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“Da! Look!” Tilda cried. She had her face pressed to the window facing the street, her breath leaving puffs of fog on the glass. “Look, it’s snowing!”
"Really?” Bard crossed the living room to stand beside her. It was light— only a handful of flakes fell from the darkened sky and swirled gently toward the street. "So it is."
"Does this mean Santa's coming tonight?"
"No Love," Bard laughed. "Santa won't be here for a few weeks still."
"But I want him to come while we're here with you," Tilda pouted. "And besides! What if it doesn't snow on Christmas eve?"
"Santa doesn't need snow, Til. Don't be daft." Bain called from his place in the kitchen.
"Hey now," Bard turned and levelled his son with a stern gaze. "That wasn't nice; apologize to your sister." Bain rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh, but eventually grumbled that he was sorry. Tilda barely seemed to have noticed. She still stood looking out the window, her gaze now turned to the night sky and her hands leaving condensation on the glass.
"What?" Thranduil called from the hallway. "It's snowing?"
"Yeah!" Tilda bounced. "Come look!" Thranduil approached the window and crouched to kneel beside Bard's youngest.
"Wow," Tilda giggled as Thranduil's exaggerated gasp and sigh fogged up the window again, obscuring both his and Tilda's view. "It's beautiful," he smiled as Bard looked on.
"I know, I told you! Can we go out and play, Da? Can we?"
"Not right now, munchkin; it's dark out and there's not even any snow on the ground yet."
Tilda immediately began to pout, her eyes going wide and glassy before Thranduil stepped in and said, "Your Da's right, you know. The best time to go playing is in the morning. That's when the snow is fresh and still white. When no one else has touched it yet."
"Yeah?" She seemed at least a little bit appeased— tears had begun to well in her eyes but they hadn't actually fallen, which Bard counted as a victory.
"Yeah. D'you want to know a secret?" Thranduil leaned in and waved Tilda closer so that he could whisper dramatically in her ear. "Snow always falls faster when everyone is asleep."
"Is that true?" Tilda frowned.
"It's true, darlin'. It's like watching water in the tea kettle."
Tilda's eyes went wide as she considered this logic. "But… how does snow know if everyone's asleep?"
"The same way Santa does," Sigrid piped up from the futon against the wall. "Who do you think sends the snow in the wintertime?" Though Bard's oldest children had outgrown their belief in Santa and the Tooth Fairy, they didn't spoil the fantasy for their younger sister. Bard was glad for it, too.
He didn't know what he'd do when Tilda asked him just how Santa could possibly get all the way around the world. He dreaded the day when she'd come to him one year with a serious and mature look in her eyes and tell him she knew.
But for now she still believed, and her eyes went wide as Sigrid's words washed over her. She bounced excitedly again and rushed to change into her PJs, but not before pressing a kiss to Bard's cheek, and Thranduil's as well.
"Come on you lot. It's everyone's bedtime." Bain and sigrid groaned, but they stood from their seats and trudged toward the hallway to brush their teeth.
"And is it my bedtime, too?" Thranduil stood from his crouch on the floor, unfolding his long, lean frame until he looked down at Bard.
"You'd better hope so," Bard wrapped a hand around his waist and stretched up to steal a kiss. "If you think Tilda isn't going to wake you up as soon as the sun's risen and drag you outside, you'll have a harsh reality to face in the morning."
"Pity," Thranduil chuckled and kissed Bard again. "I'd hoped we'd be able to stay up late tonight," He hummed. "I've a new game I think you'll enjoy."
"Says the man who nearly had a heart attack when I—" Bard didn't get to finish his sentence, as Thranduil silenced him with a hand pressed firmly against his lips.
"Da, Mister Thran, I'm ready for my bedtime story!" Tilda skidded to a halt on the linoleum of the kitchen floor.
"How is it," Thranduil grumbled, his hand still clamped over Bard's smiling mouth, "That you always have something naughty to say when Tilda comes round the corner?"
"It's a skill," Bard replied as Thranduil turned to walk away. Bard followed close behind and reached to grab his bum through his jeans. Thranduil batted his hands away quickly as Tilda poked her head out into the hall to be sure they were following her.
"I hate you," Thranduil frowned, pressed a fleeting kiss to Bard's lips, and turned to follow Tilda into the bedroom. Bain and Sigrid stood just inside the washroom, toothbrushes in their hands and amused smiles on their faces.
They'd seen the whole thing.
❧
True to Bard's prediction, Tilda came bounding through the door of Bard's bedroom and promptly jumped on the bed. "Wake up! Wake up!" She shrieked. Bard groaned and rolled over, trying to ignore the way she landed right on top of his legs as she bounced.
"Just a few more minutes, Til." He mumbled into his pillow.
"No! Mister Thran said the best time to play was first thing in the morning! We gotta hurry or all the snow will be played with already!"
"Don't worry Miss Tilda, there'll be plenty of snow leftover for us," Thranduil sat up in bed, his voice a touch gravelly, but he seemed to be in a better state than Bard.
"Can you Plait my hair before we go out?" She asked in her most polite tone.
"Go on and sit down and I'll do it right now," Thranduil replied. Bard turned his head and squinted his eyes open. Tilda sat obediently before Thranduil's crossed legs as he began to work the tangles out of her hair with his fingers. Suddenly the duvet tucked over Bard's shoulders seemed too warm. His T-shirt was twisted around his chest, constricting his ribs as his heart seemed to swell.
It was the sight of Thranduil with his kids— with Tilda especially. He was so kind and patient, never seeming to tire of plaiting her hair, always enduring the messy twists she would tie in his own. Having them all here together made Bard feel like his life was full again. He dreaded what this tiny flat would feel like once the kids went back to stay with their mother and Thranduil returned to his own home.
Tilda's mousy hair was bound in a french braid within moments. Thranduil leaned down to whisper in her ear as she began to bounce excitedly again. She looked at him over her shoulder and nodded before standing on the bed and stepping over Bard's prone form where he still lay beneath the covers. He turned to face her when she stretched out to lay beside him.
"Da?" She said sweetly.
"Yes Munchkin?" Bard mumbled against the pillow.
"May we please go outside to play?" She nuzzled closer, until her eyes became a blur of blue and her little nose pressed against Bard's.
"Can you give me a minute to wake up first?" Bard let his eyes fall closed sleepily.
No reply came, and Bard wondered if he'd been granted permission to rest a bit longer. But then there was something wet against his cheek, and against his neck. He opened his eyes to a blur of motion as Tilda dragged her tongue up the length of Bard's face. Thranduil was behind him, his own tongue dragging up the tender stretch of Bard's neck.
"Agh!" He cried out, the sticky sloppy wet of saliva making his skin tingle. He sat up in bed and wiped at his face while Tilda and Thranduil giggled. Thranduil sat with his hands in his lap and his shoulders tucked up near his ears in a shrug. "Oh," Bard whined, "That was mean."
"Now can we go outside? Please?" Tilda begged.
"Alright, alright. Go get your warm clothes on." Tilda sprang from the bed and bounded across the floor while Thranduil only sat on the other side of the bed, smiling sweetly. "You," Bard growled and crawled across the rumpled duvet to tackle Thranduil to the mattress. "You wanker. Just you wait until we're outside. You've asked for it."