“So,” Priscylla trails off, wiping the last of the chalk residue off her hands. “I feel like I owe you another round of thanks.”
Warwick looks up from the floor, back hunched over his dustpan and broom. “Why? We made a deal and kept it. If anything, I ought to–” He pauses as he realizes Priscylla’s started snickering at him. “What?”
“For a traveling hero, you’re really bad at accepting thanks,” Priscylla laughs. Fiends, but it’s so easy to laugh all of a sudden. It worked! Everything worked! She’s a genius! And she didn’t just force her way through it, she handled Jasper better than even Wick could! She’s found herself laughing at nothing all day, and poking fun at Wick is more rewarding than ever. “Or do you give the same ‘oh, it really was no trouble’ routine to the dukes and barons you bump shoulders with?”
“I’m going to ignore the part where you just implied dukes and barons were interchangeable,” Wick fake-huffs, blushing a bit, “and simply say yes, of course, it’s the polite thing to do. Don’t think I don’t notice how much you hate the idea of people owing you anything, either.”
Priscylla’s laugh dies in her throat. “Alright, fair play. Ouch. But at least now everything’s done, and we’re both square, yes?” She can’t stop herself from sounding a bit wistful as she asks.
“Seems so,” Warwick replies, equally reservedly, as he sets down the cleaning supplies. “I suppose I’ll just… stay for dinner, and then be on my way? Unless there’s anything else you had in mind.”
“No, no, no need. We already exchanged gifts, after all,” Priscylla quickly says, waving him off. “It’s not as though we have anything else to do or cover… unless you do, but I’m satisfied for now.”
Warwick pauses for a moment, studying Priscylla’s face. After a second, he slowly opens his mouth. “And if I did. Have something else I wanted to give you, that is. Would that be alright?”
At once, a final weight lifts off Priscylla’s shoulders, and she can’t contain her smile. “You got me a different Solstice gift, too?”
“Sorry, I–”
“Absolutely no apologies, Wick,” Priscylla says quickly, burying her hands in her face and laughing. “I did the exact same thing. The exact– thank you for saying something!”
Wick breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, it’s… it’s my pleasure. Here, can I give it to you now?” Without waiting for an answer, he cracks open his beloved backpack, rooting around in there once again. “Here we are! I didn’t wrap it, but what can you do?”
“Trust me, I didn’t wrap mine, either,” Priscylla chuckles to herself. “What is it?”
“The better question is, what are they?” Spinning on his heel with trained precision, Wick leans around a stack of five books. “I hope you’ll be able to find room on your shelves, but don’t worry, they’re all new- I checked.”
Priscylla cautiously takes the top book off his stack and smiles to herself. A cheesy romance novel by one of her favorite authors– and just as Wick said, one she’s never had a chance to read. “Don’t tell me that you picked these up when I had you on bed rest, now.”
“Please,” Wick scoffs, notching his chin over the books he carries. “I checked what you were missing right when I arrived, and bought these when we were in town after the song and dance with the apothecary.”
“Hm,” Priscylla hums warmly to herself as she pulls the book close against her chest. “I didn’t realize you were so stealthy.” She reaches out with a hand and tousles Wick’s hair. “Thank you. I really do appreciate the gesture.”
“I’m so glad,” Wick beams. “So! What about my present? Is it here, or did you hide it upstairs?” As though a switch was flipped, he’s gone from loving to excitable in the blink of an eye.
“Neither,” Priscylla replies, privately smiling at his enthusiasm, “But we’ll have to go upstairs to get there. Let’s leave these books on the table as we go, I’ll put them on the shelf later.”
“As you wish,” Wick replies with a gentle salute, and they’re off.
Four minutes later, they’re trudging back through the same snowfield for the second or third time in two days. Even shivering from the cold, Wick bounces excitedly from side to side as he walks, and his excitement is infectious.
“How much further?” He asks, looking back for a moment at the house in the distance behind them.
“Not long,” Priscylla replies, “Not long in the least.” She’s quiet for a few moments, drinking in the early sunset painting the sky overhead. After a few seconds of fixing her focus on the sky, snow begins to fall once again, dusting them gently to set the mood. “Really, here’s as good as anywhere.”
“As good as anywhere? Odd way to put it.” Wick cocks his head, putting his gloved fingers to his cheek in a way Priscylla can’t help but smile at. “Is it buried in the snow or something?”
“Not exactly.” Never one to turn down a chance to show off, Priscylla lifts her fingers to her lips and whistles, taking one or two tries before a clear, high note resounds across the snowfield and through the woods.
In an instant, the ground rumbles as something massive approaches. From the woods bounds a massive beast, its coat glittering white. It’s only when it closes in that the naked eye can see the truth– its body is made of shimmering ice, refracting light in every direction. The conjured caribou trods up to the duo, shaking out its head before nuzzling up against Priscylla.
She laughs, petting it on the nose. “Good to see you too.” Still leaning against its flank, she turns back to Wick, savoring the starstruck look on his face. “I told you I was doing some experiments with animals, didn’t I? I thought it was a shame that you were a hero without a steed, so here we are.”
“It’s… beautiful.” Wick steps closer, reaching out a hand. “Are you sure about giving me it as a gift?”
“Gift? I’m offering you each other as partners,” Priscylla scoffs. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t know you’d take good care of her.”
“Her.” Warwick gently strokes the sculpted reindeer on the nose. “But she has horns, though?”
“All caribou have horns, even the females,” Priscylla says, a wry grin creeping across her face unbidden. “You’re reading into it too much.”
“Huh. I learned something new today! Lucky me,” Warwick chuckles, petting his new mount much more deeply. “Does she have a name?”
“Not yet, no.” Priscylla joins in, petting her magnum opus from the other side. “There’s plenty of options, though. Rohit, after the mortal guise of a goddess, Actaeon, the cursed hunter, Anhangá the shapeshifter…”
“Carrie.”
Priscylla blinks. “What?”
Warwick grins, leaning against the caribou’s head. “I’m going to name her Carrie.”
“Of course.” Priscylla steeples her fingers against her temples, taking a deep breath. Overhead, the snowfall slows to a crawl, fat snowflakes landing and resting in her hair. “Shouldn’t have expected anything else, really. And why are you going to name her Carrie?”
“Well, first of all, she’s a Carrie-bou.” Warwick takes great pleasure in counting off on his fingers. “Second, she’s going to be Carrie-ing me.” With each pun, he wiggles his eyebrows in Priscylla’s direction. “And third, she’s a reminder of how much you Carrie-bout me.” Seeing Priscylla’s confusion, he keeps going. “As in care about me. You… er, sorry if that’s jumping to conclusions.”
“I do care about you, Wick.” Priscylla rolls her eyes. “It’s what you deserve. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Not that I make it easy,” Wick chuckles to himself. “I’m still putting my foot in my mouth every third sentence.”
Priscylla is quiet for a moment. “I don’t think it’s the same. I hurt you.”
“I hurt you too,” Warwick replies quietly, stepping a bit closer. “Just last night. You deserve better.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Priscylla insists, tracing a hand over his coat, over where she knows he still has the frostbite scars. “I hurt you.”
“You did,” Wick agrees, gently taking Priscylla by the wrist and guiding her hand to his chest. “But you healed me, too. You deserve the same healing.”
Priscylla pauses, heart pounding in her ears. “From you?”
Warwick blinks, apparently just now realizing what he said. “Oh! Oh! I– maybe? That… might be nice?”
“Only might?” Priscylla grins and leans in, seizing the initiative once more. “You know, more and more I’ve been seeing the appeal of the heroic lifestyle. When you do end up leaving town, would you mind company on the road?”
Warwick closes his eyes, breathing a laugh. “And here I was, about to ask if I could stay at your cottage a few days more and get some good rest in.”
“Okay,” Priscylla chuckles. “First we take it easy for the holidays, then we hit the road and see the world, then we come back and take a good long rest.” She leans in, properly hugging Warwick. “With my luck, I’ll probably have someone begging to apprentice under me by then.”
Warwick laughs, deep and warm, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s a deal.”
“The pact is sealed, then.”
“Good.”
“If you break a contract with a witch, you’ll die.”
“Good!” Warwick laughs and laughs, lifting Priscylla off the ground and spinning her around despite her taller stature. “I would never want to let you down.” He looks up at her with pride and endless adoration in his eyes.
Priscylla stares back, terrified and overjoyed at being seen with her guard down in equal measure.
Wick tilts his head. “Is something the matter?”
“No. No, simply…” Priscylla shakes her head. What is it that Wick calls his motto? No point in subtlety? “Not wrong, I suppose,” she mutters under her breath before looking back to her hero. “I would very much like to kiss you, I think.”
Warwick pauses, before grinning from ear to ear. “I appreciate you asking. I do believe I’d like the same thing.”
Priscylla laughs, and laughs, and leans in close and doesn’t let go. And whether her cheeks are red from the biting cold or from shock, embarrassment, and joy, well, who’s to say?
They kiss and twirl and embrace and dance, two lovers with their reindeer, in a globe of flawless snow.
I loved these two since I read this from the itch bundle and hope to see more of them in the future.
This was super cute! I enjoyed it all.
Oh, I almost forgot! Let me know what you thought of the characters and setting- I have a few ideas percolating on follow-up stories, and am curious if people want to see more.