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The Nutcracker Prince

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52473646

The Nutcracker, but make it Krexie. --- Inspired by both the original story and the ballet - follows the plot of the George Balanchine version of the ballet with some elements taken from the original story.

Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Tarron family’s Christmas Eve Party, and to be invited is an honor of the highest degree.

The stories always begin with the first winter snow, flying like the flurries outside the windows. Those who have the honor of being past invitees will regale you with tales of the grand ballroom decked out in candles by the hundreds and yards upon yards upon yards of glittering fabric. They’ll tell you of the Christmas tree, taller than any you’ll find anywhere else, towering above them and decorated from top to bottom in that same fabric and shining garland and sparkling baubles. At its roots sit more presents than can be counted, and around those, the children gather to ooh and ahh in wonder. They’ll tell you the feast is simply divine, and the music is played by only the greatest musicians in the region – sometimes from even outside of the region, some of the musicians having traveled many, many miles to play for the renowned Tarron Christmas Eve Party. The dancing and merriment are second to none, and they’ll tell you once you get a taste, nothing else will ever measure up to the grandeur and jollity of it all.

And this Christmas, it’s no different.

The invitees gather here this Christmas Eve, young couples newly married or still courting arriving in pairs looped arm in arm, parents corralling rambunctious children and trailed by teen boys and girls who know this is the social event of the season that they’ll be telling all their friends about for weeks to come. They all stop to ooh and ahh at the décor upon their entrance into the foyer, dazzled by the golden glow of the oil chandelier reflecting off the garlands, enchanted by the wreaths strung up with red velvet ribbons, delighted by the candlelit greenery, though they all know the best is yet to come. The boys yell and laugh as they chase each other around, and the girls can be found giggling in smaller packs of three and four, discussing what they might get this year for Christmas. You’ll find teen boys stationed wherever mistletoe is hung, and teen girls daring each other to go make one’s night.

The adults usher their children along and follow the carpet rolled out for them from the foyer to the main room where the party always happens. The children all squeal in delight at the sight of the huge Christmas tree, covered in red and gold ornaments, clear glass, covered in glitter, spherical, conical, and everything in-between, nestled tastefully amongst the garland and leading upward to the beautiful star that sits at the very top. They abandon their parents without another thought, swarming around the tree, poking and prodding and giggling, trying to see which of the presents they might want when it comes time for the gift-giving. The adults mingle and talk merrily, their glasses of champagne ever being refilled. The teens move somewhere in between, childlike wonder drawing them toward the tree, but newfound want to be seen as mature warding them off and pushing them toward the adult chatter.

All save one teen.

Krel Tarron, only son of the Tarron family, sits apart, neither excitedly gazing at the presents nor socializing with the adults. But this is hardly unusual. He’s always been described as a sensitive boy, easily overwhelmed by the noise and the people.

And while it’s true that he’s an introvert and deficient in social skills despite his best efforts, call him sensitive to his face and he’ll have a few choice words for you. His verbal impulse control is about as stalwart as his ability to handle the people at his parents’ party.

Right now, he is watching the party and sorely wishing he could be anywhere but here. Not even counting the unbearable amount of people, all of whom treat his parents like gods and are positively nauseating to watch kiss ass, he just plain does not want to be here. The Christmas Eve Party is a special to-do, but when it has taken place every Christmas Eve of your entire life, the charm is all but nonexistent.

But not all of it is so terrible.

There is one event even he looks forward to every year without fail, one event that makes the whole night worth it even with how much he hates the rest.

You never want to miss the gifts from Mr. Ambrosius.

An eccentric old man, he’s a visionary, a genius! An inventor and purveyor of the wonderful and marvelous, the likes of which no one in this town has ever seen before. His toys and machines enchant and intrigue, and not even young Krel is exempt from this. If anything, he’s even more spelled than most other people – while others are content to watch and enjoy, he has always wanted to know how. If there is anything more wondrous than the toys themselves, it’s how they function.

So, Krel’s just got to hang on until he arrives.

He watches as the children go wild when the adults announce it’s time to hand out presents. They rip through the wrapping paper with no hesitation, the boys immediately taking up their new tin soldiers and screaming at each other, the girls twittering excitedly about their new dolls. Frankly, he’s never seen the appeal in either toy.

The boys proceed to run around, chasing each other with toy swords, their fathers scooping them up and removing them when they start to terrorize the girls, and when they try and go back in, the girls retaliate with more force than the boys anticipated. Before long, half the girls have commandeered toy swords for their own and have declared war on the boys, forcing the mothers to step in before any of them hurt each other (unfortunate – he rather wanted to see the girls beat the snot out of the boys, as they undoubtedly would have).

Before he knows it, it’s time for the traditional Father-Daughter dance. His father and his sister Aja, only daughter of the Tarron family and eleven minutes his elder, are the first on the floor, followed promptly by all the other fathers and daughters. But even surrounded by others, she still shines brightest of them all. Her white-blonde hair is braided up into an elegant bun, a gold tiara on her head complimenting the sparkling red gown she wears that flares and twirls beautifully as she does, tied at the waist with a golden bow, golden shoes bright against her black tights. Her ensemble of course is meant to go with his own tuxedo, his coat a dark red with gold filigree over a black undershirt and a black and gold tie, a white cymbidium orchid pinned to his lapel to match the one tucked into her bun. However, she’s much happier to be in her specially-made Christmas Eve Party ensemble than he is.

Aja’s always taken to this party better than him – she’s an extrovert, so she takes to the people, and she is also just naturally likable, so the people also take to her. Up until now, she’s spent the entire party moving amongst the other teens here, her friendly and peppy demeanor instantly charming them. That’s not to say she’s not weird, like Krel – she certainly is. He would know. But when you’re upbeat and outgoing, and also a beautiful young woman who’s the eldest child of the wealthy Tarron family, ‘weird’ becomes ‘quirky’ and ‘fun’.

He does find a bit of a smile, though, watching her. She’s having so much fun, and he likes seeing his sister happy. Even if he’s actively unhappy.

But his misery quickly comes to an end.

Just like every year, when the grandfather clock strikes 8 PM, the grand doors fly open to reveal the one and only Mr. Ambrosius, cloaked in a green so dark it’s almost black, a lively spark in his eyes promising something as amazing as always.

“Right on time, as always,” Mr. Tarron says to the man, beckoning him in.

“Welcome, Mr. Ambrosius,” Mrs. Tarron says. “We are honored to have you.”

“The honor is all mine,” he says, bowing to the couple, before turning to address the entire room, his voice booming at a volume that belies his age. “Gather ‘round the tree, good folk! It is time to unveil my newest marvel!”

All the chatter ceases, every guest coming to gather in front of the tree as Mr. Ambrosius talks to the hosts, the three quickly leaving the room, more than likely to fetch Mr. Ambrosius’s gifts. Krel doesn’t hesitate to use his position as a child of the Tarrons to push his way to the front – this is the one event he likes, and he is not letting the other kids ruin it for him.

He’s joined by Aja, her smile wide, looking as giddy as he feels.

“What do you think it will be this year, little brother?” she asks.

“I’m not even going to try and guess – I just know he will just blow anything I come up with out of the water,” Krel says.

There’s the sound of shuffling and complaining from behind them, and Krel has to use all of his self-control to suppress his eye roll upon seeing who’s pushed through the crowd in order to stand next to him and Aja. It’s the Blond Oaf – Steven Palchuk is his real name, but Krel prefers Blond Oaf. He’s been desperately trying to woo Aja for months now, and for reasons he simply can fathom, Aja quite likes him, far more than any of the other boys who’ve been vying for her attention. And a few weeks ago, they finally declared their relationship official, so Krel hasn’t had a moment’s peace from the two of them being disgusting.

“Steve, there you are!” Aja says, beaming at the Blond Oaf.

“Sorry it took me so long, my princess,” the Blond Oaf says. “Everyone wants a piece of the Palchuk.”

Krel snorts at that. As if. He probably just spent the whole time panicking about his first Christmas Eve Party as The Boyfriend.

The Blond Oaf and Aja drift off into their own world, leaving Krel the third wheel to the Blond Oaf’s awful flirting and Aja eating it up. Watching the two of them is nauseating.

He swears he’s never dating anyone.

But thankfully, a few short minutes later, Krel is spared, the Tarron parents returning with Mr. Ambrosius and carrying with them four … people?

Krel watches closely as the figures are set on their feet, and he realizes that they’re all actually made of wood. They’re beautifully painted, looking almost lifelike, but other than that they seem like ordinary statues.

Krel knows Mr. Ambrosius too well to even believe that for a second though.

Once all four are set up, the Tarrons retreat to stand at the side, and Mr. Ambrosius turns toward the musicians.

“A tune, if you would!” he calls out to them. Then he turns back to his audience. “I present to you all, Richard and Lucille, the Lord and Lady Blanken!”

As the musicians start to play, Mr. Ambrosius reaches for two of the figures, touching something on the backs of the matching lord and lady.

As soon as he pulls his hands away, they literally spring to life, and a collective gasp resounds through the room.

They’re automatons! Life-sized automatons!

The two automatons dance together beautifully, their movements nearly as smooth as an actual person’s, their joints so well disguised, Krel knows anyone just walking in would believe themselves present at a live performance for a moment.

For them to dance so well to a tune unspecified, their programming must truly be a wonder! Krel can feel his fingers itching to poke and prod. He so desperately wants to take a look inside of them, to analyze Mr. Ambrosius’s marvelous machines.

“I’m telling you, Mr. Ambrosius must be magic!” Aja says, her eyes glued to the dancing automatons.

He runs theories and calculations through his head as he watches, trying to put together how they work through observation. When Mr. Ambrosius activates the remaining pair, both done up like soldiers – “I now present Commander Barbados Veitch and his Lieutenant Sandra Taillon!” – Krel luckily gets even more data to work with. These ones move in a distinctly different way from the first pair of automatons, their joints simply having to be more robust and an ingenious recoil system in use for them to jump and spring as they do.

When they finally wind down to a stop, the room is filled with uproarious cheers and applause. Mr. Ambrosius truly never disappoints.

With the performance over, Mr. Ambrosius brings forth his large sack, within it a present for each and every guest as there is every year, from the youngest kid to the oldest adult, smaller than the wondrous automatons but marvelous all the same. The children basically froth at the mouth as they circle the man like starved wolves. Krel can only tut at the display.

Krel decides to go ahead and try and slink off. He knows Aja will get his own present from Ambrosius – while he’d like to get it himself, he does not want to wade through the sea of feral children – so he feels no need to remain at the party any longer. His parents will chew him out for skipping and missing the grand dance, but he stopped caring years ago.

Except–

“Young Mr. Tarron, if you would come over here with me for a moment?”

He looks up at Mr. Ambrosius in shock. The old man is smiling, a hand laid gently on his shoulder as he beckons Krel to follow him. Krel looks over to see his own parents handling Mr. Ambrosius’s bag and handing out the gifts.

“O-of course, Mr. Ambrosius!”

Mr. Ambrosius leads him aside, away from the rest of the party.

“Now, Mr. Tarron, I know you are unlike the rest of the children,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “You’re not so easily entertained by tin soldiers and dolls. No, you are like myself – yours is a brilliant young mind. And I have something special for you.”

By the grand doors, Krel finally notices a gift box placed in a chair, wrapped in white and tied with a blue bow.

He looks up at Mr. Ambrosius who nods toward the box, and he doesn’t wait a second longer. He runs to the present and rips the paper open.

Inside, he finds …

A nutcracker?

He pulls the wooden nutcracker carefully out of the box and looks it over carefully. Its outfit is white and blue instead of the normal white and red, and its hair is black, without any sort of facial hair either, which Krel thinks is the oddest part. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a nutcracker without at the very least a mustache painted on. But aside from the outfit and facial hair, he doesn’t see anything else especially odd. He must be missing something here.

“Um …”

“I know he doesn’t look like much,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “But I promise you, what you are holding is quite precious.”

“What’s so special about it?” Krel asks.

“Allow me to tell you the tale of the Nutcracker Prince,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

///

Once upon a time, there were two kingdoms.

In each, an heir was born. In the kingdom to the far north, it was a handsome prince. Two years later, in the second kingdom across the northern sea, it was a beautiful princess.

Both kingdoms rejoiced at the births of the heirs, unknowing of the misfortune that loomed on the horizon.

As the prince’s fifth birthday passed, a great disease overcame his kingdom. Many died, including the king and queen, leaving the small boy alone in the world. Alone, save the beautiful Sugarplum Fairy, the Queen of the Fairies and a longtime family friend. He was in no state to rule the kingdom so young, and she already had ample experience ruling her own people within the bounds of his kingdom, so it was agreed she would step in as his regent until he was ready.

At the same time, the young princess’s mother was killed by a stalkling in the forests surrounding the second kingdom. Her father then grew hateful of magic, and outlawed it within his kingdom, seeking to exterminate each and every last magical creature for what was done to his queen. His sister, being a witch herself, resisted him, and a devastating schism grew. The sister fled the kingdom, vowing vengeance on her brother.

That Christmas, the prince’s maternal uncle visited him from the northern kingdom, wanting to finally meet the boy and comfort him in equal measure as he wanted a break from his increasingly crazed lord. See, he was employed as the Court Sorcerer under the magic-hating king, and while the king still trusted him and kept him employed, witnessing such vehement hatred and brutal vitriol was taking its toll on him.

During this visit, he discovered his nephew had magic as well. He was overjoyed and desperately wanted to teach the boy. However, he could not stay to do so. The Sugarplum Fairy, in all her grace, offered to take complete control until the boy reached 18 – that way, the sorcerer could take the boy with him and teach him.

And so the sorcerer took the prince to the second kingdom, introducing him as simply his nephew, earning the king’s leniency by way of their relation and his blind eye as well by way of concealing the boy’s royal status.

Years passed. The boy lived and grew happily with his uncle, dedicating himself to the art of magic. Simultaneously, the girl lived and grew into a beautiful young woman, the envy of all who laid eyes on her, the spitting image of her late mother.

And thus, she became the perfect target.

In the prince’s 17th year, the princess’s 15th, the sister returned from her exile. All these years, her hatred had festered, and she had devised a plan to seek her revenge. A month before the princess’s 16th birthday, the day she would come of age and become eligible for marriage, an event greatly anticipated by all with sons of marrying age, the sister appeared in the castle and wrought a great curse upon the girl. Every day, more of her would turn to wood, until finally, on her 18th birthday, she would complete the transformation, becoming a wooden doll. Though the king tried to stop her, the sister escaped.

He commanded the sorcerer and his apprentice to find a way to break the curse and find one they did – only there was a problem. The only way to lift the curse was for the princess to drink a potion, the primary ingredient of which was the Krakatuk Nut, a magical nut said to be impossible to crack.

While they were able to find one, cracking it was another matter. No matter what the sorcerer tried, nothing worked – no tool or spell in the world could crack the nut open.

As the month drew to a close, things looked bleak for the princess.

But, at the last moment, the apprentice finally figured it out. He used a special enchantment on his own teeth and then cracked the nut open himself.

They were then able to quickly brew the potion and feed it to the nearly entirely wood princess.

Instantly, she was transformed back into her fully human self, and the king and the kingdom rejoiced.

A feast was held in honor of her saving and her birthday, a grand affair to which the entire kingdom was invited.

It was here that the boy had his next idea – he had seen the persecution of the magical creatures, and his heart ached for them, and so now that magic had saved the princess’s life, perhaps she could convince her father to end his crusade once and for all.

He spoke to her and asked her to speak with her father, hopeful that finally, magic could be free here once again, and that that could be his parting gift to this kingdom before he returned to his own.

But she had grown up her father’s daughter, and though she was grateful he had saved her, she spit in the face of the boy’s request.

This is what the sister had been anticipating all along. She had placed the curse knowing the sorcerer more than likely would cure it in time. She had hoped it would finally teach her brother and her niece their lesson. But since it did not, her secondary curse took its effect.

At the stroke of midnight, the princess and the king both would be turned into nutcrackers, a poke at how the princess was saved in the first place and leaving the way open for the sister to come in and claim the throne.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was the apprentice. He noticed something was wrong, and at the last moment, he was able to counter the curse.

Only, it was a powerful curse done by a magician many years his senior. He was unable to mitigate it – he could only redirect it. In place of the king and the princess, it was the apprentice who was turned into a nutcracker, his teeth forever bared to crack the Krakatuk Nut.

Understanding what had happened, the sorcerer pleaded with the king to make up with his sister – with the curse completed, it could only be undone by meeting the prerequisites set by the caster, and he was sure the sister would only reveal them if the king made up with her.

The king refused.

So the sorcerer set out to figure out how to save his nephew. He wouldn’t have to search for long, though.

See, the sister had promised the nutcrackers to the Mouse King, whose people had greatly suffered under the king’s anti-magic rule. The Mouse King came with the intention to chew up the nutcrackers, his own vengeance upon the man and his offspring who had harmed his people so. The sorcerer discovered that with the spell linked to the Mouse King, the only way to save the prince would be to kill the Mouse King.

But the sorcerer could not kill the Mouse King himself, nor could the king – the Mouse King was too small, too tricky. He would not be denied a prize, even if it was not the king and princess as promised, and he would only reveal himself if the sorcerer left the prince alone. Beyond that, his own magic was great enough that he could even evade the magical traps set by the sorcerer.

With nothing else to do, the sorcerer fled the kingdom with the Nutcracker Prince, swearing he would find another way to save his nephew.

///

“That’s quite the story,” Krel just says.

“Well, whether you believe me or not, I can promise you, this nutcracker is special,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “Those automatons I showed today were my experiments to try and figure out how I might artificially bring the Nutcracker Prince to life. As of yet, though, I have been unable to figure out how to downsize the internal mechanisms without losing complexity and function. But perhaps … maybe you can.”

He … wants to make the nutcracker an automaton? He wants Krel to try and make it an automaton?

Krel inspects the nutcracker a little closer, and sure enough, he realizes it’s had joints installed, small metal balls and hinges installed everywhere it could bend, and hidden just as well on this nutcracker as it was on the life-sized automatons.

Turning it over, he also finds a small keyhole in its back.

Mr. Ambrosius then reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a small silver key. He holds it out to Krel.

Krel smiles and takes it.

“Thank you, Mr. Ambrosius,” he says. “I love it. I promise I won’t let you down!”

“I know you won’t,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “Now, I believe it’s almost time for the next dance.”

Krel looks back over toward the festivities, and sure enough, people are milling around, getting into pairs, and moving out onto the floor, the bag of Mr. Ambrosius’s gifts now empty and set aside.

“Right!” This is very much a dance he can’t miss without getting into trouble, and he missed his window to escape, so he better get over there.

He runs back over, setting his nutcracker carefully next to Aja’s present.

“What’s that?” Aja asks.

“It’s Mr. Ambrosius’s present for me,” Krel says.

“Ooh! Can I see?” she says, not waiting for an answer before she scoops it up.

“Aja!”

“Come on, Krel, I’ll just be a moment, I’m just looking!”

“Be careful with it!”

“I will!”

He knows she’ll certainly try. But he also knows his sister, and while she’s well-meaning, she’s not exactly known for being delicate. But he also can’t just take the nutcracker back without upsetting her and/or drawing attention, and if he draws attention, all the kids will want to see it and play with it! And that’ll end with him making a bunch of small children cry – because he will be damned if he lets a bunch of snot-nosed gremlins touch his nutcracker that Mr. Ambrosius gave to him – and getting in trouble for it.

“So … is it just a nutcracker?” she asks.

“I mean, there’s more to it than that,” Krel says. “Mr. Ambrosius wouldn’t just give me a plain old nutcracker.”

She looks it over, opening and closing the jaw a few times, poking at the keyhole.

“What’s inside of it?” she asks.

“Gears, probably,” Krel says impatiently, crossing his arms.

“Oh, stop being a grump,” she says, teasingly elbowing him.

“I’ll stop being a grump once you put my nutcracker down,” Krel says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aja says.

“Aja! Krel!” their mother calls. “Come along now!”

“Coming, Mama!” she calls back. She quickly sets the nutcracker back down – too quickly. She lets go just before it’s actually on the floor, and it topples over, hitting the floor with a sickening crack.

Krel falls to his knees and snatches up the nutcracker – to his horror, there’s now a deep fissure in the wood, starting at the jaw and traveling up its face to stop just under its eye. The jaw itself is also broken.

“Oh! Oh no!”

Aja must have heard the crack and come back.

“I-I’m so sorry, Krel! I didn’t mean to!”

“Aja! Krel!” their mother calls again.

“Krel–”

“Just go,” Krel says. “And tell Mama I won’t be joining the dance tonight.”

She lingers silently for a second longer, but finally turns and walks away.

He runs a finger along the crack and sighs. He works with metal, not wood, and the crack is so deep. He had no idea how to fix this.

But Mr. Ambrosius gave this to him, so he’s just going to have to figure it out!

He tucks the nutcracker further beneath the tree behind Aja’s present and runs out of the room to grab his tools. This is more important than his parents’ stupid party.

When he returns, he finds the big dance halfway over and has to creep around the dancers along the edge of the room. He spots his parents dancing at the center, with Aja and the Blond Oaf near them, so he hopes they haven’t spotted him yet. He is not in the mood to be scolded right now.

Thankfully, the nutcracker is where he left it, and he wastes no time retreating to a back corner of the room where they had pushed the settee for the night and getting to work.

He looks over the larger crack and decides to leave it for later. He has a better idea of what he’s doing with gears than with wood, so he’ll do what he knows first.

Still, he finds himself saying, “Sorry for leaving your face like that. But I’m not much of a woodworker.” It makes no sense for him to apologize, it’s a nutcracker, but he still feels compelled to.

He then carefully repairs the jaw – not too difficult, just needs some glue and a new hinge mechanism. Once it’s done, he finds himself smiling down at the repaired nutcracker. It was only fixing a toy’s jaw, but he still finds satisfaction in the work.

And there’s also the child-like giddiness that fills him at the fact that this is from Mr. Ambrosius, he’s working on one of Mr. Ambrosius’s things and Mr. Ambrosius is trusting him to get it right where he couldn’t! He doesn’t think he’s ever loved a gift as much as this one!

This is about when the music stops playing, the party having reached its conclusion. He waits for his parents to approach as the guests all file out, but neither do. Not even Aja bothers him. Looking around, he sees that the room is empty save the decorations and furniture and the toys forgotten by exhausted children scattered around that’ll no doubt be returned for in the near future, and that all but the lights on the tree and the oil lamps nearest him have been put out.

Well, at least his family knew to leave him be for now.

With the jaw done, he fishes out the key and unlocks the small door in the nutcracker’s back. He finds a complex set of interlocking gears. He can’t help but stare for a few seconds, appreciating the beauty of the mechanism. But then he gets back to work.

First, after dragging one of the side tables over to the settee to give him a better workspace than just the cushions, he tinkers with the gears and connections, testing them out and making adjustments and replacements as he goes. He sees what Mr. Ambrosius was talking about – with it being so small, setting up the mechanisms within for it to do everything a life-sized automaton could do is a monumental task.

But not too monumental for Krel!

As he’s poking and prodding, he’s struck by a sudden idea. Something amazing, something genius!

He completely removes the central part of the inner mechanism, detaching it from the rods that connect to its limbs and head. He then completely takes it apart and puts it back together in a different way, using a lot of his own materials since he’s got some unusual gear sizes that Mr. Ambrosius either did not have or did not think of using.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to completely remake the mechanism, but by the time he’s finished, his lower back is starting to cramp from being hunched over in one position for so long, and his fingers are sore from messing around with such tiny materials for so long.

Once he’s inserted the mechanism back in, he removes the nutcracker from its stand and begins trying to start the automaton. It has a new starting mechanism, as well as a new energy production system – a simple wind-up to get it started and then, if he did everything right, the energy system should be able to self-perpetuate. He just has to figure out what the right speed for the gears is so that the internal kinetic energy not only sets the nutcracker into motion but also sparks the energy system.

It’s with the stroke of midnight that he finally gets it.

He has slowly been upping the speed little by little, moving cautiously to ensure nothing breaks until he has gone far beyond what any normal automaton would be able to handle and then some, and it’s only as he finally reaches a speed roughly equivalent to that of a human heart that the automaton finally moves.

He gasps as the arms start to move of their own accord, his heart jamming into his mouth.

Holy kleb. I did it! I actually did it!

He sets it on the side table and watches in awe and delight as it slowly shudders to life and gets to its feet.

“Look at you!” he finds himself saying. “You’re amazing!”

It flexes its joints carefully like it itself can’t believe it can move. At the sound of his voice, it turns to face him.

“And you know, the crack isn’t so bad,” Krel says, looking it over, carefully running his thumb over the fissure. Sure, he’d still rather it not be cracked, but he finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he did before. Of course, how could he? It pales in comparison to the fact that it can move now! And apparently, it can also respond to sound! That’s astounding! He simply must ask Mr. Ambrosius about what the mechanism in the head looks like!

“Hahaha! My time has finally come!”

Krel nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of a new, squeaky voice. Their handhold breaks and he looks around wildly for the source, his jaw dropping when he sees a mouse standing on the fireplace.

Not just a normal mouse though.

No, this one is absurdly large, a foot tall standing on its back legs, matching the nutcracker in height. It also wears a cape, has seven heads, and wears a tiny, ornate crown on each one.

…The Mouse King?

There’s a creaking noise, and his attention is brought back to the nutcracker, who has now turned to face the Mouse King and seems to be glaring daggers at him. He moves into a fighting stance and pulls a tiny sword from its sheath on his belt.

“I’m not such an easy feast anymore!” the Nutcracker Prince says, jumping to the floor. Says. It speaks.

The Mouse King lets out seven simultaneous outraged squeaks.

“To me, my men!” the Mouse King says as he too leaps to the floor and brandishes his own tiny sword. From under all the furniture come pouring mice, dozens and dozens of mice in red coats bearing tiny swords.

What kind of dream is this!?

“Two can play that game.” The Nutcracker Prince calls out a command in an odd foreign tongue and his unoccupied hand glows blue for a moment.

All the tin soldiers left around the Christmas tree come to life, outlined in that same blue glow, and they march over toward the Mouse King in neat rows, weapons at the ready.

Did I hit my head or something!?

Something in his gut tells him “no”. He didn’t. He didn’t fall asleep. He didn’t hit his head. This is not a dream.

Which means he has to do something. He may not understand what’s going on here, but he’s not letting this two-pound rodent hurt his nutcracker!

He rises from the settee, but then the Mouse King spits out a command in the same foreign language.

Red light flies from his paws and hits Krel.

He watches in pure and utter shock as the room around him grows. No, no, as he shrinks! The Christmas tree rises and rises and rises as he shrinks, turning from a large pine to a right behemoth. The high ceiling becomes vaulted, and the frosty windows tower above him. The wooden owl atop the grandfather clock takes on the look of a proper predator, shadowed and menacing as it is from this new angle. Before he knows it, he’s a foot tall himself, the size of his nutcracker and the Mouse King.

“We can’t have any interference!” the Mouse King says.

The Mouse King and his army then let out a shrill cry and charge forward. Krel’s barely got enough time to register what’s happening before he’s suddenly thrust beneath the settee by the Nutcracker Prince.

The sounds of metal on metal break out, and peering around, Krel can only describe what he sees as pure chaos. Mice and tin soldiers duel expertly, cutting and slashing and stabbing and killing, tin soldiers getting chopped up, mice getting beheaded and skewered. It’s a horrifying sight.

And in the middle of it all are the Mouse King and the Nutcracker Prince, their duel also a dance. He can’t help but watch in awe as the Nutcracker Prince bobs and weaves with unmatched grace despite being an automaton with a limited range of motion – of course, he is unsure of how much that counts for anymore since he can also speak and think. His fighting is truly beautiful, his beauty and poise only matched by the Mouse King’s fury and fervor.

“I didn’t follow you around the world and back for you to be able to fight back!” the Mouse King spits.

“I do have a talent for mucking things up for other people,” the Nutcracker Prince says with a wink and a laugh that makes Krel laugh a little too.

Cheeky.

“No matter! I will still have my prize!” the Mouse King says. “And I’ll take your boy’s head too as a souvenir!”

“You won’t lay a single grubby finger on him!” the Nutcracker Prince snarls, the words so emphatic they actually make his wooden vocal cords creak audibly.

“Well see about that, Nutcracker Prince!”

The battle rages on, and the longer it draws out, the more worried Krel becomes – it’s becoming increasingly obvious the Nutcracker Prince isn’t used to moving. His motions by and large are skilled, but with increasing frequency, there are moments where one of his joints will stick because of the angle he tried to move it at, or he flubs a swing because wood isn’t as flexible as he appears to believe himself. And this isn’t lost on the Mouse King. He starts forcing the Nutcracker Prince into those same positions, taking advantage of how his knees will occasionally lock and his limited range of motion.

Krel doesn’t need to watch much more to know where this is going. Without interference, the Mouse King will win this encounter. It’s not a matter of if, but of when.

He looks around, trying to think of something, and remembers he’s still got his tool belt on and his parts bag strapped across his chest for ease of access.

He rifles through his materials as quickly as he can, his brain whirring with what he could possibly rig up in such a short amount of time.

Luck is on his side tonight though – in the parts bag is one of his side projects, a concept half-realized for an ammo-less gun. He remembers now – he hadn’t been able to figure out where to go from here, so he’d decided to scrap it but hadn’t yet gotten around to taking it apart.

A cry catches his attention, and to his horror, he finds the Mouse King has landed a strike, a couple of deep grooves cut into the Nutcracker Prince’s arm, splinters of wood littering the floor around him.

Kleb!

Time to see if thinking under pressure yields results.

He throws caution to the wind, messing with gears and his half-baked definitely volatile energy cell with abandon, trying anything and everything he can think of to get it to work. If he blows himself up, well …

At least he can say he tried.

And Aja can say she told him so – she was not a fan of all the chemical experimentation he did to make this energy cell. Neither were his parents.

But if this works, he’s got something revolutionary on his hands! He’s giddy just thinking about the acclaim he would win. Everyone would see and know his genius! He might be even more acclaimed than Mr. Ambrosius!

Come on, Krel, focus!

With a couple more adjustments to the trigger mechanism, he decides it’s not going to get much better right now.

Looking over, he sees the Mouse King throw the Nutcracker Prince to the ground and raise his sword for a killing strike.

It’s now or never.

“Leave my nutcracker alone!”

He takes aim and shoots.

A shot of blue light bursts from it and hits the Mouse King.

Everything stops.

The Mouse King staggers back from the prone Nutcracker Prince, now with a large, sizzling hole in his torso. Krel’s jaw drops. He hadn’t expected anything near that extreme from this weapon – he’d anticipated a stunning effect or an electrical discharge, not … whatever the hell that was! Holy kleb!

The Mouse King looks back at him, rage, shock, and pain etched into all seven faces.

And he crumples to the ground, dead.

The room around him rapidly shrinks – rather, he rapidly grows, forcing him to dive out from under the settee to avoid either damaging it or himself in the process. He quickly stands his normal height once more.

Like a switch, everything starts once more. The blue glow around the tin soldiers disappears, leaving them lifeless toys once more. The mouse army scatters, save a small force that comes over to gather their leader’s body and carry him away. They move so fast that in a matter of seconds, it’s just him and the Nutcracker Prince once more, the Nutcracker Prince now back on his feet.

Bright gold light fills the room, coming from the nutcracker. It bathes his entire form, seeming to glow from both within him and around him. Krel can only watch in awe as the cracks and grooves from the fight reseal, along with the fissure in his face, and the nutcracker grows. Wood softens. Metal joints smooth out. Dull, fuzzy hair lengthens into silken strands of deep black to fall around the nutcracker’s face and along his shoulders. Plain black eyes fill with shining gold. Rosy color floods pale cheeks. And real lips close over real teeth, his face no longer frozen.

When the light disappears, his nutcracker stands in front of him as a real, living young man, standing even taller than Krel. His white and blue soldier’s outfit has been replaced by a regal white and blue suit, all the coat’s edges save the coattails lined with white fur, the blue vest adorned with sparkling snowflakes. With his midnight black hair and molten gold eyes, the only way Krel can describe him is beautiful. The young man looks over himself with amazement, patting his face and running a hand through his hair.

“The curse … it’s broken!” he says. He then looks over at Krel with the widest smile that makes butterflies flutter in Krel’s chest. He rushes over and hugs Krel tightly.

Krel is frozen for a second, his brain stalling out, but he manages to bring his own arms around the now warm, real body, not an inch of wood remaining. He smells like cinnamon and nutmeg.

The Nutcracker Prince then pulls away, gripping Krel by the shoulders, still beaming. “You! You did it, Krel!”

“I-I mean … wait, how do you know my name?” There are a thousand questions whirling around his head right now, so he might as well start with a simple one.

“Huh? Oh! Well, Mr. Ambrosius has mentioned you before, and your sister said it earlier,” he says, letting go of Krel.

“You … you were just an inanimate nutcracker at that point. You heard the conversation?” Krel asks in total disbelief.

“I’ve been unable to move, not unable to see or hear,” the automaton says.

“That’s … that would mean you were trapped inside your own body,” Krel says. Just the mere thought is enough to make him feel rather ill.

“I got used to it after a while,” he says. “It was pretty lonely though.”

“You had Mr. Ambrosius,” Krel says.

“Uncle Merlin didn’t know I could see and hear him, and being talked at is very different from being talked to,” he says.

Well, Krel can certainly sympathize with that. His parents tend to do more talking at than talking to.

“So … do you have a name other than the Nutcracker Prince?” Krel asks.

“Oh! Yes, I do. I’m Prince Hisirdoux Casperan, heir to the throne of Winterland and the Candy Kingdom. You can just call me Douxie,” he says, bowing. His voice is lovely to listen to, smooth and warm. “And I cannot even begin to thank you enough. I had almost given up on ever seeing my home again.”

Douxie reaches out once more and takes Krel’s hands in his own as he says this, long, slim fingers curling over the backs of his hands as their palms slot together perfectly like two puzzle pieces. It’s like this is a hand he was always meant to hold. It does something funny to Krel’s heart. He can feel it thundering in his chest. What is happening to him?

But then a realization dawns on Douxie. He pulls away from Krel with a gasp. “Oh, I need to go home! She’s been waiting for me for so long!”

“Who?” Krel asks, something ugly twinging inside of him.

“The Sugarplum Fairy!” Douxie says. And then he lights up – Krel recognizes the expression. Douxie has an idea. “You should come with me!”

“E-excuse me?” Krel says.

“Please! Let me show you my kingdom! It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me tonight!” Douxie says.

It goes against all logic to say yes – it’s the middle of the night, he doesn’t know where this “Winterland” or “Candy Kingdom” is, and he only just met Douxie who up until a couple of minutes ago was a foot tall and made of wood! Magic’s not supposed to be real, and he just watched a seven-headed mouse use it to make him tiny, a miniature battle between mice and tin soldier toys, and a wooden nutcracker turn human!

He’s not feeling very logical right now.

No, right now he’s just learned that magic is indeed real and that’s exciting and fascinating and exhilarating – what could he do with it? What new possibilities just opened to him?

And right now, Douxie’s smiling that smile that could shame the sun itself, his golden eyes sparkling, and just looking at him makes Krel feel lighter than air.

Douxie holds out a hand once more. “Come with me.” It’s so incredibly sincere, and Douxie holds Krel’s gaze with his own as he speaks, and Krel couldn’t say a word if he tried, his tongue tied in knots inside of his mouth and caged behind tightly clamped teeth.

So, in lieu of words, he takes Douxie’s hand.

Douxie raises his free hand and snaps his fingers. The nearest window opens, and through it flies flurries of snowflakes that encircle them, moving faster and faster until he can see nothing beyond the swirling snowflakes.

In an instant, they dissipate.

And Krel gasps at the sight of the winter forest they now stand in, his breath leaving him in a puff of steam. The snow falls calmly, with the occasional flurry dancing through the air. The blanket on the ground glitters in the bright light of the full moon. The pine trees around them are frozen, long icicles dripping from their branches, pristine and glittering just like the ground.

Douxie laughs, and Krel looks to see small flurries swirling around solely him as if welcoming him, as if the snow itself rejoices in his presence. The snowflakes that catch in his lashes and hair make him just as dazzling as their surroundings, and Krel finds himself breathless at the sight.

Douxie then looks over at him and smiles warmly, making Krel’s heart stutter in his chest in a way that’s most definitely not healthy.

Douxie reaches out to grab Krel’s hand and pulls him along, leading him up a small hill toward a break in the trees. Once at the top, his jaw drops at the sight before him.

Before him sprawls what can only be Douxie’s kingdom – and he finds the name “Candy Kingdom” to be quite literal. The houses are quite literally built from gingerbread, frosted and decorated with gumdrops and peppermints and candy canes and marshmallows. The roads are lined with candy cane lampposts, and there are bridges made from toffee that arch over eggnog rivers (though the surfaces of the roads and budges are made of ice, allowing late-night reindeer sleighs to trundle smoothly over them, and the few figures still out and about to skate on blades). At the center of it all is a castle, immense and simply marvelous, appearing to be made from more types of sweets than Krel thinks he can name, from candied fruits to caramel to cake to creampuffs and everything in between. All of it is a wonder of engineering – how does one efficiently and practically build with candy? How much material is needed to make all of it, and how do they make such large confections? Are the houses heated, and if so, how does the candy not scorch or melt? He knows an answer to it all would be magic, but he can’t help but wonder how it might be done for real.

And to top it all off, all of it is dusted with a fresh layer of sparkling snow.

“Wow …”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Douxie says, a wistful expression on his face. “It’s even lovelier than I remember.”

“When was the last time you were home?” Krel asks.

“I don’t know,” Douxie says. “I used to return home once every year for the Christmas Celebration, but then I was turned into a nutcracker and … well, I’m not entirely sure how long I was stuck like that.”

There’s an air of sadness about him as he says this, so Krel switches gears.

“Is it all magic?” Krel asks.

“Far from it,” Douxie says. “We use magic for parts and to ensure structural stability and fortitude, but quite a bit of it is done by our own hands. I’m sure our engineers would gladly show you how.”

Douxie gives him a knowing smile and Krel blushes. One night and Douxie already knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“You’re cute when you blush,” Douxie then says, which only makes Krel blush harder. “Now, shall we?”

Douxie lets go of Krel’s hand, much to Krel’s disappointment, but then presents his elbow, as a gentleman would to escort a lady. Looking down to try and hide his progressively worsening blush, Krel loops his arm through Douxie’s, and they head toward the glowing city.

They talk as they walk and Krel quickly learns that apparently Douxie’s learned quite a bit about him from Mr. Ambrosius, the old man having talked of him to Douxie while working on him before. While flattered, Krel doesn’t find the fact that Douxie knows him, but he doesn’t really know Douxie quite fair, which leads to him all but interrogating the young man as they advance toward the Candy Kingdom. Douxie happily obliges, answering his questions as they come without hesitation or even a hint of annoyance or boredom, which is a nice change of pace from his usual conversations with non-family people.

When they arrive at the front gates, the scent wafting from them telling Krel they’re made of peanut brittle, Douxie suddenly makes a turn. “I’ve got a better idea than walking all the way there.”

They walk along the outer wall until they reach one of the eggnog rivers which flows out from under another set of peanut brittle gates. A small pier made from gingerbread extends out into it, which Douxie walks him to the edge of. Douxie then extends his free hand to call out another magical command. From upriver comes a gondola made from peppermint bark. A pole pushes it along all by itself, the blue glow around it tipping Krel off that it’s Douxie’s magic controlling it.

Douxie first helps him in before joining, sitting across from Krel. With another wave of his hand, the gates open for them, and into the city they glide.

Krel can only marvel as they advance. It’s so unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Buildings topped with meringues. Fountains carved from chocolate with liquid chocolate cascading from the spouts. Statues made from fudge and nougat.

“How do you keep people from eating everything?” he asks.

“We also make sweets for consumption,” Douxie says. “People are less inclined to eat the architecture when they have the fresh, warm stuff that’s guaranteed to have only been touched by the bakers and candymakers. It doesn’t stop everybody, but those people are few and far between.”

“Fair enough,” Krel says.

“And we have the best stuff at the castle,” Douxie says. “You can try whatever you like.”

“That’s a recipe for rotting my teeth right out of my head,” Krel jokes.

“We also have the best dentists,” Douxie says. He says it in a jokey manner to match Krel, but Krel can tell he’s not joking.

They continue in comfortable silence, Krel watching the city, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Douxie’s watching him, the look on his face so incredibly soft Krel dare not look at it full on lest he combust.

Above them, the stars twinkle brightly in the crisp night. The Milky Way remains, as does the North Star, but aside from that, they’re like no stars Krel’s ever seen before. Patterns he’s known as long as he can remember are absent, the constellations of his youth scattered into new forms he’s yet to learn. It feels like he’s in a whole other world, in a whole new reality.

He lays back in the boat and allows his mind to wander, his brain whirring with all this new information, piecing together and tearing apart ideas as his thoughts drift unimpeded. He simply lets his thoughts ebb and flow as they will. He feels physically lighter than he has in a long time. Freer.

There’s a light touch on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes to find they’ve stopped.

I must have drifted off.

Douxie’s smiling down at him, and thankfully he’s still outlined by the night sky, so he wasn’t asleep long.

“Sorry,” Krel says, still wanting to apologize for falling asleep on Douxie.

“No need to apologize,” Douxie says, helping him up and out of the boat onto another dock, this one located within an alcove connected to the castle. “I’m glad you were comfortable.”

As they climb a set up winding stairs, Krel takes his hair out of its small ponytail to run his fingers through it – he’s sure sleeping mussed it, so he’s gotta make sure it’s at least presentable for the Sugarplum Fairy.

When he looks back at Douxie, just as they’ve finally reached the top where a set of gingerbread double doors awaits them, he finds him staring at him with his cheeks dusted pink. He smiles awkwardly, and Douxie blushes deeper before clearing his throat and wordlessly holding out his elbow once more.

Krel giggles at the reaction and Douxie makes a strangled noise that just makes him laugh harder. He takes Douxie’s arm and together, they walk up to the doors.

“Do you still have that key?” Douxie asks.

Krel digs around in his coat pocket and extracts the silver key. Only now, to his surprise, it’s much bigger and more ornate, the handle carved to look like a snowflake and studded with crystals to glitter like one.

He hands it over to Douxie, and Douxie fits it into the lock. The doors unlock with a great clunk, and Douxie pushes them open, revealing the inside of the castle.

A great red velvet carpet leads away down a long hall that runs perpendicular to them. Great candy cane columns support a soaring ceiling, from which dangle rock candy chandeliers. There are no other doors in sight, save a huge pair at the very end of the hall. Krel’s guessing they lead to the throne room. There are also no other people in sight.

They step through, and the doors close silently behind them. When Krel glances back, there’s no sign of the doors at all.

Douxie pockets the silver key and leads Krel down the hallway, past glittering garlands and enormous baubles and intricately woven wreaths, all of which are woven together with strings of glowing gumdrops. The entire place is decked out for Christmas, much like his own house, but so much more colorful. His house is done up with special attention to aesthetics, making for a merry and warm while still sophisticated atmosphere. This place is the epitome of Christmas cheer, the halls thoroughly decked in sparkle and color and lights.

The grand doors open before them without a word or motion from Uxie, as if they were simply waiting to open for him.

On the other side is a massive hall, the walls lined with appropriately massive Christmas trees save for in front of the immense fireplace with a fire crackling within, all of which have mountains of presents beneath them, wrapping up in colorful paper and topped with bows. Unlike the hallway, this room is mostly a cream color, which makes the colors of the trees and presents pop. At the far end sits an ornate throne, looking to be made of snow, at the top of which glints a sparkling blue diamond.

And on the throne sits a beautiful young woman, who leaps to her feet upon spotting them and wastes no time darting toward them. Douxie reciprocates, releasing Krel and running toward her, leaving Krel to follow at his own slower pace.

She’s clad in a plum purple dress, studded with sparkling silver, as if it were sugared. More silver curls around her arms and legs, leading to a pair of silver rings on her index fingers and silver slivers. The bangs of her dark hair are pure white, held out of her face by a silver circlet and tied up into a neat bun, giving Krel a perfect view of her glowing violet eyes and the plum color of her lipstick. From her back sprouts a pair of large butterfly wings of the loveliest violet, darker plum purple swirls decorating them.

The Sugarplum Fairy.

The two meet in the center of the room in a bear hug, wrapping each other up tight.

“The snow told me of your return, but I couldn’t believe it,” she says.

“I know. But I’m here. I’m real,” Douxie says. “And some part of you believed if you’re still here in the grand hall at this hour.”

“Of course,” she says. She then draws back to cup his face. “You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“Turns out being stuck as a nutcracker works wonders for combatting aging,” Douxie says.

The Sugarplum fairy swats his shoulder. “Don’t joke about that!”

“Douxie!”

Krel jumps a little at the new voice, and he notices another person approaching behind the Sugarplum Fairy. It’s another young man, this one in full armor, sans helmet, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, as well as a scar running diagonally across his face and a silver circlet that matches the one the Sugarplum Fairy wears.

“Jim!” Douxie says. The Sugarplum Fairy steps aside, allowing him and the knight, Jim, to embrace.

Krel watches the reunion awkwardly. He’s not sure what to do, or if he should be doing anything.

That’s about when the Sugarplum Fairy finally looks over at him.

She smiles gently at him and approaches.

“And who is your guest, my prince?” she asks Douxie, though never looking away from Krel.

“Ah, yes!” Douxie says. He releases Jim and comes back over to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Krel. “Allow me to introduce you all. Krel, this is the Sugarplum Fairy, Queen of the Fairies.”

She looks not much older than Douxie, far too young to be a “longtime family friend”, as Mr. Ambrosius put it, but she’s also a fairy, and he can’t say he knows much about fairies.

“Please, call me Claire,” she says.

“And her fiancé and personal cavalier, as well as my head knight and Duke of Soufflés, James Lake,” Douxie says. Krel wonders if he looks as young as he does for the same reason Claire does. He doesn’t think Jim’s a fairy, he doesn’t have wings, but again, what does Krel know about fairies?

“Jim is fine,” the knight says. “And that’d be her husband now.”

“You got married without me there?” Douxie asks with an offended gasp.

“We couldn’t know when or even if you would ever return!” Claire says.

“We could do another ceremony for you,” Jim says. “Renew our vows.”

Jim shoots Claire a dopey smile as he says that and she gives him a fond smile in return, curling her arms around one of Jim’s own to pull the two of them close together.

“That’d be appreciated,” Douxie says. “Anyway, Claire, Jim, allow me to present Krel Tarron,” Douxie says. “He was the one who figured out how to animate me when I was still a nutcracker, and it was him who struck the fatal blow against the Mouse King, breaking the curse and freeing me.”

Claire and Jim gasp at this and then separate, Claire curtseying and Jim bowing low with a sweep of his arm.

“Allow us both to thank you,” Claire says. “We owe you a tremendous debt for returning Douxie to us.”

“Er, you’re welcome,” Krel says, still awkwardly.

They straighten back up, and then Claire conjures up several small balls of violet light. She throws them into the air, and they go whizzing off in different directions, phasing through the walls of the hall, with one especially large one flying up through the ceiling.

“It’s the middle of the night–” Douxie starts to protest, but Claire cuts him off.

“Our prince and rightful ruler has finally returned,” Claire says. “If this is not the time to awaken the castle and hold a celebration, I don’t know when is.”

“And some of the nobility arrived earlier in the evening for tomorrow’s feast,” Jim says. “With them and their entourages, we’ll have more than enough for proper festivities.”

“Now, take your place,” Claire says. “People will want to see you on your throne.”

Douxie nods at this, and once more takes Krel’s arm. Claire and Jim flank them as they walk up to the throne. Upon closer inspection, Krel sees even more blue diamonds lining the snowy throne.

Before they ascend the steps to the throne, however, Claire stops them.

“Just a moment.” She then steps forward and casts a spell, her hands lighting up violet. There’s a miniature whirlwind of snow next to the main throne, and it solidifies into a smaller secondary throne, with its own blue diamond at the top, though without all the smaller ones. She gives him and Douxie a knowing smile and then gestures for them to continue forward.

“Wait a second,” Krel says, dropping Douxie’s arm. “I-I’m not … I-I can’t …”

“Krel,” Douxie says, taking his hand and pressing his palm to his chest, underneath which Krel can feel the steady thrum of Douxie’s heart. “My heart beats again thanks to you. And there is nothing I would like more than to have you at my side.”

Krel doesn’t believe in the illogical. That includes love at first sight, and soulmates, and fairytale romances.

At least, it used to.

But everything has changed in one night. His world’s been turned upside down and inside out, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And so, he steps in close, placing his other hand on Douxie’s chest as well and smiling up at him. Douxie smiles that same smile from earlier, the kind that could turn night into day and winter into summer, and takes Krel’s face into his hands, pulling him in for a kiss that warms him down to his core and lights his own heart on fire.

When Krel sits in his seat next to Douxie, he’s a little dizzy with it all. In one night, he brought a nutcracker to life, killed a Mouse King, witnessed that nutcracker turn into a human prince, toured the prince’s kingdom made of candy, met a fairy, fell in love with said prince, and now sits on a snow throne next his prince. It’s a lot.

And next to him, Douxie looks like a true prince sitting on that throne. Claire has come up to him and placed a silver crown on his head, decorated with snowflakes and blue diamonds. He sits tall with his head held high, the picture of regality.

Claire and Jim then position themselves in front of him and Douxie, obscuring them from the view of the people who start to pour into the room. They chatter amongst themselves, all obviously confused and curious as to why they were called out of bed in the middle of the night and evidently instructed to dress their best, the ladies all in elegant gowns, the gentlemen all in crisp suits.

Once the room is filled, Claire raises her hands, and everyone falls silent.

“My good people, tonight, we are to hold a grand celebration!” Claire says. “For you see, tonight, our prince has returned to us!”

With that, she and Jim step aside, revealing them, and the crowd breaks out in loud gasps and uproarious cheers.

“Hail our Prince Hisirdoux!” Jim yells out over the noise, and as one, the crowd yells out, “Hail Prince Hisirdoux!” and each person bows or curtseys.

“My good citizens, it is to my greatest joy that I am returned to you!” Douxie calls out, his voice easily filling the room without him having to yell or bellow. “As you all can see, my curse is finally broken! After a great duel with the Mouse King, it was this young man here–” he reaches over to take Krel’s hand and raise it high “–who made the killing blow, breaking my curse and allowing me to return to you all!”

The crowd cheers once more, somehow even louder and wilder than before, all of them looking at Krel.

“It was his unmatched genius that brought me back to you, and so, I ask you all to hail my savior Krel Tarron!” Douxie continues.

“Hail Krel Tarron!” the crowd cheers before again bowing and curtseying. Douxie brings his hand back down but doesn’t release it.

Claire then once again speaks, “Honored guests from afar, though you brought your shows for the grand Christmas Celebration later this very day, I ask of you to perform now as well! We have the musicians at the ready, and the tables are stacked high with food. Tonight, we throw a ball! Our Prince Hisirdoux deserves the grandest welcome home we can give!”

Sure enough, at one end of the room, a bunch of musicians have now set up, and at the other, a long table has appeared, laden with snacks and sweets and anything you could want.

A short, stocky man with ginger hair and dressed all in browns steps forward. “Please, Your Highness, allow me to go first!”

Claire looks back at Douxie, and he nods.

She spreads her arms and says, “Very well! Clear the floor, if you would, and make way for the Duke of Chocolate!”

The crowd shifts to the side until all who remain are the Duke of Chocolate and ten others, five men and five women, four clad in light, milky browns, four clad in dark, deep browns, and two clad in cream white.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you all the most amazing performance in all the Winterland, inspired by our Spanish friends from whom our Duchy received our original cacao seeds!” the Duke announces, before retreating back toward the crowd.

Music begins to play, a lively beat led by the horns. The ten people then begin to dance, the brown-clad eight serving as backup to the white-clad main pair.

Krel watches with rapt attention – he has always loved music and dancing. He’d almost forgotten with how sick of the yearly Christmas Eve Party he’d become. The arm flourishes delight and the leg flourishes amaze, leading up to the main duo performing grand lifts in time with the castanets. It’s truly a lovely performance.

When they hit their final pose, the Duke comes back out and takes a bow.

“Thank you, thank you,” the Duke says as they all applaud. “We are honored to perform for you and welcome you back to the throne! But that isn’t the last of our gift!”

The Duke proceeds to wave his hands around weirdly, and calls out, “Alakazam!”

In puffs of smoke, all ten dancers are replaced by identical chocolate sculptures in the same poses they all were in. While a neat trick, Krel can also tell it’s not real magic, but rather sleight of hand. Still, very impressive – and well thought out. Present the dancers as a performance and as a distraction from the Duke setting up the magic trick, all while they’re also part of the magic trick itself.

“Thank you for the gift, Duke Tobias,” Douxie says.

The Duke bows once more, the dancers running out from the crowd to bow with him this time, and they all move the chocolate statues off the floor.

Next from the crowd emerges a young woman with violently pink hair dressed in an Arabian outfit of a deep, rich brownish burgundy color.

“Zoe!” Douxie says.

Zoe marches right up to Douxie – and Claire and Jim do nothing so Krel supposes it isn’t worrying. Douxie untwines their hands to stand and greet her. Zoe proceeds to first punch him in the gut, making Douxie double over with a pained grunt, and then wrap him in a hug.

“Douxie!” Krel says, about to get up, but Douxie motions him to stay sitting.

“You dumbass!” Zoe says.

“Missed you too,” Douxie wheezes out.

She pulls away with a, “You and I are talking later,” and then walks back to the floor.

Douxie slumps back down into his throne.

“Are you alright?” Krel asks, leaning over to him.

“I’m okay,” Douxie says, less wheezy but still winded. “I was rather expecting that. Everything’s fine, promise.”

“Presenting, the Duchess of Coffee!” Claire then announces to the room. No one else seems shocked or worried about the fact that said Duchess of Coffee just punched the prince in the gut. So, despite his misgivings, Krel settles back into his seat.

“My performance comes inspired by the Arabs who gifted my Duchy with its first coffee beans,” she says before getting into position.

Once again, music starts to play.

The bells around her ankles jingle in an interesting way as she dances, a very different dance from that of the Duke’s people. It’s slower, darker in tone. The way she moves is captivating, her flexibility awe-inspiring, the way her hips and torso move intriguing. Krel’s jaw drops in time as she herself slowly drops into a full split.

When she finishes on the ground, the crowd again cheers, and she very gracefully gets back to her feet, curtseying, and moving aside.

She’s replaced by a pair of male dancers in yellow silk of an Eastern style, carrying a box between them.

“Presenting, a delegation representing the Viscountess of Tea!” Claire says.

“Odd that Viscountess Mary isn’t here,” he hears Jim say quietly. “I know she arrived with the delegation.”

“I’m sure she is here somewhere,” Douxie says, just as quiet.

“My money’s on the box,” Claire says.

When they start dancing, it doesn’t take long for them to open up the box and lift from it a young Chinese woman dressed in red silk, who must be the Viscountess Mary. Despite her small stature, especially in comparison to her dancers, she seems to fill up the room. He is truly awed by the strength and stamina displayed by her and her dancers. The way they jump, so much and so high, is truly impressive.

At the end, the Viscountess stands as her dancers exit with the box. “I am honored, as the Viscountess of Tea, to present a dance inspired by my ancestors, who traveled to Winterland all the way from China and established my Viscounty, and who brought with them the tea we now share with all of Winterland.”

She then produces from seemingly nowhere a pad of paper and a pencil, which she holds up threateningly. “This is all the warning you are getting, your highness – there will be portraits tonight, whether you like it or not.” And she then runs after her dancers.

“Oh my,” is all Krel can think to say.

“That’s Mary for you,” Douxie says. “She also runs The Winterland Times. She copies a lot of the portraits she takes in it so the whole kingdom can see them.”

“It’s only gotten bigger since you were last here,” Jim says.

“She’s working on a way to capture images instantaneously,” Claire says.

“Oh lord,” Douxie says. “She’ll be unstoppable.”

Next comes up a dark-skinned young woman with an afro dressed in red and white. Along with her are eight dancers in red, white, and green. All of them have green leaves tied around their wrists and ankles and they hold large red and white hoops.

Claire calls out, “Presenting, the Countess of Candy Cane!”

“We give to you all a dance inspired by the plant that grows in our native land!” the Countess says.

What is perhaps the most upbeat music yet begins to play, and the dancers commence a lively jig. It’s a fun number, the hoops being filled with something to make noise, the dancers waving them and jumping through them as they dance, making their own music in time with the instruments. The Countess makes you want to get up and dance with her in her vim and vigor, raising the spirits of the room straight to the ceiling.

Toward the end, the Countess starts to jump and spin through her hoop, and her dress skirt whirls as she dances, making it appear as though the stripes on her dress themselves are moving, nearly making Krel dizzy as he watches.

They finish with a last flourish, shaking their hoops as the music ends. They then give a bow and the Countess says, “We gift you these hoops, all made of pure candy cane and filled with peppermint shavings!”

“Thank you for the gift, Countess Darci,” Douxie says.

Countess Darci and her dancers bow once more before retreating.

Next from the crowd emerges a young woman with glasses in a dress of pale red. Behind her follow five young women in pastel tutus of yellow, pink, orange, purple, and blue. All six hold reed flutes.

“Presenting, the Marchioness of Marzipan!” Claire announces.

“Allow me to present you with the Dance of the Reed Flutes, a traditional dance from my homeland!” the Marchioness says with a deep curtsey. The dancers then get into position, and the Marchioness stands offset, putting the reed flute to her lips.

“Marchioness Shannon is actually playing?” Douxie asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard anyone from her March play their reed flutes for this piece.”

“I have heard she’s been practicing since last Christmas as a ‘return to tradition’,” Claire says.

Marchioness Shannon and her dancers proceed to perform what is perhaps the most delicate dance of them all. The dancers pretend to play their reed flutes while the band the Marchioness play the real thing, dancing on their toes, hopping lightly from foot to foot as they go. The Marchioness plays her flute quite expertly, her sound and the dancers beautifully complimenting each other as they perform.

When they finish, everyone applauds, and she and her dancers are quickly replaced by a young man who also wears glasses, though he brings with him a quite large group of dancers.

“Presenting, the Viscount of Cheese!” Claire says.

“I bring to you a very special piece,” he says. “We present the Waltz of the Flowers, a celebration of our many special cheeses made with flowers!”

“Cheese can be made from flowers?” Douxie wonders aloud.

“Yes, there are actually several types,” Jim says.

“Viscount Eli got the idea from Jim. He requested some Alp Blossom from the Viscount for one of his Midsummer Festival dishes,” Claire says.

Oh, Krel hopes the Viscount brought some of his Alp Blossom. His parents once imported some from Bavaria, and it was delicious.

When they begin dancing, Krel can’t help but marvel at how graceful the Viscount is. He just didn’t get those vibes from him – he got more ‘awkward nerd’ vibes than ‘graceful dancer’ vibes. But then again, the Viscount could easily also be an awkward nerd. Plus, the music is very much traditional waltz-type music, so that, in Krel’s opinion, does make it easier to dance to, at least if one is already familiar with how to waltz.

It’s quite a long piece, much longer than most of the other dances, but Krel finds he only just barely notices, so enraptured by it as he is. The Viscount exits the dance several times – Krel watches him once to see him off to the side, hands braced on his knees as he gulps down air before hitting an inhaler and heading back into the fray – which allows the other dancers to really shine, especially with how their skirts swirl with their movements, mimicking flower petals, making them appear to bloom every time the fabric flares out around them.

When they finish, no one else steps forward to perform. Krel goes to ask if it’s over, but then Claire holds out a hand toward Jim, who takes it readily.

“It is customary for the ruling couple to perform a pas-de-deux,” she explains, glancing back at Krel. “But since you two just got here, we can do the one we prepared.”

“Shall we?” Jim asks.

“We shall,” Claire says.

Jim leads Claire out onto the floor, and he finds himself leaning forward in anticipation. Just what will a duet between the Sugarplum Fairy and her Cavalier look like?

Claire then announces, “Presenting, your former Queen and Queen of the Fairies, the Lady Claire, and her husband and Cavalier, Sir James.”

A beautiful song plays, and he can only watch breathlessly as the couple dances, Claire lighter than air on her feet, her wings fluttering gracefully with every moment. Every lift is effortless, Jim holding her high and steady with an assuredness and confidence that allows Claire to make the most beautiful shapes in the air with her arms and legs. When he turns her in his arms, she always folds her wings in just right so as to not hit him, and when he holds her so she can do a leg it’s like they become one person, one living being with two halves perfectly in sync with each other.

The music builds and builds, and Jim lifts her sky high, as high as he possibly can, and she just floats.

This leads into more lifts, each more beautiful than the last as Jim carries her effortlessly across the floor and back, holds her and turns her.

Her grace is heavenly. His poise is divine. Together they weave a tapestry of such beauty and artistry that Krel actually starts to tear up as he watches. It’s just so magnificent. Each time they split, they shine like stars on their own, but when they come together, they’re as brilliant as the sun, as stunning as every star in the endless night sky.

At the end, the music leads into a last series of turns in Jim’s arms, the entire room breathless as they watch, finally bursting into near deafening applause upon the final pose, Claire’s legs wrapped around Jim’s torso, Jim’s arms lifted to show that he’s not holding her, both reaching out to the roaring crowd.

“Holy kleb!” he says, clapping wildly. That was simply angelic. Exquisite! Never before has seen a duet as marvelous and as palpably loving as this one.

He even gets to his feet for them, letting out the loudest whistle he can muster.

He looks over at Douxie, more a reflex than anything, to find Douxie not looking at Claire and Jim at all. No, he’s looking at Krel, his chin propped on his hand, a goofy smile stretched ear to ear.

“Douxie?” he asks.

“I love your smile,” Douxie says, and Krel nearly starts wheezing from that one. He can’t just say stuff like this out of nowhere! “You like dancing?”

“Oh, yes,” Krel says once he finds his voice, finally stopping his applause now that everyone else has stopped and begin to intermingle, talking and casually dancing to the music the band’s now playing. “I’ve always loved music and dancing. But I’ve never seen anything like this! It was wonderful!”

“I’ll teach you, then,” Douxie says, now moving to stand up as well. “I’ll teach you how to dance like that, and at next year’s Christmas Celebration, it’ll be you and I out on the floor.”

“Really?” Krel asks with a soft gasp.

Douxie takes his hands and pulls him in close. “Anything you ask for, love. Anything in the world, you need but ask and it is yours.”

Krel blushes deeply, a little overwhelmed. Douxie means every word he just said, and Krel’s not used to such treatment. Sure, he grew up a child of the richest people in his hometown, but he still had to compete with Aja. Never had anyone been so readily willing to do absolutely anything for him.

“And if I asked to stay forever?” Krel asks.

“Your wish is my command,” Douxie says, taking Krel’s hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it.

Will he miss home? Sure. But he figures if Douxie’s magic could bring them to this kingdom, it could take him back to visit. And maybe he could even bring Aja here! Aja would love this place, he just knows it.

He reaches out to pull Douxie into a kiss.

The music then turns bright, a fun, upbeat tune that calls to Krel.

“And if I asked to go dance?” he then asks, breaking away just far enough for the words to fit between them.

“Then I shan’t make you wait a second longer,” Douxie says.

In a flash, Krel is swept off his feet and whisked off to the dance floor.

They dance until the dark night sky outside the immense windows blooms with pinks and oranges, and the sun peaks up over the horizon, making the entire kingdom spread out below them shine like a beacon. They dance aimlessly to fun tunes and waltz to the grand numbers. He even manages to impress Douxie with his waltzing skill – hey, he didn’t grow up in an affluent household for nothing! They spin each other, lift each other, hang off each other until they physically can’t stand anymore, high off the night and giddy with an equal mixture of euphoria and exhaustion.

The few hours of sleep they get are a godsend, the two of them both collapsing into the first bed they see without even changing clothes, sleeping late into the afternoon, right up until they need to go to the Christmas Celebration. Douxie magically fixes them both up before they go down, drying out the still-damp pant legs of their suits from walking through the snow and cleaning and readjusting everything until Krel feels as though he’s just put on a freshly laundered suit and hasn’t been wearing it for over 24 hours now. If anything, the red seems richer and the gold detailing seems to gleam brighter now, as if it were sewn from actual gold. When Douxie comes up to stand behind him in the mirror, wrapping an arm around Krel’s waist, the blue, white, and silver of his outfit offsetting the red, black, and gold of Krel’s nicely, Krel thinks this might be his new favorite suit.

At dinner, he tries every food he can get his hands on, and it’s all amazing. The chocolate from Duke Tobias is decadent, Duchess Zoe’s coffee is rich, the tea from Viscountess Mary is fragrant, the peppermint from Countess Darci is fresh, Marchioness Shannon’s marzipan is sweet, and Viscount Eli did in fact bring some Alp Blossom and it tastes even creamier than Krel remembers. Everything else is cooked to perfection as well – Jim proudly takes credit for a good chunk of it, including the turkey which is juicy and flavorful. Krel’s quite impressed, he wouldn’t have pegged a knight as also being an expert chef.

He also gets to enjoy all of the performances once more, each as wonderful as they were the first time, as well as a few others presented by nobles who arrived that day, such as the Duchess of Ginger, Barbara, who is apparently Jim’s mother. She performs with her “Pochienelles”, who are the gaggle of children she adopted with her husband, the Count of Key Lime. Krel talks extensively with the performing nobles and finds them all to be quite friendly. Toby (as he learns to call him) is quite funny, and a dedicated master of the art of sleight of hand, as he demonstrated the statues. Zoe is Douxie’s oldest friend and a spitfire, unafraid to say exactly what she thinks, not to mention a bit of an inventor herself – Krel thinks they’ll get along great. Mary gets her portraits as threatened and proceeds to gossip in such a way that puts even the ladies from home to shame – he never would have described gossip as an art form before tonight. Darci is nice, a calmer presence than her best friend Mary with a good head on her shoulders. Shannon is quiet and rather shy, mostly keeping to herself, though he does learn she loves to read and manages to get some conversation in about some of his favorite books. Eli is … quite something. Krel was correct about the awkward nerd part, and Eli’s sheer passion for the weird and obscure is truly something to behold.

Toward the end of the meal, the grand doors slam open with a dramatic whirl of snow, and standing in them is the one and only Mr. Ambrosius, his dark green cloak traded out for a softer pine green robe.

“Uncle Merlin!” Douxie says, springing from his seat.

The old man tears across the hall. First, he pulls Douxie into a hug. Then he pulls away to grip Douxie’s shoulders tightly as he starts shouting. “Do you understand how stupid of an idea that was!? Arthur hates magic, what made you think the princess would feel any differently? And why would you try and fend off one of Morgana’s spells on your own!? You were nowhere near powerful or experienced enough! You should have come to me when you noticed the secondary curse! In all my years, never have I seen something so idiotic and reckless!”

“I-I just … I thought I could … I-I only wanted to help,” Douxie stutters out.

“Oh, you foolish boy!” Mr. Ambrosius says before dragging Douxie back in for an even tighter hug. “Thank the heavens you’re finally okay.”

“Sorry, Uncle Merlin,” Douxie says, face pressed into the shoulder of the old man.

“Well, I hope I can rightfully assume you’ve learned your lesson,” Mr. Ambrosius says, finally releasing Douxie. “And what’s done is done. You’re alright now. No use dwelling on things past.”

“And Mr. Tarron!” he then exclaims, turning to Krel. “I knew you could do it, my boy!”

“Was all of this your plan all along?” Krel asks, narrowing his eyes.

“I’ll admit, most of what has transpired was amongst the possible outcomes of giving Douxie to you for Christmas, which was quite a gamble on my part, you know, so thank you for proving it a wise one,” Mr. Ambrosius says. The tone of his voice as he says the last half of the sentence sends a shiver down Krel’s spine – he hadn’t even thought about that. Mr. Ambrosius didn’t just give him one of his projects, he gave his nephew to Krel for Christmas, decided to place his trust in Krel when he couldn’t fix Douxie himself.

“Thank you for trusting me with him,” Krel says.

Mr. Ambrosius smiles warmly at him, and then says, “And in case you’re worried about your family, don’t; once I received the full story from Miss Claire, I returned to the Tarron estate and spoke with them. I told them the story and made sure they understood the truth of it. Though I am fairly certain your father is going to ground you for the rest of your life when you see each other again.”

That is certainly a relief. He hadn’t even thought about it all that deeply. He hadn’t wanted to.

But then he registers Mr. Ambrosius’s last sentence.

“I’m almost 18, he can’t ground an adult!” Krel says.

“You do realize this is Fialkov Tarron we’re speaking of, yes?” Mr. Ambrosius says.

He’s got a point.

“Well, hopefully, he will be more forgiving once he sees everything with his own eyes,” Douxie says, retaking his seat next to Krel.

“Coranda might be able to talk him down,” Mr. Ambrosius says. “And if nothing else, I happen to know he’s a sucker for young Miss Tarron’s puppy eyes.”

It hits him.

“Oh kleb. Well, I might not even have to worry about eternal grounding. Aja’s going to kill me,” Krel says with a groan.

“Miss Tarron actually seemed quite thrilled for you,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

“Really? I disappeared in the middle of the night without a word on Christmas Eve,” Krel says.

“For an adventure and a romance,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

“She knows about me and Douxie?” he asks.

“I did slip in a couple of details,” Mr. Ambrosius says.

“Well, then that’s why she was so thrilled, she finally has good ammo! I, the person who’s been gagging at her and her boyfriend for months now, went and had a whirlwind Christmas romance! She’s never letting me live this down!” Krel says, slamming his forehead onto the table.

“Hey now, that’s my beloved you’re hurting,” Douxie says, urging him to pick his head back up. Krel looks at him and sticks his tongue out.

“Now, I believe there’s something for Mr. Tarron outside,” Mr. Ambrosius says, looking at Douxie.

“Ah! Yes!” Douxie says. “How’d you know it was for him?”

“Because he knows you,” Claire says.

“What’s outside?” Krel asks, sitting up.

“Come with me and see,” Douxie says.

Douxie takes his hand and leads him outside. He gasps at the sight of the silver sleigh awaiting them, two large, magnificent reindeer harnessed and ready to go. All their friends file out after them, standing around the sleigh, and watching the two of them, including Mr. Ambrosius.

“Douxie, what is this?” he asks.

“You ever wanted to ride off into the sunset?” Douxie asks.

“It’s long past sunset,” Krel points out.

Douxie makes the cutest pouty face and says, “Ok, yeah, it is, but you get the gist!”

Krel giggles. “I do, yeah.”

Suddenly, something cold is placed on his finger. He looks down to see Douxie has slid a silver ring adorned with a small blue diamond onto his left ring finger. “You asked for forever last night. If you still want it, here it is.”

And how could Krel not kiss him for that?

Cheers ring out as their lips meet (or in the case of Mr. Ambrosius, a supportive smile), and once he’s been thoroughly smooched, Douxie hops up and pulls Krel up into the sleigh after him.

Krel’s about to ask where they’re going before Douxie claps his hands twice, and they take off. It’s Christmas night, and they’re in a silver sleigh being pulled by magical flying reindeer through the sky, far, far above the castle, their waving friends becoming tiny specks below them. It’s still lightly snowing, and in the sky, it whirls around them in cascading swirls, their own frozen stars in the moonlight, crystalizing their clothes and getting caught in their hair.

“Haha! This is amazing!” Krel says, gazing over the side of the sleigh. The snowy forest extends as far as the eye can see to the north and the east, while white hills roll off into the west and south, with the glowing Candy Kingdom at the center.

“Just wait ‘til you see the rest of Winterland,” Douxie says. “Welcome to your VIP tour of our kingdom!”

Our kingdom.

Krel likes the sound of that.

Krel settles into his seat, snuggling happily into Douxie’s side, and together, he and his Nutcracker Prince fly off into the night.

#krexie #hisirdoux casperan mentioned #krel tarron #tales of arcadia #the nutcracker #christmas

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ewritesfanfics · 1 year ago

Text

A Visit from St. Hisirdoux

My Secret Santa gift for @whitecatindisguise! Merry Christmas!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52473265

Things have gone awry on Christmas Eve, and so Douxie steps up to save the holiday for his adorable if too smart for their own good niblings. And it proceeds to go about as well as things usually do for him. Jim and Claire owe him so much for this.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, in the midst of a blizzard Not a creature was stirring, none but one weary wizard The Guardians all were tucked in with their dreams Unknowing that Douxie had cooked up a scheme See, the children both slept with worries abound That this year by Santa they wouldn’t be found So Douxie slipped out of his warm, cozy bed And snuck through the castle, dressed up all in red

Douxie moves as quickly and quietly as possible through the darkness of Camelot, even more oppressive than usual with the winter gale outside blocking any and all light they might have gotten from the stars or the moon.

Luckily, though, he can light the way with his flashlight – oh how he loves modern technology that can be powered by just a couple of dollar store batteries – and so the darkness of the long hallways does nothing to hinder him. He easily makes his way down through the massive castle, floor by floor.

Now, does he want to be maneuvering his way through a dark castle via flashlight in the dead of night during a storm? No. No, he does not. He would much rather be asleep right now, curled up under his blankets snug and toasty, enjoying the marvel that is Krel’s heating system. Truly it is a thing of wonder to keep the ancient Arthurian castle as warm as it is currently with the blizzard outside and with how far up in the sky they are, and thus it deserves such appreciation as his remaining in his bed which is gloriously situated directly above a heating vent. But he can’t in good conscience do that – Matty and Izzy were so heartbroken earlier when this blizzard started (one of the worst blizzards Douxie’s ever seen, and that’s saying something) and when Krel told them all it was too risky to fly through it. They were convinced Santa wouldn’t be able to find Castle Camelot in the storm and were not accepting of any of the adults’ placations.

So here Douxie is.

In the middle of the night.

In a red coat and a fake beard.

Now, one might wonder, why? They could just tell the kids in the morning that Santa came, and they would know none the wiser, right?

Except Matty and Izzy got both of their parents’ stubbornness and ingenuity, making them more formidable than your average 5-year-old. Add in the fact that they’ve lived in a castle with tech-genius Krel all their short lives, and you’ve got a recipe for two small children with advanced reasoning and the capability (and access to the necessary materials) to set up night-vision cameras so they may check in the morning if Santa truly came as a way to say ‘I told you so’ to all the adults. He can’t even lie about Santa using his magic to evade the cameras – those two know for a fact that he and Krel have ensured all the tech in this place is capable of seeing through concealment charms. He’s been thwarted by his own magitech and a pair of children too smart for their own good.

Not that their parents know anything about this plan of theirs. No, Jim and Claire had been off cleaning the dishes after dinner when Douxie overheard Matty and Izzy discussing this.

Should he have told them? Maybe. But he’s got this! How hard can it be to play Santa?

He makes a stop to poke his head into the main living room where the large 12-foot Christmas tree is set up. He can’t use his flashlight in here lest the cameras catch it, and the main lights are out, making it hard to see, but the twinkling Christmas lights strung around the tree and the bright star on top provide just enough light that he manages well enough. The bottom half of the tree is so full of ornaments, it’s difficult to see the actual needles, but no one had the heart to say no more when Matty and Izzy were decorating all that they could reach, their excitement boundless as they hung ornament after ornament after ornament, the lights becoming half obscured, the garland becoming more just cushioning between the ornaments than an actual decoration itself. So what if the tree looks a little lopsided – the kids had a great time decorating, and that’s the important part. There’s also garland strewn about the room, pinned up messily on the wall and draped over the backs of the couches and over the mantle above the fireplace, woven through the numerous wreaths hung up and at points decorated itself with the same velvet bows that are tied to the wreaths – also courtesy of Matty and Izzy. It’s like Christmas exploded in here (and not just in here – the kids wanted to deck the halls and by god, all the halls have been decked to the high heavens and back; he’s basically spent every day since Thanksgiving decorating with them). Around the bottom of the tree are piles of presents, so many that Douxie just knows cleaning up the wrapping paper in the morning is going to be a pain. Of course, these are the friend/family presents – the presents “from Santa Claus” are stashed elsewhere. He made sure to tell the others that he would bring them up so that he wouldn’t be interrupted.

Once he determines in the low light that the fireplace is indeed open (never hurts to double-check), he continues on his merry way.

Douxie Claus is coming to town!

Down to the storage to gather each present Douxie then braces for a chilly ascent Away to a window he runs like a flash He hypes himself up and throws open the glass The icy winds cut Douxie down to the bone It’s truly the coldest night he’s ever known He mutters a heating spell under his breath He hopes it will keep him from freezing to death

He better get the Uncle of the Year award after this, he swears.

He takes one last deep breath before stepping out into the falling snow and whipping wind. He can’t see two feet in front of him in this, but he grits his teeth and forges forward. He just has to keep reminding himself it’s for his adorable niblings who deserve the best Christmas he can give them. And since it’s within his power, dammit, he’s doing this!

Keeping a hand on the wall, he tucks his head down and marches into the gale. He can’t see shit, but as long as he knows where the wall is, he can find the stairs he’s looking for, the ones that wind all the way up around the tower to the belvedere, from which he can locate the chimney that leads to the living room.

His foot hits a patch of ice, and he nearly eats it, only his many years on this great green Earth saving him from needing his front teeth replaced and his nose reconstructed. His body reacts automatically, muscle memory kicking in, allowing him to twist at the last second to land on his side instead of his face. Not to say it doesn’t still hurt like a motherfucker. It very much does – he’s certain he’s going to have nasty bruising all along his shoulder and hip tomorrow.

He manages to pull himself back to his feet, grunting as hot pain flares through his shoulder – he thinks he might have dislocated it. Of all the crazy shit he’s done over the years, he dislocates his shoulder by slipping on a patch of fucking ice!

Deep breaths, Douxie, you’ve got a job to do.

It’s a problem for later.

He repositions the sack full of gifts over his non-injured shoulder, placing an impervious spell on it just in case he takes another spill like that in a more unfortunate area, and continues onward. After what feels like forever, fighting against the wind, blinded by the snow, deafened by the mournful, angry howling, he finally finds the first step.

He finds it by stubbing his toes against it, but that still counts as finding it.

And now he can say dressing as Santa has done something for him tonight – his heavy black boot took the brunt of the stub. While his foot may hurt, he did not break a toe (it’s surprising how easy it is to break your toe just by stubbing it).

He breathes a sigh of relief – the stairs wind around the tower, so there will at least be a few stretches where he’ll be shielded from the cutting wind. He might have the heating spell, but it doesn’t do anything for the wind, it just keeps him from getting frostbite, leaving him to deal with the horrific gusts of air that slice straight through him like a hot knife through butter.

As he starts his ascent, one boot after the other sinking into heavy snow nearly up to his knees – and the snow is so deep that he never actually sets foot on the stone beneath it, just on the bottom stuff packed tight enough to support his weight – and his unbruised shoulder pressed to frozen stone to help keep him upright, breath shoved back into his lungs by the wind along with flecks of snow and ice as quickly as he exhales, he’s sure he makes quite the sight – a man in a shitty DIY Santa costume trying to climb stairs outside in a blizzard, and just shy of failing, the force of him walking forward and the force of the wind blowing backward nearly equal.

He’s sure if you saw him, he’d look like a kook But goddammit tonight he’s good ol’ Saint Doux As rapid as a sloth, he trudges on up Cursing as the wind follows him, it won’t stop; "By Daya! And Kanjigar! By Merlin and Mordrax! And by Vendel as well, that grumpy, old yack! I hate this! Fuck this! A thousand fuzzbuckets! If I am to die, I’m haunting Jim, fuck it!"

No matter where he is around the tower, he cannot escape the elements; the storm is so frenzied that only complete enclosure could spare him. It seems like the wind comes from every angle, buffering and battering him without mercy, tearing at him with icy fingers in attempts to fling him from the staircase.

But he is Hisirdoux Casperan, and if he is anything, it is crazy and stubborn enough to do this! He’s faced worse odds than climbing a tower in a snowstorm! He’s climbed a titan for fuck’s sake! He’s fallen from a similar height before and lived!

He just has to keep reminding himself of that. It doesn’t help that he can’t even use the same trick here as he did for the titan – that spell sticks you directly to the surface of what you’re standing on, so he’d just have a layer of ice and snow stuck to each boot, which isn’t exactly helpful when it comes to grip. And as for the fall … well, he’s still not 100% sure as to how exactly he survived that, so he does not want to have to try and replicate that.

He also keeps telling himself that if his luck has indeed finally run out, he’ll at least have haunting Jim to look forward to. It’s his offspring who’ve driven Douxie to do this, it’s only fair he’s the one to get haunted!

Technically, he could haunt Claire too, but he wouldn’t put it past Claire to exorcise him. And he thinks haunting Jim would be more entertaining anyway.

He takes comfort in thinking of all the things he’ll do as a poltergeist. He can fuck with Jim’s cooking, not enough to ruin it but just enough that nothing ever tastes quite right again – things will always be just a touch too salty, or just a bit overdone. He can keep knocking his Vespa’s alignment out of whack and let the air out of the tires so that they’re never quite inflated enough. If his dying in a blizzard has any bearing on his ghostly abilities, he can make sure every room is just cold enough for Jim to be uncomfortable, no matter how bundled up he is. And he’ll do all of this when no one else is around, they’ll all think Jim’s gone crazy, and he’ll laugh and laugh and laugh from beyond the grave.

He almost cries in relief when he finally reaches the top – but he’s sure the tears would freeze instantly, and so refrains. He’s not too keen on getting ice burns from his own tears.

He scans the roof, doing his best to keep the floor plan in mind, but it’s quite difficult – he can’t see shit, and with what Krel’s changed, there’s just enough variation to be familiar but still confusing.

He can’t pinpoint it, the snow’s just too thick, and keeping his eyes open too wide for too long physically hurts in these conditions, so he decides to just start heading in the direction he knows it’s in.

Across the rooftop, Douxie practically flies So he can flee faster the ice of the skies He seeks out the chimney with the floor plan he knew To throw down the toys, and Saint Hisirdoux too He nearly misses it in the flurries thick But his memory saves him before the last tick He skids to a halt, not a meter to spare And he’s ready to climb out of the night air

Oh, he’s so happy he found it so quickly.

Finally, something’s gone right!

Now all he’s got to do is shimmy down, place the presents, and be on his merry way back to bed. He’s taking a shower first though. Oh, how nice the hot water will feel … maybe even a nice, steamy bath, where he can just lounge in the heat as long as he wants, the water spelled to stay just the right temperature … and if he goes with the bath, he could also get himself some hot cocoa to drink at the same time …

Come on, man, get it together.

If he keeps fantasizing like this, he’s going to end up chickening out, he knows it. The temptation of warmth and being inside will simply be too great for his 4 AM resolve.

He’s almost done! He just has to focus!

Eyes on the prize, Casperan! You’ve got this!

He considers things for a second and decides that, if the space is the right length, he can brace his back against one side and his feet against the opposite and slowly wiggle down. It should only be about 50 feet down to the pit; he’s had to maneuver through worse and longer spaces than an old chimney.

Never in the midst of a blizzard that’s effectively blinded and deafened him and with a bum shoulder, but eh. He’s sure it’ll be fine. He just has to keep reminding himself that he’s done stupider shit before and came out on the other side just fine. Relatively.

And hey, inside the chimney, it might be cold, but he’ll be shielded from the elements, which will let the heating spell do its thing unimpeded. A win. And at some point on the way down, things will start warming up thanks to the insulation and the heating system, and then he’ll be doubly warm after the torture of walking through this hellish wind! Another win!

Truly, shelter is one of humanity’s greatest triumphs.

A cave is all well and good, but it doesn’t hold a candle to manmade walls and insulation, and he’ll die on that hill.

If he doesn’t die up here on the roof, that is.

But he won’t! He’s so close to being inside where it’s warm and dry that he can practically taste it!

Just a few more minutes, and he’s scot-free! Ne’er again must he set foot in the frigid winds of this winter tempest!

Hallelujah!

He carefully gauges the length and width of the chimney, taking slow, cautious steps to measure around all four sides to make sure he’s as accurate as possible. It turns out to be a little larger than he’d like, he thinks he’ll be okay, what with how tall he is. He’s got long legs and tenacity, and it’s truly amazing how much a person can do with just those two things. Long legs and tenacity have gotten him far before, and he trusts them to take care of him now.

He then leans over it to get a good look And sees he’ll be tarnished with ashes and soot The bundle of gifts he drops down the tall vent Knowing they’ll all land without damage or dent He sits on the edge, places one foot then two Douxie maneuvers himself over the flue He takes a deep breath, braces against the walls But the soot makes him sneeze and down, down he falls

Sometimes, he wonders if God just likes taking the piss out of him.

He doesn’t even believe God exists – it’s rather hard to when he’s had to fight and kill two epically pissed off ancient demigod wizards hellbent on ending the world and traveled the country with their sweet but also gremlin ancient demigod wizard sister, the three of whom were responsible for the creation of Earth as he knows it.

But he could believe a god exists solely to dunk on him. That’d line up with, well, his entire life.

And right now is a prime example.

The deep breath that was supposed to steady his nerves and brace him for the descent instead carries a whiff of soot right up his nose.

He doesn’t even get the chance to hold it in, everything happening too fast to register any of it before it’s far, far too late.

His sneeze is loud and violent, reverberating through his entire body, the kind of sneeze that makes your diaphragm ache with the force of it and throws out your back in a snap of white-hot pain, also causing his head to crack back painfully against the stone. It echoes down the chimney and is followed quickly by first his scream and second himself, all purchase on the sides lost, the sneeze having jerked him loose.

He tries to catch himself, scrabbling at the walls through the pain lancing up his back, but to no avail – he’s falling too fast, each attempt at bracing just taking skin from the palms of his hands and whatever other bare parts of him that touch the filthy walls.

His own sneeze and subsequent high-pitched scream echo back up at him, alerting him to the impending firepit below.

He can at least console himself that it’s not lit right now, and a glance down tells him the bag at least bounced out of the way.

It doesn’t even occur to his pained and frozen brain to use magic until it’s too late.

He hits the bottom with a CRASH, logs splintering beneath him, sending up a plume of ash in a mini mushroom cloud, leaving him in a bed of slag and splinters.

He knows not how long in the wood logs he lies He’s dazed and amazed that he’s even alive But a sigh finds him there, and what does he spot But Jim Lake Jr., by whom Douxie’s been caught He grins sheepishly but’s cut off by a groan Jim takes pity and helps him onto the stone Together they place presents ‘round the lit tree Then Jim helps him down to the infirmary

“You do know Krel can doctor the tapes, right?” Jim says as he helps Douxie lay down on one of the higher tables – the metal isn’t comfortable, but it’s near the entrance and high enough for Jim to work without squatting or needing a chair. “It would have been so easy to just fake the footage.”

“Well sor-ry if I wanted to do something nice for the kids,” Douxie says. His coat and pants are ripped in several places, more black than red right now, and through each hole are bloody, sooty scrapes and already blooming bruises. His beard and hat are utterly ruined – if he were a better textilomancer maybe he could save them, but he’s not, so they’re a lost cause. And he’s not about to go telling on himself to Zoe, no sir. He’s sure she’ll find out anyway, she always does, but he’s not going to aid the process. The hat and beard are wrecked, and that’s that.

But no bones are broken, and he’s taking that as a win.

The fall also relocated his shoulder, so double win!

Sure, he may not be able to move all that well since that sneeze threw out his back and then the subsequent back-first crash, but that’s what Jim’s for. Who needs a functioning body when you’ve got a pseudo-brother to ferry you around?

“I know, I know,” Jim says. “We’re still going to have to doctor them anyway – I don’t think we want to traumatize them with the image of Santa screaming and falling down the chimney. You’re just lucky none of the presents broke on top of that.”

“No, no, no, not just lucky, I actually thought about that one! There was a spell on the bag to ensure they wouldn’t break, I put it on the bag after I slipped outside before climbing up the tower to get to the roof,” Douxie says, indignant. He bites back a pained grunt as his back seizes slightly – too indignant, apparently.

“Slipped outside … why didn’t you use the stairs inside the tower?” Jim asks.

…

“I don’t see why you need the answer to that,” Douxie says, refusing to meet Jim’s gaze.

“You’re going to get yourself killed doing something stupid one of these days, I swear,” Jim says.

“Oh, fuck off,” Douxie says.

“Alright, alright,” Jim says. “Anyway, heavy editing will still have to be done.”

“Some of what I did better be usable,” Douxie grumbles. If he did that for nothing, he swears to every god that’s ever been worshipped …

“I’m sure some of it is, at least with some touch-up,” Jim says.

“I’ll talk to Krel before the kids wake up in the morning,” Douxie says.

With Jim’s help, he gets patched up, looking quite the sight by the time they’re done – his arms and legs are almost entirely covered in bandages, and there’s deep bruising along his torso, with some mottling on his left temple and the left side of his jaw. He at least doesn’t have a concussion though.

Jim then helps him roll onto his stomach and he starts cracking Douxie’s back, something Douxie actually taught him how to do. When Jim cracks his lower back, the sound that’s forced out of Douxie is inhuman, and then his entire body goes limp.

“Nice one,” he groans out, voice strained and wheezy.

“How’re we explaining all this tomorrow, then?” Jim asks.

“Uh … I fell down some stairs in the middle of the night?” Douxie says.

“Matty and Izzy will buy it, but no one else,” Jim says.

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there, I just want to go back to bed,” Douxie says. Bed sounds heavenly right now. He could sleep for 100 years after this adventure.

Bed will have to wait until after that bath though (he’s definitely not standing for a shower). He’s not getting all this soot and ash all over his nice bedspread, thank you very much. He doubts Archie would appreciate it either.

And he’s sure the water will feel heavenly on his back.

The next day, the children do cheer with glee Knowing Santa visited that Christmas Eve His friends grill him about the bruises and scrapes And Krel shows them all the original tapes They watch them with mirth and laughter much greater But Claire pulls him aside to thank him later And he says to the kids when they’re both tucked in tight “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

#hisirdoux casperan #douxie casperan #jim lake jr #claire nunez mentioned #original jlaire kids #other characters mentioned #humor #tales of arcadia

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