The flame caught in the forge with a crackle and spit. The blacksmith nursed the tiny piece of light and heat until it jumped to the larger pieces of charcoal, feeding them slowly until the fire was a decent size. After the fire was healthy enough the smith pumped the bellows, forcing it to heat the metal ingot in the small crucible until it melted. It didn't take long. Soon there was a tiny pool of pewter waiting to be poured into the mold placed on the anvil. A short, steady pour and the molten pewter was in the mold, cooling down into the shape of a tiny acorn.
The smith wiped her hand across her forehead, her long hair tied back behind her head so it wouldn't fall into the molten metal and burn. Gwen waited until the mold was cool enough to release the small pendant she had just cast. Her eyes teared up from more than the bit of smoke drifting from the forge. Her father had made this pendant last year. This year he wouldn't have that chance. The king had seen to that.
Gwen knew the perfect person to give her Yule gift to this year once she polished it. Each year after her mother had died, her father gave the tiny ornament to her. She had a small collection of pendants cast on the morning of mid-winter in the small pouch stashed under her bed. This year the tiny acorn she had cast was going to someone very special.
At the feast in the great hall that night only the most observant would have seen the shape of the tiny bauble that the Lady Morgana played with around her neck and occasionally looked down at with a smile.
Happy Yule to all, and whichever other holidays you may celebrate.