Wintersday Eve: Tove

The ranger flitted about in the early evening, wolf at her heels, dropping presents on doorsteps. The gifts were as varied as their recipients–meat, hides, obscure recipes, carved noisy toys for other people’s children. Books, bowstrings, a tool someone mentioned would be nice three months ago that they promptly forgot about.

For those that needed nothing, the skaald sang, spirited Wintersday songs beneath windowsills.

And for he who meant too much, for whom she could not think of one single gift worth giving…they, too, got a song. But she didn’t lurk beneath a windowsill for this one. Tove found him, as she always did, sooner or later. Wrapped in false bravado and little else, she swept her golden presence into his and sang her favorite.

It’s the season of grace coming out of the void
Where a man is saved by a voice in the distance
It’s the season of possible miracle cures
Where hope is currency and death is not the last unknown
Where time begins to fade
And age is welcome home
It’s the season of eyes meeting over the noise
And holding fast with sharp realization
It’s the season of cold making warmth a divine intervention
You are safe here you know now
Don’t forget
Don’t forget I love
I love
I love you
It’s the season of scars and of wounds in the heart
Of feeling the full weight of our burdens
It’s the season of bowing our heads in the wind
And knowing we are not alone in fear
Not alone in the dark
Don’t forget
Don’t forget I love
I love
I love you
Don’t forget
Don’t forget I love
I love
I love you
Don’t forget
Don’t forget I love
I love
I love you
Don’t forget
Don’t forget I love
I love
I love you
——–
Wintersday Eve: Niklas
“Don’t you usually give women… I don’t know. Jewelry?”
Ambrosine gave Niklas a withering look. He didn’t notice, too busy wringing his hands as they walked along one of the Wintersday markets that always sprang up. This one was thronged with all the other procrastinators. “Nik. Nik haven’t you learned anything?”

“Yes, that I’m terrible at this, which is why I come to people smarter than me for help.”

“Play to your strengths. Think of a topic that you two have discussed lately, one that she expressed interest in learning more about. Find a book about it. Present book.” Ambrosine shook her head, although she smiled. “Also, do this way ahead of time and not the night before.”

“I don’t…oh! I know just the thing!” And with that, he was off.

——–
Wintersday Eve: Eurydice
Wintersday for the old retired Lionsguard was mostly…a relief, after the LAST holiday. Quiet, now that she didn’t have to patrol and chase off drunken carolers. Eury’d gotten a few things for the boy, although he was getting old enough that they were more practical than anything. (And stabby. She had ways to get good weapons, after all.)

This year she’d made space in front of the fire to enjoy some mulled cider and some excellent lamb. She was thoughtfully fingering a second mug when the knock came, and her ears twitched.

Eury knew that knock.

She set the mug down on the table next to the first, and went to open the door.

Author Ambrosine
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Comments (1)

  • December 25, 2021 at 12:28 am
    That's Wintersday, baby

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