Chapter Text
It was high noon, the traditional starting time of the annual snowball fight. Once, this would have been a simple matter between the three warriors, a test of commitment, planning, patience, or sheer willpower and spontaneity. A frozen challenge between brothers.
However, now it was a full-on event with spectators.
Near their battleground, a cozy deep blue tent had been set up, one side open toward the field. A cheerful fire danced in a wrought iron fire pit in the center of the tent and rugs and carpets were laid out around it along with an assortment of soft pillows and blankets. Stretched over the tent was a bubble of warmth. The scent of cinnamon, sugar, honey, warm pastries, mulled wine, and cranberries drifted out of the tent along with laughter and conversation.
Or, well, now there were war cries and unneeded advice coming from that direction.
“Frost to the face, works every time! Trust me!”
“Taste icy defeat, Rhysand!”
“Don’t be stupid, play it smart. You have time.”
“Turn them into snowmen, Cassian!”
“Az! Azriel! AZ! Fight dirty! Actually put dirt in the snowballs!”
Mor’s laughter rang out clear over the snow. “And remember, we’ll drink all the wine if someone doesn’t win quickly.”
Together, half of them yelled wordlessly as the three combatants stared at them. It was an interesting mixture, mostly Rhys’ own Inner Circle. Amren lounged toward the back of the tent, leaning against Varian’s legs and admiring the latest ring she had added to her collection. Mor and Emerie sat close together on a slew of pillows, exchanging stories of travel and training and catching up.
A few of the other High Lords and their families had also made an appearance. Alliances and friendships made visits to other Courts more frequent. Helion and Tarquin were both there, enjoying the activities in the midst of Solstice celebrations. It was Tarquin’s mate Ria who was so vocal about snowballs packed with dirt. She was a former pirate with a very appropriate nickname, Stormraiser. Lightning streaked through her dark blue hair as she picked up her and Tarquin’s toddler, Talisa.
Kallias’ had winnowed in his and Viviane’s son Whittaker in for the afternoon with reminders that he couldn’t stay very long as the celebrations in Winter were ongoing. Still, Whitt had been invited by Nyx and the boys had begged for the afternoon. He had brought along a silvery white fox cub that had quickly become obsessed with Lucien. Lucien, for his part, didn’t seem to mind since Elain liked feeding tidbits of jerky to the fluffy creature.
Once the snowball fight was over, everyone would winnow or be winnowed back to either their homes, if they were from outside the Night Court, or to Velaris to prepare for the rest of the evening’s festivities. Everyone except Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel, who would return after Rhys and Azriel did some of the winnowing. They still had the birchin.
“I’m going to make someone regret it if they drink all that wine,” Cassian said, stretching.
Az smirked. “I’ll be sure to win fast. There will be plenty left if you choose to drown your sorrows.”
Cass kicked snow at him.
Rhys shook his head. “They’re clearly all enjoying the fact that they get to sit over there and have their hot chocolate party while we do battle for their entertainment.”
While normally this was a time for the three main families to pit themselves against each other in friendly rivalry, something was amiss this year. Three smaller figures gathered at the edge of the tent.
“Make them regret even showing up, Uncle Az!” Rhodes called, cupping his hands around his mouth. Instead of the customary red and gold that he and Nesta usually wore in support of Cassian during the snowball fight, he was decked out in blue and grays.
“What?” Cass jerked his head up, nearly crushing the snowball he had been trying to create by rolling his boot around. “Rhodes! You traitor!”
“And you’re cheating,” Az said. He stepped on top of the snowball and neatly avoided Cass’ attempt to stomp on his foot in retaliation.
“Eat snow, Da,” Nyx shouted from the edge of the tent. The heir of Night Court had on a crimson tunic and he waved a makeshift red flag with a very grumpy-looking version of Cassian’s face scrawled on it. A touch vampiric, the cartoonish version of him sported fangs.
“Is that a pillowcase?” Rhys called back, displeased and amused at the same time. “I’m docking your allowance to pay for that.”
Nyx waved the pillowcase flag with extra vigor. “Get him, Uncle Cass! Avenge my allowance!”
Between the two boys, six-year-old Seryn put her hands on her hips. Someone had found a dark purple and black jacket for her to wear, and she had a purple cap tugged over her delicately pointed ears. “You can do it, Uncle Rhys!”
Azriel crossed his arms, betrayal on his face even though he didn’t argue. Rhys beamed.
“I still love you most, Papa,” Seryn said, teetering forward in her boots. Nyx caught her by the arm as she yelled at the snowball fighters. “But Uncle Rhys needs to win ‘cause reasons!"
“Feyre darling,” Rhys said, raising his voice to be heard over the laughter from the tent. “Why are the children switching allegiance?”
Feyre smirked, her hand resting on Rhodes’ shoulder. She was wearing a soft pair of grey leggings and a midnight blue overcoat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rhys did a fantastic job at not glowering. “So this isn’t restricted to children.”
“We thought we’d switch things up,” Gwyn said. She ruffled Nyx’s black hair and waved her own dark red flag. The other pillowcase. She raised her eyebrows at Azriel, who rolled his eyes, shadows gathering. The few that always lingered near Gwyn danced around, enjoying the new game.
Rhys tsked. “Nyx, how many of the spare bed things did you destroy in your efforts to aggravate me?”
“All of them?” Cass said with a laugh.
“Hold on—Aunt Gwyn, could you—” He and Gwyn went back into the tent while Nesta picked up Seryn, setting her niece on her hip. Nesta’s purple hat and gloves stood out against the snow, bold and bright.
She lifted her chin and regarded the shocked males with an empress’ stare. “This was the only color left.”
“Well, now I have to win,” Rhys said, grinning with newfound determination at a fiercely scowling Cassian. “Because this is a Solstice miracle.”
Nesta snuggled Seryn and huffed. “And it will never happen again.”
“Obviously,” Rhys said with a similar huff.
Gwyn and Nyx came back out of the tent, Whitt’s fox pup jumping around their boots. Together, they lifted and unfurled a large bedsheet. In glittering golden paint, the words ‘Cassian Wins!’ were plastered in all caps.
Azriel shook his head, glanced down at the snow, and then up at Gwyn, who was absolutely unapologetic. “Really?”
“Prove me wrong, Shadowsinger,” she said, shaking the sheet.
“Oh, I will, Berdara.”
Rhys, still startled by Nesta in purple and internally growling at Feyre in red, turned to his brothers. For a moment, there was a pause, like all three were remembering previous snowball fights. Yes, those were more likely more intense and there was an air of nostalgia around the memories, but this…none of them would have gone back to a time before that tent and the people that filled it.
Rhys put a hand in the center. “No magic.”
Az set his hand on top of Rhys’. “No wings.”
Cass slapped his hand on top of theirs. “No breaks.”
“No mercy!”
The last part, a new addition to the ancient recitation, was screamed, yelled, shouted, and cheered in a chorus of jovial voices, hurled at the three combatants as they sprang apart, racing for their forts and piles of snowballs.