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Dawn broke over the Crystarium, glittering bright in crystal and frost, and her people to a marvel the Exarch, Lyna, and the Scions had managed overnight. Children ran about chasing fairy lights to see how far they went. Adults, too, marveled at the works the city’s artisans had prepared to unbeknownst purpose, at the lovely tree bedecked in them, the pine boughs yet living through faerie magic.
Then came the questions, scattered about the Scions like falling snow: what did the objects represent? Whence had the celebration come? What other traditions accompanied it? What else might they decorate with? They answered as best they could, but the clamor grew overwhelming, and some answers carried perhaps less detail than they should.
The next day the Warrior of Darkness glimpsed the first sprig of mistletoe in the lobby of the Pendants. They walked past unthinking, and turned to look when it hit them--and they laughed softly at the sprig neatly tied up. There was no one else under it, so they left, wondering it anyone knew.
The next they encountered nearby at the Wandering Stairs, with the twins quarreling about something barely an arm’s length from it. Seeing a golden opportunity they marched straight up to them, draped an arm around each twin’s shoulders, and squeeze them close in a crushing hug.
“You’re in a rare mood,” Alisaie said.
“Look up.” When they did the Warrior planted a wet kiss against first Alphinaud’s temple, then Alisaie’s. They both made a vaguely upset noise, Alisaie blushing furiously and Alphinaud scrubbing the spot with a sleeve straightaway. The Warrior didn’t wait for further response, merely sauntered off.
Next was Y’shtola, in the markets--there were rows of the stuff strung up over where lines would form up in front of stalls, but no one seemed to be taking advantage. That answered one question--the locals knew to decorate with the tough little plant that had survived the hundred years of Light in abundance, but not what it meant. They hesitated for a moment, just watching her go about her business, then wandered up. ‘Twas the season, after all.
“Good morning, Shtola.”
She turned from her consideration at a pastry seller, smiling softly, no light in her milky eyes but the edges crinkling. “Indeed it is. It seems our efforts have settled a certain sort of cheer among the citizens even without their foreknowledge of the holiday. Perhaps it will encourage them to come forth with their own prior and new traditions, as the Exarch hoped.”
“Seems as if they’ve gone a little overboard with the mistletoe, though.”
Her grin widened, a smidge of impishness creeping in. “Have they? I overheard Thancred explaining it to Qeshi-Rae, but Ryne dragged him away before he could finish.” She gestured with one hand, though she did not look. “I can only presume you have brought this up because I have been standing under some unawares?”
“You’re too perceptive,” they answered, with a grin of their own.
“Well, far be it from me to eschew such a tradition.” She reached up with both hands, fingers delicately seeking out their cheeks, one thumb dragged across their lips, and her target identified she gently pulled them down for a chaste, lingering kiss. Her lips were warm and soft, and their own tingled when they parted.
Y’shtola recovered as if nothing had happened, grinning wickedly again. “Well, you surely have plenty of other kisses coming your way today--best be about it.”
Ryne caught up to them in the hall to the Aetheryte plaza, shouting their name. They turned back in time to see her run up in her cute winter coat, a brightly wrapped bundle in her hands. “Here!” She offered it up, slightly winded. “Cookies! Gingerbread, I think Urianger called them.”
They raised a brow at her, accepting the package with some trepidation. “Urianger helped you bake cookies?”
“No, someone else did, someone very good at it--don’t worry!”
They grinned at the fact that she knew exactly what they meant, and bowed as they tucked the package under one arm. “I’ll take your word for it, thank you.” When they stood they finally noticed it--the sprig of mistletoe over the entrance to the tunnel, barely overhead. “Ah… did Thancred explain this to you?” They pointed up.
Ryne’s gaze followed. “Oh, no. Does it mean something?”
“It’s tradition to kiss someone when you meet under one.”
“Oh!” Ryne blushed faintly, her cheeks a girlish pink. “That’s why Thancred and… um, forget I said anything!”
They just chuckled, and bent over, sweeping up her hand to plant a courtly kiss against the back. “There!” they said as they straightened. “Simple as that.”
“What a clever way to still honor the tradition. It doesn’t have to be a kiss like… that one… um… I should go!” She turned and bolted back the way she came, leaving the Warrior of Light wondering just how Thancred had been kissing whoever she’d seen with him under the mistletoe. They turned to continue on, stepping out into the aetheryte plaza--
“ Oof! ”
“ Ah , I’m so--”
They dropped the package of cookies for an armful of the Exarch, steadying each other after their unexpected collision. His ears drooped low, an apologetic look in his eyes, but he seemed to know better than to finish saying it. “Good morning,” he said instead.
“Good morning, Raha.” His ears perked at that, as they always did at his name. They didn’t let go just yet, grasp lingering--it’d gone on too long and it’d be just as awkward to let go as it was to keep holding on. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
“Did you need something?” His ears perked further, obviously eager to please, but his eyes slowly drifted upward, a little flush coloring his cheeks. “It seems the people of the Crystarium are rather taken with the celebration.”
They laughed softly, looking up. “It seems they are.” The mistletoe hung directly overhead. “But I don’t think they got the whole story on this one.”
“‘Twould seem not,” he answered, and they felt his fingers tighten around their arms. “But I must admit… I rather have been looking for an excuse.”
They looked back down just in time for the Exarch’s lips to meet theirs, tentative, gentle…. It was and was not a surprise. They knew his heart well by now, but to be so brazen right out in front of everyone…. They returned the kiss, soft, chaste--it wouldn’t do to cause a scene. But then the Exarch’s lips parted, the tip of his tongue slid against the line of their lips… and they gave him what he sought. The Exarch kissed hungrily, like he’d been waiting for this, the kiss the equivalent of a shout to all the Crystarium and the high heavens-- I love my champion and nothing shall part us ever again --and in short order the Exarch had wrapped both arms around them, dipping them low for a better angle.
Which was when the cheering started. But neither of them cared, lost in their own little world.