Dawn and Marianne were huddled together and shivering, taking a break from singing. The sound of festivity around them was especially loud and carrying in the cold air. Each fairy princess had her hands snugly around a hot drink.
It was traditional, on the Winter Solstice, for fays to sing all night, calling the sun to come back the next morning.
It was also traditional to hold the largest concert and associated festivities on the west border, because the Dark Forest was to the east – both to avoid the nocturnal goblins and their solstice celebration, and because, the closer one was to the trees, the longer is seemed to take for the sun to come up.
But this year, Bog and Marianne had insisted something happen on their shared border. Officially it was in the name of diplomacy and cultural exchange. Unofficially, everyone knew they just wanted an excuse to see each other.
Dawn sipped her hot apple cider and watched the bonfire, where meat and nuts were being roasted. The smell of sizzling meat still turned her stomach, but it wasn't so bad at this distance. Actually, mixed with the scents of nuts and apples and wood smoke, it was almost … pleasant.
Marianne smiled at the variously-sized shadows darting back and forth – fairy and brownie and elf and goblin children, even a flickering cloud of young sprites, chasing each other around and shrieking at the top of their voices. She blew on her drink, not wanting to burn her tongue again.
Even with cloaks over their wings, ear warmers and boots and gloves insulating their extremities, the sisters pressed even closer together when a sudden breeze wicked away some of their precious shared body heat.
Bog came over. He looked less like a goblin now and more like a giant brownie. His spindly, spikey body was disguised by the bulk and furriness of his cloak and scarf and hat.
"Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," he said. "A few even admitted the music's not as high as they feared."
Goblins could handle fairy music, but not at certain pitches. Elf and brownie music didn't bother them as much. Luckily, most solstice music had been composed for a multi-species chorus, so it didn't tend to 'screech' the way goblins insisted some fairy singing did.
"I think the elves and brownies are enjoying the roast." Marianne's teeth chattered.
"You're both cold?" Bog took off his mittens, tucking them into an interior pocket of his cloak, and rubbed his hands together. "Here." He put one hand on each of their heads.
Marianne and Dawn both nearly melted.
Bog's hands were huge, enough to nearly completely cover a fairy's head. Through their hats, they could feel warmth soaking in.
Marianne's groan bordered on indecent. Dawn gave her a teasing smile.
"This is great, Boggy, but I should really go find Sunny so we can sing the next song together."
"I saw him in line for cider, I think."
"Mine's still mostly full." Dawn ducked out from under Bog's hand and he put both hands on Marianne's head. "If he's near the back and doesn't want to wait, we can share."
Marianne came out of her daze while her sister was leaving. She tugged off her hat and put it back on over Bog's hands.
"There. Now your hands won't get cold, either."
The title is a triple pun, on Bog's big hands, the metaphor for giving assistance, and the 'command' to applaud. I am very proud of it.
This was inspired by an anecdote about André the Giant, the actor who played Fezzik in the movie The Princess Bride. During filming outdoor scenes, it sometimes got very cold, so when they were off camera, he would put his hand over Robin Wright Penn's head (the actress who played Buttercup) to help her stay warm.
