Chapter Text
Did he make the right choice?
Should he have left?
What would have happened if he had told them?
Would that have changed anything?
Was he a coward?
…Were they mad at him?
Did they care?
A dark cape fluttered in the wind, brushing against his leg as it swept side to side.
It was for the best. They don’t need him anymore; he has done his job…He would only get in the way.
He didn’t want that; they had their whole lives ahead of them…he’s…lived.
Rain pelted against his head, painfully, almost as if it were punishing him, each drop harsher than the last, soaking his cape through with cold, seeping to his clothes. He walked on, the cool wind sending a shiver down his spine. Looking up into the wet night, the comforting moon hid behind dark clouds. He wasn’t even deserving of its presence; it too was hiding just as he did.
He didn’t need its soft guiding light tonight; he knew the way well enough.
His legs ached with the pains of fatigue, yet even now, after many steps and long travel, he trudged along. The light of day, long behind him. Wet, thick sludge of fresh dirt clinging to his boots - caked on and unwilling to let go, as if begging him to stay.
He’d have to wash them later.
Exposed strands of hair clung to his face, wet from water; the hood of his thin cape doing a terrible job of shielding him from the rain. Nothing is more uncomfortable than the roughness of wet hair. Though at least he knew it would dry quickly, how he had managed with long hair for so long he had no idea.
The surrounding trees rustled, the wind conducting a menacing song, hissing with each gust; a few loose strands of hair whacked his eye.
Moving his hair back into place, he lifted his head to face the accumulation of thorns and crumbling stone in the distance that he had once called a castle, this place was a blessing and a curse all in one - his failures, his successions … his son.
Why come back to this place? Nostalgia? Guilt? He didn’t know.
He and Briar Castle shared many things in common.
Memories, relationships, and many years within those stone walls. Forgotten laughter of three close friends, filled with dreams and big ideas. Youths silly enough to be ready to go against the world. A few heated arguments here and there, scraped knees and many broken bones from training… and tears, lots and lots of tears.
He and the castle were old and so drastically changed, and yet they both were still here despite the many battles they had seen. Maybe he needed a familiar face, an old friend, if you may.
A friendly face before his lone journey began once more.
Lilia trekked through the softened ground, his steps sinking deep into the gooey sludge, towards the familiar stone path. His boots hitting the unbending surface as he reached the breaking bridge entrance, the rain seemed to intensify, and thunder rumbled in the background. He cared not to gaze upon the castle’s sorry sight, which he knew had once been mighty; it didn’t feel fair. After all, he knew the feelings of embarrassment and shame all too well.
He himself wasn’t what he used to be. And that was okay.
He ignored the painful swell of his heart as he walked toward the stone ruin. Footsteps quickened as he approached the entrance, feet knowing where to go even if the mind did not.
Once inside, he let down his hood, allowing his soaked hair to start drying itself.
The old castle was damp, not quite dry yet not quite wet, musty, holes from the fallen roof allowing the aggressive rain inside; the rain was louder in here, echoing into the vast space as it bounced against the walls. Furniture and other belongings still in their original place, only moved from animals or the fallen stones - all rotting away, forgotten. Seventeen years since he had last been here, nothing compared to his four hundred-year record.
He wandered, tired legs light on the old stone, hallway after hallway, room after room, the sights all too warped and changed to be familiar to him, remains of a bygone kingdom that history cared not to remember. Lining the walls were paintings of lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses with their babes and children in their arms, regalia draped all around them, humans all long gone from this world - a world that had changed so much from when they were here, that change was a luxury only granted to fae to experience. Or so he thought until seventeen years ago, though the baby didn’t remember the times of the seventeenth century.
Continuing on, he explored the floors he’d neglected last time he was here, all because of a darling babe who needed his attention. This time around, though, there was no wailing to distract from his curiosity and lost nostalgia.
He had almost reached the top; the bedchambers, he knew at least under fae occupation, were up there. He wondered if the humans had left some of what remained of their presence, enjoying their finery they had so guiltlessly taken. The rooms they had slept in, dreams shared amongst three.
The royal bedchambers were changed beyond recognition, remains of his two friends long gone, the royal black, purples, and greens of the Draconia’s swapped with fine baby blues and metal greys of Istvan. A lovingly made nest of plump pillows for a mother and her child to nap in, too, was gone - though that was to be expected; humans tended not to make nests, though that didn’t stop Silver and his blanket forts.
An almost perfect painting hung where a portrait of the princess and her prince consort of the Land of Briar once hung, now replaced with another kingdom’s princess and her prince consort, the human princess round with child in the painting, a set of familiar aurora eyes bright with proud smiles of future parents to be…tragic.
…He wondered.
Leaving that room and walking into another he used to call his, he confirmed his suspicions. His old, barren bedchamber had turned into a nursery, a barely used nursery, yet to be truly broken into, missing the evidence of the messes and spills that raising a child brought. Those meant to be here in this room were instead back in his humble cottage in the woods, still stained into the building no matter how many times he tried cleaning it.
The irony was not lost on him.
To think he and his son had shared the same room, even before their meeting. Lilia smiled to himself, fingers tracing the dusty cradle; the blanket ruffled from signs of life, a handcrafted teddy bear, his baby laid here once. He could picture the adorable face snoozing away, drool dripping down his chubby cheeks as dreams floated by.
Had they watched him slumber as he did?
Stroked his head?
Held his tiny hand?
Probably. Who wouldn’t?
Lightning thrashed near the window; he was at the top now. You could see all the Greenland wetlands from there, the sea in the distance. He stood for a moment, listening to the harsh storm, muffled by the castle… He used to brag about getting the best view in the castle. ‘What a lucky bat you are.’ She used to say.
Yeah, it was still the best view, even with the rain clouds and the rain.
…
He was overstaying his welcome.
Lilia made his way down from the bedchambers; as he passed by in the hallway, a flash of pastel caught his eye. Colours he remembered from his youth: pinks and blues. The guest bedchamber, one a bossy princess had decorated herself, though the contents had been switched. No longer a bedchamber but a playroom full of toys. Of course, the royal parents would pamper the darling prince. Though the painted wall remained the same, illustrated clouds done in pastel pink and blue, a dreamy room to be sure, art on the walls strictly fae.
He was getting distracted.
One last stop, and then he was gone.
The familiar sight of menacing thorns brought a weird sense of comfort - something he knew, something familiar.
Banners of the family crest of the Istvan’s draped down, some fallen, some barely still clinging to the ropes. Thorns crawled up the cracking walls, filling the floor too; the cradle he had found a crying baby near the two thrones at the end of the vast room.
The throne room, the very place that had gifted him both of his boys, he could never be more grateful to. Which was kind of strange: the room wasn’t alive in the slightest, yet he felt as if it were an old friend. This place was his humble beginnings on the road to fatherhood, even if he had no idea at the time.
Never would he forget the day the name Malleus was first uttered to him, the panic, the fear, his heart pounding in his ears, no matter how many times he had tried in the past to forget that tragic day, to leave behind that hurt - he never could. How could he when Maleanor herself entrusted the sweet boy to him all those years ago? How, when that was the last time he saw her beautiful face alive and well? Not even Malleus himself knew of his true journey into this world, nor would he ever be told; the story would be Lilia’s burden to bear - his and the throne room’s secret.
Malleus did not need that hurt; that hurt would die with him.
And how could he ever forget the place where he had found his precious Silver? His sweet, sweet son, the very being who shared very blood with the one he had called an enemy - the offspring of the Knight of Dawn and Queen Leah. Crown prince of the kingdom that had destroyed his life. An Istvan.
How funny.
That human boy had allowed him to open his eyes wider than they had ever been before. Taught Lilia so many new things about himself and the world, challenging everything Lilia thought he knew. Allowing himself to finally cast aside negative biases and opinions on humans that he had held onto for centuries. Sliver softened him to where he was completely unrecognisable to the hardened war fae he once was.
To be loved is to be changed, or so they say.
He chuckled to himself.
If only his past self could see him now. Oh, what would he think?
And yet somehow these two drastically different experiences, two drastically different boys, came together to create something in his life had never known - a loving family. Maybe the throne room had something to do with this, a funny twist of fate, playing up a joke to make a mockery of him. It knew all along where his fate led.
Maybe that’s why he came back, now that he had left behind the two most precious things given to him by the very room he stood in - he wanted to say thank you one final time.
…Or maybe it was guilt… either way, this place had given him a lot, and due diligence was in order.
He gave his thanks.
Thank you for giving him a chance to become more than the famous title of Lilia Vanrouge, the vicious General of the Right, more than the mask that he had carefully crafted back then. To be more than just his axe and battle prowess. More than his filthy common blood.
Not just the shamed Dragon’s right hand.
He was a father, a mentor, and a friend. He helped raise two beautiful boys who will go on and do great things one day; he knows they will. Though his name had been disgraced and dishonoured, Lilia knew his true legacy would live on in his boys, even the headstrong Sebek, whom he had mentored and taught, would carry his teachings onto the next generation for him.
The world no longer needed him; everything good he ever had was left with those three. They would move on without him. He was grateful.
He was happy.
A burden no longer.
Lilia sighed, relieved at that thought. His eyes took in every crack in the crumbling stone walls as he looked around the room one last time. It was time to move on. To leave the past alone for good.
Goodbye, old friend.
He grumbled as he realised that his hair would once again become soaked with rainwater the moment he stepped back outside: oh well, such is life.
He turned on his heel towards the exit.
Green.
He saw green in front of him, a bright, glowing green staring him down menacingly.
It felt as if eyes were pinning him down, yet there was nothing.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Lilia shouted at the green glow, readying himself for an attack. There weren’t many people in the world who had business in this forgotten place.
The light stalked closer; the throne room was shrouded in an iridescent green. An unnatural, sickly shade.
Lilia stepped back towards the thrones, now turned around from the exit, thorns snapping underneath his boots as he did.
“I am warning you, I am prepared for a fight!” His voice was sharp and loud; he reached for a small pocketknife in his cloak. He hadn’t thought he would be needing this here; it was for thugs or muggers who dared try anything with him, beings without magic, not… not whatever this was.
The light brightened. Lightning slashed through the sky, and heavy thunder followed.
“Good.” A woman’s wispy yet commanding voice replied.
The verdant light got even brighter, so bright it could rival the sun in its brightness; Lilia had to look away. He dropped the knife as the light flashed. Behind him, a single raven sat on a throne’s arm, staring at him; its eyes glowed green. It didn’t move; it just watched.
Lilia’s heart picked up pace, fear taking hold as his vision blurred; his body felt weaker than usual and it wasn’t the fatigue, no his limbs were like jelly. His legs buckled, ankles twisted. The sound of heels hitting stone became louder as a figure came close behind him.
Foreboding and direct.
It was coming straight for him.
The raven started to cry.
Lilia went to turn his head back to his suspected foe.
He couldn’t.
Cold fingers clutched the sides of his head, grip was so tight it squished the sides together, as if it wanted to crush his skull in.
But it didn’t.
“Shhhhh.” The figure had wrapped its arms around him before he could face them; it was pulling him into a careful embrace as it lifted him, a hand slowly coming up towards his eyes.
How did it get him?
Sevens, that’s fucking embarrassing.
He thrashed against them, his weakening body trying its damned hardest to escape this unwanted embrace he had found himself in. Kicking and bucking his small legs to get in a hit, arms now too weak to move from their positions. Lilia internally cursed to himself.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
“Let go of me! Let me go! What do you want from me? Who are you?” He screamed at the figure, throat grating in pain at the volume; green had enveloped him too, blinding him.
“Sleep now, Lilia. There we go~” the glowing figure replied.
Gentle hands covered his eyes completely; his legs slowed as his body relaxed within the stranger’s embrace. Tired, he wanted to sleep… No; he didn’t want to; it wanted him to.
He had to fight it. He needed to fight.
Fuck.
Lilia whimpered, limbs not moving no matter how hard he tried to move them.
“Please… please, let me… go…” Lilia begged as his voice drifted away, his mouth becoming too heavy to move any longer and his consciousness fading into unwanted sleep. Against his will, his body went completely limp in the figure’s hold.
He now slept, letting out a content sigh as he nuzzled his face into the figure, as if he were a small child.
His face was now calm; you wouldn’t have even guessed he had been screaming a moment ago.
The figure moved him into a bridal carry, tenderly moving hair out of his face as it went to place him on a throne.
The raven looked on.
“Why would I do that, silly little bat? You would only run away again.”