Memories of Christmas Past

[Lord Tellurine]

It was Christmas in the Muu Castle. Every hall, every stair banister, every window had some sort of holiday decoration adorning it. Meekal, age 10, was a prince of Muu and he loved the season. He would often walk past the kitchen just to smell all of the wonderful smells of festive cooking. There were gingerbreads baking, geese roasting, and savory soups bubbling. The Christmas feast was an important event in the kingdom and was attended by all of the elite of Muu… The King of Muu demanded it.

On Christmas morning Meekal awoke at the first light of day. Actually, he had been awake for some time, but stayed in bed to increase the anticipation. On an average day Meekal would dread getting out of bed, as his day consisted of his morning studies and then boring, friendless afternoons. Most afternoons he would sit at a window and watch the kids of town play in the field just outside the castle walls.

This morning was different though. This was Christmas morning and that meant the family was going to meet at the big Christmas tree in the main hall and open gifts. Meekal dressed quickly in the clothes a servant had put out for him the night before. He ran down to the tree and stared at its beauty and magnificence. The tree rose high into the air and Meekal remembered watching the servants use scaffolding just to decorate it. He sat in a large chair near the pile of gifts that was for him. There were three other piles of gifts, the largest pile being his father’s. Most of those were from Muu residents who were trying to gain favor with the King of Muu.

He waited eagerly.

Two hours later nobody had joined him. It was odd, because it was the one thing on Christmas that the family did together. It happened every year for as long as Meekal could remember. He decided to seek out his family.

The first place he looked was his mother’s bedroom. She was there preparing herself to go out. Meekal skipped gaily into the room and sang, “Merry Christmas, Mommy!”

She smiled at her boy and said, “Merry Christmas, Meekal.” She bent down and gave him a kiss on the head. “Did you open your presents?”

“No, Mommy,” said Meekal. “I was waiting for everyone.” He added, “Like a good boy.”

“That’s so sweet, but I’m afraid I can’t join you. I have to go shopping. I forgot to buy something for the Duchess of Gaskov and if I don’t buy her something, who knows what that little wench will tell everyone in the social circles.” With that, she grabbed her wrap, took one last passing glance at her son, and left. From down the hall she yelled back, as if it were an afterthought, “Go open your presents!”

Meekal stood silently for a moment, not wanting to open his presents alone. He wanted to open them in front of his family. That’s what made it fun. He decided he would go see his father, the King of Muu.

The King of Muu was in his war room, surrounded by the generals of his army. The talk was intense as strategy for an upcoming battle was being carefully crafted. Little Meekal entered the room without catching anyone’s attention. Matter of fact, he stood there for a few minutes listening to the top secret battle plans without anyone even noticing him. So he cleared his throat. The war talk immediately ceased and a couple of the generals parted, providing the King of Muu an unobstructed view of his visitor. “Son,” he said, for want of a name. “I’m busy planning a war here.”

“But it’s Christmas,” argued Meekal in the soft voice he always used around his father.

“I know son, but I’ve got a rogue nobleman who needs to be taught a lesson by having his home burnt to the ground!” His voice was booming by the time he finished his sentence. “I’ll show him to send me fruitcake!” His fist pounded the table. The act of anger frightened Meekal and surprisingly his father noticed. He lightened his tone and said to Meekal, “You go off and open your presents.” He gave a nod to his generals and they re-encompassed him and resumed planning their Christmas Day massacre.

Meekal turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. From the door across the hall permeated the sound of fencing so he crossed over and opened it, revealing a large furniture-less room. Moving across the room were his older brother Prince Henry (Years later he would run away to Arconia and change it to Angelo.) and his fencing coach. It looked as though Henry had received new equipment for Christmas and was trying it out. Meekal re-closed the door without bothering his brother.

Meekal walked back to the main hall and the Christmas tree. Underneath sat his presents, but he didn’t feel like opening any. Instead, he slumped back into the chair and sighed.

A voice suddenly came from around the tree. “Hello? Is someone over there?” Meekal heard whomever it was get up and start walking around the massive tree. A moment later Meekal saw a slightly dirty, but intelligent-looking young man appear.

“Kliff!” he exclaimed pleasantly, jumping from his chair. It was Kliff Fauldergraft, the royal geologist. He was probably the only person employed by his father who actually talked to Meekal. He usually talked about geology, but at least it was something.

“Hello, Meekal,” the man said, mussing up the young boy’s hair playfully. “Merry Christmas.”

Meekal said, “I didn’t think you would back in time!”

“Neither did I, but I finished my geological survey early and decided to drop by before I went home to celebrate with the Fauldergraft clan.” At this news Meekal’s heart sank and his face showed it. “Come on, Meekal,” said Kliff. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

Meekal pouted, “But nobody ever wants me around.” He slumped back into his chair. “The cooks tell me I get in the way, the gardeners say I ask too many questions, the chambermaids complain that I make them nervous, the stable master told me I spook the horses…”

“I get the idea,” interrupted Kliff.

“I’m so lonely,” complained Meekal.

Kliff knelt down in front of him. “I know, Meek. Being a geologist is lonely work too.”

“How do you stand it?” asked Meekal.

“I make friends with the rocks.”

“Huh?”

“You see rocks have been around ever since time began. They know everything about the world and they tell you.”

Meekal asked with wide eyes, “They do?”

“Of course they do! But they won’t tell just anyone. You have to gain their trust.” Kliff leaned into Meekal as if to tell him a secret. “Become their friend.”

“Wow.”

Kliff stood again. “Matter of fact,” he said reaching into his rear pocket, “I brought this guy from our new quarry in the south.” He pulled out a gray stone with white specks. “This guy has told me quite a bit.” Kliff watched as Meekal leaned forward to get a better view. He was absolutely fascinated. “Tell you what, Meek,” he said handing him the stone, “I want you to have him. For Christmas.”

“Really?” Meekal asked as he took it. It stared at it for a moment before looking up at Kliff. “What’s his name?”

“Name?” repeated Kliff, being caught off guard. His eyes searched the room as if to find a name hanging somewhere. “Uh, Nigel.” He looked down at Meekal and smiled warmly. “Yes, Nigel is his name.”

“Nigel,” said Meekal with reverence.

“Look, Meekal, I have to go. My mother’s going to have quite the feast prepared for tonight, and I don’t want to miss it. You have a Merry Christmas, all right?” He patted the boy on the head and started across the room.

“All right, Kliff. Thanks.” He watched the royal geologist leave.

Meekal spent the next ten minutes in silence as he examined his new friend, Nigel. His brother, Prince Henry, interrupted him when he entered the main hall. Between the heavy breathes gained from his fencing workout he asked, “Hey, kid, you get everything you wanted for Christmas?”

Meekal looked down at the pile of still-unopened gifts under the tree and then at the rock in his hand. He answered, “I sure did.”


Merry Christmas Arconia!


*Written in loving memory of Kliff Fauldergraft

[DamedEscrime]

A tear for Kliff and one for Meekal....

[Moonitic]

How utterly bittersweet!

[Moonitic]

Schoolcraftia had its own festive traditions. There was the lighting of the Yule log, which was discontinued after Brother Immanuel tried to eat it (he thought it was a new dessert in the shape of a log, but it was actually a natural LOG), as well as the lavish parties held in the grand ballroom at Schoolcraftia Castle.

But no tradition could top that of the Great Sibling Rivalry Debate held every Christmas morning. The year that Princess Buffy turned 11 and her sister Ken-Dall turned 10 put previous years to shame.

Each girl received an equal number of presents, of the exact size and usually the exact color. That year, however, the king decided that it was time for the girls to just appreciate what they received, and to stop bickering about who had what gift. It was a noble attempt for the noble king...

...but it failed miserably.

Young Buffy preferred to spend her days in chamber, reading whatever she could and writing when she could find nothing to read. She did not like the courtly ways. She wanted adventure. Every day she would slip out to play with the boys from the village, & Willow, her trusted friend, only to return home to a scolding for not doing what was "royal."

Ken-Dall, on the other hand, seemed better groomed for the life of a princess. She leaned back on plush pillows while servants fed her chocolates that had been sent over as gifts from her father's admirers. She did all that a princess should do. She took her lessons well.

That Christmas morning, everything changed. The family had assembled, along with long lost brother Rupert, in the great hall by a richly decorated tree that touched the ceiling. Things went along well, until the Queen said, "Buffy darling, why don't you open THIS gift?" She smiled at her lady-in-waiting, Terese, who smiled back in a knowing way.

The little princess did as Mother asked, & was shocked, not to mention disappointed, that she found a gift she would never enjoy under the wrappings. But, as a polite child she said, "Thank you, Mother."

Ken-Dall had been playing with her new Morgana Luxury Privy set when she noticed her sister's gift out of the corner of her eye. "Mother!" Ken-Dall shrieked. "Why did BUFFY get the Easy Fire Kiln? I wanted that!"

"Because your sister will be first to marry, and needs to learn wifely things like cooking," Queen Joslyn answered patiently. Ken-Dall was known for her screaming fits. "Besides, I have a lovely gift for you too." She handed her younger daughter a large package.

Ken-Dall immediately ripped into the wrapping and found...a book. "A book? A BOOK! You gave me a stupid book?"

"It's a very nice book, darling," the King said. "It..."

"No, it's NOT nice! I hate it! You love Buffy best. You always have. Nothing I do pleases you. I hate you all!" Ken-Dall threw the book down, & stormed from the room.

Meanwhile, brother Rupert opened one of his gifts. He tapped his frowning sister Buffy on the shoulder to show her what he received. "Do you like my mask? Isn't it pretty?"

The princess simply nodded. She picked up the book that her sister so carelessly tossed aside, & read the inscription. "To our precious Ken-Dall. Read this well. It was given to me by my mother. Love, Queen Joslyn."

[Willow]

Ok, I'm totally dying laughing over here. Thank God I have neither food nor drink with me. I would be dead by now. As for the Easy Fire Kiln....let us hope and pray that my daughters do not fight to the death over the Easy Bake Oven that is under my tree. On the other hand, my kids DO appreciate books. Maybe things will be ok. And as for Rupert and his mask.....let's just say that I had to make a run for the bathroom, I was laughing so hard.

[Moonitic]

Thank you, thank you...I live to please...

Between Lord Tellurine & I, we should make quite a killing here. Hmm...am I the right sister? I'm so confused!

[Lord Tellurine]

We'll slay them!

Wait... This is a Christmas thread...

We'll sleigh them!

[Swordsman]

Oh, I love you guys! Moon, what would I have done if you'd left? And what about our dear Tellurine? He'd be forced to entertain us all on his own!

[Willow]

The years had passed quickly. Princess Buffy and Lady Willow were inseperable as they grew up. The daughter of Lord and Lady Giles, Lady Willow had been a part of so much at the royal castle of Schoolcraftia. She was included in everything, and as the only child of Lord Andrew and Lady Olivia, adopted when she was found abandoned in the forest as a newborn, she had never wanted for love or friends. Besides Princess Buffy, her dearest friend was a young Prince, also from Schoolcraftia. His name was Nicholas. Nicholas used to tease Willow until she screamed at him, but they both knew that they had a special friendship. Until the Christmas Willow was 6 and Nicholas was 9.

Lord and Lady Giles had an apartment in the castle at Schoolcraftia, and also a luxurious estate close to the castle. Time was divided between the two dwellings as need be. Prince Nicholas and his family lived practically next door. Originally, Nicholas' family was from the next province over, Marsteria. Pressing business kept his father traveling back and forth between Schoolcraftia and Marsteria, Nicholas' grandfather being the King of Marsteria. The Giles' and the Marsteria's often spent the holidays together, both at Tara Manor and the castle.

That year, when Nicholas and his family came over to Tara Manor, Willow could tell something was wrong. She was a very perceptive 6 year old. Nicholas looked very sad. After opening presents, Nicholas and Willow took a walk through the hallways of the manor. Nicholas surprised Willow by taking her hand. "I have some awful news to tell you," he said, "My grandfather has died and we have to move back to Marsteria to stay. We leave tomorrow morning." Willow began to cry. "You are one of my best friends. I don't want you to leave," she said.

Nicholas hugged her. "I don't want to leave, either, but Father says we have to go. Don't worry, Willow. I will come back for you one day. I promise. Please, don't cry." Willow hated change. It hurt her so much to lose someone she had grown up with and cared so much about. Nicholas wanted so badly to help Willow feel better. He pulled a small package out of his pocket and handed it to her. She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve and opened it. Gasping, she saw a small miniature of her and Nicholas, painted on ivory. "My mother painted this for you," he told her, "Please, keep this and remember that I will be back someday." Willow held the miniature close to her heart, gave Nicholas one last hug, and ran to her room.

Nicholas watched her run down the hall. "I'm going to marry her one day," he said.

[Swordsman]

Yep, you're a military wife.

[Swordsman]

And now, after such a warm, cheerful memory, to depress you all.


The greyish-brown snow whirled in the streets with the frigid wind, a polluted powder laid over the center of the huge capitol city. Down one of the narrower alleyways came a band of raggedly-dressed children, gaunt and pale. About half of them carried sticks, and all looked warily about, starting at each shadow, beating each sack of trash they passed. Two of them seemed to be leading the small pack, and carried in their fists little pouches of coin.

The girl in the lead had long hair, light, lighter even than the snow. Though that's not saying much here. She was rather tall for her age, and also happened to be one of the older ones, maybe ten or eleven. Her bony, weathered face was about the same shade as her hair in the cold, and her fingers were starting to turn a suspiciously blue color. Tears streamed from the corners of her icy blue eyes, pulled down and then dried by the wind. She wore a light tan shirt that couldn't have been very thick, and a darker brown pair of pants, presumably of some kind of cheap leather. In place of shoes, her feet were only wrapped with strips of a cloth that at one point may have been white. Her only other protection against the cold was a cloak that looked to be modified from something made of economy burlap.

Her companion, and fellow leader, walked along beside her. He was an inch or two shorter, though the same age. His sharp, narrow face belied the slender stringiness of the rest of his body, the very feature that earned him one of the more common epithets he had used on him. He'd somehow managed to acquire for himself clothes that were all black, even if they were still as small and thin as the girl's. His feet also were wrapped in cloth, but again it was black. He wore an actual robe, if little more than a cloak with sleeves, made of actual black fabric. A shock of shaggy, thick hair blew about on top of his head, black as the rest of him. Even his dark skin was covered in soot and grime. Only his eyes were green, a dark shade usually found only in the smallest emeralds.

The leaders reached a crossroads, and halted. The rest of the group formed up in ranks behind them. The boy leaned into his compatriot, and began whispering. "Behind the forge to the fore-left, Serena. I'm thinking maybe a dozen."

She leaned back, clutching the burlap around her shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the temperature - or lack thereof. "Dozen and a half. Who?"

"Not sure. Not Ha'den's neighborhood. Kero, maybe?"

"Probably. Fight or flight?" She knew the answer even before she saw it in his green eyes.

"Fight!" If a whisper could be fierce from a preadolescent, this was. He leaned back, looked around his small gang. Pointed first to the forge across the street to the left, then held up both hands, open. Closed them, opened them again. He indicated various people, pointed to where they should go, setting up the attack. But he was too late.

He had barely enough time to grab the stick from his side and a broken piece of glass from the ground before the rival gang was on them, having sprinted across the snow-covered street. The fight was on in no time. Screaming, cursing, the battle reached a pitch, the young halfling's followers outnumbered almost two to one. He flew into a rage, screaming above the rest, hurling every oath and insult and epithet he'd yet learned in his years on the streets. And suddenly, it was over. A few of the rivals lay dazed and bloodied on the ground, and the rest fled. None of the halfling's were down. Then he saw why the battle had ended: Two royal guards on the way, looking to keep the peace and quiet on the official church holiday.

"Scatter!" The order was barely a formality; the kids were already halfway gone, disappearing into alleys, window wells, and anything else, taking shortcuts they knew almost by instinct. The guards quickly gave up, and the young gang members started making their individual ways back to the little run down convent a few blocks away. Here they entered carefully through the back door, and disappeared down into the labyrinth of corridors beneath to seek shelter, food, and their God.

Later that evening, they were all back, and mostly thawed. The low-ranking nun in charge of the building, and supposedly its only inhabitant, came down to her small flock. She was surprisingly beautiful, especially for a government worker, and young besides, barely in her thirties. After the evening prayer, she collected the bit of money the gang had managed to make in the day, and only just defend at its close. "Very good, my dears, very good. You know what today is, do you not?"

The varying cacophony from the assembled children could be accurately simplified to "Savior's birthday, Salar!" And now they knew what was next - the 'feast', an unusually large meal of almost a full half of a chicken.

"Right! Who wants to help me celebrate for him?"

Again a raucous chorus of, basically, "Me! I do!"

She smiled at the enthusiasm emenating from the rags. But then it faded. "Nækos, come here." Silence fell. They knew what was next now, too. The boy in the black knew better than to resist, and so he stood resignedly, the cheer suddenly gone. Salar pulled him to her, put an arm around him. With him standing while she sat, her arm went just around his small waist. "Nækos, when was the last time you were in a fight?"

For a very brief second, he considered lying. Food was at stake here. But then he realized that that second had given him away already. "Today, Salar."

"Why?"

"Because Kero and his blocks wanted our coins."

At this she pulled him around in front of her, grabbed his chin tightly with her left hand, and stuck her right forefinger right between his eyes. "You KNOW better than to use that kind of language around me! And you know I shouldn't have to remind you that I am also a human! Not all humans are bad, Nækos. Nor are all elves, or all halflings. But more than that, you WON'T use that language, you understand?"

He nodded. Sure, he understood. Didn't mean he agreed. What's more, she knew it. She could see the gears turning behind his thin face. Lord, what am I to do with this one? He won't listen to me! And if he won't listen to me, how can he listen to You? "Alright. All of you go on into the eating room, get in your places." Nækos tried to pull away, but she held tight. "NOT you." Serena quickly stood and tried to make her escape. "And NOT you either!" She halted, turned reluctantly, and came back to her partner's side.

"They all fought too! It wasn't just us, obviously!" Serena was the image of the child that's been caught.

Nækos was little different. "Yeah, why do you starve us, when they fight just as much as us?"

Salar sat and ignored them for a few minutes while they finished their whining. "Alright, listen to me. No, they do NOT fight just as much as you two. Nækos, you're the worst, even worse than Serena. But you're not much better, Serena!" She quickly cut the smug look off. "And the worst part is, they all look up to you. You're probably the two oldest, and you're definitely the leaders. They do what you do, and you're going to make them all fight. You already do make them all fight!"

"We don't MAKE them!" Nækos was quick to cut in.

"You know what I mean, so don't act like you don't. They all fight because you two do. And every time, the guards come after you. And someday, one of you will get caught, or killed. Or worse, you'll lead the Church back here, and then where will we be? I'll tell you where we'll be. You'll be dead or back on the streets at night, and I'll for sure be dead. Do you want that?"

Two scolded heads shook.

"Alright. Now get out of here."

They sprinted for the next room where the food was, but it didn't matter. It was all gone anyway. Salar came in a moment behind. "See what you get when you sit there and argue with me? Now go say your prayers and go to bed. It's too late for studies tonight. And if I hear either of you moving around, you can forget food tommorow, too."

They didn't dare argue, but just moved on to the room they all slept in.

"It's your fault. I told you we should have run." Serena wasn't about to blame herself.

"Told me? You just asked, and I made a decision! You could have said something else!"

"And you would have listened? I don't think so!"

"Nækos and Serena!" Salar's voice from behind was quite enough to silence the bickering.

Nækos returned sullenly to his spot in the room, and lay down in the old bedding. Then, to his surprise, Sarone came up, hands clasped around something. "Here you go, Nækos. It ain't the Saver's birthday every day, right?"

"Thanks, Sarone. Hey, take this over to Serena, right? And you eat it, I'll beat you senseless." He took half the offered roll that Sarone, his best friend, had saved, and left the other half for his Serena. Sarone knew Nækos wasn't kidding about the beating, and Nækos knew he knew. The half of the roll disappeared with barely a chew, and he lay back to sleep. Fighting will make a kid sleepy pretty quickly. He closed his eyes slowly, and then they drifted open again. He glimpsed Serena across the room, smiling with full cheeks back at him, and then his eyes closed again.

[lochinvar]

The snow was late this year, but he didn't mind. He just hoped it didn't extend into the spring to compensate; that would interfere with the lambing.

This was Lochinvar's favorite season, after the leaves had fallen but before the first snow covered the ground. The undergrowth and grasses rippled through a hundred subtle shades of yellow, brown, tan, and fawn; trees of all sizes stretched their black, bare branches against the twilight sky.

Loch thought of a man weary from his day's labor who sits on the edge of his bed - just sitting, feeling, being - before sliding beneath the coverlet for a richly-earned sleep. Just so, the earth had shed its summer growth, laying down the burden of providing for all of the creatures in it, and now lay quiet for this brief time before disappearing beneath a coverlet of snow to sleep out the rest of the year. Others thought it dreary, but Loch always found it sublimely peaceful.

This year the earth had earned its rest, and more. Summer had been warm but mild, and the harvest had been good. The cattle and sheep were healthy and fat, and the corn plentiful; there would be enough to see everyone through the winter and they would even have a head start come spring.

He clattered into the yard of the manor house and dismounted, stroking Morgan's neck and murmuring a few words to him before handing the reins to the groom, who led the big chestnut away to the stables. Blowing on his frozen fingers, he mounted the steps and passed through the big door into the entry hall.

Here, all seemed chaos and confusion. Servants scurried here and there, bearing a bewildering variety of burdens - pine bows and linens, cutlery and crystal, bunting, wreaths, stacks of pewter plates, candles and lamps, bundles of split logs and baskets of fruit.

His lordship's household was busily preparing for Christmas, which was only a few days away. There would be a Yule dinner, and most of his bannermen had been invited to join him in celebrating through the New Year. There were supplies to get in, chambers to air and clean, decorations to put up, dishes to prepare. Everywhere was joyous bustle.

As one of the lord's minor landholders, Loch had been assigned a few small rooms at the end of one wing of the sprawling complex. He didn't really mind, as there were only the two of them and Walter and Martha, their personal attendants. He strode swiftly down the corridor, unfastening the broach of his cloak as he went. Reaching the door of his assigned room, he knocked twice perfunctorily, then pushed it open.

Ellen was squatting by the fire, crumbling herbs into a metal pitcher that sat on the hearthstone, close to the heat. She wore a warm wool cloak over a simple linen shift; her hair was pulled back and bound loosely at the nape of her neck, the bulk of it hanging in a thick cascade over her shoulder and down her breast. She looked up when he entered, then sprang to her feet and threw her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers for a very thorough hello kiss.

When finally they broke she drew back a little, clasping his shoulders and gazing into his face. "Oh, you're here at last!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining. "I've been waiting for you ever so long!"

"Was it a difficult trip, mo chroi? Were you warm enough? Do these rooms suit you?" he asked, smiling. It was so good to see her again! He had been riding the borders of the estate for the last two weeks, looking for signs of outlaws or interlopers. Since his trip had started so late in the year, and since she needed to come to the manor house for Christmas anyway, they had agreed to meet here when his patrol was finished.


"No, it wasn't difficult. And yes, these rooms are fine. A stall in the stable would be fine, as long as you were there with me! Come, I've been mulling some brandy," she said, turning away to fill two pewter mugs from the pitcher. Handing one mug to him, she lowered herself to the rug before the fire."Now, sit here with me and tell me everything you've done since I saw you last."

He arranged himself beside her as Ellen folded her legs underneath and got comfortable. As always, she insisted on hearing every detail, though in truth there wasn't much to tell. They'd had no trouble, seen nothing untoward. As he talked, she sipped her drink, her eyes never leaving his face. Her glistening saphire depths seemed secret and mysterious, charged with hidden knowledge. The flickering firelight glinted in shimmers from her glossy raven-black hair.

When he had ended his telling, she stood and walked to a chest in the corner of the room. "I have a surprise for you," she said over her shoulder. "It's an early Christmas present. But you have to open it now."

Turning, she brought back a cloth sack tied with a bright ribbon. Whatever was in the bag was not light; metal clinked as she dropped it to the floor beside him.

He untied the ribbon bemusedly, then reached into the sack to bring forth a carpenter's hammer and two wood chisels. "Do you like them? I bought them from the cooper; he said they were good ones."

Bewildered, he looked down at the tools then up at her. "Um, they're very nice, love, but why did you give me these things?"

"Well," she replied, dropping her eyes. "I thought you'd like them. After all, you'll need tools - for building the cradle."

His confusion deepened. "Cradle? What are you talking ab-"

Comprehension broke over his face like a sunrise in the mountains, sudden and all-illuminating. He leaped to his feet and stared down at her in wonder, as she looked back at him with a suppressed giggle of excitement. "A bairn?" he asked wonderingly, surprise and delight mingling on his face. "You're going to have a child?"

He reached down for her and pulled her to her feet; wrapping his arms about her waist, he hoisted her into the air and whirled her about the room, shouting exhultantly. "A father! I'm going to be a father!"

"Loch, put me down!" She was breathless, laughing. He lowered her to her feet, but kept his arms about her. Sudden misgiving krept across his face. "Are you sure? I mean…I mean, could it be a mistake?"

"I've missed my monthlies twice, now. It's certain." She couldn't stop smiling. "I wanted to surprise you. You're happy, aren't you? I just knew you would be."

"Happy!? I'm ecstatic! I'm as happy as a man can be this side of paradise! Oh, Ellen, mo chroi…" Her form disappeared again in his embrace, and she hugged him back, pressure for pressure. After a moment, he pulled back to look at her. "She'll have your eyes, and be sweet and beautiful like you, and she'll win every boy's heart in the six kingdoms," he said. "I'll have to fight off suitors day and night."

"'She'? Oh, no, I think not! He'll be a son like his father, strong and handsome and tall as an ash tree, and gentle and kind and altogether wonderful!"

"All right then, the next one will be a girl," he countered.

"The next one?" she queried.

"Oh, yes!" he cried. "Let's have a dozen, at least!"

"Well," she said, leaning her head against his chest. "Let's see how we like this one, first. Then perhaps we'll talk of dozens. Oh, Loch, I'm so happy," she murmured after a moment. "We're together, and I'm going to have your baby, and my heart is so full I think I'll overflow, sometimes."

"Me, too, mo chroi. Me, too." He murmured back.

He could see their future stretching out before them; Ellen would be the shining moon, and they would have sons and daughters like stars clustered about them, and they would grow old together in joy and peace, and love each other forever. It was a future brighter and more full of promise than he had ever hoped it could be.

"So," she mumbled into his chest, "Did you like your early Christmas present?"

"Ah, sweet, it's the most wonderful present you could have possibly given me. Ever."

"Merry Christmas, love," she sighed.

"Merry Christmas, mo chroi," he murmured into her hair. "Merry Christmas."

[ 12-23-2001: Message edited by: lochinvar ]</p>

[Swordsman]

Nice timing, Loch. You sure know how to pick the moments...

[Zelda]

Christmas in Zelda's household had always been different. Granted it was cold, but her fathers land, perched as it was on the cliff which looked out to sea caught every chill as it arrived. Not that she would have traded it for anything. Pirates Swoop was one of her favourite places, and not just becuase it was were her mother and father were. It was the people.
Her father, being a former king of the Rouge always had some interesting sorts around. Her mother, been of noble birth and the Kings Champion always had friends in from the capital.
But Christmas always was special.
The place came alive with servents and vistors, from King Jonothan and his family, to her mothers old manservant Coram and his wife. Everyone was treated equally, be they royalty or servant.
The hall always had a HUGE tree which Zelda as soon as she was old enough took charge of decorating. Her mother used to have fits seeing her standing on the ladder leaning out to place a decoration "just so", but knew that her daughter was too much like her at the same age, and didnt try to stop her.
Zelda had always been encouraged to be exactly what she wanted, and knew her parents didnt have a problem when on her 12th Christmas, just before she left to start training with Duke Garth at the Palace they gave her a sword. Not a plaything but a real live sword.
It would be this sword with which she became close to Arcon, a friend since she was little.

[DamedEscrime]

Snow twirled and fell softly while red birds flitted from tree to tree. The scent of fir hung heavy and delighful in the air. She and Father headed to a small knoll not far from the keep where little firs dotted the landscape.

Earlier Father had taken his best axe to the grinder and honed it so that the edged shone like silver. Jo had watched in amazment as it threw sparks like little stars across the barn. "Father, may I try? Please?" she begged. He chuckled and said, "Jo, you are a lady. Ladies don't sharpen axes." She looked down at her toes in disappointment. "But I want to make stars too, Father. Like you," was all she could muster. He shook his head and tried to placate her with, "Come on, girl. I'll let you pick the loveliest tree on the knoll. It will be all yours." She brightened a bit at that and followed him out into the crisp air.

"There, that one!" she pointed. It seemed that she had looked at dozens of the fragrant pines. Some were tall and narrow, others short and round. Each had merit, but they weren't quite right. But this one. This was the one and she knew it for as they rounded a small bend in the path a star shot forth through the evening sky and appeared to light upon the uppermost bough of the most perfect little tree she had even seen. It had long soft needles and a sturdy straight trunk. Snow lay delicately on its outstretched branches like sugar on a cake. "Are you sure, Jo?" Father asked somewhat dubious. "Oh, yes. This is the one. Please," she responded with excitement. "Very well then. Bring me the axe."

Jo went to fetch the axe from the old sledge they had brought to carry the tree and ran back to hand it to he father. As she went to pass it to him she suddenly pulled back her hand and ask expectantly, "Father, may I cut the tree? Please?" Her father looked at her in amazement. "Jo, will you never learn your place? You are to be a lady. Ladies do not cut trees. Now give me the axe." Reluctantly she handed him the axe and stood back to watch as all good ladies should do. She watched as the freshly sharpened blade sliced through the soft wood. It didn't take long before the little tree was lashed to the sledge and the two walked silently back to the keep.

Nani was in the kitchen when they arrive, hot drinks in hand. The fire blazed merrily in the hearth and the room smelled of fresh popped corn.
Red berries and string were layed in readiness on the table. "Ah, ma petite, your cheeks are as rosebuds. Come let me warm them for you," Nani said as she placed her pudgy warm hands on Jo's face and began to gently rub her cheeks. Jo snuffled as her nose began to thaw. A tiny tear ran down her cheek as Father passed by with the tree on his way to place it in the greatroom.
"Why, Jo. What is this? A tear?" Nani inquired. "What is the matter?" "Nani, I don't think I want to be a lady." "Pourquoi? What has brought this on? You have everything here for you. All is provided. Why would you wish to not be a fine lady?" "I cannot do anything, Nani. I am useless. Ladies cannot do anything. All they do is standby and watch, watch the world go by. So, I do not want to be a lady." Nani looked quizzically at the young girl. "Cherie, I do not understand. Please explain." So Jo explained how Father had made stars with the axe and would only let her watch and how she could only watch as he cut the perfect tree. "Nani, I want to make stars," she said in a broken hearted voice. Nani pulled her into a warm embrace, smiled and said, "Oh, ma petite, you do not have to make stars, for the stars are with you always, right here, shining in your eyes."

[Iwant2bafencer]

Merry Christmas everyone!! I hope everyone got what they wanted, and their Christmas wishes come true!

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Carpe Diem

[Lord Tellurine]

Mr. Dayye was sound asleep when the late night knocks on the front door of his inn began. Holly Dayye, his long-suffering wife, awoke, and after numerous fruitless attempts to wake her husband, went down herself.

At the door was a young couple. The woman was with child.

“There’s no room at this inn,” explained Holly as soon as she had opened the door.

The man explained, “My wife is with child.”

“You can sleep in the stable,” Holly offered, wondering to herself what kind of discount, if any, she would offer.

He thought about it a moment. “No thanks,” he finally answered. “We only have a few miles to get to my cousin’s place anyway.”

“Who’s that?” asked Holly with a yawn.

“His name’s Johnson. Howard Johnson. He said he’d have room for us.”

“I know his place. It’s got a red roof…”

“Yeah, he said he keep a light on for us.”

“He makes the best western omelets,” informed Holly.

“Well, thanks anyway,” said the man, turning to go. “You may want to know though, right behind us are three scholars and they might want rooms.”

“Three wise guys, huh?”

“Looked like they were loaded… Gold, frankincense, myrrh…”

“I hate foreign money,” noted Holly, shaking her head.

“Anyway,” said the man as he walked away, “Good night, and have a happy holiday.”

“Happy holiday,” snorted Holly Dayye. “I hate bad puns…”