#did i casually slip in a reference to katolian spiced cider from the recipes that tdp official has been tweeting? yes yes i did

[blutopaz15]

For the Christmas prompt list, I gotta ask for 74😁

YAY, have some uglysweater!rayllum!! <3

(also incorporated prompt #13: “Your hands are freezing!” and kinda the vibes of #42: “I mean, I knew you had Christmas spirit but this is ridiculous.” for @leftboob who sent me a bunch of prompts too! I'm gonna writing a more winter-y (rather than holiday) ficlet for some of the other prompts in that ask as well!)

#74: “Don’t you have anything else spirited that isn’t as much of an eyesore?”

Once December hit, Rayla realized that winter in Katolis meant tagging along through the boys’ pretty much never-ending itinerary of royal responsibilities. Ezran’s holiday cheer had held up the longest, but between all of the traditions—receptions for visiting nobility and community festivals around the castle and carnivals in the market square in Katolis city—hers had pretty quickly fizzled out—especially with the way everyone was always looking at her all the time—and Callum’s had soon followed.

She’d expected, then, exhausted commiseration when they’d sat down with Opeli to sort the last few days of the season’s schedule. When they got to the last event on the calendar, though, she was alone in her complaining—a human habit that’d been all too easy to adopt for the season. To her surprise, instead of grumbling with her, Callum had gotten all googly-eyed and smiley, and well…

It couldn’t be so bad, then.

It’d taken everything in her not to roll her eyes, though, when part of all that dorky, sweet excitement had for some reason revolved around what she would wear. Rayla had gotten sick of her Opeli-assembled winter-tour wardrobe quickly—no matter how many times Callum had tried to flirt his way around her displeasure, calling all of this future princess practice—but Callum said he’d be the one who’d find her something to wear for tonight, which was…odd, but, again…

It couldn’t be so bad, then.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d been expecting—his favorite color, or something…attractive, maybe?—but it certainly hadn’t been the selection of truly horrible sweaters strewn across their room.

Callum clearly hadn’t been expecting her either, judging by how he startled seeing her in the doorway.

“Okay,” he sighed, beckoning to her bed, where he’d laid out several of the abominations in question, “since you’re here—oh, your hands are freezing, Rayla!”

Callum stopped short, then emphatically cupped her hands between his, the knit of his gloves and then his breath warming her fingertips. The chill had already been worth it—drills with some of the younger Crownguard always cleared her head—but she leaned in closer for the best part of being cold: letting Callum kiss it away.

“You wanna warm me up?” She teased, tracing her thumb along his cheek. “Or is that what the sweaters are for?”

“Uh…” Callum blinked, chuckling nervously, his face flushed almost as bright as the windburn on her cheeks. Then, stiffly, he turned back to the colorful assortment covering her bed, leaving his fingers laced between around hers. “Actually,” he started, voice cracking, “I was going to pick one for you, but I can’t decide. I had those made for you specifically, but…the color’s not quite right. They’re too green, you know?”

Callum pointed out the two green—bright green—sweaters sitting on her pillow, one with a garishly silver outline of a tree and the other with less-obnoxious-but-still-too-shiny snowflakes stitched all over it. Next to them were a few equally ridiculous sweaters of similar knit: blue with gold embellishments and some silly pictures stitched into the pattern—a snow…man? A blizzard? A cup of…tea? With…snow floating in it?

“So, I got out a few of mine from the last few years too, but they’re not really you—maybe a little too much holiday spirit—so…” He deflated, good-natured and dramatic, and shrugged. “Maybe you should pick.”

Rayla followed his gesture, gaze panning across their room, taking in how every flat surface was draped with half-folded sweaters, each one as tacky as the last. “Uhm…don’t you have anything else spirited that isn’t as much of an eyesore?”

“Well, they’re kind of supposed to be ugly,” Callum explained, eyes sparkling in shades of green she wouldn’t have minded wearing.

She recognized the glimmer as the holiday spirit he’d started the month with that’d faded along with her own to disenchantment, save for a few rare instants: when he’d watched her—so intently—sip the first mug of spiced cider he’d bought her at the market…when the first snowfall had reached the quiet courtyard corner they’d hidden away in…when she’d caught him under a sprig of mistletoe…

“It’s…tradition, I guess?” he went on, oblivious—it seemed—to the fond flood of warmth that’d melted away her teasing about the ugly sweaters. “It’s kind of silly, but December’s always been really busy like this, so after all of the celebrations and things were over, we’d spend a day, just us. When we were really little we’d just wear pajamas all day but our dad got both of us these really ridiculous sweaters one year and then…”

Callum trailed off, giving into the bitterness of remembering, his eyes downcast and his fingers leaving hers to touch the largest blue sweater on the bed—the one with the snowman on it—which she could only guess he’d worn last year, during their last holiday together…

Rayla gripped his shoulder, and Callum was still for a moment more before acknowledging the touch. Eyes misted over and lips formed into a nostalgic, pained smile, he looked up, squeezing her fingers appreciatively and leaned in to press his lips to her cheek in a tender, lingering kiss.

“I don’t know, it kind of became a thing,” he shrugged, while she absentmindedly traced the spot he’d kissed, “like, a competition for whose would be the ugliest.”

Bittersweet explanation complete, Callum brightened again, but…not enough.

Rayla smirked, nudging him to the side with her hip.

“Oh, then I need the worst one, obviously,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning over the selection of sweaters he’d narrowed her choices down to, making a show of deliberating over which was actually the worst. “So I can win,” Rayla clarified, swiveling cheerily back to Callum, whose grin widened as she made her enthusiasm clear.

If one last Katolian holiday tradition could make him smile like that…

It couldn’t be so bad, then.