Snow drifted softly from the sky, the clouds dark and grey. The air was crisp as various citizens kept the streets clear, some actively with shovels and others by simply running through them- most being small kids and teens.
The capital of the Northern Summerlands, Ding Dong Dell, was experiencing the first peaceful winter since the fall of both the Dark Djinn and the White Witch. Even the man partially responsible for its peace, who was passing through, seemed content with his freedom.
If only he had thought to bring his much thicker coat worn in Yule. If only he had thought to keep just enough spare change to afford a warm bed and a meal for one night.
Why else would he play such an ancient instrument? He found anonymity his companion, still, even with all of his efforts in saving this place and the rest of the world. Though, this time, he found it his bitter rival- if not, foe. Hardly anyone was paying attention to his playing. When they did pay attention, they dropped a guilder or two. At that rate, it wouldn't even matter. He'd just be sitting in the cold all night…
No one knew who he was. No one knew who he had been. No one even recognized him as one of the pure-hearted one's friends. He was a homeless pathetic vagrant yet again. He wasn't the picture of a hero.
He supposed that was for the best. He didn't help save the world for fame or recognition. He did so for his home, his brother… his father.
No, he really wished people would recognize him so he wouldn't freeze to death clutching his beloved mandolin as the closest thing to a friend he currently had.
It was a good thing he chose to play it under something, lest he'd be covered in snow as well.
So he stood there, strumming away with the case open out to the public for funds.
Alas, hardly a person was walking through the front part of the town. The Yule festival was happening.
He hoped he wouldn't die of hypothermia during the night. What a way to go out that would be. It was times like these he missed being able to rob people…
No. He shook his head. He made a promise to himself that he'd never go back to that. If he were going to survive his travels once more, he'd have to earn money through respectable means.
And he would suffer- according to his luck. He shrugged at the case. It wasn't the first time he slept outside in the cold.
As he was playing a song he had practiced quite a bit before in preparation for this exact day, barely holding anyone's attention, he spied a familiar mop of ginger hair walking on the other side of the street, feebly attempting to maintain his body heat with crossed arms across his chest. He picked up his playing, his sudden quick and rough strokes raising the volume. When the boy looked up from his morose gaze, he shouted. "Hey, kid! Over here!"
The child was wearing odd clothes, clothes from his world. He wore a cream shirt neatly stuffed into a pair of jeans. He seemed to look for the voice with a hint of desperation. He spied the man in the green trench coat and his face immediately brightened.
He ran towards him eagerly.
The former rogue stopped playing and quickly set his instrument down beside him. He knew what was about to happen. They hadn't seen each other in months since their victory.
A small set of arms belonging to a young but rather powerful wizard wrapped around the now thirty-five-year-old. He felt himself stumble back and he lifted his arms as he attempted to regain some of his balance. "Whoa," he grunted. "Easy, now."
He rubbed his face into the orange shirt under the jacket, overjoyed to have run into him on such short notice. He giggled when a hand rested on top of his head and ruffled his hair.
"What are you doing here," the musician playfully asked, looking down at the boy latched to his torso.
There was a muffled answer.
"Eh…," the thief queried. He tilted his head with a cupped ear. "I can't understand you, Oliver. Maybe you should try looking up when you speak?"
"But my face is cold," he said through the fabric. And the man he greeted was warm- despite his thin frame, that was.
"Well, who's fault is that?! You're the one who came here without a coat, aren't you?" He shook his head. "I'll give you my coat if you want...," he offered.
He thought of a question but didn't want to lift his head to expose his face to the elements. He squinted his eyes shut and quickly looked up. "Why don't we just go to a shop or something," he blurted out, pressing his face into the man's chest again.
"Well, a shop doesn't have steady foot traffic, now does it," he answered, rearing his neck back. He heard a confused grunt from the teen. "See, I'm trying to scrounge up some funds for a night's stay at an inn. I've been trying to be a little more…" He held out a hand to his right side, twirling it. "…Honorable if you catch my meaning."
It seemed awfully peculiar to run into the man in Ding Dong Dell- it was so far from his hometown of Hamelin. "You didn't go home after all?"
At that, the former thief rubbed the back of his head. "Nah. Decided to take a once around the place before I finally settle back down." He let his arms fall to his side as he shrugged. "See what it's like when the world's at peace, you know?"
He raised an eyebrow as he glanced back down at his friend. "Now could you let me go? I need to get back to playing…"
Oliver sighed and finally released the man. He stood under the aunting next to him. He jumped when a green trench coat was placed on his shoulders. "Huh," he squeaked looking up. "Swaine? Don't you need this? I thought you hated the cold."
Swaine closed his eyes as he shivered from the brisk air. He shook his head. "I do, but I think you'll freeze worse than me just standing there." He lifted his instrument. "I'll keep my body moving while I play." He flashed a slightly discomforted smile. "I'll be fine." A tremor ran through him again. "It is bleeding cold, though," he complained.
"Um… Alright…" He stood there and listened as the man begun to play a tune. He regretted not bringing his bag. He regretted not bringing any guilders. He looked out at the street. It seemed less busy than usual. Perhaps… they were celebrating the same day here, too.
"I'm sorry, dear. I'll be visiting family during the holidays," Miss Leila had said. "Would you like to come? There's always room at our table for one more." He recalled declining politely, saying he didn't want to intrude and said he'd ask Phil if he could join them.
"Eh… We're kind of not into that. Sorry, Ollie." He apparently had other plans. He said he'd ask Myrtle… but she had already gone out of town when he got to her house. He didn't know Denny well enough to ask…
He recalled sitting in his house, staring down at the rug in his living room. He remembered recalling his mother and him exchanging gifts, drinking hot cocoa, singing songs, and sitting near the fire as she read fairy tales to him with overexaggerated voices.
He was alone this year. His mother was gone. He had no other family… He would be all by himself and no one knew… And for some reason, that hurt.
In an effort to spend time with anyone he traveled back to Ding Dong Dell. The man beside him playing his mandolin would never know how lonely he had felt just a few moments ago. Even in the cold, the comfort he felt of being next to another person during this time of year was something he cherished.
He pulled the shabby coat tighter. It was so full of holes it barely kept the chill out.
He remembered bringing his wand. He pulled it from his belt and looked at it. By now, he had pretty much memorized the most basic spells in the Wizards Companion…
He drew the symbol for Rejuvenate. The holes filled in. The coat protected him better from the frostbitten breeze a little better.
"What was that," Swaine asked Oliver.
"Umm….," he looked down, gripping the coat. "Your coat wasn't keeping out the cold. So I…" He shrugged. "…Fixed it?"
He raised an eyebrow at the jacket covered boy. He looked down at the object in question. So he had. Even the thin frayed patches that threatened new holes in the coat had become whole again. It looked like new to him. He replaced the lost look on his face with a gentle, grateful smile. "Thanks."
Swaine looked at the mandolin in thought. For a moment he considered it to repay the boy for his kind deed- even if it was out of a need to keep himself warm. He shook his head. Some other way perhaps...
A breeze swept through and he shivered, reminded of the very reason he was out there.
Oliver watched the people pass by. Very few would stop and put a coin or two in. Most would watch as they walked, listening to the man's music as they traveled.
They all seemed to be heading towards the main square in front of the palace, he noticed.
"Hey, Swaine," he asked the thief after another song was done.
"Hmm?" He turned his head back to look down at the teen.
"How come you don't just ask King Tom to stay at the palace…? You are royalty," he pointedly suggested.
He scoffed. "I certainly don't look the part." He gestured to his worn outfit. "Besides, I don't like asking for favors from people that high up- not unless it's crucial."
"But… Your health is crucial," the boy argued. "And you helped save the world. Just… Ask nicely."
The thief chuckled. "Yeah, but you'd be surprised by the sheer amount of people who don't remember any of us exist." He sighed. "They just remember you, Oliver." He held his hands away from his sides as he shook his head. "That's how history works. The generals are the ones with the name recognition. Memorials are made to remember the soldiers but the ones who lead…? They get all the credit," he lectured him, though with a halfhearted smile.
At Oliver's shocked, slightly saddened look- even with mouth agape- he grinned. "It's alright, kiddo. I don't blame you." He laughed. "We certainly didn't save the world for fame and glory, right?" He patted the boy on the shoulder before gripping the neck his mandolin again.
"It's not fair," he whispered as Swaine began to play once more.
He looked down at the case. "Why don't you go to the festival and play?"
The man stopped short. "I don't think they'd want to hear me… Not really." He shrugged. "I'm not nearly as good at this as I am at being a thief- not quite yet."
"You keep saying things like that about your music," the boy analyzed. "How do you know you're not?"
"I just do. It's horrible. Or at least it's horrible to me." He picked at the mandolin. "The notes don't always sound right…" He shook his head. "No matter how I tune it, they sometimes just don't work." He sighed. "I suppose I left it sitting for too long."
"I think it sounds fine." The boy looked back at the case with scattered coins- about twenty- in the case. "Apparently other people think so, too." Oliver tilted his head up to look at the dejected face of his friend. He wondered if talking to him about it further would even convince him.
He focused on the case. There was only one way to convince him.
He bolted towards the case and slammed it shut. He picked it up and held it over his head- it was a lot lighter without the instrument inside it.
"Hey," the man shouted, starting after him. "Oliver! What the hell?! Come back here with my case!" He had some trouble keeping up, balancing the instrument in his hand while running- it hampered his movement.
"Then play in the square, Swaine," Oliver shouted back over his shoulder.
"I told you, I'm not any good!"
"I told you that you sound fine," the boy threw back.
"Oliver," Swaine growled. "Get back here! Right now," he demanded. "This isn't funny!"
"That's odd," the boy began to retort. "I wasn't joking!"
They ran all the way to the square.
As the boy entered the center, he lowered his arms to look around. The buildings that surrounded them had streamers made of evergreen accompanied with red bows. In the center of the bows were small cat heads. There were small bells dangling from the bows themselves.
As the thief stumbled in, he noticed the people chatting, getting festive food only available at that time of year. So many of them were enjoying each other's' company. So many of them were arm and arm in a drunken stupor, warbling traditional tunes. So many of them played games at the stalls lining the streets for the simple fun of it, much of them were kids who also ran through the square with toys that had been bought by their parents from vendors, chasing one after another. What could be considered the Northern Summerland's version of the Yule Harvest Feast was in full swing.
The cat king stood at the front of the square, looking over all of his citizens partaking in the festivities. At once, he noticed the duo and moved forward, the crowd of people moving aside for him.
Seeing this, the boy's attention quickly turned to the ruler, letting the owner of the case take it back.
"Oh, what does one see before oneself?" He looked down at the two. "Oliver, the savior of the world, and…," his eyes fell on the musician. "Please excuse one's memory, but one does not believe to have ever been introduced to you properly."
The man scratched the back of his head, letting the instrument sag. "Oh… Uh…" He couldn't find the words. He had never been addressed directly by any ruler other than his own brother or father when he thought about it. "It's…" He looked down. "Gascon," he muttered under his breath.
"What's that? Gascon, you say," the cat king made out, leaning in with a paw near an ear.
The man cleared his throat. "That's right. I am…," he began, letting out a gruff sigh. "Prince Gascon… Though in this form you could just call me Swaine, you're Meowjesty."
"Swaine, I thought you-," Oliver started to say.
"He'll have to know anyway. After all, if I have to do anything for Marcassin, better get the whole introduction out of the way." He shrugged and swayed his head nonchalantly towards his friend.
"What a peculiar name for a peculiar hero…," the king noted. He spied the instrument hanging from the former thief's shoulders. "…With a peculiar instrument. Tell one, are you here to play for the festival," King Tom questioned him.
"Well- I wasn't- Are you asking me to-," Swaine stammered. He could feel a cold sweat go down his back at the very thought.
"Yes. He is, your Meowjesty," Oliver answered for him.
"Most excellent," the feline beamed.
Swaine froze, his eyes wide as he stared at his friend. Had he lost it?! He couldn't possibly put on a show to impress royalty! What the hell was this kid thinking?!
He had to think quickly. He couldn't just sing any random song, either. They had to be Yule songs. Then he thought even more carefully about it. He could just play one- make a grand spectacle of it. Perhaps that would sate both of them.
"Ehehe. Yeah. Only one song, but it will be quite the festive one if you don't mind," he dodged.
"Only one," the young savior whined.
"I… never performed for such an esteemed audience, Oliver. One song should be all it takes." He winked at the cat king. "Isn't that right, your Meowjesty?"
"If that is what you believe will entertain the public."
Swaine nodded, smirking. "Well, then. Give us a moment to prepare our number, hmm?" He raised eyebrows at King Tom in a sly attempt at permission.
When the ruler of Ding Dong Dell allowed it, the musician drug his friend over to the side. "Oliver, are you mad," he harshly whispered. "I can't do this!"
"Sure you can! How hard can it be?"
"Pretty damn hard!" He flailed his arms over his head. "What if we mess up? We're playing for royalty, after all!"
At the distressed tone, the boy looked down. "S-sorry, Swaine…" He shook his head vigorously and then looked up in determination. "But there wasn't any other way I could think of to convince you! You're really talented!"
"Not musically! I'm tone deaf, remember!" He bowed his head in defeat. He glanced over his shoulder. "I don't have a clue what we're going to do."
"You don't have any really energetic songs after all…?"
"Well, I actually have one… Just one." He smirked. "How about a practice session," he quipped as he readied his mandolin.
He gave his young friend the words, the melody, the rhythm. The song wasn't hard to pick up. It was about the celebration in general and enjoying the company with other people.
"Oh, and give me back my jacket, will you? I need it for flare."
"What? But Swaine… it's cold," Oliver protested.
"I'll give it back after the performance… Or…," he began to reason as an idea struck him. "We could just head to Al Mamoon and see Esther."
"Huh? But…"
Swaine tussled his friend's hair. "Come on, you didn't come here just to see me. Admit it." He laughed at this knowledge.
"I mean… I guess we could…" He supposed it was only fair. He was just staying by the man's side to keep him company, really. Plus, it would get them out of the cold.
Oliver nodded and took the jacket off from around his shoulders. He handed it to the man wielding the string instrument. "Okay. It's a deal!"
When they walked back into the center, the cad winked at the cat king to wish good luck on their performance. It started with a loud strum of notes to get the crowd's attention. They stamped out the beat, the boy using the case for the thief's instrument as a drum and the wizarding tome the mallet.
They danced around each other, singing their song, performing their show. To the older man's joy, the crowd began to clap along to the tune. It brought quite the smile to his face.
In between choruses, Oliver would chant while remaining in tune, "Time for friends, time for feast, time to prepare that roast beast," then Swaine would continue with the verse, "Time for fun, time for peace, time to carve that roast beast," before continuing to the next chorus.
They repeated it again, though in unison, in the end, the thief had stopped playing the mandolin for the finale, bowing while keeping his head raised and a cheeky grin on his face. Oliver remained in the background, still keeping rhythm.
The crowd went wild with applause. They cheered at the unscheduled performance. At that, the two joined hands and bowed at the audience and their beloved king.
King Tom came forward once again, a smile on his feline lips. "Most excellent show! Surely one must ask, do you have more?"
"Sadly… no, your Meowjesty. Like I said, the rest are all slower, nonperformance pieces." The lanky man laughed sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his head. "If I'm allowed to be honest, this was all very last minute."
The cat king narrowed his eyes at the man in consideration. "Then it is that quick thinking one suspects you to have used in helping the hero of this world save the world?" He bellowed a hearty laugh. "What an excellent mind!" He motioned with a paw towards the vendors and the people who were enjoying the festivities. "Will you be joining the festivities, Sir Gascon?"
Another nervous chuckle from the thief. "Sorry, but no, your Meowjesty…" He bowed slightly. He exchanged a glance with Oliver who nodded and smiled back at him. "We've friends to visit this holiday, you know?"
The large feline scratched his chin. "Ah, one acknowledges this. If it is obligations you must attend, then do not let one stop you." He nodded. "It has been a pleasure hearing you play, Prince Gascon. As a friend of Oliver, you are welcome to return to one's abode at any time."
Swaine's eyes widened at such a gesture. "You- You're serious?!" He leaned forward, his hand clenching his instrument tighter. When the cat king nodded in response, he took a deeper bow. "Much obliged, your grace," he gratefully returned. He stood tall, smiling up at the generous feline.
"Well, you have pressing matters, do you not? One will not hold you here much longer." He waved them away with a flick of his paw. "Make haste. Surely your friend should not be kept waiting."
The thief clapped his hands and rubbed them. "Right! Oliver?" He turned to the side to look back at his friend. "Shall we get going, then?"
The young mage nodded gleefully. "Let's go."
At that, the thief turned to make his leave.
"Your Meowjesty," Oliver called out before following the man. "Before we leave I just want to say… Thank you for letting Swaine play." He bowed his head. "He really needed it."
"On the contrary! It was one's pleasure," the cat king replied. He looked over the kid at Swaine standing at the plaza exit, waiting patiently for him to catch up. "Now go- he is waiting."
The boy giggled and ran after his friend.
"What took you?"
"I just needed to say bye to King Tom," Oliver answered when he got close.
"Right. Off to Al Mamoon, then?"
A laugh, then a pull of the wand, Mornstar. He cast Travel and they were whisked away to the sunny capital of the Southern Summerlands.
The thief took back the mandolin, putting it in its case for reasons not yet known to his young friend. He draped the case over his back and stood up straight as they faced the entrance.
Upon entering the city, the two were greeted with a peculiar sight. Men, women, and children were throwing colored powder and dyes at one another. They all seemed to giggle and laugh as their appearances were constantly changed with each wild fling of an arm. Even the buildings were stained lightly with the spray of colored dust- even the adventurer's facilities were brightly redecorated with various hues.
"Ah. I had a feeling that they were up to this, still," the man commented.
"Huh? What is it?"
"The way they celebrate the winter harvest…," he began to explain. "And also how they celebrate surviving another year." He chuckled and looked down at Oliver as they walked. "There's a lot more to it than that, but that's the gist."
"My clothes are getting pretty stained," the mage muttered, looking down. He thought it fortunate that he knew how to use Rejuvenate. He'd get in a lot of trouble if he returned home with bright dyes covering his clothes if Miss Leila were there.
"Yeah, we'll definitely need to fix that later-," the man began to say when he noticed a certain blond pigtail ahead of him. "Hey! Esther," he shouted through the crowd.
When she turned, she bore a face of utter confusion. That was quickly replaced with a large, bright smile. She ran up to them and wrapped her arms around both of them, spreading what powder covered her body onto the two boys.
When she let go, she looked at them both. "What are you two doing here?"
"Oh, you know… Just thought we'd drop by," Swaine nonchalantly said.
He winced when a cloud of pink powder hit his shoulder. "What the-," he started, connecting the shot with the pink covered hand of the familiar tamer.
"Oh! Sorry! I'm just really in the spirit of things, you know?"
"Yeah! It's a really neat way to spend the holiday!" Oliver looked around at the activity. "So why do you celebrate it like this?"
"Well originally," Esther began. "It was in hopes of bringing color back into the lives affected by Shadar, hoping that one day good would triumph over evil. That's why it's so colorful!" She giggled and held her hand to her chest. "But now that he's defeated, it celebrates that and the babana harvest!"
"Neato," the boy exclaimed.
She giggled again before looking up at the thief. "Oh? You brought your mandolin?"
"Yeah," Swaine answered. "But with all this powder, it wouldn't be good for it if I played."
People singing and performing percussion instruments littered the streets as well, singing loud cheerful tunes. Others were shouting with glee as they decorated each other with paints. The noise of the crowd would drown him out. "I don't think people would hear my playing, anyway."
She bobbed her head in understanding. "I see. It wouldn't be good for my harp if I played it either."
"Yeah, you'd probably accidentally hurt someone with that thing." The thief rubbed the back of his head. He got elbowed in the chest for that one.
"Watch it, Swaine," she warned.
She turned to Oliver. "Hey, you want to go color people?"
The mage looked down at his already ruined clothes. He might as well. "Sure!" He looked up at the thief. "Do you want to join us?"
"Nah." Swaine shook his head in response. "I'll find somewhere quiet, don't you worry."
And so he did. Surprisingly, the Cat's Cradle plaza was devoid of the festive color throwing people. He found himself content with his mandolin there. He strummed a tune idly as he recovered from all the noise of the other festivities in the calm stillness of the inn plaza. He hummed softly to himself. He was covered head to toe with dyes and powder, he realized. He made the right choice keeping his beloved memento concealed upon entering.
It was nice, being away from the crowded streets, especially after that performance in Ding Dong Dell. Truthfully, he preferred to remain alone or at the very least, in a small group. He only used the crowds as cover or when he needed to blend in. Otherwise, it was just too much. The music comforted him.
Oliver laughed as he shielded himself from the dye his friend was throwing at him.
"So what are you two doing," the harpist shouted. Shielding herself from return fire.
"I don't know," he returned. "I guess we're just traveling around to see everyone today. You know to say hi and celebrate the holidays?" He rocketed a ball of bright pink paint at the blonde's arm.
"Ow! Hey," she snapped playfully as she pulled out a handful of mostly blue powder from the small bag at her hip. "And you're bringing Swaine along? Why?"
The boy shrugged, another handful of dye casually being held in his hand. "He seemed lonely…" He tossed it and looked down. Or was it because he was lonely? He had no one to celebrate the new year with and neither did the thief. Esther had this tradition and her family and so did everyone else… But Swaine?
When he came back to their world- when he found the cad standing at the street corner playing the instrument. He seemed to have no one nor any home to go to. He had nobody- just an old mandolin and the memories of times long gone.
He lowered the powder he had readied to throw. "I don't know…," he said with a shrug. "He just seemed kind of… like he needed to get out of the cold- like he needed a friend."
They stood in silence as they let his explanation sink in.
Green powder showered over the ginger's head. He grunted in surprise.
"Try and catch me," Esther cheered as she ran up the street.
"Haha, you're on!"
They chased each other up to the Cawtermaster's store. "Hey, do you think they're open," he wondered, looking up at the completely re-colored store.
"They should be. They help supply the dyes, after all," Esther answered. She tilted her head curiously at the wizard. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, in my world, people exchange gifts to each other for the season. And I..." He shifted nervously. "I wanted to..." He shook his head and looked down at his feet. "No, never mind."
He felt a hand grab his right shoulder lightly. He looked up at the harpist. "That sounds nice, Oliver." She smiled lightly at him. "Why don't we get something for the people your visiting?"
"Are you sure? I mean, it's not your tradition and... I don't have any money," he admitted hesitantly.
"I can at least help you get something for Swaine." She shrugged. "I think Mr. Drippy will just be glad you visited," she joked as she rolled her eyes. "But we'll get something for him, too."
"What about you? What about Marcassin? "
"Your present to me is letting me help. Nothing feels better than helping someone to me, Oliver." She giggled. "And Marcassin's can be you bringing his hopeless big brother back home!"
"O-okay," he stammered. He nodded with renewed confidence. "Yeah! Sure!"
When they entered the store, they both had to stifle a laugh. The Cawtermaster himself seemed covered with a rainbow of colors. Even his beak was painted. Surprisingly, the rest of the store remained untouched.
"You seem awfully colorful, today, Mr. Cawtermaster," Esther teased. "What happened?"
He cawed raising his wings before answering her. "I was cawt off guard when I opened shop! Ambushed I was! My feathers got cawvered ravenously by a bunch of birdbrained passersby! The shop got completely vandalized!" He tilted his head and blinked at the girl.
Her smile dropped. "I'm so sorry that happened! Are you going to be okay?"
"Not to worry! I was merely cawt off-guard." The birdman tilted his head to the other side. "I'm such a pretty bird, now! And so is my shop!" She swore she saw a smile at the corners of the shop keeper's beak. "Caws of this, my shop will be more noticeable as the day goes on!"
"Oh… Okay," Oliver answered. "That's good." He gave a short laugh.
"So… do you have anything that would make good gifts," the mage finally asked after looking from side to side.
"I'm Cawtermaster, not a Hootenanny," he chirped. "Unless you're looking for weapons and weapons supplies, you're roosting in the wrong tree!"
"Weapons supplies," the girl parroted. "Like polish? Do you have any all-purpose polish?"
The boy turned to his friend. "You mean for Swaine…?"
"Yeah! I think he could use it, don't you, Oliver?"
"Of caws I have all-purpose polish," the bird interrupted. He crouched for a moment and lifted a bottle. "Anything else?"
"Umm… Slapsticks," Oliver asked, pointing at the torso of the bird.
"Ah…" The bird jerked his head to the other side and straightened up again. "No, I don't believe I know what you're squawking about."
"They're these flat sticks. Kind of like small boards," the boy described, opening his hand towards the shopkeep.
The bird made a low chirping noise. He excused himself to look in his supplies. He returned with two small boards. "These were leftover pieces of wood from armor. They should do?"
Oliver inspected them. They were flat enough- even if they didn't seem like the traditional stick the fairy preferred.
"Yeah. Thanks!"
"How much," Esther asked as she stepped forward. "For both of them?"
"Take them. In light of the holidays, consider it a token of flightful gratitude."
The blonde's eyes widened. She slowly smiled at the shopkeep. "Thank you," she cheered as she grabbed the items from the counter.
"Cawme again," he crowed after the two.
When they returned to the entrance, they listened for the sound of a mandolin. It was difficult to pin down through the din.
"Where do you suppose he went," Esther wondered, looking around.
"Somewhere quiet." The boy looked for the calmest area in their vicinity.
When they found that the plaza in front of the inn was fairly docile, they exchanged nods and approached.
As they entered the somewhat still plaza, the soft chords of a mandolin being played greeted them both. They entered to see the thief playing.
"Ah. You're back! I was beginning to worry," he said almost to the tune of the instrument. "You two have fun?"
The boy bounded forward as he cheered, "Oh, yeah!" But once he got closer, he looked down. "Um…,"
At this sudden hesitation, the thief's nonchalant smirk fell right along with his playing. He pulled himself from the wall. "What is it?"
"Er… We got something for you," the boy began. He pulled a small bottle of polish from his pocket. "Swaine, um… Thank you." He handed the bottle over to the thief.
He looked down at the bottle before reaching to accept it. It had been a long time since anyone had given him anything for a special occasion. He took it and proceeded to open it. He smiled softly at the oily substance inside and then back at the two kids. He closed the lid.
He bent down and roped them both into a hug, of which they were both caught off guard. "Thank you- both of you."
"Um= okay. Sure, Swaine," the boy stammered.
The girl looked over at the man's head. "Are… You okay?"
"I'm fantastic!" He pulled away, beaming at the two of them. "This is exactly what I needed!"
The two exchanged pleased glances. "Really," they both shouted.
He released them and smirked. "Yeah. Lucy was looking a little dull and my gun could use a little grease." He tossed the bottle between his hands playfully. He looked at the two teens. Leave it to them to think of such useful gifts. "This'll certainly come in handy."
Esther tilted her head with a small smile. "Well, we're glad you liked it."
"Yeah," Oliver agreed.
The girl backed away. "Well, I suppose you two will be leaving soon?"
"Oh, yeah! I still have to give Mr. Drippy a gift!"
The thief rolled his eyes but maintained a cheerful grin. "Yes. Sure. Let's go see his Fairy Lordship," he snidely commented.
"Oh, would you be quiet- you know you missed him, too," the harpist jabbed. "It's only fair that you guys go see him."
"You're not coming, Esther," the mage asked, eyeing her.
She shook her head. "No. I've got other plans with my family," she answered. She waved at them both. "See you two later! Say, 'hi' to everyone for me, okay?"
The savior giggled. "Sure."
The next place of venue was the Fairygrounds. Swaine wasn't looking forward to it. Then again… he supposed he could stand to hear some comedy. A good laugh never hurt anyone.
When they magically appeared in front of the Fairygrounds entrance, their ears were greeted with laughter- more laughter than usual when they had previously visited the area. They entered to find most of its inhabitants missing from the front- or more, surrounding the Cavity Club stage.
They approached the heart of the fairy homeland. Three fairies stood on the stage- Drippy, and the other two most known comedians of the island. Their act seemed to be a three-man act involving literal slapstick comedy. It was quite interesting to see- one would say something as a comeback, but the other would correct them but not before hitting whoever it was with a slapstick. The act ended with Drippy smacking both of them in the back of the head, shouting, "Lay off, mun!"
That sent the fairies into a roar of laughter, especially when the other two fell over comedically. Even the thief and the wizard were not immune to the humor.
It seemed they had come right before an intermission. The fairies dispersed momentarily. Some went to the shops to open up for brief concessions. The two fairies got up and jumped off the stage to discuss an upcoming act. Drippy, however, walked off to the side to squint at the crowd.
"Hey! Don't pretend you can't see us! We're the largest ones here," the thief jested.
"Youer sure? Cause I don't see you, thief-face!"
"You must be going blind in your old age, your lordship," he tossed back. They stood in front of the stage.
"Ta, mun! I can see as clear as ever! Youer just easy to miss with all that green!"
The thief and the mage exchanged glances before looking back at the fairy. "Mr. Drippy, I'm standing right next to him! Can you see me?"
The fairy waived it away. "Of course, I can, Ollie-boy! I was just joking around!" He slapped the leg of the teen. "So what brings you by here, bunting? Missed ol' Mr. Drippy, did ya?" He did a pose as if he were about to fight. "Your best friend- your sidekick?"
"I just came here to spend time with people for the holidays." He looked up at the thief. "I just ran into Swaine first and we've been going around seeing our friends!"
"Yeah, sure beats playing a mandolin while your fingers freeze off in the cold," the man responded. He was starting to finally put his instrument away.
The fairy caught the slight glimmer of the mandolin. "This next act could use a musical touch! There's useful!"
The man continued to stare at his case. As soon he realized it his comment was directed at him, he stepped back in shock. He looked down at the fairy in slight bewilderment. "Huh- What? Me?!" He shook his head, throwing his hands up. "You can't be serious!"
"You can be my partner even!" He held up a tiny hand. "That will make the next round flow even better if I just have you, eh? There's tidy."
He faltered. He frowned. "Umm. Sorry…," He gritted his teeth as he looked around and scratched his head. "What the hell is this all for, again? And-!" He squinted his eyes shut and grimaced. "Why me?! I'm not a comedian- far from it!"
"Could have fooled me! All those jokes you made during our journey? You were always trying to squeeze a laugh out o' everyone! Ta, mun!" He waved his tiny fairy hand down for emphasis.
The thief began to sweat nervously. He bit the bottom of his lip. "That- that? It was just… er… keeping things from getting touchy- lightening the mood, yeah?" He gripped the head of the mandolin tightly- he had frozen in place at the mere mention of performing on stage. He shook his head again. "And you didn't answer my question, you bizarre gnome!"
"Aye- I didn't, did I. There's careless." He shook his tiny head before looking back up at the pair. "See we have a big ol' laughing bonanza for all of fairy kind every year. We do it to keep the cheer in the bleakest times, see? Mam's a big believer in the ol' keeping a cheerful demeanor through tough times. Helps get through 'em, she says!" He nodded, the lantern jangling with the motion. "Now we do it to celebrate Ollie-boy here!" He pointed at the young wizard. "We laugh to celebrate laughing in the face of ol' Shadar! Even the littlies join in a couple o' times!"
"So that's what's going on," the boy chimed in, smiling down at the fairy. "Then you'll be needing this, right, Mr. Drippy?" He pulled out his gift and handed it to him.
He looked at it with wide eyes. His largemouth hung open in awe at the sight of them. They seemed to be made out of solid oak. "By-the-by-! Where'd you get such premium slapsticks, Ollie-boy?!"
"I got them in Al Mamoon from the Cawtermaster's," Oliver answered, keeping his hand outstretched.
Drippy picked up the pair of sticks. He slapped them together and then into his tiny palm. He closed his eyes and nodded, the lantern jangling and shaking at the end of his nose. He opened his eyes. "Jus' what the next act needed!" He looked over to Swaine. "Well- it'll be startin' soon! Places!" He waved towards the stage.
The thief raised his hand in hesitation. "Uh- Wait- I never said-!"
"Oi! Don't be shy, mun! A little jokin' never hurt ya! It'll be fun," the fairy encouraged.
"But… How do I put this-," he struggled to explain. "I don't get fairy humor. I think it's hilarious, it's just I don't know how you approach your jokes and all…" He looked away from the stage. "I'm not sure this will work."
The fairy looked dumbfounded at the taller man. "'Don't get fairy humor' he says," he finally blurted. He stepped back in front of them and pointed a tiny yellow finger at the cad. "Listen here, fairy humor is just like any humor- where do you think most humor comes from-, or I ain't Lord High Lord o' the Fairies! And even if it wasn't-!" He snapped his tiny hand while swinging it across his upper body. "It would make the jokes even better!" He stamped a tiny blue foot towards the man who leaned back. "Now are you going to help ol' Drippy out or not, Swainey-boy?"
He was a loss for words. He had just been lectured by Drippy… The least threatening of anything he had faced in all of their journeys- and he still somehow felt intimidated by him. He cringed at the name he had just used, too… Swainey-boy… What the hell…? He recalled repeating in his head. He looked down at Oliver to find the boy looking up at him expectantly.
He finally let out a defeated sigh, stealing a side glance with his eyes at the stage. "Fine… I suppose it would be fun to see what happens."
"Right-o," Drippy cheered, jumping up from his place. "There's lovely!"
And so they began the next act. Oliver sat in the audience while Swaine sat on the edge of the stage, the case for his instrument leaning against the side of the structure. The thief braced the mandolin against his knee as he watched the crowd begin to reappear around the Cavity Club.
It started with Drippy introducing the newcomer to the act. In response to it, the thief strummed the mandolin and gave a short wave.
"So what will we do," the thief questioned the fairy.
The fairy shrugged. "Well improv, I suppose!"
The mandolin let out a sharp yelp. Swaine jerked his head to the side. "What?! You mean to say you don't know what we're going to be joking about?" He rolled his eyes. "There's a laugh!"
"Oi, and a proper one, too!" The fairy jabbed the thief lightly on the side. The audience seemed to chuckle.
The thief shook his head again. "Seriously, what are we doing?"
"This," Drippy claimed, exaggeratedly stretched out his arms towards the crowd, looking up at the man.
"What now?"
"Now what," the fairy returned.
"I don't know."
"Well, you ought to know."
"Hey, hey, hey," Swaine began, strumming a sharp note with each "hey". "Who's the comedian here, Drippy?"
"Who?"
"Yeah. Who?"
"I don't know a bloke by that name. Is he any good?"
Swaine raised an eyebrow. Silence prevailed "That wasn't even funny!"
The audience laughed at the rebuttal.
"Fine, fine," Drippy resigned. "How 'bout this! We tell about our feats!" He waved towards Swaine who continued to observe him. "I'll start." He cleared his throat. "There we were, surrounded by several large ravenous beasties… Everyone was on their last flippin' leg. Then I jumped in and took 'em all on! I-"
"Time the hell out," the man snapped, letting another sharp squeal from the mandolin into the air. "That never happened!"
"Youer sure?"
"I would have been there!"
"Fine, youer right… But what about the time I tamed tha-"
"That was Esther!"
"Or the time I punched the beast in the no-"
"My Papa Sasquash could punch better-," He began to insult, rolling his eyes. He stopped short when he felt a pair of slapsticks smack him on the arm. "Hey!"
"And he could take 'em better, too!"
"Hey!"
The crowd began to laugh at them both. The thief smirked. So it was light-hearted jeering they wanted, he presumed.
"So, Drippy," he began.
"Oi, what is it, mate?"
He started to strum a calm tune. "I was thinking of installing a light fixture in my home…"
"Oi! You have a home?"
Swaine nodded. "Yeah. I need your help with something."
"Hold on, I got ye!" The fairy crouched. "You need me to light up the place, like?"
The thief scoffed. "You'd be too tacky!"
"Tacky?"
"No, on second thought," the thief corrected himself, interrupting his strumming with a strangled note. "You'd barely stick to the ceiling."
"Good, cause I don't think I could hang about," the fairy added.
The crowd roared with laughter. They continued this banter of jokes, some failing, some hilarious.
All that mattered to the man was seeing a smile on the young wizard's face. He had looked so gloomy in Ding Dong Dell. It wasn't until he saw him laughing happily did he realize how much he needed this little journey, too. He missed this- experiencing the world with a friend by his side- especially after months of walking alone.
The act ended and they both bowed at the audience. It was time for yet another intermission.
"Thank you for helpin' ol' Drippy out," the fairy said. "Rough start, but I think I even heard me mam laugh." He lightly patted the thief on the arm.
Swaine was finally putting away his mandolin. "Oh, yeah. No problem."
Oliver approached. "You were really good, Swaine!" He turned to the fairy. "So were you, Mr. Drippy!"
The fairy waved it away with his arm. "Ah, it was nothing. Not even my best act, to tell ya the truth."
"Yeah…," the man groaned with the back of his head. "Sorry for dragging you under."
The fairy shook his head. "Youer fine, Swaine. You aren't a professional comedian and I won't hold ya to it." He grinned. "And that mandolin of yours really lightened the mood, like!"
The man nodded. "So it did."
"Are ya stayin' for another go?"
The mage shook his head. "No. Sorry, Mr. Drippy."
Swaine turned to the boy with raised eyebrows. "Are you certain? We could stay if you wanted."
Oliver shook his head. "Yeah. I'd love to, but there's just one last place we have to go."
The fairy shifted and hung his head sadly to the side. "I see, Ollie-boy. Got a more important goal in mind, do ya?"
"Yeah! What are you playing at," the thief asked as he turned to look incredulously at his young friend. "Why the ruse?"
The boy smiled up at his friend. "It's a surprise!"
The thief placed both hands on his hips. "For who?"
"For you, Swaine," Oliver answered.
The man and the fairy exchanged confused glances at each other.
"Don't look at me, mun- I haven't a clue." Drippy shrugged as he said this.
When they were transported to their next location, a sense of dreadful familiarity hit the thief. The ground was hard, the smell of smoke and ash from nearby vents wafted over them, and a giant structure of the entrance leading down to the capital of a machine empire loomed over them.
"H-Hamelin?!" He looked down at Oliver with mild disdain. "Why?"
The boy shifted nervously. "I thought… y'know, since it's the holidays…"
His look softened when he realized the kid's true intention. "I see, Oliver." He patted the boy's shoulder as he walked past him. "Come on. Let's go say hello, hmm?"
When they walked in, they noticed everything was… different. There were red bows on the doors where the handles would be. Lamps were decorated with pig-themed banners and connected with gold and green streamers. The main road was open as if prepared for a procession.
Only, one thing was off. There were people walking with foil covered containers- also wrapped in bows. Most of them seemed to be coming from the palace entrance.
They had stopped short at the side of it- the former eldest prince of Hamelin having halted at what he saw. "He's not…," the man gasped at the sight, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips.
The boy, hearing his friend's excitement in his tone, looked up in wonder. "What is it, Swaine?"
The man chuckled. "Something special… Something…" He raised a hand and shook it as he gathered his thoughts, his fingers curled in towards his palm. "That this kingdom hasn't seen since he reigned." He glanced at Oliver. "He, despite everything… Despite Shadar, despite me, was very keen on this celebration…" He smiled knowingly, warmly. "Even if the Royal Procession was our most cherished event, this was always one of the ones he was sure to do…" He started walking again, keeping that hand at nearly chest height.
When they got to the palace entrance, they saw it: tables of food- three rows of it. Most of it was meat, but there were also bread and cooked vegetables. Palace guards and servants were packing away meals among the rows and in the very front the Great Sage himself was handing them out to the people that came by.
"Marcassin," the young mage asked as they approached. "What is all this?"
The ruler looked up and put the food back on the table to address him. "Oliver! I was not expecting you!" He bobbed his head in greeting. "Forgive me."
He looked at the tables and handed the next meal to another person who needed it. "This is the yearly Hamelin Yule feast where we take everything in the palace larder and then some and feed it to those who need it. It's a means of celebration for those who have made it through the toughest parts of the year-."
He finally noticed the man behind him. "G-Gascon," he gasped. He walked around Oliver to meet with his brother.
Swaine followed the sage's movement. "Hey…" He smiled at his younger brother. "I guess… I came back for the holidays after all…"
Marcassin looked into the eyes of his brother. He wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders. "Welcome back," he whispered into his ear before letting go. He laughed nervously. "I knew there was someone missing from this event. I just couldn't place it."
The sage looked over at the boy. "Thank you, Oliver, for bringing him home."
The hero smiled gratefully at the ruler. "It was nothing, your majesty."
"Yeah, it's good to be home, your grace," the man jabbed, snidely smirking at the younger prince.
Marcassin rolled his eyes at that. "You know what to call me. Such formalities are unnecessary to equals such as yourselves." He cast a slightly disapproving look at his brother's tone. "Especially my elder brother disguised as a vagrant."
"What," Swaine exclaimed. "For your highness's information, I am a nomad, thank you! That's all I ever have been."
Another eye roll. He turned to the man once more. "My brother, you are still!" He took the man's hands in his. He squeezed once. I love you, Gascon. Was what he meant by this action… It was something he had remembered his older brother doing when they were alone as children. "It doesn't matter what you call yourself, you cannot change your own blood." He squeezed his hands again. You and your secrets are safe with me.
"I'm just here to humor you, you know…," he dodged.
There was a chuckle. "Even so, you came back just in time to ring in the new year!" He leaned forward with a proud and delighted grin. "And so I welcome you home, Gascon- aid to the hero of the world." He squeezed a third time. "And dear brother."
"All I did was help. Oliver's the true hero," he fussed, looking over at the boy in question. "As great a thief as I am I don't deserve much praise."
Oliver shook his head. "I couldn't have done it without any of you," he corrected.
The sage sighed. "You, at the least, deserve the praise of surviving- living to see this day- and accomplishing all that you have! Just…" He started handing out food again. "Take it, will you, Gascon?"
The man looked down at his hands. "So… What does this mean, then?"
"What do you believe it means," the boy chimed in with a concerned look at Swaine.
Swaine sighed and looked up. "Please don't make me say it… It's a cliché."
The two stared at him expectantly.
"You're really going to do this, huh?" He sighed and shook his head with a wry smile. "'I'll always have a place here, won't I?' Happy?" He crossed his arms and leaned towards both of them. "Well, here's a bargain I want to make on that: if I'm always welcomed to come back here- as a prince and all according to you," he began to stipulate, gesturing to Marcassin. "Then Oliver is welcome to come here whenever he's feeling down on his luck, too!"
The sage scoffed as he passed out another plate of food to another person. "As if that was even a question, Gascon!"
The boy shook his head, raising his hands to stay them. "No, no, no! I can't do that! I- I really shouldn't make you guys worry about me-!"
"Too late, kiddo, you had me worried since the day I joined you on your journey," the thief indicated with a pat on the kid's head. "And since you appeared in Ding Dong Dell looking all cold, miserable, and lonely!"
"Y-you saw that…," Oliver stammered in shock. "I didn't mean to-!"
"Oh, just stop it, Oliver. You're a kid, still, remember? You're allowed to have emotions," the former cad reminded him. "You really did look awful back there!"
"Is that so," the sage queried with a raised eyebrow. He put both hands on his hips and eyed the boy with a raised eyebrow. "Do you not have lodging for the night, then?"
The boy shook his head. "I could… just go home."
"Do you have anyone at home to go home to," Marcassin questioned.
The boy pieced his thoughts together. He shook his head slowly. "No… I don't."
"Then I refuse to allow you to return with no one there to comfort you on this otherwise festive night!" The sage placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "While I do not doubt your strength, you should not be alone in this way." He glanced at his brother. "This offer extends to you as well."
Oliver smiled softly down at the floor. "Thank you, Marcassin."
The sage waved a couple of servants over and had them taken to a guest room. He bid them goodnight and watched as they entered the palace. When Gascon cast him a warm and grateful smile, he returned in kind, acknowledging their gratitude.
As they walked, the boy leaned on the thief drowsily- the day was at its end. They were both slightly exhausted. "Swaine," he yawned. "Sorry for dragging you everywhere, today. I know you didn't ask for it."
"No… It was fun, really," the thief responded. "I liked seeing everyone again."
"Really?" The kid stole a glance at the man. "So did I." They walked a little longer in silence.
"Swaine?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm glad you're not lonely anymore."
The thief smiled as he adjusted his mandolin, thinking at the dejected face the kid had earlier that day. "Me too, kiddo. Me too."
Finally, the holiday was at an end. The new year would begin the next day along with new beginnings.
~.~.~
This took me way longer than I thought it was going to take to get out. Happy holidays and belated New Year's everyone!
The song at the beginning may be partially inspired by Hunchback of Notre Dame (the Disney one), the title is... well... it's the song you hear sung every new year and looking at the lyrics it fits this drabble pretty well. The celebration in Al Mamoon is loosely based on Holi which is a Thanksgiving/good vs evil deal. From what I understand it also has some ties to Hinduism, but other people outside of that faith often take part in it. That whole hand squeezing thing is based on a post I saw on Tumblr about a person reminiscing about their dad and how they grew up secure because of it. I thought, "Hey! That's a good idea! Marcassin, despite previous Heartbreak, seems pretty secure. Maybe Gascon did something like that when they were kids.
And, by the by, Auld Lang Syne, if you can understand it in whatever form you choose, be it mostly with American/standard English inflections or Scottish dialect, is a beautiful song. I say it fits very well with this game because of the roots it has as well as the meaning behind it. Take a listen, when you get the chance, outside of the holiday season to it. It wasn't until I heard it more clearly at my store that I realized how much it could easily fit into other times of the year.