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Chapter Text

Midwinter's Eve brought snow that settled over Norcia in thick, white blankets and muffled the sound of the North Sea crashing against the roots of the karst forest in Sailor's Folly. With it came more cheer than Delo had witnessed in all his years living there. The air of the citadel was heavy with the aroma of baked treats and food being prepared for the feast that would happen that night in the Shrine Hall—formerly the Greatlord's Hall—and the music from the Norcians in their villages seemed a never-ending reminder that it was the first holiday they'd celebrated freely in decades. Gone were the stipulations of the ha'Aurelians that made a family feast day a time of stress and fear when the Norcians had to work harder to provide enough food for the feasts they wouldn't reap any reward from. Instead, thanks to the plentiful bounty since the Liberation and Griff's coronation as High King, all of the island's inhabitants were invited to the feast they contributed to.

But for Delo, the arrival of Midwinter's Eve only brought nerves and the overbearing feeling of foolishness.

For as much as he tried to learn about Norcians and their traditions and what was taken away from them during the reign of the ha'Aurelians, certain things slipped through without notice. Certain things like the old tradition that was forbidden during the first year of Tarquin the Conqueror's reign over New Pythos, freshly renamed from old Norcia, that he believed to be too strong a gesture of solidarity. Because what other reason would the Norcians of old have to offer each other Midwinter gifts, if not to spark an uprising?

The logic was flawed, but the turn of phrase, divide and conquer, was often affiliated with Tarquin ha'Aurelian for a reason. Unsurprisingly, given his favoritism toward Clan Thornrose in particular due to their willing subjugation, the clan rivalries augmented with his rule.

Delo didn't even know the tradition was being reinitiated this year, and might've gone all season being ignorant of it, had it not been for Fionna mentioning it to him by chance.

"Norcians haven't done it for so long, I'm surprised Griff even knew about it," she'd told him with a fond smile. "But now, I have to figure out what to give Bran. I suppose that's all part of the excitement, though, isn't it?"

After some prompting, he learned that it was mostly done with immediate families and spouses. She and Bran would exchange with each other only, but her sister would exchange gifts with her husband, and both of them would give gifts to their three small children.

But Delo wasn't married to Griff yet, and Sty and Becca weren't technically their children, so Delo decided to come up with something for all three of them. Becca was the easiest. Delo long ago learned the craft of book binding, though it was a hobby that didn't stick. He took the time to bind a book of blank paper, with her name, Becca Eamonsdaughter, carved into the corner of the leather cover by his own hand. Her drawings often ended up scattered about her room, Sty's room, the chambers Delo shared with Griff, and Griff's study, so he thought it might be worth it to her to keep them all in one place. Plus, she could always have it on her.

With it went a small, matching leather pouch—likewise carved with her name—that he put a selection of his own pens and charcoal into.

Sty had been a little more difficult. Ultimately, Delo took a risk for him. During the Liberation, all banners displaying the sigils of the Triarchy-in-Exile and New Pythos were destroyed, many of them by Griff himself in his fit of rage and despair at Agga's loss. Sty had nothing of his family to his name, so Delo took it upon himself to rectify that, with or without Griff's approval. With Fionna at his side for support to his cause if needed, he went to the looms. As luck would have it, many of the women working there recognized him for his efforts in saving their children from burning alive in the Greatlord's Hall during the air strikes, though they were reluctant to once again weave the sigils of their oppressors.

Delo, though, was never fond of the New Pythos banner and was happy to commission them for the ha'Aurelian rose on its own, black against the blood red color of Sty's House. When the completed banner was delivered to him, he was pleased with the outcome and thought the rose looked far better when it wasn't displayed as strangling the five clan stars of the Norcians.

Which left him with Griff. And it was Midwinter's Eve, and he still had nothing to show for it.

One would think that, for as long as they've known each other and for as close as they were, deciding on a gift for Griff would come easy to him. But for some reason, everything that came to mind fell laughably short of being commensurate for what Delo felt Griff deserved. He considered asking Fionna for ideas, but the shame of being so clueless kept him biting his tongue, and now, he was out of time.

Which led him to Fionna anyway. He found her in the Shrine Hall, overseeing the decorations for the feast that night. The Guardians and several other important figures from across the archipelago would be in attendance, so it was important that Norcia looked her best, and Griff trusted Fionna the most with that errand. When Delo pulled her aside and explained the situation, the smile she wore was just shy of teasing as she asked, "And why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I wanted to figure it out on my own," said Delo, rubbing the back of his head.

"Griff's been working on yours for months now, you know," she said pointedly.

"I know," he groaned, burying his face in his hands. Which was true. Griff had been going off for ages by then, disappearing for hours at a time and a smug quip of, Never you mind, whenever Delo asked about it. He didn't know when he pieced together that it had something to do with Midwinter, but it kept the unease from his mind when he finally did. "Must you remind me of how stupid I am?"

"Yes," said Fionna helpfully.

"Could always give him yourself," Nolan suggested as he passed by. "No one's ever complained about a little one-on-one quality time with a lover."

Because that was something their relationship was in short supply of.

"Thanks, Nolan."

"Happy to be of service, my lord," he said, bowing with a laugh before he turned on his heel and walked away.

Fionna was grinning. "How useless was that suggestion?"

"Immeasurably," said Delo.

"Figures," she said, smile widening. "Do you have time to make him something?"

"Only if it's by a craft I'm exceedingly skilled at," Delo said, sighing. "Which is a limited list of things. Becca's art book took me over a week and Sty's banner was done at the looms."

"What about buying or trading?"

"I don't think anyone would be willing on such short notice, and I hate to put so much personal effort into the children, but not him," he replied. "If all else fails, maybe Nolan is right."

"You could make it festive by wrapping yourself up in garland," she suggested. "Maybe wear a bow, too. Like the ones in Callipolis."

Delo snorted, stifling a laugh with his hand. "At least that will get the intention across."

"Intention to what?"

Delo started at the sound of Griff's voice right in his ear. Fionna wore an expression that told him she saw Griff coming, but kept it to herself. He sat at the table beside Delo and kissed his cheek in greeting.

"Your Majesty," said Fionna teasingly, burn scar white against her cheeks that were rosy with merriment. And perhaps the mulled wine in front of her. "Where've you been?"

"Around," said Griff vaguely, stealing a glance at Delo. "Doing His Majesty things, all that. Anyway, intention to what?

"Intention to teach you how to mind your business," Delo huffed. He folded his arms over his chest.

Griff cracked a grin. "You two were talking about me."

"Yes, how nosy you are, specifically."

"Is this true, Fionna?"

She raised her hands before her, but her smile was still vibrant. "I'd rather not involve myself in your lovers' quarrel."

"We are not quarreling," Delo said.

"Wait, maybe we should," Griff mused, looking at Delo with renewed interest—if such a thing was even possible. "Then, we can really make up for it later. I hear that way of things is more fun than normal."

"Griff," muttered Delo in exasperation as Fionna laughed.

"Well, while you two do that," she said, standing, "I'm going to go let Cahir out into the pen to stretch his limbs. He's been harping me about it all day."

"I just let Sparker out not long ago, so the pen is nice and muddy," said Griff cheerfully. "Have fun scrubbing that mess after." Fionna stuck her tongue out at him as she walked away. When she left the hall, he grinned and turned to Delo. "Shouldn't you let Geph out?"

"And risk getting her scales dirty?" Delo scoffed. "She would never."

"She wouldn't, or you wouldn't?"

"Trust me, she preens more than any other dragon I've ever encountered," he said. "It's all her, not me."

Griff leaned closer, and Delo leaned back, raising an eyebrow at the sudden invasion of his space. Not that he ever minded when it was Griff, but he knew the look in Griff's eye. "What were you and Fionna talking about?"

"Why do you want to know?" he countered.

"Because I'm a nosy bastard," said Griff.

"I'm aware, but that's not a reason."

"Sure, it is."

"According to whom?"

"Me," said Griff smugly. "The man who rules this island."

"Are you exerting your authority over me, Griff Gareson?" Delo asked, affronted.

Before Griff could reply, one of the kitchen staff approached them and curtsied quickly, an old habit from the days of the Triarchy-in-Exile that Griff raised his eyebrows at. Delo quelled him with a scowl. His abolishment of certain servile gestures wouldn't die as easily as he wanted them to.

"Pardon me, Lord Delo, Your Majesty," she said in slightly accented Dragontongue, "but we need to set this table for the feast tonight."

"Oh, yeah," Griff said brightly. "We'll get out of your hair."

She stared at him, startled and flustered by his abrupt agreement as he yanked Delo to his feet by the arm and dragged him away from the table.

"Where are we going?" Delo incredulously asked in Norish as Griff pulled him from the Shrine Hall and out into the snow in the direction of what used to be called the Lord's Gate, but was now stylized as the King's Gate. "Griff, it's cold out here. What—"

Griff clamped a hand over his mouth.

"I have my reasons," he said, then he jerked his hand away from Delo's face with a curse. "Did you just lick me?"

"As if you're not used to it," replied Delo haughtily, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Well, yeah, but not my hand, you—" Whatever insult he had was cut off by Delo's laughter and his frown slipped into a begrudging smile. "You're disgusting."

"Not really," replied Delo as Griff stepped closer. "Are you going to tell me why you dragged me out here?"

Grinning, Griff pointed upward. Dangling from the peak of the yawning mouth of the King's Gate was a bundle of green twigs and slender, elongated leaves with white berries, neatly tied with red ribbon.

"What is that?" Delo asked, frowning.

"Mistletoe," said Griff, sounding sly. "It was Bran's mam's idea, but I think she was joking. I took it seriously, though."

"Oh," said Delo. His face warmed. He'd heard of the plant and knew the Norcian traditions behind it. It was, like many things, banned under ha'Aurelian rule. "Where did it come from?"

"Bran's mother suggested it as a joke, Sparker and I went and collected some," said Griff smugly. "I even tied the ribbon myself. Didn't put it up though. I asked the watchmen to do that, since they have access to the ladders and all."

"You're ridiculous," said Delo with a roll of his eyes. Griff's grin broadened and he stepped closer to kiss him. Delo kissed him back, but briefly. "What's the point of it?"

"Old Norcians used to say that kissing under the mistletoe brought good luck," Griff said, trudging through the drifts to stand beside Delo. "I've been waiting to tell you about it because I think it happening on Midwinter's Eve means double the good luck."

Midwinter's Eve.

Delo inhaled deeply, annoyed with himself for getting distracted. He still had no idea what he was going to gift Griff, and the day was waning rapidly. The feast was in a matter of hours, and he never clarified when he was supposed to give his gifts to Griff and the little ones. It could be at the feast itself, for all he knew. He hoped not, but dragons, he was an idiot. He should find Fionna again.

"Maybe I should go let Gephyra out, after all," he said.

Griff frowned at him. "What about the mud?"

"Oh—right."

"We should go get ready, though," Griff murmured, taking Delo's hand.

"Ready?" he echoed.

"For the feast," said Griff quizzically. "It's in a few hours. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. Can I meet you back in our chambers? I would like to at least check in on Geph," Delo said. It wasn't exactly a lie; he hadn't seen her yet today and did miss her. Not being able to fly properly because of the snow made them both unhappy, so taking comfort in each other's presence helped ease the ache of confinement at least a little. "I feel bad keeping her locked in like this."

"She can go into the pen at any time," Griff snorted, buying Delo's excuse. "But yeah, I'll at least walk you to the armory."

They set off together, hands still entwined. The main roads leading to the palace, the Halls, and the Moot Hill were cleared and salted, but from what Delo could see, the path down to the harbor and the stairs carved into the cliff side remained untouched. Griff seemed to have noticed this as well, and directed them toward the main entrance of the palace, where Delo could access the skyfish armory from within and make his way to the lairs from there.

Once inside, Griff shook himself free of snow, causing Delo to release his hand and take a step back. It made little difference, but he didn't want to accumulate even more snow on his clothing and boots than he already had.

The grand halls were already adorned with garland, holly, and bright candles lining the walls. It smelled of cinnamon and other fragrant spices, causing Delo to take note of the bundles of cinnamon sticks woven into the garlands. Along with the cinnamon, he saw, there were dried slices of orange and tiny little pine cones that must've been collected from the mainland. More mistletoe hung from the archways leading sectioning off the entryway, the staircase leading to upper levels, and the corridors leading to the various Halls and armories. There were also wreaths made from pine, cedar, and cypress boughs that were likewise decorated and additionally embellished with woad-blue ribbon, each one bearing five small silver stars.

"Nice touch, that," said Delo, nodding to the nearest wreath. "Whose idea? Yours?"

Griff flushed, his cheeks rosy red. "No, actually. It was Duck's idea for the wreaths, and Lena suggested the schoolchildren decorate them. She added the ribbon and stars after, I think. I had very little to do with the decorations beyond telling everyone to do whatever they think would piss a dragonborn off the most."

"Perhaps my thoughts don't matter as an outlier in my peasant-loving ways, but I think this would've pissed them off quite effectively," said Delo, grinning. "Good job."

"Thank you, my lord, I aim to enrage." Griff bowed low.

"You're such a shit," Delo snorted as Griff stood upright again with a bark of laughter. "I'm going to go to Geph before it gets to be too late and I don't have time. I'll see you later?"

"I should hope so," replied Griff. He made to depart, but Delo caught his arm and pointed up. Griff followed the gesture with his eyes and grinned upon seeing the mistletoe. He leaned up and kissed Delo briefly.

"Don't think I didn't notice we could've done this inside, earlier," said Delo in a murmur.

"Outside was more exciting." Griff kissed him again, chastely, before murmuring a farewell and walking away, heading toward the stairs to the second floor where their chambers were.

Delo watched him go, stomach and heart feeling stupid and fluttery for no reason. After several seconds of standing there gawking like an idiot, he shook himself and hurried off to the armory. It felt strange just striding through and not stopping to don his flamesuit and armor, and when he got to the narrow spiral staircase down to the lairs, he took them two at a time.

To his relief, Fionna was still there, scrubbing down her aurelian, Cahir, who was properly caked in mud. She looked up in surprise at the sound of his footfalls but smiled sheepishly upon seeing him. "Turns out, Griff was right."

"And that is exactly why Gephyra will not be going out today," he replied. He turned and clucked a greeting to his skyfish, and she purred as she rippled to her feet. Her delight at seeing him washed over his mind in waves and he couldn't help but smile as he stepped into her nest. Sparker was in his stall beside hers, curled into a massive, midnight black ball and sleeping soundly. His time in the pen must've worn him out.

Delo's smile grew as Sparker's horned crest twitched with his dreams.

"Did you figure it out yet?" Fionna asked.

"No," he sighed, resting his forehead against Gephyra's blazing snout. "I may just have to shamefully admit I messed up."

He stroked Geph's slender neck lovingly and she tucked her chin over his shoulder, drawing him in closer. Her eagerness for freedom enveloped his thoughts, but he firmly pushed back his disinclination with the memory of the snow. For reasons unbeknownst to him, she perked at this.

"I don't think Griff would be upset or disappointed, Delo," said Fionna. She reached for a bucket nearby. "He knows our traditions aren't yours."

"But what if I want them to be?" Delo blinked in surprise, as caught off guard by the admission as Fionna looked.

"Well, that's very sweet of you," she said in a tone that was very reminiscent of Agga. Delo's heart squeezed at the thought of her. He didn't directly know her as well as he would've liked, but knew quite a bit about her through Griff. Those awkward moments from before, when he would stand statuesque as Griff armed him, were often filled with Griff chattering about Agga and her little ones. And based on that, he could conclude that she would've loved to see the ways of old Norcia returned to Midwinter.

Agga, he concluded, loved Midwinter as his own mother did. And for that, he ached.

He wondered what became of the tiny, rundown shack they lived in after all of the recent changes within Norcia. He hadn't been back himself since before the Medean League. What few possessions Griff and his family had during that time had been left behind.

And then it hit him.

His mouth puckered into a frown. "Has anyone been to Griff's old place since he released us as hostages? Has Griff? Gares?"

Fionna shrugged.

"I don't think so," she said. "He tends to avoid it for... obvious reasons, and no one else has any reason to go there. Couldn't tell you about Gares. Why?"

"Because I think I know what to give him, but I'm worried I might be getting my hopes up," Delo explained, rubbing Gephyra's cheek affectionately before stepping out of her stall. "Hopefully Clan Nag won't strike me down for breaking in, but I just... I think this might be either the best idea I've ever had, or the worst."

"That cleared absolutely nothing up," said Fionna. "But shrines help you in your endeavors."

Delo only grinned in response as he wordlessly waved his farewell and skirted out of the lairs, heading toward the Moot Hill. He instantly regretted his choice to act on capricious ideas, as it was damned cold outside and his fur-trimmed cloak remained inside. Still, it would be a quick trek down to Clan Nag, or he hoped, so he tucked his hands beneath his arms and huddled against the flurries of snow and began trotting down the salted path.

No one even seemed to be out as Delo made his way through the silent, snowy village. Most windows were shuttered but warmth glowed from within for those who opted to remain out rather than to move up into the former ha'Aurelian manors of the citadel. Much of Norcia's financial gains had gone into repairing the ramshackle homes of the clans, but one remained untouched. As Delo approached to the stoop, he wondered if Griff would ever return to this place.

As he suspected, the door was unlocked. He stepped inside the dark little hut, ducking under the leaning doorframe and noting how there was no difference in temperature from outside. The crumbling fireplace that was always roaring to keep Griff's family warm was long ago extinguished, likely last stoked by Delo himself. Griff's grandfather's chair sat untouched, and he found himself unusually stricken by the sight, somehow more bothered by it now that it wasn't being occupied by Electra Stormscourge. He shivered as he tore his gaze away from the bleakly abandoned chair and looked around, praying this wasn't a fruitless venture.

In the back room, he dimly remembered there being a chest. The lock rusted off years before Delo ever set foot in this home and it wasn't secure, but Norcia wasn't home to many looters or vandals. He carefully navigated toward the table, squinting in the dark and searching for the candle and matches he knew to be there. When he found them, he struck a match and touched it to the candle's wick, illuminating the hut in its soft, dancing glow. He turned and entered the back room, stepping carefully over rotting blankets where Griff and his family used to sleep, his throat tightening at the sight. Agga never got to know the luxury Griff and Becca do now, and neither did Garet or Grandfather Grady.

He spotted the chest and knelt before it, bracing himself before lifting its lid. The old hinges creaked loudly and he winced, casting a glance over his shoulder, but he remained alone.

Delo briefly closed his eyes with unexpected relief and joy when he spotted what he was looking for right away, sitting innocently atop a pile of worn blankets and threadbare clothing. He set the candle aside and picked up the bundle with the same tender care he would a sick, baby bird.

He glanced toward the back door, where the world beyond was visible through cracks in the wood and turning misty blue. He was running out of time.

"Where the hell were you?" Griff asked incredulously as Delo burst into their chambers, panting harshly from his run up from Clan Nag.

"On an errand," he replied vaguely, glancing down at his pocket to make sure his prize remained hidden. He had that uncomfortable dampness to him, a combination of sweat from running and moisture from the snow, and was ready to bathe it off.

"Yeah, I heard," said Griff. "I saw Fionna a bit ago and she said you left the lairs nearly an hour ago and she hadn't seen you since. Where'd you get off to?"

Delo was about to explain that it was, again, not his business—though it very rightly was—when he actually looked at Griff and stopped short, mouth hanging open like an imbecile. Griff noticed this and drew himself up smugly, and Delo closed his mouth as his face heated.

"Look at you," he murmured, drawing nearer. The tunic Griff wore was woven in a handsome shade of burgundy and embroidered richly with dusky gold. His mantle, black as night and similarly adorned in gold threading, made him look more severe than normal and was held in place by a pin bearing the clan-sign of the Nag. The black pants and formal dress boots he wore gave his legs the appearance of someone a little taller, which Delo found endearing.

But of course, his gaze was drawn to Griff's slightly outgrown curls—invisible to the untrained eye—and freshly shaven face, and the crown that sat upon his head and bore the five clan stars above his brow.

"Yeah," said Griff, rubbing the back of his head, mindful of his crown, in a manner that betrayed his embarrassment despite the haughty way he was just holding himself. "Turns out, there are people who will dress you up for the important occasions."

"There are," Delo agreed with a laugh. He closed the distance between them and kissed Griff with enthusiasm, hands finding his finely clothed hips and pulling him closer.

"You need to get ready," Griff said, but he grinned against Delo's lips. "We don't have a lot of time before the feast starts."

"Yeah, yeah," said Delo, stepping away from him with reluctance. "I saw people gathering near the Shrine Hall on my way back. Mostly Norcians, though."

"Back from where?" Griff leapt at the chance to ask as Delo headed into the washroom.

"Places," he said vaguely as he carefully removed his boon and hid it beneath a folded towel on the nearest shelf. It would be fine there, for now.

After a quick wash, he reentered the room to see Griff lounging at the desk and looking quite bored.

"You can go down without me," Delo said pointedly as he toweled himself dry.

"And look like a fool without my damsel on my arm? I don't think so, Delo." He grinned at the scowl Delo threw at him.

Delo dressed as quickly as he washed, by now used to the efforts required for formal dress. An elegant, white jerkin patterned with delicate branches and leaves of silver over a fine tunic in the noble blue of Skyfish House, a white mantle, and pants and boots of similar make to those that Griff wore, and Delo was nearly ready to present himself to the masses. Though he loathed to do so.

He scrunched his fingers through his hair, trying to speed up the drying process. Griff watched him with interest, despite the fact that this was something he'd witnessed countless times by now.

"What?" Delo asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Griff with a half grin. "I just like watching you."

Delo wrinkled his nose.

"I do have something for you," he continued, averting his gaze in a manner that seemed... bashful? Was Griff Gareson capable of being bashful? "Traditionally, gifts aren't given until tomorrow, but this is for tonight specifically."

"Oh?" Delo wasn't sure how to react. Did this mean he had to give Griff his now? What if it didn't go well?

"Aye," said Griff, standing. He picked up a decently small and flat wooden crate from the desk that Delo didn't notice among all his books and scrolls. "Another thing I've learned recently is that when you have the coin, you can spoil the people you love."

His face was red as he said it, and he offered Delo the box.

"Yeah, you can," Delo agreed weakly, accepting it. Was it just him or did Griff look nervous?

"I thought it might be fitting, given—" Griff gestured at nothing as Delo removed the lid of the box. He stared down at its contents nestled among fine silk in surprise, and Griff continued rambling. "If you hate it, I understand. No obligation to wear it, of course. I just thought that—I don't know, actually."

Delo gingerly lifted the sleek, silver circlet out of its home and set the box aside. It was unadorned, save for the center that would rest upon his brow, where a dainty lily—the sigil of his House—crafted from the same metal that made the diadem, arose. It gleamed in the candlelight, more polished than anything else he owned these days. It was of beautiful make.

Griff was watching him uncertainly, an air that didn't befit him, in Delo's opinion. He was fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, risking fraying the threading there.

"I don't know what to say," Delo admitted. "This is—" He paused, searching for the right words. "Are you sure?"

That wasn't what he wanted to say, but Griff caught the meaning hidden behind the question.

"I mean, everyone probably already guessed," he said awkwardly. "And the important ones know, anyway. But like I said, you don't have to wear it, if you're not comfortable. It was a little impulsive, actually. I was down at the smith for the little ones' gifts and it sort of—happened?"

Delo snorted. Impulsive sounded pretty accurate to Griff's character. He placed the circlet on his head, and Griff's apprehension morphed into a broad grin.

"Is this what you've been sneaking off for, the last few months?" he asked.

Griff's grin became mischievous. "Not at all. That, I'm saving for tomorrow. And trust me, it's not easy to keep it to myself. I'm quite proud of my ability to keep secrets."

Delo shook his head in disbelief, heart sinking. He only had one thing to give to Griff tomorrow, and it was possible it wouldn't land the way he hoped it would. Griff wasn't a materialistic person, even now as a king, so Delo hoped something with sentimental value would mean more to him. And now Griff was giving him two things.

By the dragon, gift giving was stressful.

"Delo?" Griff asked, taking his hand. "Are you ready?"

Delo roused himself and smiled feebly. "Yeah, I think so."

The Shrine Hall was fuller than Delo had ever seen it, but it could've been attributed to the decorations that seemed to hang from every surface and bulk up the walls. On the far end, where Rhadamanthus once sat at the high table, the banners of Free Norcia, Callipolis, and Bassilea were draped up on the wall, crowned by a gigantic string of garland dotted with the same cinnamon, orange slices, ribbons, and silver stars as the wreaths out in the corridor.

"Ooooh!" Becca breathed from where she clung to Delo's free hand. She let him braid her hair the same way he used to do Phemi's when they were children, and his throat tightened as he silently wished his sister a good Midwinter at the Skyfish Summer Palace.

On Griff's other side, Sty walked without holding on to either of them, clearly wanting to make an impression with the way he puffed himself up. He pointed at the garland above the banners. "I helped make that."

"Well done, little lordling," said Griff, ruffling his hair. "You put the old ways to shame."

He caught Delo's eye and grinned. Fionna accosted them first with Bran at her side. She was more elegantly dressed than Delo had ever seen her, in a gown of woad-blue trimmed with traditional Norcian patterning in white along the hems. Her hair was braided in the traditional style, as well, something that was long ago banned by the ha'Aurelians and replaced with the Callipolan styles. Bran was similarly dressed, with a wool tunic a shade of blue closer to that of Skyfish House than woad, but it was trimmed with the same pattern style as Fionna's gown, though in vibrant yellow. He'd cleaned up, as well, with his face shaven and scrubbed clean and his dark hair neatly combed for the first time since Delo met him, probably.

"Look at the two of you," he said with a laugh, lifting his goblet of wine toward them. "Look like something right out of the old stories."

"Well, when you have to keep up appearances," said Griff, snickering. "We are hosting, after all, and we don't want any of these fine people to think of us as barbarians, right?"

Delo could easily pick out a number of people who likely thought of Norcians as exactly that. Luckily, they seemed to be in short supply as tonight's gathering was mostly comprised of the Norcians who called this island home, the Guardians as Norcia's closest allies, the Bastards, a small number of Callipolans visiting their loved ones that chose to stay after the Second Revolution, and a handful of Bassilean delegates here for diplomatic purposes. To Delo's knowledge, Freyda would be making an appearance at some point, as her family was now as fractured as his own.

"That's quite the headpiece you've got there, Delo," said Bran, nodding to it. "Have you been hiding it from us all these years?"

He felt Griff's eyes on him as he touched the circlet self-consciously and said, "No. It was a gift from the king."

Bran gaped as Fionna's face split into a dazzling smile. Delo felt hot around the collar, but he clutched at his disinterested facade as if it wasn't going to be the talk of this room all night, once others started noticing.

"Aren't things like that only worn by princes and princess—oh." Bran whistled as he looked between them. "How long has that been going on for?"

"Since the coronation celebration, Bran," Fionna sighed, sounding exasperated. "You were there."

"I was drunk, and you were pregnant, and therefore sober," he said. "I don't remember shit and this whole time, I thought you just kept talking about them marrying hypothetically. I thought it was a little strange, your fixation on it."

"Shrines on the karst above," she muttered as Griff laughed.

"Where is the babe, anyway?" he asked curiously. Their little one was only a couple months old.

"With Fionna's mam," Bran replied. "She wanted to give us the night off."

"That was very kind of her," said Delo.

"Delo," Becca said, reminding him of her presence at his hand, "can I go say hi to Antigone?"

She was pointing into the crowd, where the Firstrider was talking to another Guardian with a drink in her hand and Lee at her side. She caught Delo's eye and gave him a small wave, which he returned.

"Go ahead," he answered, looking back down at Becca. "Just be polite and wait until she's done talking before you do, yeah?"

Becca nodded enthusiastically before taking off in the direction of Antigone sur Aela. Delo watched her go, making sure she was true to her word about courtesy.

"I'm going to go with her," announced Sty. "Grown ups are boring."

With that, he marched off after her, arms folded over his chest to make sure they knew his displeasure at being forgotten during their conversation.

"He's definitely Rhadamanthus' son," Bran said, shaking his head.

"That isn't necessarily a bad thing," Delo thoughtlessly replied. He flushed when they all looked at him. "He had... some alright qualities. If you were dragonborn, anyway."

"And therein lies the problem," said Bran sagely.

"Delo is biased because Rhadamanthus is where all of his books came from," Griff said. He grinned at Delo and looped their arms together. He continued in Dragontongue: "His collection is extensive and old. That's why he uses words like proffer and opulent and... diplomacy."

"Diplomacy is a common word that you also use, Griff." Delo reverted to Norish to prove his point that it existed in both languages, and was a bit flustered at the attention drawn to his jargon. But in his defense, Norish had vocabulary he wasn't familiar with, as well. Most of it consisted of slurs, but the point still stood. "And Rhadamanthus didn't give me all of them."

He realized as soon as the words were out that he just offered up a rather juicy piece of bait, and Griff, predictable as he could be, pounced immediately.

"Are you sure you want to elaborate on which ones you didn't receive from Rhadamanthus' collection?"

Delo looked back at him coolly. "Speak for yourself, my beloved. You're familiar enough with them to know."

The bark of laughter from Bran at Griff's expense ended that conversation. They said farewell to him and Fionna and meandered around the Shrine Hall, occasionally chatting with someone who approached. Nearly every pair of eyes lingered on the circlet Delo wore, but only a few were bold enough to comment on it. He deflected their probing questions graciously, but only to spare explaining himself to strangers.

In Griff's most earnest attempt to mitigate the need for servants on Midwinter's Eve, he resorted to the same self-serve style of feast they'd had at for his coronation party. Barrels alcohol lined one wall alongside a table laden heavily with a variety of bottles, glasses, mugs, and goblets. Norcian pipes, drums, lutes, and voices filled the air in merry tune, and the night soon began to develop a rippled lens as it wore on and Delo's goblet magically remained full despite him frequently sipping from it.

"This is what your lot were missing out on," Griff suddenly murmured in his ear. He gestured vaguely toward the opposite side of the hall, where the doors were now wide open to the snowy night, and beyond, Delo could see the flickering light of a bonfire on the Moot Hill. Shadows of people dancing or walking by dimmed its glow sporadically. "You tell Norcians a celebration is happening in one spot, and they take it to another."

"I think that has more to do with alcohol than being Norcian," said Delo. "They probably got to be too warm."

"Are you too warm?"

Delo shook his head. He knew he was opening himself up for a flirtatious comment or gesture, but he was not going outside in the snow again. He preferred to be comfortable and dry.

Instead of reacting as Delo thought he would, Griff only looked at him. There was an intensity to his gaze that, for a moment, had Delo imagining dragging him from the hall and back to their chambers, feasting and partying be damned.

"What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Griff said. "Just... thinking."

He looked away, his face crimson, and Delo raised an eyebrow at this sudden change in posture. He took Griff's hand and said, "If you want to go out there, you can. I won't stop you."

"What? No, it's not that." Griff laughed, perhaps a bit nervously. He still wasn't looking at Delo, though. "It's just—odd, realizing how much has changed since last Midwinter. Never expected any of this."

Delo followed his gaze and saw his point of fixation: Gares, sitting at a table and listening carefully as Becca chattered animatedly at him, her hands moving as she spoke. Now that Delo thought about it, it was difficult to truly assess what the biggest amendment to Griff's life was. The list was longer than most, for better or for worse.

"Yeah," he softly replied. "Me neither."

Crissa sur Phaedra and Antigone sur Aela materialized before them with arms woven together and cheeks stained with the rosiness of mulled cider and wine. Antigone stood out vibrantly in a Callipolan style gown of rose red and Crissa shone brightly in soft silver. Delo couldn't ignore the way eyes were drawn to the two girls, but their status as Firstrider and Guardian, or the fact that they fearlessly approached Norcia's High King and the former heir to Skyfish House, may have had something to do with that.

"Look!" Crissa said cheerfully. "We match!"

She gestured between Antigone's red and Griff's burgundy, and then her own silver and Delo's.

"Trying to upstage the king at his own party, Annie?" Griff asked with a laugh, matching Crissa's use of Dragontongue.

She flushed. "No. It's the color of the Revolution."

"The Second one, too?"

"It feels pointless to change it," Antigone replied, lifting a shoulder.

"That's pretty," said Crissa, her eyes on Delo's circlet. "A gift from Griff, I take it?"

"How do you know these things?" he asked incredulously.

"He told me about it," she explained, laughing lightly at Delo's bewilderment.

"When?"

Crissa and Griff exchanged a glance, and Griff ducked his head, leaving Crissa to answer with a roll of her eyes. "Last week I was here briefly to bring Duck a few things his mother gathered for him. I saw Griff when he was coming back from the smith with the finished piece. He told me because, in his words, he had to tell someone who wasn't you, else he'd explode."

"I see," said Delo, looking between them. Something felt off about that explanation. Why would Griff just not mention seeing Crissa?

Antigone wore a curious expression as her glance flitted from Crissa to Griff and back again, as though the pieces weren't quite fitting for her either. It put Delo on edge, but he tried to ignore it as he took another—rather large—sip of his wine.

"Annie, I think Lee's calling you over," Crissa said hastily. "Shall we?"

She gave Griff an apologetic smile before they slipped back into the crowd, making a rather obvious getaway. Around them, the partygoers were getting more rambunctious with time and alcohol. A lifetime of cleaning up his father's inebriated messes made Delo reluctant to drink too much, but the warmth in his cheeks and his limbs were pleasant, at the very least. Just enough to keep the edges of his thoughts liquified, and no more.

"You alright?"

He turned to Griff at the hesitant inquiry. "I think so."

Griff's face was red again, which Delo thought to be ridiculously charming for no reason. Or for a very specific reason that took up residence within the goblet he held. He snagged the front of Griff's fine tunic in his fingers and pulled him closer. Griff let him with a bemused smile, limply following the motion until their chests were nearly touching.

"Hello," Griff said to him.

"Hello," replied Delo, and kissed him.

Brief as it was, Delo came out of it with his cheeks somehow warmer than they were just seconds prior. Someone whistled, likely Bran, but Delo ignored it. Griff grinned up at him with half-lidded eyes and hands splayed comfortably on the silk panels of Delo's jerkin.

"Are you too warm now?" he asked.

Delo snorted and lifted a hand to fix the crown atop Griff's head, which had fallen a bit lopsided. "Are you?"

"You wish," Griff said.

Delo intended to reply, but was interrupted by a small hand taking his. Surprised, he looked down to see Becca at his side again. Griff's eyebrows were raised, but he wore an expression full of something Delo couldn't quite place.

"Hello, Becca," said Delo.

"Hi, Delo," she replied, and her face turned as red as Griff's, which threatened to choke Delo with fondness for the both of them. "I have a question."

"What is it?"

She lowered her gaze and mumbled something that he didn't quite catch, and he frowned.

"I'm sorry, Becca, I didn't quite hear you," he said. Her face reddened even more, something that struck him to see. Much like her uncle, Becca wasn't shy or bashful. It simply wasn't in their nature. Delo knelt beside her, but she wouldn't look at him, embarrassed as she was. He glanced at Griff, who looked as lost as he felt. Then, he followed Becca's stare and understanding blossomed a warm glow in his chest. He handed his drink to Griff, who accepted it with confusion.

"Becca," he said gently, touching his fingers to her chin and making her face him. When she was, he offered her his hand. "May I have this dance, Your Highness?"

Becca beamed at him, her smile illuminating her face as she nodded and took his hand. He rose to his feet and led her to the area of the Shrine Hall that was cleared as a dance floor, aware of Griff's eyes on them the whole way.

"Wait for a new song to start," he murmured to Becca, and she nodded, though she shifted weight from foot to foot anxiously as her eyes followed those already dancing, a decent mix of Guardians and Norcians. He suppressed a grin when he noticed Titus Grayheather with Shea Thornrose. Griff would love to see that.

They didn't have to wait long, and when a new song was struck up, Delo led Becca out onto the floor. She was just tall enough that he didn't have to bend too much to hold her hands in his own. She fell into step easily with him, though he had to remind himself to shorten his footfalls to accommodate her little legs. A smile fixed Delo's mouth when he realized she'd been taking lessons, possibly with Sty, who would still be an effective teacher despite his age. It was considered crucial for all young dragonlords to know their way around a dance floor.

"You're quite good," he told her.

She smiled up at him, her cheeks still flushed pink. "Sty taught me."

That confirmed his guess, at least.

Norcian music didn't truly allow room for a waltz, being more boisterous and fast in its pacing, so Delo led Becca through a basic and rhythmic shuffle alongside the other dancers. It was still strange to him, for there to be so much freedom in the way he moved, but the laughter from Becca kept him going with it, even if he felt uncertain in the lack of courtly structure.

He wondered how silly they looked, with their lopsided heights and uneven steps. But even as he wondered, he found it difficult to care much—the music was loud in his ears, the thrum of his wine, Griff's touch earlier, and now Becca's joy were coursing through his veins, and the overall merriment of Midwinter's Eve was infectious, making it hard to keep from smiling.

Midway through the song, someone tapped on his shoulder and he turned to see Griff, holding himself up pompously and wearing a smug expression.

"Might I cut in?" he simpered.

Delo narrowed his eyes, though his grin remained. He stepped back, and Griff bowed low to Becca and held his hand out to her. She giggled as she accepted, and Griff took Delo's place with her on the dance floor. He didn't mind, he decided as he melted into the onlookers and watched them with something akin to delight.

A new goblet was pushed into his hand and he looked down, startled, to see Mabalena standing at his elbow. She looked better than he'd ever seen her, with her hair no longer lank and matted, braided in traditional Norcian celebratory style, and a green gown that suited her well despite her oblique appearance. Her cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes were filled with more light than he remembered as she smiled up at him.

"Are you having a nice evening?" he asked.

"Yes," Mabalena replied. "I hope I'm not intruding. Duck is with the Firstrider, and I thought I'd say hello."

With a smile, Delo lifted the goblet to her, and she returned the gesture. They sipped, and then Delo said, "They look like they're having fun."

Mabalena looked over where Duck and Antigone were dancing a tilted dance. Antigone's eyes were bright with laughter despite Duck's sloppy movements and nearby, Lee was dancing with Queen Freyda, who'd arrived at some point without Delo noticing. They looked to be in serious discussion, but Freyda still appeared to be enjoying herself more than she ever did before the Second Revolution. Newfound freedom, most likely.

Something Delo related very closely with.

He also took a moment to scan the hall for Sty, and found him with Bran by the table laden with food, who looked very impressed by whatever Sty was excitedly explaining to him. Also with them were several more Norcian children, all of them looking equally as engrossed in Sty's tale.

"I told him to ask her," said Mabalena with a small smile, drawing Delo's attention back to her. "He was telling me about how they danced at a ball together before—everything. He thought he'd hurt my feelings by dancing with her, but I'm alright with it."

Delo watched Duck for several seconds, noting the way he seemed unable to find a rhythm with his steps, before saying, "He is tremendously bad."

Mabalena laughed. "He is."

But that, Delo realized, didn't matter. Duck was having fun, and he felt a twinge of envy at his ability to do so. His gaze tracked Griff down again, where he was now holding Becca in his arms and swaying wildly from side to side and spinning, seemingly oblivious to anyone else. Her shrieking laughter broke over the music, and Delo felt a pang of longing to join them. He drank from his wine, steeling himself against the abashed awareness that he might look foolish if he did. And it made little sense to him, because even now, as he watched Griff twirl in circles with his delighted niece in his arms, foolish was the last thing he thought they looked.

"You should join them," Mabalena said. She was watching him closely.

"Maybe," said Delo. "You don't want to dance?"

She grimaced and shook her head. "It's not worth the pain that will follow later. But you should go out there. Have fun. Small moments like this are worth cherishing."

Pity and sorrow stirred in his heart, but sweet Mabalena, this poor, broken girl who was once a rider and lost everything and everyone based on a falsehood constructed to inspire submission and obeisance, only smiled back at him. And for that, Delo felt a rush of affection for her.

"You're right," he said, making his mind up. He tipped his goblet to his lips and finished the mostly full drink off, much to Mabalena's visible amusement. He set the empty goblet down on the nearest table. "Thank you for the encouragement, both the liquid and the spoken kind."

"You're quite welcome," she said, a quiet huff of laughter escaping her.

Delo discarded his mantle, draping it over an abandoned chair, and gave her a tiny wave before he wove his way through the crowd, eyes set on Griff and Becca and the wide berth given to them. This was, he realized, Griff's smallest, most precious form of establishing his authority. In another lifetime, he wouldn't have been allowed to display so much joy, nor so much love. There were too many things they wouldn't have been allowed, and Delo was done abiding by those rules that no longer applied.

So that was why, with the wine and Mabalena's philosophy on small moments fueling his actions, the moment he reached Griff and Becca, he cupped Griff's face with one hand and closed the distance between them. The heat of everyone's eyes on them burned his face, and Becca's small exclamation of, "Ew!" only added to it, but he let the kiss linger just long enough to make it count. When he pulled away, Griff wore a dazed smile.

"Hello, again," he said. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," Delo mumbled, lifting a shoulder. "Just seemed like the right thing to do."

"Can't argue that," said Griff, grinning. He kissed Delo again before pushing Becca toward him. "Would you like a child? She's quite heavy."

"I am not," said Becca indignantly, clinging to Griff.

"After holding you for so long, you are," he replied. Around them, the music was shifting, picking up in pace with the beat of the drums striking rapidly and the pipes swelling. Griff set Becca down and took her hand, and then Delo's. "Ready?"

"For—what?" Delo asked, shifting closer to him as the bodies around them twisted and pranced about. This was starting to seem like a hazard.

"What do you think?" Grinning, Griff stepped into motion and pulled Delo and Becca with him into the whirling crowd within the upbeat Norcian melody filling the air. The room became a blur of color and light as they were swept up by the crowd, and Delo held onto Becca's other hand to make sure she didn't get yanked away from them. It was hard to not get caught up. Though it was awkward with the three of them—and Delo had the selfish thought of wishing it was just him and Griff, as much as he enjoyed Becca's presence—it was still easy for Delo to forget about those around them beyond the occasional bump into someone. There was too much joy and laughter in the air, and for the first time in his life, Delo wondered if this was what it meant to truly be free. Not as a dragonrider, but as an every day person.

No lords, no peasants, no rules, no shame.

He gave up on trying to keep track of his footing and let them move of their own accord. Griff spun Becca in a small circle, tearing her free of Delo's hand in the process, and she was caught by Duck, who whisked her away to dance an uneven dance with him. Delo caught a glimpse of Sty, who was with Crissa sur Phaedra, their hands tightly entwined as Crissa laughed at his attempts to impress her. He also saw Bran and Fionna, who seemed to be firing off some sort of banter with wide smiles and mirth in their eyes.

All at once, it was him and Griff. He was aware of Griff's overeager hands sneaking around his waist, pulling him closer, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining with delight as he spun Delo around the room. Delo laughed, finding it unexpectedly so much easier to forget about everyone else when Griff was pressed against him, their feet moving asynchronously with the absence of choreography to follow, the wine now heady and dazzling his thoughts. Or was it Griff's closeness? Delo didn't know.

It was childish, it was stupid, it should've been embarrassing to freely express such joy, but it was intoxicating. How could he possibly find disgrace within so much elation?

As the music swelled, so did his heart, and the words of the Aurelian Cycle floated to the forefront of his mind and then off his tongue.

You carry my heart as your own.

Griff nearly faltered, and Delo was amazed he even heard him beneath the clamor of music filling the hall. But he did, and his hand released Delo's waist to cradle the back of his head. And Griff kissed him, and for the third time that night, Delo didn't mind that they had an audience.

Chapter Text

Outside, the snow fell harder than ever, but that didn't stop others from spilling out into the night anyway, and the bonfire was still going strong. Griff was surprised when Delo boldly strode into the cold with Griff's hand in his—the two of them laughing—not even pausing to retrieve his mantle from wherever he left it. He followed a salted path to a quiet, empty corner where the embrace of the bonfire's glow failed to touch. The wine left them both full of unwarranted mirth and it was hard to suppress the stupid giggles that seemed to emanate from Griff's core. For that's what they were; giggles.

It felt like something out of one of Delo's more juvenile books, the ones—he explained—he rarely touched that mostly collected dust and bulked up the number of tomes he owned, the way Delo tucked the two of them away in that dark corner, a shadowy, forgotten alcove, and sought Griff's lips with his own. The shyness of a few moments ago was gone, replaced with something more eager and wanting. It rang of the stories Griff discovered in those books when his curiosity and boredom got the better of him, where lovers would sneak off from a party or social affair to have a private moment together for no reason other than to enjoy that closeness. It was exhilarating.

They broke apart, breathing heavily and grinning like idiots as snow gathered on their shoulders and in their hair. At some point, Griff's fingers had twisted in Delo's jerkin to pull him closer, and he was reluctant to let go. Even with the music coming from within the Shrine Hall, the laughter and voices echoing over the citadel, and the pulse of the drums shaking the island, there was a certain quiet that had Griff pressing impossibly nearer.

Delo dropped his forehead to Griff's, the circlet he wore clinking against Griff's crown, and he closed his eyes. Griff leaned into it, lids falling shut as well even as Delo lifted his hand to his mouth, lips brushing over knuckles patterned with scar tissue.

Griff wished for the first time in his life that he knew the old poems, something he could quote back at Delo to properly express what he was feeling, the swell of his heart and the affection and love he felt that threatened to drown him in the best way. Norcians didn't have poems the way the dragonlords did; only songs and oral traditions passed from generation to generation, and they seldom spoke of love and romance. When they did, it was fleeting, a speck of dust in a cyclone. The flowery words and dramatic declarations belonged to Delo's people, not Griff's.

But...

"You're too good a man, Delo," he murmured, his face heating at how lackluster it sounded even to his own ears. "I'll never understand it."

"Understand what?"

Griff lifted his shoulders, opening his eyes to see Delo's large, gentle ones staring back at him curiously. "You. How you're so different from the other dragonborn. What you saw in me and why you decided I was—different myself."

Delo laughed quietly and kissed him again.

"I don't know about being so different, but for the rest of it... it would take eons for me to explain," he replied, his voice impossibly soft and impossibly sincere.

"Good thing we have eons, then," Griff replied, unable to keep the grin from returning to his face.

"Yeah," Delo agreed. "That we do."

This time, it was Griff who kissed Delo, and he wondered if Delo knew he meant it. He'd listen to Delo talk forever, if he could. So many of their moments together when he was still Delo's squire were spent with him chattering aimlessly to fill the uncomfortable silence between them. When that turning point happened—him visiting Delo's chambers that night and finally closing the distance between them—it was as if the floodgates burst open and at last, he could share everything with Delo.

Well. Almost everything.

More than anything, he wished Delo finding out he was learning to read had gone so much differently, but that wasn't something he was going to lament tonight.

"We should go back," he mumbled against Delo's lips. "I don't want to, but Becca and Sty—"

"Yeah," sighed Delo, "I know. I'd rather be done for the night, honestly, but we have appearances to keep up, all that."

"Someone else can keep up the appearances," Griff groaned, his grip on Delo tightening. There was no space left between them, but it still felt as though it wasn't enough. "I just want to have you all to myself."

"You'll always have me." Delo's fingers toying with the hair at Griff's nape made it hard to focus on anything else. "Later, though. We have responsibilities."

Griff snickered, nuzzling Delo's nose. "What if we told those responsibilities to stuff it?"

"Of all the people who shouldn't tell responsibilities to stuff it, the High King of Norcia should be first on that list, Griff," said Delo. "But I guess it's up to me to hold you to it."

"Who decided it was a good idea to let us rule an entire island?" Griff asked.

"And entire moot of out-of-touch old men who saw you as the best possible leader for it," Delo replied. "They were right, but I'm just saying I have nothing to do with leading."

"Bullshit," said Griff, laughing. "You do more than I do, I think."

"I just do the paperwork," Delo corrected. "You handle all the frontline diplomatic nonsense I'd rather not think about, on top of being Commander of the Norcian fleet. Your load is as heavy as mine, if not more."

"This is not an argument I'm going to have with you." But Griff still laughed. Their load was more or less equal, but he felt Delo had the more difficult end of it. The headaches he got after barreling through paperwork at Delo's side whenever he had a spare moment were something he would never visit of his own accord. Delo, on the other hand, never seemed that bothered or intimidated by it.

"Come on," Delo said, pulling away, and Griff missed his warmth the moment it was gone. "Let's go back."

Griff groaned, but let Delo pull him from the alcove by the hand. The warmth of the Shrine Hall was inviting, beckoning them in as they drew nearer. Their return was received with an uproar from the enthusiastic, potentially very drunk Norcians, and Griff felt his face heat and a bashful grin creep into place at the clamor. Delo tried to melt away, but Griff refused to let him, tightening his hold on Delo's hand.

If this was how it would be, his kin had no choice but to accept Delo, because Griff wasn't letting him go any time soon. Not again.

When the interest in Griff's reappearance in the hall abated, he dragged Delo toward the dance floor again. Delo barely resisted, his weak protests halfhearted and uttered with a flushed face and a shy smile.

"One night," he murmured to Delo during a lull in the music, his hands settling on Delo's narrow hips. "Let us have this."

"Alright," Delo said, and that was that.

All peace of morning was shattered by the enthusiastic hammering of two tiny sets of hands on heavy wood. Griff groaned and tried to burrow further under the blankets, but his forehead immediately connected with the warm skin of Delo's chest. Delo curled around him, his knees gently meeting Griff's stomach and a softer groan leaving him at the sound of two equally tiny—and whiny—voices demanding to be let in.

"Why do children wake up so early?" he mumbled, his voice raw with sleep.

Griff shrugged, but it was barely more than a twitch of his shoulders. "Fionna told them they'd be getting gifts today."

"Why would she do that?"

"To torture us," he replied, forcing his eyes open with a smirk. The bedclothes were pulled up to Delo's shoulder, shielding Griff's face from the worst of the harsh gray light streaming through the windows. It was no doubt late morning. Delo's lids remained firmly shut as he inhaled deeply, clearly trying to wake himself up. "They also didn't drink last night."

"As if the night stopped there," replied Delo, his lips curling into a smile.

"They don't need to know that part," Griff said with a snicker. Delo could've been referring to the fact that the little ones went to bed much earlier than either of them, but they both knew he wasn't.

"Uncle! Are you in there?" Becca cried through the door, which did a terrible job at muffling her shrill voice.

"Bloody sparkfire, there's an idea," he told Delo, who finally opened his eyes to look down at Griff with amusement. "We can pretend we're not home. Eventually, they'll go away."

"No."

"It was worth a try," he muttered, trying and failing to suppress a smile when Delo took his face in his hands and turned it upward, only to pepper it with kisses. "Are you going to let them in?"

"Me?" Delo asked incredulously, pausing his assault. Meanwhile, the little ones redoubled theirs. "Why me?"

"You're usually the first one they see in the morning," said Griff, grinning. "Wouldn't want to break routine now, would we?"

Delo didn't reply. He inhaled, slowly and deeply, as though bracing himself. Then, he kissed Griff firmly once more and threw the blankets off both of them. Griff whined in protest at the chilly morning air that aggressively replaced the warmth of the blankets. To add insult to injury, Delo rolled away from him, sapping the rest of the heat Griff had available.

"Why would you be so heartless?" he demanded as Delo rounded the bed, looking for his lounge pants. Griff allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view before Delo found them and pulled them on.

"You have about ten seconds to make yourself decent," Delo said warningly as he donned a plain, undyed tunic. How did he manage to make everything he wore look good? "Unless you want Becca and Sty to see you in your full glory."

"You're cruel," Griff complained as he limply rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the wardrobe, nearly tripping over his tunic from where Delo discarded it the night before. Or... however many hours earlier that morning it was that he pulled Griff's clothes off him. "It would be so easy to just pretend we're not here—"

Delo was by the door, watching him struggle to dress with arms folded, curls messy, and an eyebrow raised. On the other side, the little ones had fallen quiet at the sound of their voices. "You're being a bit dramatic."

"I am not," said Griff in protest, pulling his pants up over his hips. He gestured toward the door to tell Delo he could open it.

"No shirt?"

"It's nothing they haven't seen before," Griff replied as he absently searched for a tunic without hurry. "It's not as though I'm naked, Delo... Unless you want me to be?"

"I mean, yeah, but not with the children here," Delo said with a roll of his eyes. He opened the door, and Becca and Astyanax bounded in, all ruddy cheeks and beams that were too bright for how early it was.

"Good morning, Uncles!" Becca said loudly as she entered and immediately went to Delo to hug him. Then she went to Griff and embraced him as well. He lifted her off her feet and she squeaked and writhed as he pinched at her sides.

"About time," said Astyanax. "Were you sleeping in?"

"Trying to," Griff answered as he set Becca down. She hurried over to the bed and hopped onto it, slippered toes barely skimming the floor as she swung them back and forth. "It's a bit hard when you two decide to behave like a battering ram at our door, little lordling."

"It's Midwinter," he said, as if that explained everything. "Fionna said you had gifts for us."

"And you believed her?" Griff grinned at the way Astyanax's face fell, but Delo scowled.

"Don't listen to him," he said, glaring at Griff. "He thinks he's funny."

"I am funny."

"Truly the jester to your own court," replied Delo drily.

"I really could be, if I wanted to," Griff solemnly agreed. He finally found a tunic, a soft one in woad-blue, and pulled it on.

"Where are our gifts, then?" Astyanax asked, clearly having no concern for courts or jesters. His tone was somewhere between eager and shy, and Griff felt his stone cold heart melting with fondness for the boy.

"We have to get them, little lordling," he answered. "Sit with Becca, and we'll get them for you."

Sty did as he was told and joined Becca on the edge of the bed. Griff glanced at Delo, uncertain. In the past, he and Agga only gave the little ones extra biscuits on Midwinter, but never breathed a word about it to them for fear of it reaching unwanted ears. The dragonborn, as far as he knew, believed gift giving to be beneath them. Really, he had no proper idea for how to go about this.

Delo looked back at him, a single eyebrow raised, which made Griff resist the urge to roll his eyes. He swore by the shrines that Delo did it on purpose since he knew Griff was unable to.

He went to the wardrobe, where his gifts for the little ones and Delo were hidden. At the sight of the brown paper and fraying twine that shielded Delo's from view, he hesitated, wondering if he should give it to him now, or wait until after the feast. Part of him suspected it was something Delo would want to carefully inspect, so he decided it would be best to wait.

Satisfied with his decision, Griff grabbed the small objects for Becca and Sty, then closed the wardrobe and turned back to them, tucking the items behind his back as he did. Delo glanced what he held and a moment of silent understanding passed between them. Was Griff imagining things or did Delo look relieved?

"Alright, now close your eyes," he instructed, drawing himself up and putting on his best Norish brogue. When their eyes were closed, he grinned and set their gifts in their laps. Becca's tiny hands folded over hers and she felt the metal with her fingers with her brows knit together and her mouth puckered into a frown, as if trying to identify it by touch alone. "You can look, now."

"Oh!" said Becca, sounding delighted as she held the small, copper-colored figurine of an aurelian up to the light. "Uncle! Is this Aela?"

"Aye, that it is," said Griff grinning. "And the little lordling has—"

"Sparker!" Astyanax's mouth was agape as he stared at the tiny, metal stormscourge in awe. "Right? This is Sparker?"

"It is," Griff confirmed again as Delo joined his side. He held two wrapped parcels in his hand, both rectangular and a bit flat. "Be careful with them, though, yeah?"

"Clever," Delo murmured. "The smithy did that?"

"Yeah, the one who made your circlet and the crown of the five clan stars," said Griff, face warm. "She had a few figurines of animals that she made with scrap metal for fun, so I asked her to make these two special."

Delo hummed softly and then handed his parcels to Sty and Becca, who accepted them eagerly. Sty immediately set his Sparker figurine aside and tore into his gift, but Becca kept her Aela in her lap and slowly pulled the twine free and unfolded the paper with an abundance of care. Griff's eyebrows raised at the small, leather-bound book in her lap. He'd known Delo was working on something with leather, but didn't know what, exactly.

"It's for your drawings," explained Delo, nodding toward it as Astyanax ripped apart the last of the paper wrapping his gift and tossed it aside. Griff's eyebrows raised at the sight of ha'Aurelian blood red fabric, and Delo avoided his eye.

"A book for my drawings?" Becca sounded awestruck as she gingerly touched her fingers to the cover, where Griff could see her name carved into it in Delo's elegant script. "You made this?"

"Yes," Delo confirmed with a small smile.

Before Becca could reply, Astyanax shook out the red fabric and held it out to see what it was. He wore a large grin as he said, "It's my father's rose!" Then he paused, inspecting it carefully. "Where are the stars?"

Griff turned to Delo, who shifted anxiously. "The original sigil doesn't have stars, Sty. That was added... later."

Later meant after the ha'Aurelians subjugated Norcia.

"Oh, okay," said Sty, unbothered. Griff couldn't be upset that Delo commissioned Sty a banner for his House. He had nothing left of that life, and this was just a kindness perfectly aligned with Delo's thoughtfulness and generosity.

Becca got off the bed and hugged Griff tightly, then moved to Delo, one hand carefully holding her little Aela and the other one holding her drawing book.

"I can't wait to show Antigone!" she said eagerly. "Is she still here?"

"No, love," said Griff. Becca's expression fell. "She went with Lee to Farhall for Midwinter. But she'll be back soon, I promise."

"Okay," Becca said softly.

"Why don't you two go get dressed?" Delo suggested. "Then we'll go have breakfast and maybe take the dragons out if it's not snowing."

This brightened Becca's demeanor, and she and Sty raced from the room, giggling and chatting about their new belongings. When the door was shut behind them, Delo exhaled and turned to Griff.

"That went... surprisingly well," he said.

"Yeah, it did," Griff agreed. Then he eyed Delo. "That thing with the banner was sneaky."

"Would you have tried to stop me if I told you?"

"Not at all," he replied. "I'm just surprised the looms agreed to it."

"Fionna helped," explained Delo.

"Ah." He grinned. "When do you want yours?"

At this, Delo looked a little panicked. "I don't know. I sort of... fumbled with yours. I mean, I got you something, but it's very small and you—you might hate it, honestly. And it feels very silly compared to the circlet and now knowing you have something else for me. I just... I don't want you to think I don't care," he finished lamely.

Griff listened to him ramble, perplexed.

"Delo, you could give me nothing at all and I'd be happy with that," he said gently, taking Delo's hands in his. "You gave me Sparker, remember? I think I've got at least fifty years' worth of Midwinters to make up for that."

He put Delo's palm flat over his chest, where the key Phemi recovered from the Glass Hall after the Liberation was hidden beneath his tunic. The key he now wore as a reminder of everything that had happened since the air strikes when Delo rescued the little ones from Ixion's ploy and gave Griff the key to begin with. The key he kept as an embodiment of his love for Delo.

"So, what you're saying is I have fifty years to figure out a proper gift for you?" Delo asked with a hint of a grin.

"Give or take," said Griff. "I hope that's enough time."

Delo rolled his eyes with an exasperated laugh and closed the distance between them.

Unfortunately, the snow continued to fall heavily throughout the day, making flight impossible. Griff honestly didn't mind, and he doubted Delo did, either. Delo wasn't fond of the cold and preferred to avoid flying in it when he could. And the dragons were better off staying grounded in those kinds of frigid temperatures, anyway.

Still, they took a trip down to the sweltering lairs with the little ones to make up for it. Becca and Sty led the way, their shrill voices echoing throughout the stone walls as they went. Griff trailed behind them with Delo in comfortable silence, perfectly content to let it be filled by Sty and Becca's excitement. His little finger was hooked by Delo's, and neither of them felt pressed to initiate more contact than that. Simple as it was, it made Griff feel giddy and stupid.

"Can I pet Sparker, Uncle?" Becca asked as they entered the lairs.

"I think he would like that," said Griff. "Just remember to be patient and let him come to you."

"I know," she said happily.

"Rhode never let me pet Ryla," Sty said glumly. "He said she would bite my hand off. Roxana said that about Rora, too."

"Aye, and they might've," Griff agreed. "But Sparker and Gephyra won't. I promise you that, little lordling."

But Astyanax's face was scrunched up, as though he was trying not to cry. Griff faltered and glanced at Delo, who wore an uneasy expression. They seldom spoke of Sty's family for exactly this reason. Most of the time, it seemed as though he forgot about them, but every so often he would stumble on their memory and the abruptness of it surprised him into grief. Usually, Delo handled it, as Griff struggled with comforting Sty over the deaths of a family that made his life hell. He did try, for the sake of the little lordling, but it never connected the way he hoped it would.

And this was Astyanax's first Midwinter without them.

"I miss them, though," he said, his lower lip quivering.

Becca took his hand and guided him forward. "It's alright, Sty. I miss my Mumma, Granda, and Garet a lot, but Griff and Delo make it better."

Griff felt his throat close at the declaration. Delo glanced away, his little finger curling a bit tighter around Griff's.

"Mother used to read me the Aurelian Cycle on Midwinter." Sty gnawed on his lower lip before glancing at Delo. "Maybe we can do that, too."

"Of course," said Delo gently. "Whatever you want, Sty."

They now stood before Sparker and Gephyra's stalls, and the two dragons rustled eagerly at their presence. Becca pulled Sty toward Sparker's first, and Griff checked their connection to ensure his beloved stormscourge was willing for the tiny visitors. He was, and as usual, he perked at the sight of them and lowered his snout to Becca's outstretched hand where she stood at the opening. His nostrils flaring, he touched the tip of his nose to Becca's palm and she giggled.

"He's so warm," she said. "Like a candle."

"That would be the fire," Sty explained to her. He likewise reached his small hand out, and Sparker, gentle giant that he was, nudged it curiously with soft and rounded eyes.

Griff kept his gaze on them as he said to Delo in an undertone, "Is that a normal tradition? Reading from the Cycle on Midwinter?"

"Yeah," Delo replied in kind. "Not just Midwinter, but all the time. Certain stories were usually reserved for Midwinter, and I'll find those ones for him. Father never bothered with it, but Mother used to before she died. I actually—Xanthe used to read it to us, too. The twins and I, after we got here. Ixion and—Julia, also." He shrugged absently. "I spent my first few Midwinters here with them, but started looking after Father in his Midwinter sorrow spells when I was twelve."

Griff didn't say anything. Xanthe ha'Aurelian, wife of the Greatlord Rhadamanthus, was never cruel toward him, but she was never kind, either. Her willful ignorance to the abuse the squires suffered at the whim of her husband and elder children was enough for Griff to feel no remorse for her death, though. But it made sense for Delo to feel differently toward her, and Griff couldn't fault him for that.

"If this is what Sty wants, I'll do it for him," Delo continued, his voice strangely distant. "But I can take him to the study or somewhere else private. I don't want to impose dragonborn traditions on your Midwinter."

There was a note of sincerity in his voice that made Griff's heart squeeze, but also something else. It sounded like longing, as though he realized just now that there was something he could do to hold onto his own heritage and share it with someone who could relate. Astyanax was the only other proper dragonlord who remained in Norcia, and Griff was aware that Delo had taken it upon himself to make sure Sty was receiving a proper, private education on dragonborn history and the Aurelian Cycle, while also maintaining a firm commitment to ensuring he understood the flaws of the Triarchy and why that regime had to fall.

Becca giggled as Sparker's forked tongue protruded from his mouth and flicked against her palm. The sound of her laughter pulled Griff back to the present and he reached out and touched his fingers to Delo's chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"I think it's a great idea," he murmured. "And I think Becca would like to hear those stories, as well. And me. I don't know much about the Cycle other than what you've told me. Whatever you want, my love."

The smile Delo gave him made his heart swell.

The last thing that needed to be done before their decidedly small feast that evening was the solstice pilgrimage to the Nag's shrines.

Thanks to the Midwinter Attack, Griff missed it last year. Agga still made the trek with her little ones, though her coughs from the journey filled their little hut for several days after. It was a sound Griff missed more than he ever thought possible, for as much as he loathed to hear it. Because at least when she coughed, she was alive.

And now, even Delo braved the cold with his fur-trimmed cloak pulled tightly around him as he joined Griff, Sty, Becca, and several other members of Clan Nag on their journey up their clan-karst's mane toward her crown of standing stones. He heard from Fionna that his father made the pilgrimage at dawn, with the first silver light of the rising sun.

Now, it was nearing dusk and the sinking sun cast Sailor's Folly in golden luminescence while the wind blew gray flurries of snow in spirals and stole their breath in wisps of steam. The stones were silhouetted against the glow of the sun setting behind the shrouds of mist, casting long shadows down the Nag's crest, and Griff wondered if the shrines had been saving their full glory for this moment, because he couldn't remember them looking so beautiful.

Delo's fingers slipped between his own just as they reached the Nag's peak, and Griff rested his free hand on the back of Becca's head when she stepped closer to him in the presence of the standing stones. Astyanax wandered ahead, awed by the shrines he was never allowed to view in close proximity before. The only ones he'd seen prior to this moment were the ones in Folly Shrine, the ones that had been desecrated with rose trellises and dragon gargoyles by Sty's predecessors but were restored after the Liberation.

It was quiet, as though the rest of the world opted for a moment of silence in respect to the shrines.

The wind blew Griff's hood back from his head and he did nothing to retrieve it, stricken as he was by the sight before him. He'd made this pilgrimage every year of his life save for the last one, but this was the first time he was able to do it as a free man with no lords.

Astyanax insisted on carrying the herbs for the Offering, another Norcian tradition that was banned. Griff wasn't entirely certain he was doing it right, but according to the clan elders at the Nag's foot, he need only toss the dried herbs of choice into the fire burning in the center of the stones. Delo and Griff each chose two; hawthorn for protection and prosperity for Norcia and meadowsweet to pay respects to those he lost as Griff's Offering, and Delo carefully decided on gorse and honeysuckle, though he didn't explain his reasoning to Griff, and Griff didn't ask. He seemed flustered and embarrassed though, especially when the elder murmured something to Delo in Norish that Griff failed to catch.

The little ones were too young to understand the Offering, though the elders did give them some dried nettle to throw into the fire in spirit of the thing. They were pleased enough with this.

"What do we do, again?" Astyanax asked in a whisper.

"Make your Offering." Griff sounded more sure than he felt. He watched as a woman in her middling years whose name he didn't know stepped up to the fire and dropped her herbs in. The fire devoured them without thanks, and she dropped to her knees and steepled the clan-sign in the air with her fingers, eyes closed. Another woman only tossed her herbs into the flames and watched sorrowfully as they burned, no clan-sign traced into the air and no prayer.

He stepped up to the small fire, his hand still clinging tightly to Delo's. Astyanax presented them with their herbs, which they accepted. Delo had an unusually blank expression as he watched Griff intently, the firelight reflected in his eyes. Wordlessly, he raised the fistful of dried plants over the flames and dropped them.

For a moment, Griff was reminded of Julia's funeral and when he performed the Offering of the Servant. But this time, instead of his own blood as a symbol of servitude to someone who took more than he had to give, he was Offering something sacred to his shrines that stood in resilience and observed his triumphs and his losses, his sorrows and his joys, his love and his hate. They were a consistent presence, even if sometimes too silent, too distant, and too austere.

Somehow, it still felt as though it meant more.

He lowered his hand, slowly, and Delo lifted his to drop the herbs he held. His eyes were mysteriously bright as he watched them curl into ash beneath the heat and hunger of the flame. The fire popped loudly and belched crackling embers into the air. The wind swept them up quickly, in the direction of the citadel, and Griff watched the first bout disappear over the standing stones, wondering what it meant. Delo shifted uneasily, his gaze on the spitting sparks.

Griff turned to him and reached a trembling hand out and laid his steepled fingers on Delo's brow. He drew a shaky breath—wondering if this was blasphemous—and traced the clan-sign of the Nag down his face with slow movements, watching as Delo's lids fell shut at the touch.

At once, the violent spew of embers died down and the crackling subsided.

Delo opened his eyes to meet Griff's and a wild understanding passed between them, similar to the night he'd given Griff Sparker's key. Griff's breath caught as he once again felt as though Delo was truly seeing him.

"Is it our turn, Uncle?" Becca asked, hushed, as if she understood the significance of this moment. Griff tore his focus away from Delo and looked down at her with a small smile.

"Aye, love," he softly replied. "Mind the embers."

The bracken had been cleared away from the stones and the fire, rendering it safe from the risk of sparks, but Griff still felt a twinge of confusion at its response to Delo's Offering and Griff's instinctive gesture. It didn't feel like an omen or anything of that sort, though. And it could've been coincidence, for all any of them knew. But what happened after...

Becca and Sty decided to drop their nettle in together, and the flames accepted the herbs gratefully. Unlike with Delo, nothing happened. The little ones stepped back to let someone else take their place, and Becca clung to Griff's cloak with her face tucked into his side. He turned away from the fire and the standing stones' watchful gaze, then exited the shrine's ring.

Evening was rapidly approaching, and their journey back down the Nag's mane somehow felt more subdued than the trek up. But even so, Griff felt a lightness in his heart in the absence of a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying.

After some discussion with Delo, Griff decided they would have their feast in a small parlor on the second floor of the Provisional Palace, rather than the large citadel-wide feast that happened under the Triarchy-in-Exile. This way, it could be prepared and served ahead of time, and those who worked as palace staff could go spend the feasting day with their families, rather than serving at table or cleaning up someone else's mess. Griff was perfectly capable of doing that himself.

Most of the apartments within the palace had their own kitchens, though much smaller than the one used for feasts to accommodate the whole island. The chambers Griff and Delo shared were one of the few spaces that lacked this, and so they had to rely on the kitchen staff to assist them until sundown, when they were sent home for the evening to celebrate the holiday.

It was at Delo's insistence that their feast be for five, rather than four, and Griff hesitantly extended an invitation to his father.

"It will be fine," Delo insisted as he smoothed out the shoulders of Griff's tunic, one that was deliberately less flashy than the one he wore to the party the night before. "I'm sure he's thrilled about this."

It was the first real thing either of them had said since their pilgrimage to the Nag's shrines, and Griff was grateful for the silence broken. It wasn't tense or uncomfortable, but there was certainly relief in feeling as though he could speak again.

"He probably is," he said with a sigh, straightening his sleeve. "But the problem is, I'm not. I want to be, but it's difficult."

And he meant it. The conflicted feelings about Gares' survival plagued him frequently. He was obviously relieved and happy that his father had been alive this whole time, but he was also frustrated and felt betrayed that Gares didn't come back sooner. How could he not wonder what might've been different if he had?

"That's understandable," said Delo. "We can call it off, if you want. I'll tell him myself, since I'm the one who suggested it."

Griff shook his head. "It's fine. Part of me wants him there. It's the other, more resentful part that disagrees."

"Well, tell that resentful part to shut it for the night," Delo teased. "Or at least for a few hours until dinner is over. Then, it can go back to being as loud as it wants."

An uneasy smile found its way to Griff's face. "You're a saint."

Delo let out a surprised laugh and together, they left their chambers to fetch the little ones before heading to the parlor. Gares was already there, waiting for them. Becca hurried ahead to greet him, and he accepted her with a large hug that swept her off her feet.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Granda!" she exclaimed.

"Aye, it was a bit of a secret," he said. He winked at her. "I couldn't say no when asked, though."

"Good," she said as he set her down.

"Will you tell us more stories about the dragons you saw north?" Sty asked.

"If you like," said Gares. Then, he glanced between Griff and Delo. "Thank you both for inviting me. I haven't celebrated Midwinter in... a while." He paused before turning to Griff with a nervous expression. "Son, can I speak with you privately?"

Son.

Griff nodded apprehensively, and Delo escorted the little ones into the parlor and closed the door behind them, but not before casting a worried look at Griff, who pretended to not see it. Gares rested a hand on Griff's shoulder and steered him away from the door, out of earshot.

"I saw you two at the feast last night," said Gares. "You looked happy."

"I was." Griff paused and corrected himself. "I am."

"I'm glad to hear it," Gares replied, and he sounded sincere. "I had some concerns due to talk around the island but I don't think there's merit to any of it."

"There isn't," said Griff, resigned. They'd had this conversation before. "Delo isn't like the rest of them."

"I'm not saying he is," Gares said. He dropped his hand and offered a grin that reminded Griff of Agga for one painful moment. "I saw him with Becca, too. She seems to like him."

"More than you know," Griff responded with a snicker. "I think she's a bit sweet on him, honestly. Can't blame her, either."

Gares didn't comment on that. Instead, he said, "I wanted to give you something. I've been waiting for the perfect moment, and now is it, I think. A gift for Midwinter."

Griff stared at him, confused. A gift?

Gares reached into his pocket and pulled out an object small enough to fit in his palm, hidden beneath his curled fingers. With the other, he reached out and grabbed Griff's hand and pressed the object into it before closing his fingers over something unmistakably made of stone, his eyes glassy and bright. Griff opened his hand and stared down at a small carving of the Nag made from a kind of stone he'd recognize anywhere. The craft was rough, but years of touch had worn the edges down to be smooth. His throat tightened.

"It was your mam's," said Gares quietly. "Made from a piece that broke off one of the standing stones on the Nag's crown. I kept it with me to guide my way and to remind me where home is and always will be. I figured my time with it is done, and with everything you've accomplished and everything the shrines have laid out for you, it's time for you to have it."

After his trek up to the standing stones and the odd show with the sparks and the undeniable compulsion to trace the clan-sign of the Nag on Delo's face with his fingers, Griff was overcome with several emotions at once. None of them presented themselves to him clearly, so he stood there, frozen, with his eyes glued to the carving.

This had belonged to his mother.

"I—thank you," Griff choked out, too stricken to care about how he sounded. Before he knew what he was doing, and before he could stop himself, he was pulling Gares into a tight, rough embrace; the first they'd had since the moment Gares reappeared in the harbor the day of Griff's coronation. And he wept, unashamed.

"It's alright, son," Gares said gently. "It's time you take it and let her guide your way."

Griff didn't know if her was referring to his mother or the Nag, neither did he care. He pulled away from his father and wiped his face, hand still tightly clutching the tiny Nag.

"We should—" He broke off lamely, gesturing toward the closed parlor doors.

"Oh, yeah," Gares said, sounding thick in the throat himself. "Yeah, we should."

And so they did.

Becca and Astyanax snuggled close together in Becca's bed, and Griff sat at the end of it as they waited for Delo to return. Their little dragons were on the bedside table, side by side, and Griff helped Sty put his banner up over his bed. Becca's art book was tucked under her pillow, in case she got inspiration in the middle of the night, as she told him.

"I missed Mumma at the Nag," said Becca in a small voice.

"I did, too," Griff replied, placing his hand on her blanketed leg. "But the Nag has her now, love. She was there with us. Same with Granda and Garet."

Becca nodded, satisfied by his response as if the presence of their family was something she'd noticed, as well. His eyes stung and he blinked rapidly as he looked away.

"Does the Nag have Mother and Father, too?" Sty asked.

Griff hesitated. Where was Delo to answer this for him? "No, darling. The Nag doesn't have them. They ventured on to the next life."

"Did she not want them?"

Griff blinked, not sure how to respond. How did one explain to an eight-year-old the difference between pantheons and that his family mocked Griff's people for worshipping their shrines?

Fortunately, he was spared from answering by the door opening quietly and Delo slipping in with an old, worn tome tucked under his arm. He'd shown Griff his copy of the Aurelian Cycle many times, but it was the first time Griff stopped to wonder if the copy he had was the same one that belonged to his mother. He could've gotten it when he returned to the Skyfish Summer Palace.

"Are you going to read to us, Uncle?" Becca prompted.

"Yes," said Delo, face flushing at the address, but he adopted a tiny smile. He sat on the floor with his back against Griff's legs, and Griff instinctively raked his fingers through Delo's hair fondly. Becca and Astyanax settled in to the bed, pulling the blankets up to their chins as they watched Delo with anticipation. He exhaled shakily, as though nervous, and opened the book to the pages he marked with a ribbon. And then he read aloud:

There, he flew over Aureos
On this night, Midwinter's Eve,
And bore witness to the scars that flames of dragons wrought;
Gray ashes of history there remain.
But from the ruins of his people's hope
Came a lonely sound—
A haunting melody of a single violin.
At an unspoken order, his dragon beneath him hovered in the air
And together, they listened to this mournful song.

Delo continued, his soft voice gaining confidence with each stanza. Griff and the little ones listened attentively as he read a tale of Uriel sur Aron's single return to Aureos after the defeat of the Aurelians, and the song coming from the ruins of the island that shouldn't have been possible. It was a melancholy tale, potentially shrouded in fiction and myth, but ended on a hopeful note of Uriel's desire for restoration.

By the time the poem ended, the little ones were sound asleep with Becca resting her head on Sty's shoulder. Delo twisted his head to look at Griff with a bashful smile as he returned the ribbon to its place between the pages and closed the book. Griff shrugged, and Delo got to his feet, allowing Griff to stand as well.

Delo blew out the candles that illuminated the room and together, they returned to their chambers. Delo set the Aurelian Cycle on the desk and turned to Griff, who shifted weight eagerly when he realized he could finally give Delo the gift he'd been working on with Crissa, Duck, and Lena for months.

"Sit," he told Delo, pointing at the desk chair. Delo raised an eyebrow, but did what he was told. Griff went to the wardrobe to retrieve it, now aware of how lackluster it seemed compared to the regal cover of the Aurelian Cycle. Crissa carefully wrapped it with brown paper and tied it with twine, similarly to how Delo wrapped his gifts for the children.

Suddenly feeling flustered, Griff handed it to Delo, who accepted it with a grin. "A book?"

"Open it."

Delo untied the twine before gingerly unwrapping the gift, his face openly curious as he set the paper aside. It wasn't very thick, not like the majority of Delo's collection, and was made from an empty journal. The leather cover betrayed nothing of its contents, because Griff honestly wasn't sure what to put there. Delo's fine brows knit together when he noticed this and he opened the cover to see the simple note Griff left for him in his own laughably juvenile handwriting after it was finished. Delo covered his mouth to stifle his snort of laughter.

For Delo, my darling and my damsel.

"Charming," he said. Then, he turned the page to see the first thing recorded by Crissa, who had arguably the best and most steady hand between herself, Griff, Duck, and Lena, who was still learning at a rate slower than Griff. His breath caught as he read the story that Becca herself first shared with him, Nag and the Great Dragon. "Griff, is this—?"

Griff nodded, feeling much more emotional than he thought he'd be. "Lena and I shared the stories with Crissa, and she wrote them down for us. Duck did the drawings."

He pointed to the corner of the page Delo was entranced by, where a small illustration of the Nag facing off with a large dragon similar to Queen Freyda's goliathan had been penned by Duck's artistic hand.

"This means..." Delo trailed off as he turned the page to the next story, one about Turret, Knoll, and Nag pranking Kraken. It was one of Garet's favorites, and Lena had to take over the recitation of it for Crissa to record. "Griff, this is the first ever transcription of Norcian oral tradition."

"Aye," he said, heat flushing in his cheeks. "I thought you might enjoy it."

"Enjoy it?" echoed Delo, sounding bewildered as he flipped through the pages with caution. "Griff, I don't have—the words. I—this is incredible."

At that, Griff grinned smugly. "Well, that's certainly an overreaction."

"Not at all." Delo looked up at him, his dark eyes wide and sincere. "You just made history with this. Are you sure you're not wasting it on me?"

"Delo, it can't exactly be wasted on you if it was made for you." Griff knelt before him, and Delo immediately closed the distance, kissing him tenderly. Griff eagerly responded to it, leaning closer. But then, Delo pressed something into Griff's hand, a small, rough bundle of fabric. Surprised, he ended the kiss and looked down to see what Delo gave him.

His throat closed and the world blurred.

"I hope it's not—that it doesn't ruin today," Delo mumbled, voice soft and trembling. "I couldn't come up with anything else and wanted it to mean something. And this was..."

He shrugged, but Griff could only stare down at Agga's widow scarf in shock. For the second time that night, he was gifted something of unfathomable meaning and he wiped his face with the heel of his palm. He could feel Delo's eyes on him, and he lifted his gaze to meet them.

"How did you...?"

"I buried her, remember?" explained Delo, his voice just above a whisper. "She—she wasn't wearing it. I guessed it was still in the house, and I was right. No one's been there since I left with Sty and Electra."

Griff nodded, a hint of guilt forming in his stomach. He hadn't been back, but maybe he should.

This time, he was the one who kissed Delo, hoping that through it, he could properly convey all the things he was feeling in that moment—his gratitude, his grief, and his love. When they parted, Delo rested his forehead against Griff's and brushed away the tears that still fell with his thumb.

"I haven't even shown you what Gares gave me," said Griff with a small laugh. He reluctantly pulled away to reach into his pocket, then pulled out the carving of the Nag and handed it to Delo. "It was my mam's."

Delo glanced up at him incredulously as he turned the carving over in his fingers. "This is beautiful, Griff."

"Yeah, and you two really did the most to turn me into an emotional mess this Midwinter," he said. "Kind of unfair, and now I feel like I need to try harder next year."

"Try harder than this?" Delo gestured to the book still open in his lap. "I'd love to see that."

Griff grinned and kissed him again. He wasn't expecting Midwinter to go this way, and definitely didn't anticipate being brought to the point of weeping more than once—or at all—but he had no complaints, especially when Delo drew him in once again. The book of Norcian tales, the carving, and the scarf ended up set aside on the desk as all space between them disappeared.

When he declared all those months ago that he wanted to reinstate the Norcian tradition of exchanging gifts for Midwinter, it was more for the sake of fortifying the clan relations and bringing his people closer together, and not at all a decision he made with himself in mind. He'd gone his whole life without gifts and didn't need to start now, though he appreciated what he was given.

And as Delo took his hand and led him toward their bed with a smile like the sun, Griff decided that he had everything he could ever need.