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Taako would give absolutely anything to be on the beach instead.
They’ve found an alright spot to park the stagecoach while they wait out the storm, but everything about this is still far less than ideal. Water seeps through every tiny crack in the ceiling, making small rivers in the grain of the wooden floor. Taako really did try to check them both, or at the very least himself, into an inn for the night, but the Candlenights rush had every single one full up. So here he is, practically the modern fantasy Virgin Mary, stuck in a barn on Candlenights eve and about to give birth. But the barn is actually a stagecoach, and the only thing he’s planning on nursing anytime soon is this wicked headache and a bloody mary. Maybe the metaphor doesn’t work as well as he originally thought it did.
If nothing else, he started the day in a good mood. They’re hot off a really good show just a few miles away, and they’re heading to another sold out one when the storm passes. Next stop, Glamour Springs. He hopes its as bougie as it sounds.
Taako sighs and pulls his blankets tighter to him, shivering. He's not gonna sleep tonight. He absolutely can’t, not with how the coach is swaying back and forth with the wind. Taako tends to run cold as it is, so when there’s genuine weather happening, he’s pretty much out of commission. He doesn’t even feel like cooking tonight.
Hungry and alone on Candlenights. Ahh, the nostalgia of it all.
Just then there’s a little knock on his door, three soft raps followed by it creaking open. He knows it’s Sazed, but his instinct still kicks in and he shoots a magic missile at the door. Sazed dodges it, which is good news for both of them. Gods know there must be some law against killing your employees. Sazed gently tiptoes over the singed spot on the floor and then stands nervously by the door, fidgety and weird like he always is. It's maybe a little worse right now, but the Taako supposes that holidays make everyone nervous. Sazed's eyes dart between a leaky spot in the ceiling and the foot of Taako’s bed. “Hey. Just wanted to see if you were up for company?”
Taako is surprised to see him approaching. They've been kinda icing each other out for a bit, cold shoulders and short, clipped tones. Taako thinks it's because he asked Sazed to kindly fuck off with the way he's trying to hog the spotlight. Whatever. The truth hurts.
Even so, he sits up a little straighter. “Eh, yeah, sure, if you want. Pull up a chair, bud.” Taako waves a hand in the direction of his desk without really looking, kinda lazily showing Sazed where to find said chair. Sazed, incredibly used to this treatment, manages this without asking any further questions. Once he sits, he holds out a small box. “I uh, got you something.”
“Aw, jeez.” Taako turns to face him fully, moving his drink to the other hand. “You didn’t have to do that, my dude. I’ve got it all already, if ya couldn’t tell.” He gestures around the room. And to be fair, to the untrained eye, it might look like Taako has it figured out. Thick fabrics cover the walls, draped over each other and shrinking the room by and inch and a half with their thickness. Over that he layers beads and trinkets, crystals and small silver colored figures dotting the flat surfaces. To the trained eye, it’d probably just look tacky: the cloth is all scraps, the beads are wooden and covered in chipped, flaking paint. The rings he wears turn his skin green.
Sazed pushes the box closer to him. “Hey, we don’t have any other family. We gotta stick together, you know?”
Taako’s throat tightens. He wishes that sentence didn’t ring so familiar in his belly. It makes him feel weird. Homesick for something he can’t quite place.
“Yeah, I guess we do.” Taako takes the box and flips it over and over in his hands. It’s made of leather, small and black. It feels expensive, and it makes Taako feel bad.
He flips it open. There’s a pair of earrings inside, delicate and golden. One is shaped like a moon, the other a tiny, glinting sun.
“Fuck,” Taako mutters. He snaps the box closed again. “These are real nice, Sazed. How much did you spend on these?”
“It’s rude to ask that about gifts,” Sazed points out helpfully. “And you pay me well. Don’t worry.” He nudges Taako's arm through the blankets. "It's just my way of saying we're gonna move past this whole thing. I'm not mad at you. That's all."
Taako flips the box over in his hands a few more times, not really listening. He’s not sure he’s ever touched real leather before.
"Alright, alright, you’ve forced me,” he sighs after a moment, definitely not deflecting at all. “I might as well get you your gift now, too.” He starts to stand, but then considers how far away his closet actually is, and the fact that he’d have to leave his blanket nest for it. He pauses, and then says, “Hows about you go grab it from my closet for me? Left side, green box.”
Sazed stands, obedient as always, and retrieves the box from Taako’s closet. He sits down with it in his lap, hands fidgeting with the messy bow tied over it. Taako rolls his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. Sazed slips a finger under it and the shape slips away, falling loose around the edges of the box. Taako gets bored and stops watching him unwrap, directing his attention to the way the wet cloth clings to the wall. The rest of it billows against the wall like a trapped ghost, but that part stays put. It’s kinda beautiful, in a weirdly unsettling way.
He realizes then that Sazed has been perfectly quiet and still for a long time. He turns back and finds Sazed frozen in place, looking into the box.
Taako scoffs softly. “It’s just a prototype, you know. If it’s that bad, we won’t make any more of them.”
Sazed snaps upright quickly and shakes his head. “No, Taako, it’s just… I didn’t expect this.” He grabs the fabric in the box with both hands, and pulls it out to hold it up to his chest. It’s classic Sizzle It Up merch, bright purple script on a black shirt. The difference between this and their normal apparel is that under Taako’s name, albeit in dark grey text that nearly blends in, is Sazed’s name. It’s printed on, too, not just painted. Just looking at it wounds Taako’s pride.
“I wouldn’t count on it making a permanent appearance in our shop just yet, pal.” Taako takes a long drink, looking away. “But you seemed like you needed a win, you know.
Sazed is gazing at the shirt again, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. He folds it back into the box very slowly, leaving the text facing up. “I’ll, uh. I’ll keep that in mind, Taako.” Taako looks back, and Sazed won’t quite meet his eye. His hands are fidgeting again.
"Well. Merry Candlenights, boss. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” The corners of his lips tug downward, but Taako honestly doesn’t care to ask. Maybe if he just lets it slide, eventually Sazed will realize there’s not gonna be any reward for being so fuckin’ mopey all the time.
Sazed leaves without another word, and Taako spends the night watching the water spread on his floor, pretending it’s the tide.
-
The front door clicks open, and Magnus is on his feet immediately, rushing to the front room. When he gets there, Julia is pounding her boots on the welcome mat, shivering as she steps inside. There's ice crusting her shoulders and the wide brim of her hat, but it's starting to melt already as she stands in the doorway. Under one arm, she's cradling a box wrapped in brown paper.
"Sorry I'm late," she starts to say, but Magnus moves faster than her mouth. He's already wrapped her up in his arms, holding her free hand between both of his in a poor attempt to warm it. "No need to apologize, Jules. It's crazy out there!"
"You're telling me," she sighs into his shoulder. "It's worse in the craftsman's quarter. Someone said this storm is real big, all over this side of Faerun."
"Well, we're safe in here!" Magnus pulls away to grin at her. She's so cute, her lips all chapped and her cheeks wet with raindrops. He kisses one away, carefully. "And your dad said we don't have to come back to the shop till the new year hits."
"Ten days trapped in this house with you?" Julia smiles. "Hm, hm. Whatever shall we do." Julia toes off her boots by the door and nearly floats into the room, placing the package on the coffee table. Magnus follows, drawn into her orbit, a sunflower continuously turning to the sun. She turns, still smiling, and Magnus can't help but grin back. There's so much to celebrate this year. With Kalen out of office just weeks ago, Magnus finally found the time to propose and start planning a real life with Julia. Raven's Roost is safe for the first time in nearly a year, and the fire firelight glints off the diamond on Julia's finger. He's never been so happy. He's never had a reason to be, before her.
"We can start with presents," he offers, and Julia waggles a finger at him. "Nice try. We aren't allowed to open anything early." Magnus groans and collapses on the couch opposite her. "I can't wait, Jules. You know I'm bad at surprises."
"It'll ruin the magic!" She sits down beside him. "We can wake up bright and early tomorrow. Just wait till then, yeah?"
"I guess." He tosses an arm over her shoulder and leans closer. "What's in the box, by the way?"
"Oh, that. It's papa's gift to us." She looks at it for a few seconds, then pulls it closer to them on the table. "Wanna open it up now, Mags?"
"Huh?" He sits up from her shoulder. "I thought it'd ruin the magic, though."
"He already told me what it is. There's no magic left to ruin." She shrugs, clearly feigning nonchalance. A smile tugs her lips "And I think it'll help us kill time.
"Damn, okay, yeah! Let's open it then!" He puts a hand on top of the gift. "Both of us. Count of three." Julia nods, and they both slip a few fingers under a folded over flap on the top.
"One… two… three!"
The paper splits with a satisfying rrrriiip, pulling away to reveal a small box, light blue with gold trim. Magnus can feel the magic thrumming in it, pleasantly buzzing on his fingertips. It's held closed with a delicate clasp.
"It's a music box," Julia says softly. "It'll play anything. You just have to ask."
"Play Freebird," Magnus jokes on instinct, and the box unlocks itself immediately as long, slow chords pour out, filling the room. He's surprised by how quickly it worked, but not disappointed. He looks at Julia, and she's already looking at him. She quirks an eyebrow. "I was thinking something more romantic," she says. "Something we could dance to, maybe?"
"What, you won't dance to this?" He stands, and then stoops to one knee before her, a hand extended. "Would you do me the honor, O fair maiden?"
She rolls her eyes but places her hand in his, and he sweeps her into his arms, close against his chest. They don't dance really, because if Magnus ever knew how he's forgotten, but they sway in time with each other, fingers intertwined.
It doesn't bother him anymore, how he doesn't remember so much. He'd give whatever he lost and more if it meant Julia would keep choosing to stay here with him. To be in love with him.
"I'm picking the next song," Julia mumbles against his skin. "Just so you know."
"I dunno Jules," he answers as the guitar whines slow behind them. "This feels preee-ty romantic to me."
"It's because I love you, dumbass," she answers. "Not the song." She draws back just enough to look at him, and Magnus could swear he feels holy in that moment. He loves her, too, so deeply it terrifies him sometimes. He wishes it was easier to tell her that.
Instead, he just puts a hand on her jaw and pulls her into a deep kiss. The fire crackles beside them, and the storm raging outside seems so small in comparison.
-
Candlenights is spectacularly hard these days. Lucretia has gotten better at being alone, but struggles worse than ever with being around people who aren’t her family.
She can hear, just softly through the wall, the small sounds of Lucas snoring. It’s strange to her that a boy his age is able to sleep so soundly on Candlenights eve, but she supposes if she had a mother like Maureen, she might’ve been able to do the same at twelve. Is twelve still so childish, after all? She wasn’t even a decade past twelve when her home was swallowed whole.
She shakes her head. She’s got to stop thinking about that.
The invitation was well intentioned. She’s certain of that much, but she wonders why she accepted it at all. Why is she still trying to punish herself? It’s been six years. There’s nothing she can do but continue trying to fix it. Everything so far, it's just been an inconvenience. She’ll move past this as soon as she can.
Maureen offered her a warm bed and a lovely meal. There’s gifts for her in the parlor, wrapped in shiny red paper. Maureen has assured her, over and over, that this is as much Lucretia’s home as it is her own. Even so, she’s sitting alone at the Millers’ kitchen table, holding a mug of tea that has long since gone cold. The clock has ticked close to midnight, and she’s no nearer to sleep.
Davenport is sleeping, at least. Maureen, in her infinite generosity, gave him a room and a bed, too.
“Luce?
Lucretia looks up and there’s Maureen, wearing a robe and maybe nothing else. She’s beautiful. She must be cold. None of that is really what matters. What matters is how she wraps a cold hand around Lucretia’s across the table, settling in. Concern wrinkles her forehead as she rubs a gentle thumb across Lucretia’s knuckles.
“Have you slept?” Her voice is so sweet. As hard as it is for Lucretia to find comfort in those that she hasn’t known for a century, it would be so easy to lose herself in this affection. Instead, she shakes her head. “Not yet. Holidays are hard.”
“They must be.” Maureen rests her chin in her free hand, heavy eyelids slipping down again and again, snapping back up just as often. “I might be able to help, you know. If you’d only explain.”
“I’d love to if I could, Maureen.” Lucretia makes to sip from her mug, but changes her mind when it touches her lip. Lukewarm tea is passable. Ice cold tea, not so much.
“Well. I’m not going to force you. I'm not as touchy-feely as you are, anyway.” Maureen rubs her eyes, and they stop drooping so much. She must be waking up a bit. “Anything else you want to talk about in the meantime?” Lucretia sighs. “Not sure. I’d like fresh tea.” She pushes back her chair and walks to the counter, starting the kettle. “Are you interested?”
“Only if you make it for me, Luce.” Maureen yawns. “I never like tea when I make it.”
“That’s because you make it wrong,” Lucretia teases, taking two mugs down from the cabinet. She doesn’t pause to explain that she never knew how to make tea right either until Taako taught her how. She’s got to stop thinking about that.
Lucretia presses her back to the counter, listening to the low rumble of boiling water. Snow is falling rapidly past the window, wind whipping hard against the outside of the lab. The storm must be worse further down, Lucretia thinks. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine the thunder.
Lucretia thinks this all in silence, and when she cares to look again, Maureen is just gazing at her, a smile pressing her lips. Lucretia sighs, and her breath makes a tiny cloud in the air. “What did you get Lucas?”
Maureen closes her eyes. “Several things. There’s this old model of bot I used to use, very simple to maintain. I figure that’s a good place for him to start, so I’m giving him one of those.” She yawns again, stretching her arms above her head. “Socks. The new Caleb Cleveland novel.” She cracks open one eye, grins. “A vacuum cleaner.”
Lucretia is so startled by her own laughter that she snorts, and that makes Maureen start laughing too. They settle like that, both of them laughing into cupped hands, trying to stay quiet and let their boys sleep. They’re only interrupted by the whistling of the kettle.
“Shit,” Lucretia mutters, and she turns quickly to pour the tea into their mugs. She adds honey, a dash of milk, a pinch of sugar to her own and an unfortunately large scoop into Maureen’s. She places them both on the table, and without discussing it, they click them together before sipping. Maureen makes a low, contented noise that Lucretia accepts as thanks, and they sit in silence, watching the snow slip past the windowsill.
“I bought Davenport a gift,” Maureen says after some time. “I was wondering if you’d tell me if it’s good or not.”
Lucretia turns to look at her. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” She swallows against a heavy guilt that closes her throat. “He probably won’t know the difference.”
“That’s why I wanted to ask, Luce. You know him better than I do.” She sips at her tea. “It’s a band of telepathy. I won’t give it to him if you think it’ll end poorly.”
Lucretia’s blood runs ice cold. She maintains her cool outwardly, but her heart is racing. “Those are expensive, Maureen. I’d feel terrible if it…” She can’t bring herself to finish the thought. If it doesn’t work.
“I made it myself. Cost less than fifty gold altogether.” Maureen shrugs. “It won’t offend me any. But I’ll keep it if it’s what you want.”
Lucretia turns back to the window. “I don’t know. It just seems risky, Maureen.” She can’t explain why it’s risky. If she puts the band on while he has the other and thinks about him, about how close they were and who he used to be, it could be bad. If she thinks about any of them. But how could she possibly not?
Maureen sighs, the sound low and sweet. Lucretia reaches a hand across the table, and Maureen takes it without needing to ask.
“Holidays are hard,” Lucretia repeats, her voice softer now. Maureen nods. “I’m glad you’re okay, Luce.” She pulls Lucretia’s hand to her lips, kisses it. “All I can hope is that every day gets a little easier.”
Lucretia wants to believe it will be. But she’s not sure how long she can keep waiting.
Holidays are hard. But to her credit, Maureen stays with her, holding tight to her hand as they wait for sunrise.
-
In a cave somewhere near Phandolin, a man named Barry Bluejeans crawls out of a tank, naked as the day he was born. He pulls on a white cotton t-shirt, his incredibly blue pants, and finally his glasses when he realizes he can’t see his own hand before his face. A coin speaks to him and claims to be him earlier today, backing this up with facts only he would know. Further, it says it’ll keep directing him tomorrow. For now, it’s Candlenights. Past Barry advises he get as drunk as possible to celebrate.
So. Here he is.
The coin gave him a bit more intel on the way over to this bar. He’s in his early forties, he’s a fighter, he’s married. The married part was stressed, insisting that he has absolutely no reason to look for anyone else. He’s informed that his wife is away on a trip. She’ll be back soon, he’s sure of it. The note on his desk told him so, at least.
The storm is just starting to kick in as he arrives. Raindrops the size of gold pieces fall, over and over, directly onto the back of Barry’s neck.
He’s sat himself up at the bar. He watches a man of similar size and build order a bottle of cheap beer, and he does the same. He quickly decides that he hates it, but can’t bring himself to swallow his pride and keeps drinking it anyway. He finishes it and then orders another, and another, and another. He doesn’t get drunk. That confuses him, but he does seem to have a lot of money, so he doesn’t stop buying them.
He’s gotten through thirteen bottles before the hooded figure behind the bar addresses him directly. It floats toward him and hovers eerily in the air before him, resting a fuzzy orange chin in it’s paw. “Hey, sir, you’re about to drink me out of business! I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut you off now! In other words, quit it with the ordering or get out!”
“You can’t do that,” Barry scoffs. “It’s Candlenights. You’re really gonna kick me out?”
“I will!” The figure confirms. “I do looove me some gold pieces, but I’ve only got so much booze, y’know!”
“There’s a storm." Barry pauses, and they can hear rain slapping against the walls, thunder rattling the shutters on the singular window. "I can’t just go out into that shit.”
“Then I guess you’d best stop buying, bud!” The bartender gives a halt shrug. “What’ll it be?”
Barry’s memory of himself is spotty, but he knows he’s not stupid. Under any other circumstances, he’d just leave, but he’s miles from the cave and the storm is flooding the street in some places. He gets an idea then, and leans over the counter toward the figure. “I’ll tell ya what, barkeep. Why don’t you tell me what you need from me for you to keep the drinks coming?”
Barry can’t see any eyes beneath the shadow of the hood, but he swears he sees flashing where they should be. A grotesque smile spreads across the bartender’s face. “Are you asking me to make a deeeeaaal?”
“If you wanna call it that, yeah. I’ll make a deal. What do you need?” The smile twists, and Barry watches in abject horror as bartender’s teeth grow and sharpen before his eyes. He pushes back from the bar, just a little. “What the fuck are you?” he asks, and the bartender somehow manages to speak clearly from behind the teeth. “I’m Garfield!” the bartender answers. “The deeaals warlock! And you are?”
“Barry Bluejeans.” He swallows down the fear. If he’s a fighter, he can’t run from an over-glorified shopkeeper. He holds out his hand for a handshake. “What do you need from me, Garfield?”
Garfield does not take his hand, but runs a lightly clawed finger gently across the palm. “Oh…” Garfield leans over the bar to look closely at Barry’s palm. “Just a bit of blood will do! For now, at least!”
Barry balks. He isn’t bothered by the idea of blood, but the idea of giving it away to a stranger sets off alarm bells in his head. He’s reminded of the cut, still fresh, on his left palm from before he left his cave earlier. The coin had told him to bleed. The stranger requesting the same feels deeply wrong.
Even so, he holds out his shoddily bandaged hand. “Cut’s still fresh under there. Do what you need to do, pal.” Again, he sees that yellow glint under the hood, and this time he catches a brief glimpse of a pupil, nearly the size of a shot glass. “Oh, a cut on the palm! How cliche of you, Mr. Bluejeans!” Garfield leans in close, and speaks in a voice that would be best described as a mockery of a whisper. “It’s always so nice to meet another purveyor of those good good necromantic arts!”
Barry has never done necromancy. He doesn’t know magic. But the statement rings so familiar, chills him down to his bones. He ignores it and pulls the bandage off his hand, revealing the cut splitting his palm apart. "Just get it over with. I'm thirsty."
“Alright then! Let’s get this party started!” Garfield waves a hand over Barry’s palm, and there’s a brief explosion of green light before blood starts lifting out of his hand, drifting gently through the air until it disappears below Garfield’s hood.
“Jesus,” Barry mutters when it stops after about thirty seconds. “What the fuck are you doing with my blood?”
Barry hears what sounds like frantic swallowing, but it’s far removed from the space below the hood. The smile comes back in full force. “Classified information!” Garfield reports. The green magic reappears and slides Barry another bottle, popping the cap for him. “Merry Candlenights!”
Barry’s next drink tastes inexplicably better. He’s not complaining.
-
Merle is waiting, patiently, for the house to implode. There's tension so thick in the air that it hurts to breathe, and the fact that he hasn't been yelled at or reprimanded even one little bit yet makes it worse. Footsteps come down the hall from their bedroom toward him, and when he's bold enough to lift his gaze, he finds Hekuba standing there, bundled heavily in a coat. It's his coat, and if he didn't know that he's already in trouble, he might bitch about that.
"Well, I guess I'll be heading to the store then," she says, and her voice is level. Merle smiles at her, but he's got a good idea of how fake it looks. "Hon, I don't see why we can't just hand the presents over without wrapping 'em. They're kids! They'll hardly know the difference."
"Please, Merle, we'll discuss it later tonight." She zips the coat up. "I just wanna get to the store and back before the worst of the storm settles in." She walks quickly to the door and puts her hand on the doorknob, but pauses there. She sighs and turns back to face Merle. "Keep an eye on them, okay? They're asleep now but Mavis keeps waking up with her cough." She keeps looking at him. There's this tightness in the way she looks at him now, a very present exhaustion. Merle is pretty sure it's from Mookie waking her up crying most nights, but. But he's not completely sure.
"I'll make it up to you," Merle promises, and Hekuba nods before he's finished speaking. "I'm sure you will, Merle." She sighs, shakes her head. "You always do." She bundles the coat tighter around herself and opens the door. A sharp breeze pulls the door out of her grip, and it flies inward to smack the wall. She swears when she pulls it back to reveal a dent in the spot where it hit. "Gods,” she mutters. “Amazing! I can't have even one thing this year, can I?"
"One thing at least," Merle offers. "I bought you a gift, y'know."
She blinks at him like she can't believe what he's saying. She shakes her head, and Merle keeps just sitting there as tears fill up her eyes. Her head keeps shaking.
"Merry Candlenights, Merle. See you later." She slams the door as she goes, disappearing into the storm outside.
In the back room, Mookie starts wailing at the top of his lungs. The door slamming must’ve woken him up.
Merry Candlenights, indeed.
He gets out of the chair to find his legs asleep, and he falls down to his knees. The baby is still crying, though, so he shuffles down the hall like that. On his knees, he’s barely tall enough to reach the doorknob when he gets there.
Mookie is sitting upright in his crib, staring at the door. His eyes, so similar to Merle's own, are all big and wet and dribbly, and he's hiccuping through his wailing. Merle pulls himself up off his knees and manages to steady himself on the crib railing with one hand while he scoops up his son with the other. Almost the second he’s in his arms, Mookie stops crying. He sniffles and coughs wetly, but doesn’t make a sound otherwise. Merle sighs. “Yeah, yeah, you big attention hog. You just wanted someone to come talk to ya, didn’t you?”
Mookie doesn’t have the agency to nod yet, and in fact can barely support his own head, but Merle is certain from every other piece of his body language that he’s hit the nail on the head. Mookie smiles a big, toothless baby smile, and Merle carries him over to the rocking chair.
“Well, bud, I’ll talk to ya. But just this one story, then you gotta go to bed, okay? Cuz otherwise the Star King won’t bring anything for you and your sister tonight.”
“I wanna hear the story, too, dad.” Mavis is standing in the doorway, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes are red and watery from all her coughing, the poor thing, and she still looks half asleep. The baby crying must’ve woken her up. She sits on the floor beside the rocking chair, tucking her back against Merle’s leg. “I know there’s not enough room on your lap when you’re holding Mookie. That’s okay. He’s just a baby, so he should be comfy first.”
Merle reaches down with the arm not holding Mookie to stroke her hair. She looks so much like her mother, straight down to the red hair and freckles. Merle’s eyes, though, a constant reminder that she's his own flesh and blood. When did she stop looking like a baby, and start looking like a kid?
“Honey, I’ll make room if you want up here. What kinda dad would I be if I didn’t let my little girl sit with me on Candlenights eve?” She looks up at him with those sad eyes for just a few seconds before scrambling up onto his leg, tucked tight against her brother. Merle pinches her cheek, smiling at her. She doesn’t ask where her mother is, and he’s very thankful for that.
“Alrighty, now, let me think. If I’m gonna tell a story, it’s gotta be a good one.” He reaches around Mavis to tap his chin, feigning deep thought. Mavis coughs into her palm and then shuts her eyes. “One about Candlenights, dad. If you know any.”
“Of course I know one.” He shakes his head, pretending to be offended. Merle definitely doesn’t know one, at least not off the top of his head, but he prides himself as an expert in improvisation. “Have anyone ever recited the poem The Eve Before Candlenights for you, Mavis?”
“Mhm.” She nods lazily. “Mom reads it to me every year.” Merle sighs, momentarily tightening his grip on Mavis. Mookie stirs slightly against his other arm, but he’s mostly asleep again. He always sleeps better when he's being held. “Well, hon, your mom can’t tell you the story this year, so it’ll be my version instead. Is that okay?” Mavis appears to ponder this deeply for a moment. She looks up at him and asks, “Does your version have snowmen in it?”
“Snowmen? Oh yeah, tons of snowmen. And uh, what else do little kids like? Ponies.” Mavis furrows her brow stubbornly. “Mom’s version doesn’t have any ponies.”
“It doesn’t, now, does it?” Merle asks. Mavis shakes her head. “No. No ponies.”
“I see! Well, it’s a good thing this is my version then.” He ruffles her hair again. “Now, let’s see…” He clears his throat, and then begins:
“Twas the eve
Before Candlenights
When all ‘cross the land
The music all halted:
No bards. No more bands
Though the Candlenights bushes
Had been pruned with care
None could find the Star King
He just wasn’t there!
The children were sleeping
All safe by the sea
While daddy wrapped presents
Beside their mommy.”
Mavis tugs on his sleeve. “Dad?” Merle looks down at her and finds her already looking back, a little eyebrow raised in question. “You don’t wrap the presents. Mom does.”
“You’re right!” Merle tells her. “But that doesn’t fit with the rhyme scheme. Where was I, hon?”
“The part about being safe by the sea, I guess.” She closes her eyes again, and Merle nods.
“Mookie in his diaper
And Mavis in pants
Were dreaming of gnomes,
Cuz they know how to dance
And then out on the seafront
There was a great splash!
Oh! Perhaps it's the Star King
Come to give me some cash!”
“Star King doesn’t give money. Just toys”
“He does in my version, sweet pea. Want me to keep going?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I ran out the door
And, knee deep in the tide,
I saw no Star King
And no sleigh by his side
Rather my eyes
Roamed the beach around me
And found each Faerun band
All waist-deep in the sea
Each one raised their trumpets
Or drums, or guitars
There were saxophones, tubas
There were flutes, there were harps
And these bands started playing
So brilliant and grand
While a gull played the whistle
Now leading the bands
As the band carried on
Falling thick from the sky
Came a blanket of rain
And I didn’t know why
But I knew it was magic!
And slowly, the sea
It rose, and it froze
And it swallowed up me
The sky of the ocean
Solid where it was
Drowned out the band’s music
Reduced it to buzz
So down to the seafloor
All covered in snow
And sweet sandy snowmen
Who all waved hello.”
“Do the snowmen have names?”
“...well. Do they have names in mom’s version, Mavis, sweet pea?”
"Yeah. Periwinkle and Josh.”
“That’s them! They just live underwater now."
“Oh. Okay. Just checking.”
“And then in the ocean
As if in a dream
Inside a sandcastle
I saw the Star King
I walked to the Star King
And I saw his kind eyes
And he spoke to me
After saying goodbye
To the snowmen of sand
And the schools full of fish
And the coral, and ponies
Who... also were fish
For you know, the Star King
Visits all of the kids
Both the good, and the bad,
From the dwarves to the fish
The Star King explained
When I asked him real nice
What happened with the bands
Who played on the ice?
He told me each year
In a faraway land
There’s a cool holiday
With a cool plump old man
And he and the Star King
Fight each other each time
And Star King always wins
Cuz he knows how to fight
But this year, just like you,
The Star King had a cough
He couldn’t fight well
No, he barely could walk!
So the poor Star King lost
To the man named Saint Nick
And good ol’ Saint Nicky
Wanted to play a trick
So he came to our world
And he cast a great spell
Then the sky split in two
And the tons of rain fell
But not right away!
No, no, that wouldn’t do
Only when the band
Started up a new tune
The Star King gathered up
Every musical one
And sent them to the beach
Where that rain could be fun
As it fell to the sea,
Nothing would overflow
If the ice held it still
And it froze into snow
So the Star King and I
Said goodbye to the fish
And the men made of snow
Were all crossed off his list
We rose back to shore
And he led me back
Back into my home
Where at last, I relaxed
And the Star King left gifts
For the two silly dwarves
Who live on the beach
Just next to the shore
And inside their hut,
Mookie slept sound
And Mavis stopped coughing
And the planet spun 'round
The Star King kept us safe
Made all merry and bright
So we all could have
A Joyous Candlenight.”
Merle’s left arm is asleep under Mookie’s weight, but he’s snoring softly, gently. Even Mavis is mostly still on his opposite leg. He nudges her lightly. “Honey, if you’re awake you’ve gotta go to your bed now.” Mavis grumbles slightly but she crawls down from his leg and sits down on the floor, drifting in and out of sleep as Merle lies Mookie down in his crib. When Merle is certain that he’s tucked in well, he scoops Mavis up into his arms. She’s nearly too heavy to carry like this anymore. He’s either gonna have to start working out, or accept that his kid is growing up.
When Merle sets her down in her bed, she stretches her arms up over her head and yawns. “Hey, dad? Is the Star King real?”
“Nah,” Merle admits. “We buy the toys for you guys. Don’t tell your mom I told you that, okay? And let Mookie believe a little longer.”
“Secret,” Mavis agrees sleepily. “Gotcha.” She shimmies down into her bed, a small smile on her face. Merle can’t bring himself to leave her. He stays there, watching over her for longer than he’s proud of.
She’s five next year, isn’t she? Hardly a baby anymore. He’s not sure how that happened so fast.
When he makes it back to their front room, Hekuba is wrapping gifts. Her hair is wet, pulled back into a very lazy bun. She glances up at him.
“I heard you doing the poem for them,” she says, looking back at her wrapping. “You just made the whole thing up on the spot, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” He groans loudly as he settles down on the couch beside her. “I tell ya, honey, I wasn’t cut out for this whole dad thing. I’m honestly sorry you all got stuck with me.” She sighs, sitting the half-wrapped gift down on the table. “You’re fine as a dad, Merle. You’re a shitty husband.” She gives him a pointed look that he can’t quite read, and then starts wrapping again.
Merle thinks about that for a minute, gazing into the blinking white lights on their Candlenights bush. “Well, one outta two ain’t bad, huh?”
Hekuba pulls a face, but oddly enough, there’s a bit of fondness behind it. She shakes her head. “You’re right, Merle. It ain’t bad.” She puts a shiny red bow on the gift. The color reminds Merle of something.
“It ain’t bad,” Hekuba repeats softly, and in a rare act as of late, she wraps an arm around his shoulders and leans her head against him. “It could definitely be worse."
Merle leans against her, too. Outside, the heavy rain freezes into snow, and softens every sound where it lies on the beach.