Royal Red Bros Week 2025 - Day 1
Prompt: Historical || Holiday
Relationship: England + Canada
It wasn’t very festive, considering Christmas was a few weeks away.
Though finally hobbling around the house, Arthur’s strength was far from what it used to be. His hands were constantly enwrapped in tremors. His legs didn’t fare much better. At least Uncle Allie had taught Matthew wood carving, and it was easy to fashion a cane. If only Arthur would use it.
Currently, he sat motionless, staring out at the untouched snow glistening in the sun. But if he was actually taking in the bouncing rays or the clean cut of the drifts. His eyes had faded to a sloshy green, hiding any thought. If there even were any to begin with.
Matthew took a breath before stepping into the seating area and placing a tray on the side table. “I brought you some tea Father.” It was times like these that Matthew appreciated the natural softness of his voice. “It’s getting colder by the day. But we have plenty of firewood. And at least it is fitting with Christmas in a few weeks.” Silence. Matthew dug his nails into the edge of his palms. “Well um…Perhaps we should take it as an opportunity to liven the place up a bit? Get some holly, ivy? I know how much you love the greenery against the dark wood. With the soft glow of the candles.”
The winter wind whipped at the walls.
“M-Maybe we could go to England instead?” Matthew continued, voice trembling more and more. “Celebrate with Uncle Dylan, a-and I’m sure Uncle Allie will follow us. We could all celebrate together.”
Matthew was used to the coolness in his guardian’s voice. He would get in moods where Arthur didn’t want to be bothered, attention occupied by paperwork or other tasks from his leaders. It came from tiredness, Matthew had learned. And once more, he sounded tired. But it was different. His voice was breathy, quiet. There was a quake to it.
“Dad…” Matthew murmured, kneeling beside him. He gently took Arthur’s hand. “I’m here, okay? I-I know I’m not…” His saliva caught in the web of worry in his throat. “I just…I think you really need this.”
Arthur jerked his hand away, eyes never leaving the window.
“If you want your decorations so bad. You’re old enough to gather them yourself.”
Matthew’s mouth flopped open to speak, but before anything floated out, the front door slammed against the wall. Both Arthur and Matthew both jolted.
“I’m home,” Alastair’s voice gruffed through the cabin.
“Go help your uncle with dinner,” Arthur commanded, rising from his chair.
There was the usual sharpness. So he did what he always did when Arthur used that tone. Matthew hung his head and dragged himself out of the room. And after decades of living with Arthur, he knew better than to turn around for one more concerned glance.
