A Tale as Old as Time

XI

As winter settled across the countryside, it became more and more unbearable to be stuck outside with the howling wind which shook the windows and the downfall of snow which made it impossible to see the forest just beyond the steel gates. It was truly frigid outside; the trees’ leaves were long since blown away by late autumnal winds and had been replaced with long icicles.

Despite the gloomy aura outside, things could not have been any more different inside the castle itself. For the first time in many years, music was being played proudly so that it could be heard from every wing of the castle and most of the inhabitants were singing from wherever they were.

The master and the artist were certainly no exception to the festivities. They were in the ballroom, sitting in front of a cheery fire as the storm blew around them in every direction imaginable. Earlier, Arthur heard been trying to teach Francis some English songs to sing along to, but now the serpent watched the snow outside, his tongue flickering as he remained deep in thought.

“Waiting for Père Noël?” Francis teased as he came to stand beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. “No, but this is the first year in many that I believe he could come,” he replied as he moved away from the window. “No, I was just thinking about checking up on Miss Héderváry. I fear she's in over her head with all the cooking she's been doing.”

The Frenchman smiled and wrapped his arm around the serpent's waist and together, the two watched the storm from the warmth and safety of the ballroom. “Erzébet is just fine on her own. Even if she wasn't, you know she wouldn't want you interfering. She seems to think you have the capability of blowing up the whole kitchen,” he told him with a smile.

Letting out a short huff, Arthur slithered out of Francis’ grip and went to the blanket laid out for them by the fire to warm up. “Would you go then? I'm afraid we'll be eating at midnight if it takes her any longer,” he grumbled. The Frenchman rolled his eyes, but he readily obliged and added another log to the fire before heading out of the room.

On the way to the kitchen, he passed Alfred, who was grinning as he hummed a tune. Francis accidentally crashed into him, but it had little effect on the knight; not even the wine he was carrying spilled.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going? The dinner's almost ready, so get back in there,” he said. Francis pulled away and rubbed his chest as he went back to the ballroom. Though it wasn't a hard impact, running into a stone statue coming from another direction was not a comfortable feeling.

Arthur straightened up at the sight of the two of them, his arms crossed. Francis couldn't help but smile; the master was dressed up for the first time since he'd arrived at the castle. He was wearing the tattered remains of his black cloak, but under that he wore a nice white shirt with a dark red ribbon. Feliks and Antonio insisted on making sure Francis looked just as nice before he came out for their small feast.

The knight smiled at them both and pointed at the blankets. “Go on, sit down. I've got the spiced wine all ready to go,” he told them, and the two both sat, Arthur slipping off his cloak and setting it to the side before curling up.

“Spiced wine?” The serpent asked curiously, watching Alfred pour two glasses for each of them before retreating out of the room.

Francis recognised the smell immediately, bringing a large grin to his face. “It's vin chaud,” he hummed, suddenly getting lost in another time. “My parents used to let me try it down in the village as a little boy.”

The vin chaud smelled just as he remembered; it still smelled like a fine wine, of course, but the spices added to the simmering beverage made it become the very flavour of Christmas itself. It reminded him of yule logs burning in the fireplace while the spices made him think of the candles lit at the church with all of their little flames resembling the bright stars in the wintry sky above.