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Lilia still remembered Silver’s first autumn.
He remembered how the wee boy had looked in his little sweaters, cooing happily at the birds flying above.
Lilia remembered taking Silver out to the markets, discussing the prices of wares with the baby, who had been in his carrier, bundled warm and asleep for most of these conversations.
Sometimes Silver would be awake, but he had been far more concerned with the squirrels, chipmunks, dogs, or occasional cats than the prices of tomatoes or fabrics. Lilia found he hadn’t minded, and he’d often be too busy cooing at how cute Silver was to whoever would listen.
He remembered taking long walks in the chilly afternoons, holding Silver close to his chest and humming lullabies and telling the boy stories of days past. Malleus would often accompany them on these walks, staring out into the woods quietly with occasional questions or insights.
“Lilia,” The young prince had once asked, his eyes lingering on the path ahead, “When will Silver be able to walk on his own?”
“Ah, not for awhile, yet,” Lilia had smiled, “Is there a reason you ask, Malleus?”
Malleus had frowned, his young face troubled, “It is wrong you should have to carry him so much.”
“Hm? And what does that mean?”
Malleus huffed, as though the answer to his question was obvious, “You’re old, Lilia. You could injure yourself or the human.”
Lilia had broken into a fit of laughter, which had roused Silver and caused Malleus's face to flush, “I did not think my concern was funny.”
“Your concern,” Lilia had managed through the laughter, “Is most appreciated, Malleus.”
Malleus frowned, "You're laughing as if it’s a joke.”
“It’s not your concern that’s funny, dear boy,” Lilia smiled warmly down at the young prince, “It’s incredibly kind of you to worry for me. I simply wasn’t expecting a jab at my age, is all.”
Malleus made a concerned sort of noise, “It wasn’t a jab!”
Lilia placed a hand atop his head, “I know it wasn’t, and you needn’t be concerned. Silver weighs nary more than a small stone.”
Malleus had assessed the both of them for a moment, his eyes lingering on the now half-asleep baby, he then gave Lilia a meaningful look, “You promise?”
“I promise, Malleus.”
He seemed content with that answer as they finished their walk, continuing down on the well-worn stone path back to the palace, he regaled Lilia with a story of his own. A clever fox, wind-fast hare, and a too-wise owl competing for the throne of the forest, only to be beaten in a race by the silvery fish in the pond.
Autumn was even more joyous when Silver was older.
He was a young boy of about eight, Lilia was watching him collect stones in a chilly creek, his sleeves rolled up his arms, small face fixed with determination.
“Silver,” Lilia had called out, producing a towel from his small bag, “We should be on our way soon, lest we catch a chill.”
Silver looked back, his nose and cheeks stung red by the wind, “Ok!”
He ran into Lilia’s waiting arms, giggling wildly as Lilia wrapped him up in the towel and spun him around in the air, “Father!”
Lilia scooped the boy up, tapping at his nose, “Poor boy, your face looks like a strawberry. Aren’t you cold?”
“A little bit,” Silver rubbed at his eyes, yawning, “I had fun, though.”
“Well, I’m glad,” Lilia pulled the towel tighter around Silver, breathing in the crisp, dewy air, “We’re going over to the Zigvolt’s for dinner.”
“‘Kay,” Silver yawned again, and before Lilia could say anything else, he was fast asleep.
It was a short enough walk, but it always reminded Lilia of the time before Malleus was born, when he was scattered to the winds.
Lilia liked to travel alone, he preferred the constant companion of nature over any fae or human, but even he could admit how lonely he’d been. His wanderings, enjoyable as they were, had been listless and grief-stricken.
He’d been plagued with the dreams of times past, of people and places long since gone. And even when he was awake, absorbing the world around him, he thought of Briar Valley, of his duties, of his promise to Maleanor, and of the little heir he’d eventually have to return to and protect.
He’d been living on hope and spite, he had liked to think every breath he drew would spite Henrick and kept some part of Maleanor and Raverne alive, even if in spirit. Now, as he looked down at his son, that spite seemed a distant memory. Silver would grow, and he would grow in peace. Free of the war, of the hurt, of the loneliness that had plagued Lilia’s own life.
Absently, he began to hum a lullaby as he admired the red, orange, and gold trees, he thought of how many autumns he had spent alone, and how many he would spend with good company.
Now, instead of sitting alone by a foreign fire, he was sat around a hearth, surrounded by familiar faces and absolved of his grief-stricken duties.
Autumn at school was always fun.
Lilia enjoyed how the school was alight with all sorts of spookiness, candles burning in otherwise dark windows, small sheet-ghosts, and all sorts of squashes adorned tables, ceilings, and doorways. Even something as joyful as cady dipped its sugar-coated fingers in the macabre, it was delightful.
“Who’s that?” Kalim pointed at the screen of Lilia’s phone. “I didn’t know you had a baby in your family!”
Lilia looked down, adorning his lockscreen was a rather old photo of him in Silver in their fall attire, Silver was a wee thing and his eyes didn’t quite meet the camera, “Ah, yes. He’s much older now, I’m afraid.”
“Aw, I get it,” Kalim grinned, “They really aren’t lying when they say they grow up so fast, huh?”
Lilia smiled down at the photo, “I suppose they really aren’t.”
Cater snorted from across the room, "You're both a couple of saps.”
Kalim smiled his usual bright smile and began to chatter about his own siblings, and Lilia was only half listening.
He thought of Silver as he’d seen the boy this morning, bickering with Sebek over their breakfast, Malleus watching on in vague amusement. He thought of when they were children, bickering out in the yard, wooden swords clashing. It’d seemed only yesterday Silver would curl up in his arms and ask for a bedtime story, but now he was nearly a man. A knight all his own.
His son had grown, and so had Lilia. And as Lilia looked down at the pudgy little thing in the photo, an undeniable pride welled in his chest. His son had grown, and he’d grown into a good young man, and Lilia hoped fate would allow them at least a few more autumns together, that he’d be around long enough to see Silver marvel at the changing leaves at least a few more years.