Claus

It didn't matter how much time passed, or how well Frey acted his way through life, Claus could always tell when his smile was genuine.

And it usually appeared around horses.

"You might want to give her some room to breathe," he suggested through a chuckle as Frey scratched the foal behind her ears for the eleventh time. He didn't even seem too bothered by the flies surrounding the horses nearby, courtesy of the shady part of the pasture. "But then again, she hasn't moved away either so who am I to say anything?"

"She's amazing." Frey stroked the white marking on the otherwise black filly's forehead. "I didn't even know Rusty Rose Tea was having another foal."

"Mr. Glowell told me pretty early on," Claus admitted, failing to not look awfully proud of himself. "But it was such a perfect timing for her to be born so soon before your twentieth birthday, so I considered it a sign and told them not to tell you about it."

"Well, it wouldn't be you without perfect birthday gifts." Frey beamed once he finally looked back at his father. "Thank you."

Claus' smile was almost as big as Frey's. While his son remained grateful for every gift Claus gave him, he'd grown a little too comfortable with expecting new things all the time and his excitement had faded over the years, but this time it was back. It was the pinnacle of excitement that Claus had missed.

"I reckon she'll have a tea related name, like the other offspring?" Claus nodded to the foal, and Frey hummed in thought.

"Well, there's no hurry with that." He gestured between him and Claus. "We can think of one, the two of us."

"I suspect you'll be spending a lot of time here from now on, then?" Claus raised an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder before continuing. "Though I doubt the Glowell children will complain. I think they're both quite infatuated with you."

Frey dismissed it with a low laugh.

"I don't come here looking for something like that."

"Well..." Claus tilted his head. "... Are you going to start looking for something like that soon enough? Perhaps meeting people your age?"

Frey wrinkled his nose, though still holding on to the smile on his lips.

"I just don't think that's something for me."

"At all?" Claus' heart stung, though it was not his place to question his son's choices. "You're not... Interested in finding someone? Build a family?"

"My apparent inability to find someone I like aside, I think the feeling is mutual as far as the others are concerned. You know I don't get along with them."

"Really? I know plenty who've been interested."

"Not in me." Frey's expression was unfaltering. "My title, my looks, my wealth... My youth... But not me."

Claus hesitated. He'd had the conversation with Valdís so many times over the years, and it always ended the same.

But it did not sit right with him.

"You... Know there are people out there who would appreciate you for the side you're forced to hide, right?" He couldn't help himself. He couldn't stand the idea of Frey feeling like he wasn't good enough. "For the real you."

Frey, however, laughed.

"What are you talking about?" His ever so persistent grin was accompanied by a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he shook his head at his father. "This is the real me."

It did not make Claus feel better. Frey was too alike his mother that way. They'd rather die than admit their struggles as long as they could hide them properly, and just like with Valdís, Claus feared Frey was too far gone to listen to any opposing thoughts on the matter. So he had to leave it alone, with a sigh to show at least a little disagreement.

"As long as you're happy." He let his cheerful expression wane for a moment as Frey turned back to the foal.

Then he looked up at the sky, wincing as he realised how much time had passed since they got there.

"You're free to stay for a while longer, of course," he continued with a grimace. "I need to hurry back though. I have a meeting with Lord Carrigan and I'd like to be done with it before your celebration later."

Frey did not look away from the foal, neither did his expression change despite the clear tension growing around him.

"Oh? I thought the two of you had lost touch with each other over the years?"

"We have." Claus rubbed the back of his neck. "But trade's been difficult lately between South and West, and I'm hoping for some help from his side."

Frey finally let his eyebrows dip into a frown, and the glance he directed at his father even looked a little hurt.

"I wasn't aware of that. Why wouldn't you talk to me about it?"

"I can't ask you to handle every matter that concerns West Kerilia," Claus defended himself. "You have a lot on your plate already with international—"

"But I'm in South Kerilia to keep an eye on them," Frey protested. "I'm very much in the position to do something about our connection if needed, and if nothing else I can talk to Damien about it."

"I feel bad enough for asking so much from you already." Claus' shoulders slouched, unable to tell his son just how bad the friction between the towns was getting. "I don't doubt your ability, but I don't want you to sacrifice your health. You're putting in so much effort socially as it is, and work on top of that?"

"I'm telling you, it's alright," Frey insisted, finally rising from the grass to face Claus at eye level. "I'm doing this for us."

"And so am I." Claus placed a hand on Frey's shoulder, almost offended Frey wasn't pulling away. He knew how Frey felt about being touched most of the time. "Nothing is more important to me than my family, and I want them happy more than I want some dumb business to thrive."

Frey pursed his lips, but exhaled a breath of defeat.

"If you're certain you can handle it."

"Just relax for once, alright?" Claus grinned. "Trust me, there's nothing to worry about."

***

"I should have listened better." Frey's eyes narrowed in reluctant pain as he traced a hand over the gravestone. "I never stopped to reflect on his words, and how he tried to convince me to be myself so often despite what I'd been taught."

He withdrew his hand as it began trembling, and he drew a silent breath to regain his composure.

"And... I should have visited more often," he whispered, blinking unwelcomed tears from his eyes. "Almost ten years since his death, and I've barely set foot in the graveyard. I guess it's been too painful, but... I wanted him to meet you. Hoping that no matter where he is, he can see how my life turned out. How I found a family despite thinking I couldn't back then."

He looked down at Isabelline, whose big, brown eyes blinked at the gravestone in confusion.

"He's in there?" she said in a louder voice than necessary and Frey winced, but smiled before shaking his head.

"He's underneath. I told you, when people die, they're often buried in the ground." He hadn't explained the process of unburials yet, even though his father's was coming up. It was a painful idea for him still, so he didn't like to think about that part either.

"When is he coming back?" Isabelline asked, and Frey unthinkingly squeezed her hand tighter while a familiar pain spread through his chest, and he knew he'd have to cough soon.

"He's not."

"Why?"

"When people die, they usually stay dead." He fought back the cough, causing his voice to turn thick instead. "And undeath is in most cases undesirable."

"You miss him?" Isabelline wondered, letting go of Frey's hand to reach her arms up instead, and Frey obediently leaned down to pick her up.

"I do." He held her tight as another shaking breath escaped him, and he stroked a hand through her soft, wheat coloured curls. "And I wish he'd been alive to meet his granddaughter."

"I like to think he can still see us," Marius reasoned as he appeared by their side with an overfilled basket of flowers. "And he'd be very proud."

He gave Frey a kiss before showing off his find.

"Think this will be enough?"

Frey had to laugh through his painfully itching throat.

"How big of a wreath are you making?"

Marius grinned mischievously.

"Too much?"

"Unless you're making one for every grave."

The urge to cough finally won, and Frey handed Isabelline over to Marius before coughing into his elbow. He thankfully received a handkerchief from Marius soon enough, allowing him to cough more properly into it.

"There's a bench further away." Marius softly bumped their foreheads together when he was finished. "I'm sensing a fever wave, so let's sit down."

Fatigue was indeed weighing Frey's legs down, and he sat down next to his family while taking deep breaths, pretending the accompanying gurgling sounds weren't there.

"We can just as well make a wreath here, right?" Marius' cheerfulness had weakened, but he still began sorting the flowers while Isabelline eagerly helped him as well as her small hands could manage.

"Which ones?" She turned to Frey, who was always up for a colour matching challenge, and he folded the red stained fabric in his hands before tucking it away.

"The buttercups would match the accents in our clothes, so let's start with those." He picked some out for her to begin threading through the birch twigs, feeling the strength in his arms fading rapidly. "He loved yellow, too."

"Father misses him," Isabelline felt the need to relay to Marius, even though Frey was pretty sure he'd heard them talking.

"And I understand that." Marius tucked a daisy behind her ear. "I miss my father too. There will never come a day that I don't."

"And it doesn't matter even after they're gone," Frey added, glancing down as Marius placed a hand on top of his. "Memories of loved ones are still there and can be treasured forever... Even if they disappear sooner than we would have hoped. They'll live on through us."

"I thought we were meeting by the grave," a voice said from further away, and all three of them looked over to spot Annarósa, Esther and Ingrid on their way to join them.

"I had to sit down." Frey grimaced as his hoarse voice almost failed him at the end, but steered his thoughts away to focus on Ingrid running up to Isabelline with her own flowers in hand instead, and he cleared his throat. "We might as well make the wreaths here."

Annarósa could not object to that, so she sat down next to Esther to begin with their wreath.

"I actually brought some gooseberry branches." She held them up with a bittersweet smile. "It seemed... Fitting, you know?"

Frey nodded, still not used to seeing Annarósa show negative emotions, but the sadness piercing through her happy facade as she brought up their father's old nickname for her was near heart wrenching.

It strengthened his earlier point of cherishing memories though, so while pain was certainly present in his sister's expression, there was warmth to her weak smile to imply the love she felt as well.

He looked down at Isabelline again, who was currently more occupied with throwing dandelions on her cousin rather than making flower wreaths, and he could ignore the fever chills and chest pain for a moment.

She was already four years old. Chances were she'd have this memory to keep as she grew up, and it gladdened him. She'd remember what she'd been told about her late grandfather, and how she sorted flowers to put on his grave while surrounded by her family during a nice summer's day. His memory would live on through her even though she'd never meet him. She would still know him from the stories those around her would tell. Her grandmother would tell her about what a great husband he'd been, and her aunts could attest to her own father's words about him.

Still, Frey wished he'd have more to say. He wished they would have had more time together to create more stories to tell. He wished his father's presence in his life hadn't ended so abruptly.

"Father, look!" Isabelline had climbed up on the bench to put a half-done wreath on his head, and Frey had to adjust it so its size wouldn't cause it to slip down onto his shoulders.

"Does it look good?"

"Nope!" Isabelline grinned, laughter spurred by the others, and Frey shook his head with a smile before returning it to her.

"Better work some more on it, then. Not that it's supposed to be a flower crown, but..."

"Mine is a flower crown," Isabelline insisted while raising her chin, so Frey accepted his defeat.

It didn't matter much how it turned out, or what they were doing to begin with, as long as they shared those happy moments together, and he'd vowed since her birth that they would have as many of those as possible, until the very last moment they'd see each other.

No matter when that would be.