Chapter Text
It was a slow day.
The air was reeking of imminent rain, the atmosphere charged with static and moisture, and Lilia’s joints were creaking louder than usual, a foolproof harbinger of a storm. The fae didn’t mind the stuffy weather, in fact, he was immensely grateful to the shadowy shield the overcast sky provided, blocking the obnoxious warmth of the sun’s dizzying rays. If he were to choose the lesser evil, sweating due to humidity was way less annoying than sweating due to heat.
It seemed that Silver’s friends didn’t share the sentiment.
“Silver!”
“Sorry.”, the boy’s non-committal tone echoed from his room followed by an onslaught of hurried steps stumbling over the rickety staircase that led to the kids’ bedroom, before the insolent rabbit bobbing its stupid head against Lilia’s calf was whisked into the child’s arms, a fluffy cloud blown to the orbit of the sun. The fearless creature was quick to nuzzle into Silver’s chest as the boy’s hand brushed its silk fur in gentle strokes.
“It won’t happen again.”, he promised and the argument would have sounded way more convincing had it not already been the fifth incident this morning.
Lilia may have begrudgingly conceded to allow the human’s woodland companions to seek shelter from the brewing storm in their home -afterall he had yet to figure a way to defend himself from those ridiculously large eyes made of stars and rainbows staring at him full of hope and trust- however he’d never given permission to be their personal pillow. Much like their shepherd, Silver’s furry friends lacked basic survival instincts.
“Good. Because next time it does, we’re having rabbit stew for dinner.”, he threatened, his gaze dropping to the white furball nestled comfortably within the boy’s hold, brandishing his knife towards its rosy nose in clear warning. It seemed that not all sense of self-preservation was lost, because the rabbit had the decency to shudder in fear as it buried its snotty snout into the safety of its protector’s arms, releasing a horrified squeaking sound that reminded Lilia of one of Malleus’s squeaky toys, acting as though it hadn’t waltzed into the wolf’s mouth with its own volition.
Silver rolled his eyes. He still struggled with deciphering social cues, but he’d grown quite adept to recognizing Lilia’s empty threats. He patted the white fur of the shivering animal as he made his way to the couch, plopping into the flimsy furniture with an audible creak, before picking one of his books from the floor, while the fae returned to honing his dagger’s blade.
Chopping wood would have to wait for another day and perhaps the same could be said for hanging laundry, but Lilia had witnessed the consequences of postponing this particular chore firsthand when he’d found mold spots all over their clothes, forcing them to an integral replacement of their entire wardrobe! If he had to pay another visit to the accursed human village within the month, he swore he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself from setting it on fire along with its nosy residents.
So, for the safety of the masses, and the preservation of his temper, he resorted to hanging the freshly washed clothes inside the cottage, strings of dripping laundry dangling across the tiny living room like festive garlands creating a linen maze.
His wards had been quick to turn the new decorations into one of their games, insisting on running barefoot across the draping bed sheets as if they were adventurers exploring the ruins of ancient castles, seeking monsters and ghosts between the folds of the general’s tattered underwear. It took Malleus taking a heavy tumble into one of the slippery puddles that formed beneath the strung clothes for the peacefulness of the late morning to crumble under the dragon’s blasting wails and Lilia to put their fun to a stop, demanding they sought a more static form of entertainment that wouldn’t end with him pretending to heal a nonexistent scrape.
The boys had fled to their shared room, leaving the house in a rare, sacred quietness. The fae savored it, as he focused on the mundane task before him. His dagger met the whetstone in a steady rhythm, sparks of sound and friction spilling into the stillness. Each pass of the blade was a small meditation, a tether to the present, until the motions themselves lulled him into a quiet trance.
Once a proud ornament of carnage, transformed by domesticity to a culinary tool reduced to slicing fruit and vegetables for their shared meals. Lilia sympathized with the fate of the weapon. There was no corruption rooted deep enough to withstand the sweeping wave of familial fervor that blossomed within the cottage’s walls, and with that thought he let himself be swallowed by the grounding cadence of metal against stone.
He should have recognized the masked moment of peace for what it was.
The calm before the storm.
However, recognition came to him belatedly when thunder struck their tranquil household in the form of small, hurried steps skipping across the staircase with unshakable resolution, and even though the sky remained unchanged, the incoming rainstorm itching closer at a snail’s pace, Lilia heard the rumbling accompanying the Draconia fledgling’s certain strides. He’d long learnt to associate a dragon's stomping with disaster. Time failed to prove him wrong when Malleus’s pudgy cheeks emerged between a crack in the linen wall of dripping laundry, his emerald eyes narrowed with resolve.
“I don’t need a cuddling toy anymore.”, he announced with the finality befitting of a prince giving out orders to his subjects concerning the fate of a kingdom rather the destiny of a plush toy.
A small quiet part of Lilia pitied the fae court Malleus was bound to return to, for sometimes it felt as though Raverne’s blood had remained entirely dormant, unable to temper what the dragons had claimed so thoroughly, allowing her unyielding stubbornness to roam freely across Malleus’s emerald veins. However, the larger, more prominent fraction of his conscious thoughts had nothing to spare for that hissing pit of treacherous snakes, since all of his compassion was channeled on himself, manifesting under the form of a deep sigh, as Lilia felt the beginnings of a headache tug on his nerves.
“Is there a problem with the one you have?”, the bat fae started diplomatically, fingers already massaging coaxing circles across his temples, as he wrecked his mind to remember the latest fluffy monstrosity that had the misfortune of serving as Malleus’s nighttime prisoner. Images of a very tethered and very crisped bat plushie he’d stolen from a human baby back in the village flashed across his thoughts.
“I can get you a new one, but it will have to wait ‘til next month.”
“No, I don’t want a new one, I just don’t want one.”
Lilia eyed the fae child suspiciously, crimson eyes glistening with the scrutiny of a general scanning for signs of a trap in the enemy’s formation, but Malleus’s expression remained serious, with no trace of mischief clouding his pair of lime-green eyes.
“Really?”, the former general queried, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Really.”, the little dragon nodded, his expression genuine, his resolve earnest.
“No objections from me.”, he conceded, shoulders shrugging disinterestedly.
Admittedly, it was becoming progressively trickier to thread thought the minefield of toys that consisted of their floor, and even though Lilia himself had never been particularly tidy with his space, after the hundredth time of bumping into another jagged edge of the children’s wooden trinkets, even a fae’s little toe was bound to ache. Of course, throwing out a single toy hardly made a difference when faced with a year-old accumulating clutter, but it was a good start and the fact that Malleus was willing to part with one of his possessions was a good sign.
Dragons never took kindly with yielding pieces of their hoard, and even though the little prince’s horns had yet to grow past the size of his thumbs, his fangs were hardly sturdy enough to slice through Lilia’s culinary creations and his tail barely brushing against the ground sweeping dust and dirt alike, his primal form no bigger than the size of a baby fawn, Malleus’s scaly heritage was apparent in his personality. To deny it went against his very nature, so even though parting with a toy was a small victory, the fae always gave credit where credit was due.
“Want me to throw it away?”, Lilia proposed as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Only because it was! It was inherent to assume that when one had no further need for an item then discarding said object was the logical outcome. Except the very notion of the fae’s proposal had the little dragon’s face blanching in absolute horror as if Lilia had suggested throwing him away instead.
And at that moment, it dawned on the fae that the sense of safety he’d lulled himself into was but a fickle lie and that the general’s gut honed between steel and flesh was right; the storm had already began. When Malleus spoke again, his voice blasted across the cluttered living room like a wild gust of wind, causing the walls of fabric to dangle precariously across the makeshift clothesline, the same way their humble home quaked against its foundations as the deep rumbling echo of thunder roared the heavens followed by a white streak of lightning that flashed across the murky canvas of the day like a glowing vein.
The sound of rain pelting the cottage’s thin windows came too suddenly to be a coincidence.
“What no!”, the fae child cried, stomping his tail against the floorboards in a clear show of outcry.
From his peripheral vision he caught sight of Silver momentarily shrinking into the couch positioned right next to the assaulted windowsill, before shaking his snow-kissed head swiftly enough for his meticulously combed hair to frizzle so much they reminded Lilia of an albino porcupine. It seemed that the human wasn’t the only one shaken by the sudden shift in the atmosphere and judging by the emptiness of the boy’s arms and the acute feeling of something ridiculously soft and invitingly smashable pressing against his foot, the fae didn’t need to spare the mysterious creature a single glance to know Silver had failed to keep to his promise of keeping his furry friends in check for the sixth time.
Restraining himself from kicking the blasted bunny across the room was almost as challenging as keeping his voice from rising, but suppressing such violent urges was essential if he didn’t want both children dissolving in a fit of snot and tears. One of them was already on the verge of crying for reasons beyond Lilia’s understanding, so adding insult to the injury would benefit no one. Staying calm was of the essence.
“You can’t just throw him away!”
“Are you sure?” Lilia asked carefully, confused as to how his words had managed to set the young fae off. Perhaps Malleus didn’t wish to part with the toy indefinitely and even though Lilia hardly had the patience to deal with another chore being added to his already impossible schedule, lending a helping hand armored with thread and needle was far more ideal than having the little flame-breathing gremlin set the house on fire again.
“It’s pretty tethered around the edges but if you want to, I can try to stitch it up-”
“You’re going to stitch him up?!” Malleus yelped, absolutely horrified, eyes shrunk so much that even with the fae’s enhanced vision, it was impossible for Lilia to spot the prince’s slitted irises, and this time the roar of thunder splitting the heavens resonated so close it made general Vanrouge, Maleficia’s trusted beast, Briar Valley’s deadliest weapon, carnage incarnate jump.
“How do you think the rest of your toys have survived so far?!” Lilia snapped back, as he settled back into his seat, his brows dipping in frustration at Malleus’s unexpected and entirely unwarranted outburst, his hollow cheeks darkening with embarrassment at his startled and utterly undignified reaction. A decorated officer of the crown of one of the most powerful kingdoms and yet here he was flinching away from the sound of a storm like some fidgety rabbit.
Speaking of which, he was vaguely aware of Silver’s diligent fingers struggling to loosen the ironclad grip of the stubborn furball that refused to let go of his leg despite its shepherd’s most gentle coaxing. The human’s disapproving huff seemed to do the trick, beckoning his furry friend to return to the safety of his hold, depriving Lilia of the chance to try his hand on rabbit stew.
“Fine I won’t stitch anything.”, the fae promised, obsidian fingers grasping the bridge of his nose as he let out a grounding breath, “We can just shove it somewhere in the cellar, how about that?”
This time when thunder struck, the cottage’s roof trembled so violently, a drizzle of gravel rained over their heads. Laundry was as much of a lost cause as Lilia’s dream of a peaceful morning.
Malleus’s wings unfurled in an instant, dark as the night’s moonless horizon though entirely too small to accumulate the weight of his humanoid form, resembling more of a bat’s appendages rather than a fearsome dragon’s, as their horrified owner launched into the air.
And now it was Lilia’s turn to panic.
The fae’s eyes nearly popped out of their head as he stormed after the flying prince, calls of Malleus’s name blending with insults of another tongue before bursting from his mouth, as Lilia proceeded to knock himself on every single piece of furniture they owned. The little dragon himself followed a similarly turbulent path, slamming straight into the candle beam suspended by the ceiling -effectively drowning the house in a state semi-darkness- before derailing into the makeshift walls of dripping laundry and toppling into the floor in a heap of limbs and fabric, demonstrating immaculately the exact reason why flying inside the house was strictly forbidden.
Lilia groaned furiously, shoving one of the upturned couch’s torn cushions out of his glaring face and swallowing a fistful of feathers in the process, before stomping his way towards Malleus’s flaying form currently swallowed by one of the fae’s bed sheets, or at least whatever remained of it skewered between the dragon’s wings.
It was in moments like this that Lilia regretted each and every one of his life decisions that had brought them to this point, but between scattered toys, melting candles and sprawled clothes the fae had little time for introspection as he rushed through the bloodstained field of the battle before stopping short of the little gremlin’s shadow and tearing off his cotton shield.
Only to find Malleus’s fiery glare on the other side, his slitted emerald irises boring into the fae’s soul with such intensity one could only assume that Lilia had dared commit an unforgivable sin against his majesty, the kind of transgression reserved for butchers and traitors, a description that on second thought fit the banished general like a glove. It had been years since anyone had looked at Lilia with such crawling aversion, and even though nostalgia wasn’t the proper word to describe the snaking feeling ensnaring his chest, it was pretty close.
She used to glare at him like that. Well, she used to glare at everyone like that with narrowed eyes and dipped brows and pupils as thin as blades and a togue just as sharp, but unlike the court’s snakes that ran away when faced with the dragon’s ire, Lilia held his place like a man with a death wish, and if he’d managed not to shrink in front of the real beast, he sure wasn’t going to flinch in front of a miniature version.
He faced Malleus with a scowl of his own, a tad softened from the general’s notorious glares promising pain and destruction, but one that promised a scathing lecture nonetheless, one that was currently brewing at the back of his throat, itching to be released. But before the fae had managed to utter a single word, thunder blasted across the skies yet again before disappearing, sinking the cottage in a cloud of darkness with the only source of light flashing across Malleus’s glittering gaze.
“You want to shove Silver in the cellar?!”
A moment passed and then a second and after that a third, each one finding Lilia blinking dumbfoundedly at the world.
“You do?” Silver piped in, and only when the boy’s snowy head peeked from between Malleus’s outstretched arms, and his semi-permanent expression of untroubled neutrality warped around the edges, distorting his soft features with something akin to worry, did the dragon’s position registered.
Because Malleus was standing right in front of the human’s crouched form, arms extending protectively as if forming a flesh-made shield, wings unraveling to appear larger in front of the perceived threat in a clear display of animalistic instincts gone haywire, fangs flashing across the lightless room in silent warning.
“What?”, the fae mumbled confusedly, eyes darting between his two wards in pure bafflement.
“No! Of course not.”, he sputtered, hands flying in stuttered gestures, “Where did that even come from? When did Silver become part of this conversation?”
“Silver is my cuddling toy.” Malleus explained, as the traces of hostility pulling his features into a scowl washed into a wave of confusion, his fighting stance faltering with a pointed shrug of his shoulders, as if Lilia was the one being incredulous. The fae blinked as realization sunk in.
“Oh.”
And even though the past couple years had plunged him into an immense immersion into the subtle art of self-control, when faced with the absolute hysteria that consisted of his life, Lilia couldn’t help himself from facepalming.
“So, when you say you don’t want a cuddling toy anymore you mean you don’t want…”, his voice trailed uncertainly, eyes narrowing with doubt, as he delivered his glorious conclusion with an exaggerated sigh, “Silver?”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t want me, Malleus?” Silver mumbled unsurely and now it was his turn to blink confusedly at the situation.
“Nope.”, the dragon fae declared proudly, his haughty tone dropping with the finality of a pampered princeling, as he twisted his body towards the crouching human boy and offered him a pleased smile, retracting his wings just enough for Lilia to witness the exact moment Silver’s face crumbled below the weight of rejection.
It was no secret that the human’s self-esteem was as brittle as the fae’s temper, and it would be a lie to deny Lilia’s role in spreading the seed of insecurity until its vines had set their thorns deep into the boy’s soul, but Malleus was always careful with Silver’s heart, following him around like an impressionable duckling, tugging him into games and troubles alike. A loyal friend, the only company either of the boys had, a brother in everything but blood, even though the fae would never dare admit it aloud. With that in mind, Lilia was willing to give Malleus the benefit of the doubt.
So, despite the instant urge to plant his hands in the dragon’s arched shoulders and shake him until he swallowed back his words, the former general did the impossible.
He practiced patience.
“Because of the story.”
“What story?” Lilia prodded when the young fae didn't elaborate further.
“The story Silver was reading.” Malleus clarified very unhelpfully, after turning back to the fae, staring at Lilia with an expression of unclouded content.
Making their allegedly temporary living situation work had always been a struggle, and between Malleus’s clawing aversion at the mere thought of taking a bath as if there wasn’t a threat greater than that of lukewarm water and Silver’s incomprehensible insistence to adopt the entire furry population of Tenebrous Woods until their house resembled the premises of a farm, Lilia was often found at a loss.
Yet, if the fae were to name the most infuriating of tendencies that threw their daily routines into absolute chaos was everyone’s utter inability to be on the same book, let alone the same page.
“Care to elaborate further?”, he sighed, coaxing the words out of Malleus’s frustratingly uncooperative lips.
“It said that when a kid is old enough, they have to give their old cuddle toys away because they don’t need them anymore. Cuddle toys are for babies.”, he emphasized the word, scrunching his nose in aversion, “I am old enough so it’s time I give mine away.”
“That’s a monumental event Malleus. A truly earth-shaking rite of passage!” Lilia exclaimed, hands clapping in mock appraisal, voice dripping with irony thick as honey. As it was, Malleus’s grasp of sarcasm was clearly lacking judging by the exaggerated way his chest swell in pride, “Please don’t mind me for asking, but where exactly do you expect Silver to go?”
The dragon fae’s eyes narrowed in contemplation, his forked lime tongues teasing the edge of his lips, mirroring the same unconscious habit Lilia himself fell into whenever he was lost in deep thought. He was unsure how to feel at the fact that both his wards were mimicking his mannerisms, although, more than anything, it left him deeply unsettled, almost as unsettled as Silver looked right now, gulping down his nerves, as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, awaiting Malleus’s verdict as if it were his death sentence. To his credit, the dragon fae didn’t make them wait for too long before his chartreuse eyes lit in resolve.
“He can stay in your room!”, he announced, pointing a triumphant finger towards Lilia’s expecting form.
“Okay that’s it.”, the fae grumbled, every hint of pretending dropping from his tone for annoyance to settle in, as he pulled the edges of his bedsheet back up, swallowing both children beneath its linen length, “I indulged your whims long enough. Now go back to playing.”
“But I’m old enough.” Malleus protested, as he proceeded to tear through the fabric with his horns and pop his head out like the overgrown meerkat he was.
“No, you're not Malleus.” Lilia snapped back, pointing an accusatory finger towards the pouting fae, before yanking it back with a huff, realizing that was yet another gesture that had fallen victim to the kids’ mirroring, “You're a child and a very fussy one at that so until you stop biting my arm whenever it’s bathtime you are stuck sharing a room.”
“But the story-”
“My decision is final.”
Thunder struck outside, its rumbling echo coming dangerously close to the shaking cottage, but Lilia remained unshaken, staring straight at the source of the blasting storm with the resolve of the ruthless general who never backed down from a threat, arms crossed as he eyed Malleus with quiet disapproval. To his credit, the kid held his gaze for the entirety of a second, before groaning in defeat, dragging the rest of the bedsheet with him as he made his dramatic exit from the living room and stomped his way towards his room, making sure to slam the door shut with enough force to shake the walls of the whole house.
“I should start paying more attention to the contents of your reading materials.”, the fae huffed exhaustedly, stealing a quick glance at Silver who was now standing awkwardly by his side, eyes following the path of Malleus’s receding form, while his hand ran soothing circles across the bunny’s soft fur.
He lingered momentarily, absently pondering whether Silver might wish to talk about it, before shaking the thought along with his head. If Silver had a problem with Malleus’s behavior, he could take it up with him. Lilia wasn’t going to interfere and create problems where the was none, instead he was going to focus on preexisting issues, such as the cluttered chaos that made their living room resemble the eye of a cyclone.
With a snap of his fingers, fuchsia wisps of arcane traveled across the air, tugging at clothes and clothing lines alike until everything was back in their original place with nothing but a couple of holes and a ridiculous amount of dust to show for Malleus’s outburst. Lilia sighed as he reached for the sewing kit.
“I don't think you should have done that.” Silver muttered, lilac eyes still trained at the edge of the staircase where the young fae had stormed to with eerie fixation.
Despite the child’s lack of verbal expressiveness and vacant features, Lilia had always found his gaze very telling, a mirror to the soul. Yet there were times such as this one when Silver’s eyes reflected more blue than pink, like a crystalized sunset trapped in twin spheres, a haunting look that made the boy appear more fae than human, that rendered him impossible to read.
Then again, Lilia was never a people’s person.
“Malleus must learn that just because he wants something doesn't mean he'll get it.”, the fae mused, as he picked up a needle and propped it between his lips, pulling the hole-ridden clothes to inspect the damage, “Honestly, he's more spoiled than a noble’s spawn.”
“He is a prince though.” Silver corrected, eyes finally averting from the empty staircase to settle on Lilia, “You were the one who said-”
“A lot of things that I deeply regret saying.”, the fae groaned, as he spotted a rather unsalvageable hole on one of his shirts. Perhaps a visit to the human village was inevitable. “Regardless, sitting alone with his thoughts is going to do him some good.”
Maleficia would probably gouge his eyes and make a necklace out of them if she ever found out Lilia had the nerve to put her royal heir on time-out.
Truth be told, Lilia had never regretted telling Malleus the truth about his origins, and even if he’d stripped the child off his mother, a detail he’d left out of the narrative very conveniently, he’d made a promise to himself and to her haunting memory; to give her son the best childhood he could manage, however improvised and imperfect, before sending Malleus to meet the weight of his rigidly royal legacy, and his lousy caretaker to meet the fate of the gallows.
However, while the fae heir still lived under this roof and therefore under Lilia’s jurisdiction, princely tantrums would not be tolerated. And if Malleus took issue with that arrangement, he was more than welcome to argue his case with the wall of his room.
“Are you cooking something?”, Silver’s voice piped in, pulling him out of his thoughts and bringing his poor attempts at sewing to a merciful halt.
“No.”, he replied, eyes trailing to the human with mild curiosity, only to find Silver’s gaze fixed once again at the stairs, his grip on the white furball tightening absently. Lilia frowned, his lips parting to call the child’s name, but before a single vowel escaped his throat, his eyes were blown wide enough to drop from their sockets, as a familiar smell tugged at the edges of his nostrils.
The distinct trace of smoke.
“Shit!”, he cursed, as he stormed into the stairs, climbing the steps two at a time, only to be swallowed by a thick cloud of smoke made of black wisps threaded with olive rimming, the type of scorched vapor only dragonfire could produce.
Thunder bellowed as lightning flashed across the skies and for once Lilia hoped it’d rain heavier, enough to smother the flames before Malleus managed to burn the house again.
And for all the torture he’d been subjugated through his immortal existence, all the endless interrogations and the hellish throes of training, the pain and humiliation woven into a soldier's life, Lilia decided that there was no punishment as wicked as parenting.