Author's Note: Have something seasonal, inspired by some discussion I had with fellow writer robotortoise. Check his stuff out when you're done, he's pretty rad. But for now, let's celebrate Christmas in a weird-ass way.

Published 12/17/16

T'was the night before Christmas, and all through My Castle
Many an ornament gleamed, glittery and gracile.

A cold, snowy wind swept 'cross the courtyard,
And the Einherjar shop sold not a single card.

The Lottery Shop closed, and the Armory locked up.
In the Mess Hall, eggnog overflowed from many a cup.

The army had gathered there, not to talk about fighting, or war,
But to spend time with family, friends, and those they adore.

Good times were had, and everyone had fun.
Everyone, that is, save for one.
For the Christmas spirit, she chose to shun.

You see, all of the soldiers in Corrin's army loved Christmas a lot,
But the Beruka who was perched on the perimeter wall did not.

She did not care for all of the noise.
And she certainly had no use for toys.
No joy or cheer could reach her in her poise.

Perhaps her mother never gave her a hug,
Or mayhaps her armor fit just a little too snug.

But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that her heart was two sizes too small.

And also that she was severely emotionally stunted from being abandoned in a slum.
Which really isn't very funny, it's actually quite grim and glum.

Whatever her motives, whatever her reason,
Young Beruka just didn't understand this festive season.

"It is a cold, clear night, and they choose to slack,
Abandoning their posts in the towers and barrack.
Do they not realize we could come under attack?"

She puzzled and pondered her allies' irresponsibility,
And why they all wanted her to join in the festivity.

"Keeping to myself like any other day is certainly not a crime.
Though I don't understand why I must monologue in rhyme."

Beruka remained alert into the night, her eyes sharp like a hawk.
But the unusual sight she caught made even her gawk.

A flying object, pulled by eight reindeer
Sailed through the sky, and to the castle drew near.

"An aerial assault? Strange. But I will not let them enter.
My dagger will find their heart, dead center."

She darted across the wall, and jumped down with a small 'plop',
While on Beruka's own roof, the strange invader came to a stop.

With a large sack to burgle, he disappeared down the chimney.
Just as Beruka pushed open her door, her knife hand free.

From beneath the hearth, emerged a man clad in white and red.
A snowy beard marked his chin, and a soft hat rested on his head.

"Ho ho ho!" the man chuckled, quite merry,
As he sifted through the sack he had chosen to ferry.

Beruka knew not who this stranger was, nor did she care.
The only thing that mattered was how she would fare.

From the shadow of the doorframe she lunged out,
Causing the large man to let out a startled shout.

Her knife was thrust sharply toward the man's chest.
But to him, it may as well have been a jest.

His hand shot out, Beruka's arm was caught and twisted.
She was thrown across the room even though she resisted.

For despite his large size, he was steady and slick,
And to her groin he delivered many a kick.

She swung for his face, but he dodged with ease.
She now understood this fight would not be a breeze.

With a swift thrust of his palm, Beruka was down.
And the invader chided her with a frown.

"Miss Beruka, for shame… attacking me is quite haughty,
Surely you don't wish for me to mark you as naughty?"

But Beruka was on her feet with a nimble flip.
Her knife once again drawn from her hip.

The man tried to stop her, but now she was too quick,
And her knife plunged into the heart of Saint Nick.

He fell to the floor, from his chest a red spill,
As Beruka turned, satisfied with her kill.

Before she could leave a voice called her name out.
And Beruka prepared herself for another bout.

But the jolly man stood before her as an ethereal ghost.
"I may be dead now, but the spirit of Christmas needs a host."

She heard the words, but she turned to leave.
Santa's spirit chose to aggrieve.

He hovered in front of her, his eyes glowing like coal.
"You killed me, so now you must take my role."

Beruka's head tilted, her expression most flat.
She asked "And just why must I do that?"

The spirit of Santa snapped his fingers, and emitted a grim chuckle
On his killer appeared a red hat, fluffy robe, and belt with a buckle.

"I do not want to wear this."
"That is too bad. But now listen to me, young miss:

You must finish my remaining deliveries, within the space of this night.
Make the last few stops on this list, or calamity will befall us with terrible might."

"Just what kind of calamity do you describe?" She asked, unenthused.
"One which would make even you quake," he said quite amused.

He floated down and whispered something awful in Beruka's ear.
She grimaced, displeased that such a fate could draw so near.

"If Christmas does not come, that will happen to us all.
So you must finish my mission, else the world will fall."

He continued on. "Once these stops have been made, you may rest.
Until then, you are Santa Claus. Now do your best!"

With a sigh she left, and clambered onto her roof.
She picked up the reins, and a deer clomped a hoof.

"On… whatever he said your names were. Our stops number twenty-three.
Let us make this quick, so I may put this foolishness behind me."

With a crack of the reins, the reindeer took off,
And the world's most stoic Santa let out a light cough.

The first stop was Laslow's residence, much to Beruka's chagrin.
The last thing she needed now was to see his foolish grin.

She observed the narrow chimney, its square, bricky shape.
She had never broken in like this, and pondered if this were a jape.

But if Santa could do it, then so could she.
He was a lard bucket, and she was trim as could be.

She got stuck only once, for an hour or two.
Until Laslow jammed a broomstick up t'word the chimney flue.

Beruka fell with a crash, ash flying everywhere.
She met her rescuer with her usual stony glare.

While he flashed his usual cheesy grin. "My, my, what an unexpected guest!
And such a cute Santa outfit! Even in soot, your loveliness leaves me impressed."

Laslow prattled on. "Have you snuck in to steal and pilfer my stuff?
Or perhaps you're here to steal away my heart! Would some tea would be enough?"

She cut him off. "I'm not here to cut out your heart, and I don't want your tea."
"The 'heart' thing was a metaphor, it refers to my love, you see."

"Oh. Not that either. I'm here to bring you a gift," Beruka stated.
She checked her list and retrieved the package she had freighted.

"A… book on dancing for you? Whatever. Now I must leave."
"Oh, don't go yet! My poor heart, it will grieve!"

She took her exit then and there, leaving Laslow to moan.
"Why am I always so, so alone?!"

Beruka's next stop was the young apothecary Midori
Whose medicinal work could publish many a story.

She slipped down the chimney with her sack of Christmas toys,
And once again met the resident, Midori's face alight with many joys.

"Hi Santa! I didn't know you were a woman!" Her smile suddenly turned dour.
"Midori would have made cookies for you too, but I ran out of flour!"

"I didn't come here for 'cookies'. I'm here with a gift from Santa; I'm filling in."
She pulled out a small, loosely wrapped pouch. "For you, some… tetrahydrocannabin-"

"I'll take that!" Midori snatched the bag from Beruka, flustered.
Beruka tilted her head. "I'm not familiar with it. Is it a poison? A mustard?"

"It's just an herb I use for… stuff! It's not any kind of bother!
Just please promise you won't say anything to my father!"

"It's none of my business. Now, if you will excuse me."
Beruka once again took her leave, as Midori hugged her bag with glee.

The next few stops were quiet, Beruka was swift and stealthy.
Leo received a set of rare tomatoes, while Charlotte grew more wealthy.

A tea set for Jakob, and a set of action novels for Odin.
A luxurious pillow for Dwyer, Jakob's lazy next-of-kin.

An unbreakable set of dishes for Felicia, and for Benny some jars of honey.
Unexpectedly, Anna asked for a stuffed animal rather than just money.

For Lady Camilla, a set of lacy smallclothes. Another yukata for Selena; her fifth.
And for Niles, a suspicious, strange cylindrical object of considerable width.

Peri received knives, for meat and for killing.
Forrest received exotic fabrics for milling.

In short time, Beruka finished her holiday task with time to spare.
She checked her list twice, and found she had one more stop, over there.

Over there, in Castle Krackenburg, where the most evil man in Nohr rested.
Beruka felt a chill, and not from the winter air; truly, she was about to be tested.

This despot reigned supreme in both Nohr and the naughty list, trumping all.
And as such, Beruka was quested with bringing him his punishment of coal.

An unpleasant task, for the man was known to kill on a whim.
If he were offended, Beruka would most certainly die to him.

On the throne of Castle Krackenburg sat a fiendish old man.
Through his head did swirl sinister aspirations and a grandiose plan.

"When that fat old saint arrives here, I will meet him with pain!
If he does not bequeath me my gift, he shall become quite a nasty stain!"

King Garon cackled madly, thinking of bloodshed most wrong
As the narration began to describe him in the form of a song:

You're a mean one, King Garon. You're a rotten, moldy gourd!
You're as friendly as a Stoneborn, you're as stubborn as a board,
King Garon!
I'd only touch you with a… legendary sword!

You're so rancid, King Garon. You're fetid as a Faceless fart!
Your brain is full of shallots, you've got mold inside your heart,
King Garon!
You're a tyrant whose despotic rule would offend even… Emperor Walhart!

You're a monster, King Garon. Your family should just go!
Your schemes are filled with hatred like your minion Iago,
King Garon!
Given the choice between the two of you, I'd take… okay, I'd maybe still take you over goddamn Iago!

The whole world hates you, King Garon. Your beard is full of mice!
Your eyes are hateful embers yet your heart's a lump of ice,
King Garon!
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote: Bad! Mean! Un-nice!

I despise you, King Garon. You never learned to floss!
You're an evil undead tyrant and your god's the final boss,
King Garon!
If you were chef at the Mess Hall, you'd create a wyvern dung and durian stew… with cyanide sauce!

You disgust me, King Garon. You're as gross as Niles' porn!
Your brain is full of evil and your face shows only scorn,
King Garon!
You'd even kidnap a Hoshidan royal… whose name sounds like 'corn'!

You're a gross one, King Garon. You reek of sewer grime!
You're made of putrid fluids oozing nasty blueish slime,
King Garon!
Your body is a disgusting cascade of deplorable sludge, overflowing with rancid poisons unfit for even a toadstool to grow in! Puppeted by a mad god from a sad time-

The song ceased suddenly, Garon's axe thrown aloft,
Striking through the throat of Thurl Ravenscroft.

"That song was admirably accurate, but I grow bored of the singing."
Garon said, dictating, tyranting, and kinging.

"I can hear you too, Boris Karloff. And your narration, I hate.
But it's not as foolish as Santa Claus being late.

I have been awake for many hours, and dawn nearly breaks through.
If Santa does not show up soon, I will kill everyone, my own children too."

It was then that he heard the footsteps of St. Nick,
And snuck out to meet him, his back making a crick.

Beruka tiptoed through the foyer, for the first time feeling fear,
From the thought that Garon would appear.

She did not fear death, you see, but he was so much worse.
And his cruel tortures could leave anyone begging for a hearse.

"I'll leave the coal down there, and be out of here fast.
Of all my deliveries, I'm glad this one's last."

As she set down the gift at the base of the trunk
She heard a small sound like the growl of a skunk.

She turned around fast, and she saw a man burning with hate!
Little King Garon, who was no more than fifty-eight.

He stared at Beruka and said, "Santa Claus, why,
Why are you my daughter's stupid retainer, why?"

Beruka tried to think of a lie, something to beguile him, on the spot,
But figured King Garon would enjoy the truth anyway, and gave that a shot.

"I killed Santa Claus," the fake Santa Claus not-lied,
"So now I have to fulfill his duty because he has died."

Her truth rang clear, and Garon smiled.
"I love a good story of killings gone wild.

But as long as you're here, I'd like to see
Just what it is you're putting under my tree."

Beruka froze, caught in the act.
When he saw the coal, how would he react?

"The gift, hand it over or you will die,
And if I don't like what's inside, you will die."

His repetitive rhyme lingered like sludge in Beruka's head,
As she passed him the box and wished anybody was here in her stead.

He opened it up, and peered inside at the pitch-black mineral.
"A lump of coal for me… just what I asked Santa for after all!"

He smiled an awful smile.
A wonderful, awful smile.

"You may leave, Beruka Claus. I've gotten what I wanted all right.
Merry Christmas to you, and may you maybe not die horribly tonight."

She nodded and took her leave, relieved and at ease
That Garon was apparently so easy to please.

She was all done, her last stop completed.
She picked up the reins, successful and undefeated.

"On… Dasher, and... whatever your names were. Bring me back to where we started.
I must dispose of your former master, recently departed."

The reindeer took off, and in naught but a flash,
Beruka was back at Corrin's strange castle, hidden in cache.

But when Beruka arrived in her humble home's hall,
There was no dead Santa to be found; no body at all.

All that was left was a box, wrapped in red ribbon and paper cheer,
And a handwritten note, saying "Thank you for doing my job; see you next year!"

And Beruka, her Beruka feet ice-cold from the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling. "How could it be so?

He disappeared without a corpse. He disappeared without a body bag!
He disappeared without a coffin, a funeral, or a toe tag!"

Beruka puzzled and puzzled 'till her puzzler was sore.
Then, Beruka thought of something she hadn't before.

Maybe Christmas, she thought, doesn't end at the point of a knife.
Maybe Christmas, perhaps, is mascotted by an unfathomably eldritch creature who can resurrect himself if you try to end his life.

Tired and beat, she laid down for some sleep.
On her bed, she collapsed in a heap.

Christmas day followed, and celebrations proceeded.
Beruka remained close by in case she was needed.

Leo commissioned a delicious red sauce, and Peri carved the roast beast.
Felicia accidentally broke her unbreakable plates while preparing the feast.

Benny fed his honey to some bears, which nuzzled him in thank.
And from Midori's chambers wafted a dank, skunk-like stank.

Haitaka picked up his new spear and Rallied Defense all day.
While Xander, for once, actually took Elise around to play.

Forrest sewed matching dresses for himself and his dad.
Niles, meanwhile, put his strange gift to use, sadistically glad.

And what happened then? Well, in Nohr they say
That Niles' small rectum grew three sizes that day.

That unpleasantness aside, the day glowed in the bright winter sun,
And she- she herself, the Beruka –finally decided to join in the fun.

Welcome Christmas. Bring your cheer,
Cheer to all Nohrians, far and near.

Christmas Day at last has come.
Unless you're filthy Hoshidan scum.

So celebrate with family, food, and ribbons unfurled.
Even though Christianity probably doesn't exist in Fire Emblem's world.

Welcome Christmas while we stand.
Knife in heart or blade in hand.

The feast came to a close, and Beruka returned home once more.
There was one last thing to do, which she passed up before.

She picked up the present Santa left, its weight a solid measure,
And removed the wrapping paper, peering inside at the treasure.

Within was a colorful thing she had always wanted as a child; a toy.
But she was an adult now, and an assassin at that; she didn't feel much joy.

Beruka really is an emotionless weirdo, even after all the while.
But still, maybe, just maybe, she allowed herself a small smile.

Happy holidays to everyone who reads this! Or, if you don't celebrate any major holidays, have a good winter season regardless and a happy new year! Oh, and try not to ring in the new year with a broken foot like I did a few years back. It really sucks hobbling around snow and ice on crutches.