A/N: This one took longer than I was hoping, but my health has been weird at best lately. It's a "two steps forward, one step back" kind of thing, but I'm slowly getting better. I did NANO this past November and I got a lot done on this story, so there's that. I hope everyone has a good, relaxing holiday. Enjoy!

Chapter 18: So Much Time on the Other Side

"Bernard! Hey Bernard!"

Bernard tried very hard to pretend that he had not heard his boss's voice. No less than three elves had informed him that Santa had been looking for him, wanting to have a "personal" chat, and so far he had been able to avoid him. Judy in particular had tipped him off, suggesting that since Santa had plans to be outside playing football that morning, perhaps Bernard would be better off inspecting the wrapping stations. He wasn't sure just what exactly Santa wanted to talk with him about, but based on what Judy had told him, he had a vague idea, and there was no way he was going to get cornered into that conversation without at least a minimal amount of grousing and avoidance.

Bernard turned a corner and gasped. As the man himself suddenly appeared in front of him, towering before him in his resplendent red and white, it looked like Bernard's luck had run out.

"Oh. Hi, Sir," said Bernard, plastering a fake smile onto his face.

"You know, you're hard to track down sometimes," said Santa sternly.

"We are pretty busy around here."

"Yeah I noticed," said Santa. Unfortunately, he also noticed Bernard's attempt to turn around and slip away and put his arm around his Head Elf to prevent his escape and steer him elsewhere.

"Step into my office."

"Do I have to?" said Bernard lamely.

"Yes, you do."

That's how Bernard found himself sitting in his boss's office in a chair across the large wooden desk, wishing that he was literally anywhere else. They stared at each other in mutual silence for a moment. Santa drummed his fingers on the desk while Bernard made a close examination of the grain on its wooden surface and pointedly stayed quiet. If Santa really wanted to have this conversation, he was going to have to start it himself.

"So, Number One, you know, I was thinking," began the bearded man behind the desk. "You and Lydia, you're an item now, right? Officially?"

"I guess so," said Bernard uneasily, both wondering and dreading where this line of inquiry could possibly be going.

"Well," continued his boss awkwardly. "It just occurred to me that, with you being at a certain age, and the two of you getting so close, and seeing as you don't have any parents wandering around here, and I just don't know if any of the previous Santas took it upon themselves to give you 'The Talk.'"

Bernard raised his eyes from the desktop to stare at him blankly.

"'The Talk?'"

"Yeah. The Talk. You know. The Birds and the Bees? You know what I'm talking about, right, Bernard?"

Bernard blinked at him.

"I'm over two thousand years old, sir."

"Yeah, I know. But come on, how much of that is really going on up here?"

"Do you really wanna know the answer to that?" Bernard deadpanned. He suspected that Santa was deliberately trying to make him squirm, and two could play that game. The man's eyes darted about as he gave that question some serious contemplation.

"No. No, I don't."

"Didn't think so," said Bernard. Then he sighed and said seriously, "Sir, Lydia and I are not there yet. Not even close.

"Yeah, but eventually…." said Santa, gesturing with his hands, rather than complete the sentence. The gestures weren't altogether suggestive, but even so, Bernard recoiled as far as the chair back would let him.

"She's from the Victorian era," said Bernard, willing the conversation to end itself.

"Yeah, but Queen Victoria is dead," said Santa with a smirk. "Who's she gonna tell?"

"Did Mrs. Claus put you up to this?" asked Bernard, unamused.

"No. Maybe. A little. We-we agreed that-"

"Good talk, Sir." Bernard stood from his chair and attempted to bolt out of the office, but Santa did the same and successfully blocked his path.

"Oh come on. I've been married. Twice. Who else can you talk to about this stuff?"

"I don't want to talk about this at all."

Suddenly the door to the office opened, cutting the discussion short. Abby backed into the room carrying a tray.

"Hi, Santa! Oh Bernard, I didn't know you were here," said the little elf as she sat the tray on the wide oaken desk.

"Hi Abby," said Santa through a teeth-gritting smile. But in spite of the very clear "Stay put" in his eyes, Bernard had seen an exit and intended to take it.

"Look at the time," he said, looking at the empty space on his wrist where a watch might sit. "It's been nice talking to you, Santa. Abby, nice seeing you. Bye."

The door had not had a chance to shut behind Abby before Bernard had slipped through it and made his escape.

"Nice horsey. Good horsey - ah! Don't snort at me! Laughing, perfect. Look what you did. She's laughing at me."

Lydia was indeed laughing at Bernard. After the highly uncomfortable conversation with his boss, he had followed Lydia out to the paddock while she tended to Isolde. It was only when they got up close that Bernard suddenly remembered how tall and wide and large and unnecessarily massive the horse was. Isolde had whinnied happily and trotted up to the fence when she saw Lydia, but when Bernard joined her, the horse had looked upon him with dark eyes that seemed to size him up, measuring him and reading him in that inscrutable, almost supernatural way animals often do. Bernard found it unnerving.

"She won't bite, Bernard."

"I don't think she likes me."

"What makes you think that?"

"She snorted at me."

"She's a horse."

A very large horse, thought Bernard, inching toward Isolde with all the caution usually reserved for venomous snakes. Why is she so big?

"Yeah, well, I brought a peace offering."

As soon as he pulled the apple and carrots out of his satchel, Isolde's demeanor relaxed, and she trotted forward to accept them. If being near the massive animal had been daunting, having her press her giant muzzle into his palm to eat out of his hand was downright nerve-racking.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," said Bernard as she eagerly gobbled up the treats and nickered happily. "You're welcome."

"Maybe you could ride her sometime."

"Sure!" said Bernard in mock enthusiasm. "How about the week after never?"

"You never know," said Lydia persistently. "You might like it."

"Ha," scoffed Bernard. "Doubt it."

"Don't worry, Isolde," said Lydia with a conspiratorial smile. "We'll work on him."

Bernard gave another dismissive laugh but rubbed the soft fuzz of Isolde's muzzle as she attempted to excavate more treats out of his empty hands.

"You cleaned me out," he exclaimed. "Do you think she'd like candy canes?"

"Maybe. You like her."

"She's alright," mumbled Bernard. "I guess. Okay fine, I admit it. She's not so bad. I'm still not getting on her back though."

Bernard unearthed a candy cane and unwrapped it. For a while the only sounds were Isolde's enthusiastic licking and the soft scrape of the brush against her coat as Lydia continued grooming her.

"Um, Lydia?" said Bernard after a while. "Santa tried to have a talk with me earlier."

"Is that so? Might it have pertained to the same subject Mrs. Claus hoped to address with me?" said Lydia mildly.

Bernard groaned. "Not you too?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What did you say?"

"That I was grateful for her concern, and that while I value her experience as an educator, I'm not quite so naive as the stereotypes of the time of my upbringing might suggest."

It was a mouthful, sure, but Bernard was almost as fluent in her linguistic mannerisms as she was in his. He almost sighed in relief.

"What did you say?" asked Lydia.

"Pretty much the same thing. I asked him how old he thought I was. And that I didn't think we were there yet. That we hadn't really gotten to that point, and that we, um, you know, no rush."

Suddenly, Bernard felt very awkward. Electing to quit while he was ahead, he let his words trail off into nothing and let Isolde pull the half-eaten candy cane out of his hand to chew on it. Once that was gone and he had finally convinced her that, for real this time, he was clean out of snacks, the horse rested her muzzle against his shoulder. Bernard rested his cheek against hers. Not affectionately, of course. Just to rest his face.

"I agree," said Lydia quietly.

"I told him the rules were different, you know, back in the day. Your day, I mean," said Bernard. This conversation was not going to plan. Though Bernard had not really planned on having this conversation at all, hadn't even thought about it, until Santa of all people brought it up. So he looked to Lydia, hoping she would pick up the slack on the conversation herself.

Lydia's brow was furrowed, but Bernard knew well enough that if he waited patiently, her thoughts would coalesce.

"You know, I spent more time in Elbereth than I ever did in England. Actually, I hardly spent any time there at all, now that I think of it. When I think about where I've been, it's hard to know where I'm going. I don't know if that makes sense."

To Bernard, it made perfect sense. Truthfully, in the relief and glow of their reconciliation, in addition to the nervous tension brought on by the end of battle and not knowing what would happen next, Bernard really had not thought that far ahead. Seldom before had he had anything to look forward to. The years cycled over and again like gears in a clock. Now that Lydia had returned to him, the warmth had returned to his life, but with the looming threat on the horizon, there was simply too much to think about and not enough time. The future was more nebulous than ever before.

"I know what you mean," said Bernard. Lydia looked up from Isolde's flanks and met his eye. "I keep wondering, what's going to happen to us when all this is over? Every moment we've had together, ever since the beginning, something else was more important. And once everything is normal, or whatever passes for normal around here, what's going to be left for us to do or to talk about? I just want a conversation with you that has nothing to do with battle plans and armies and the Erlking and who I'm supposed to be and what you're supposed to do and all the things about this that terrify me."

Bernard realized he was ranting and took a breath before he continued.

"I want a date. With you. As my girlfriend. Not my 'intended' or my lover or whatever they're saying about us. I just want you to be my girlfriend and to go on a date with you without a bunch of people staring and whispering. Just once. You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No, I do," said Lydia. "I understand. We weren't ever properly courting, were we?"

"Maybe we were, once," conceded Bernard as he patted Isolde's neck. "A long time ago. That month in England. That felt a lot like dating."

"Except for being in exile."

"Yeah, except that."

"It was nice, wasn't it? While it lasted."

Exile didn't sound like a terrible idea at the moment. Or in the very least some proper time alone with her without anybody staring or whispering behind their hands. But that thought led to another, and he looked up at her with a conspiratorial smile.

"I have an idea."

"Bernard, I don't know about this," said Lydia as Bernard helped strap her into the ELFS jetpack.

"Come on, it'll be fine. Is this really any scarier than anything else you've been through?"

"That remains to be seen."

She had of course seen the elves darting about, flitting through the sky like dragonflies with these devices strapped to their backs. An interesting piece of technology, of course, but not something Lydia, who still had her own issues with heights, was particularly excited to partake in. She would feel much safer astride Isolde's back, and therefore far closer to the earth, than floating around in the air.

"Who's idea were these anyway?"

"They're Quinton's design."

Lydia noticeably relaxed a bit, but only a little. "In that case, maybe it might be alright."

"You thought Curtis came up with this, didn't you?"

"I thought nothing of the kind."

Bernard scoffed. "Liar. Do you really think I would let you use these if they'd been one of his harebrained schemes?"

That coaxed a laugh out of her, and Bernard felt he had gotten close to convincing her. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear.

"Trust me."

She looked into his eyes and nodded. "Alright."

"Great! Now, we just press this and flip that," he said as he began fiddling about with the controls on his and Lydia's packs. "And we should be in business."

Lydia let out a yelp as her pack came to life with a loud hum and immediately began lifting her into the air. But instead of laughing at her discomfort, Bernard reached for her and took her hand.

"I've got you, I've got you."

Lydia grasped his hand for dear life, squeezing her eyes shut as they ascended.

"Oh, Bernard, I don't think I like this."

"It's okay. We're okay. Lydia, open your eyes!"

Lydia took several calming breaths before she complied. When she finally managed to peel her eyes open, she gasped.

"Beautiful, isn't it."

Beautiful wasn't a strong enough word. She had seen the Pole from a high vantage point, certainly, but she had never been this high before. The village sat atop the snow like decorations on a cake, while snow swirled in the air like shards of glitter. Never before had she felt so strongly like she was inside a snowglobe.

"We're walking in the air…."

The sound of Bernard's sudden off-key singing had Lydia suddenly laughing.

"Come on, see? This is fun," he said, pulling her into a dance.

"Wonders never cease," said Lydia smiling.

"That's the spirit."

They careened about in the sky, all of Lydia's anxiety about their altitude forgotten.

"Sure the Erlking is a menace, but can he fly?"

"I don't think so," laughed Lydia.

"That's why we're going to win."

Bernard held out a fist, hoping to introduce her to the modern art of the triumphant fistbump, but all the merriment had melted away from her face as she stared over his shoulder out onto the horizon.

"What? What's wrong?"

Twisting around, Bernard followed her stare and saw what had arrested her attention. Out on the horizon line, marching toward the village was a dark line of weedy, muddy figures. As though summoned by Bernard's words like the devil himself, the Erlking's forces had returned.

A/N: Song title from "How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful" by Florence and the Machine