#lilia and baby silver moments live in my head rent free fr....

[chernabogs]

BERCEUSE

Inc: Meleanor, Raverne, Mallegg, Lilia, and Baby Silver Warnings: None WC: 1.3k Summary: Berceuse: A quiet song to lull a child to sleep (Promptober day 3)

She remembers it from her father. This fact often takes people by surprise when they first learn it. No one would have expected the former king consort, rest his soul, to be the type to hum lullabies to his daughter to soothe away nightmares—but he was. He was a calm man beneath the rough exterior of sea-born and battle crafted that he presented as. Softer, to balance out the typhoon that was her mother’s personality when it came to matters of ruling. 

Meleanor remembers very little of her father beyond the lullaby. On occasion something will trigger a memory of him—a certain smell, or a certain sound—but the image of his face in her mind appears to be held under water. His features are ripples, his voice like a hymn, and the phantom touch of his hand holding her own is a weighted reminder of loss. Many people passed condolences to her mother when her father died, but they all seemed to forget the impact it had on her, as well. She remembers standing at her mother’s side during the pyrrhic burning of his corpse, humming the lullaby to herself, only to be silenced by a hand on her head.

It was the last time she had dared sing the song out loud until Malleus had been born. Despite still developing within his egg, he was a restless thing, constantly shifting and squirming and making the egg tremble in precarious positions. If he was born a live birth then one would have diagnosed him as ‘colic’—crying and fussing for reasons. Raverne had joked one time, when the egg had nearly fallen off of its perch from the movement of the baby within, that Malleus was swiftly developing a typhoon-like personality himself.

Despite smiling, Meleanor had seriously hoped her boy was more like his father then the temperamental Draconia line. 

When Raverne disappears (not dead; she rebuked that notion) and she’s left to care for a war and a baby on her own, Malleus’ inability to remain still sends her to a near breaking point. It’s hard to divert your attention between making sure your nation doesn’t collapse and making sure your baby doesn’t crack his own egg open because he just has to get a move on. It’s in this borderline breakdown she’s having (in private, mind you) that she returns to it. She hadn’t forgotten the song over the years, but it had become a taboo to her, to consider forming the sounds with her voice once more.

But for Malleus—for the warm evidence of life and of love that she cradles—it’s a taboo that she’s willing to break. When she begins to hum the song in a voice that’s shaky from disuse and slightly out of tune, the movements she feels beneath the fragile shell exterior began to still, and the outline she can see of her precious son seem to settle in a fetal position. If she was to consider it, she’d say that he’s fallen asleep in her arms at the sound.

She becomes bold in its use after that. Alone in the throne room or before an audience of her court, if it serves as a means to comfort her baby, then she will use it. She won’t allow him to feel as cold and as forgotten as she had when she stood before that pyrrhic marker of an end. When the war escalates, she sings it. When the Silver Owls surround Wild Rose, she sings it. When the feeling of a blade cutting through the scales upon her breast drags her world to darkness, she sings it. 

A lullaby to soothe a son. A swan song to herald an end. 

_______________________________

He knew it from her. Lilia had spent many hours in the company of the royal couple before the picturesque life they lived was shattered, and in doing so he had been privy to many things. An engagement, a wedding, and the delicate bond between a mother and her son. 

He used to scoff at that bond. His lip would curl whenever his future of babysitting was brought up in discussion, drawing amused teasing from Raverne at the notion of ‘Uncle Lilia’—a title he would vehemently deny. He used to tell himself that he would never bring a child of his blood in the world, that there would never be a baby in his arms, and that there would be no ‘uncle’ for the future prince. 

He kept most of those intentions true. He never did bring forth a child of his blood, and he certainly was not carrying any ‘uncle’ title at the moment—another five-letter word beginning with ‘e’ and ending with ‘e’ serves in its place. 

He did, however, misjudge the second intention. 

Red faced and fussy, Silver is making it abundantly clear that he’s not to be disregarded in the moment. He’s wailing, and crying, and his pudgy cheeks are wet with tears as he refuses to be put down for the night. Lilia has probably paced around the kitchen for almost an hour at this point patting Silvers back, and kissing those cheeks, and speaking in the most soothing tone he can muster while trying to refrain from breaking down himself.

Lilia had never expected to come to love the little guy, but he knows it to be true by the way his heart is aching the more he sees Silver in such an upset. 

“Please, please,” he whispers softly, kissing Silver��s forehead again as the baby’s voice increased in volume. “Shh, you’re okay, little one. It’s all going to be okay. I’m right here.”

‘Colic’ is a term he read in a human parenting guide. The book defines it as the state in which a perfectly healthy baby cries for no reason beyond just apparently wanting to. Mind you, Lilia has gone through the checklist to make sure there isn’t actually something wrong. Silver was fed, had his position changed, was rocked, and was bathed. Lilia had shown him pictures and rubbed his back and even floated in the air with him for a while to see if that would work. He had tried a pacifier, and a baby swing, and all of the cuddles Silver could possibly need. Hell, he had even reached out to Baul, who was just as lost as he was on what to do. 

Silver, it seems, just likes to make his feelings known. 

“You are my sunshine… oh for fucks—fudge—sake,” Lilia sighs, looking up to the ceiling as he continues to bounce Silver gently. His exhausted mind scrambles for any other solutions that might be at his disposal until a memory finally resurfaces. It’s distorted, as though held under water, but the sound of it is as clear as day. In his final attempt to put his baby and his heart at ease, Lilia shifts to hold Silver just a touch closer, and begins to hum a song he had long hoped to forget. 

At first, Silver doesn’t buy it. He continues to cry and fuss in his fathers’ arms—until finally his auroral eyes open, still brimming with tears, and he looks up at the other in interest. His wails die down to the softest sniffles, his pudgy hands stop waving in the air, and he simply looks curious for a while. Lilia continues to hum and to rock his boy until Silver’s apparent ability to fall asleep with ease returns, and the baby goes from a typhoon of emotion to a picturesque infant. 

Lilia’s breath leaves him slowly as he presses another kiss to Silver’s brow and sends a silent word of thanks to the stars. In his mind, he can see Meleanor and Raverne’s smug expressions at the sight of this as Lilia carries Silver back to his crib. 

A swan song to herald an end. A lullaby to soothe a son.