate was never strong enough to tear him from his beloved son.
At that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. The clothes in the closet, Silver’s peaceful face, the old makeshift toy next to him.
Even without thinking, Lilia’s whole being had already loved Silver before he could even admit his own love to himself.
He hadn’t known that to love was still something he remembered. And so abundantly too… he didn’t think his old heart still had it in it.
His fingers brushed along the soft silver hair of his son; his son whom he gave his silver hair. Then he reached beside him to snuggle the old toy in the nook of Silver's shoulder and watched how he instinctively curled around it.
He never saw anyone else than his own son; the son whom he loved more than words could describe.