AN: Hi, all! So...I've never really written anything like this before, but I plan to continue this story until January 6, the end of the 14th century holiday season.
So, each chapter will be a different little story; all will relate to winter or the holidays, as the 24th comes closer (the beginning of the 12 days of Christmas). I will try to be as historically accurate as possible, but...I might take some liberties.
Of course, we're starting off with Will. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own A Knight's Tale.
For Will, December was a month of wind and smoke.
When the autumn's hunting ended, his father would haul the dead beasts, that had long since been frozen and dried in the frigid Cheapside winds, and cured with salt, into the old smokehouse behind their cottage. Will would run after him, gathering chips and twigs of alder wood in his small, scrawny arms; he would pile the wood into the ancient, rusting smoke box, watching it fill with an ever-growing anticipation.
"Look at all the chips, Father," he would cry, the gamey taste of smoked venison and grouse already on his tongue. His father would peer into the box, his seamed brown eyes twinkling with mirth, and would ruffle his son's sandy curls in approval, and say, "Good work, lad."
When the smoke box was filled, the thatcher and his son would strike the match together, the smell of burning alder and roasting meat filling their noses as they held the guttering flame to the wood. They would race outside, shutting the door quickly to keep the smoke inside. The air's icy breath would sting their cheeks, and the thick, soft snow would cake onto their boots, seeping through the cracks and numbing their toes.
Weeks would pass, and Will would run to the smokehouse every day, hoping his father would let him inside to check the meat's progress...but he would always be taken away. "Not today, Will," his father would tell him gently. "These things take time."
To keep his son's mind off the smoking meat, his father would bring him to work with him, letting him hold his tools and climb up with him to fix the roofs that had been damaged by winter's tempests. Will would gaze, awed, about the streets as they walked, marveling at the decorative greenery, the bustle of all manner of folk, and the festive atmosphere. The smells of wood smoke, cider, and roasting meat permeated the air, and Will would grin widely; the signs of the coming holidays would fill his young heart with unparalleled delight.
I wrote something short and sweet, for once. Honestly, I had a lot of fun doing the research for this. I discovered that:
Meat was preserved by drying or salt-curing it, and smoking it afterwards.
Smoking was usually done in smokehouses, enclosed structures with one door and no windows.
The smoking process took about two weeks.
Christmas trees go WAY back.
Greenery included mistletoe and holly, to dispel evil spirits.
Well, this was fun. I'll see you tomorrow, and as always, remember to review! :D