Merry Christmas @nightescanor for @nntsecretsanta! Asia, I’m so glad I got you! Here is a small Escalin fic that I hope you enjoy! You can find it here on ao3! It is called Sometime and Somewhere.
Preview under the cut :) :
The Sins, these days, seemed to be on mission after mission with barely any reprieve. Escanor was thankful for the busy schedule. Fighting was something he, particularly during the day, could do rather successfully. He was not a man of many talents. But the sun gave him power to protect others, which is all he could be thankful for.
It didn’t hurt that a full schedule of missions also kept him close to his fellow Sins, his closest friends. Among them, one very special friend in particular.
She stood next to him now, slightly hovered above the ground with her magic. As she should, Escanor reflected mentally, the dirt beneath her has no right to touch her.
“I distract you.” It’s a statement more with only a hint of a question, and the words make her smirk as she says them.
“Yes.” Escanor states plainly, no stuttering in his voice as the sun has not dipper too far beyond the mountains yet. “You know of your own magnificence. But if you need me to remind you, I would be happy to.”
“So blunt. But, unnecessary. Though I may hold you to that at a later time.”
“Of course.” He concedes.
The kingdom was peaceful now. Peaceful times still had their difficulties, but hardly any were a challenge to the knights: let alone knights of the Sin’s ranks. He was alone with Merlin now, as the rest of the Sins had scattered upon their return to the Kingdom. Most to their lovers, Escanor thought, with a taste of bitterness. No: he was happy for his friends, his closest friends, on their luck and success with love. The only bitterness came from his own envy, and he shoved it down into the abysses of his mind: envy was not his sin to bare.
The peace of the Kingdom was evident on its streets. The day was frigid, yet citizens bustled throughout the streets, laughing merrily, spreading happy thoughts.
He doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking to observe until Merlin is stopped in front of him, addressing him.
“It’s a holiday soon; the people rejoice, having a reason to celebrate”
Ah yes. It is the winter. Soon, it’ll be Christmas. Escanor hasn’t looked at a calendar in a long time. He wonders how many days he has left. Through his life, he’s hardly celebrated such holidays, the isolation not leading to much celebration.
“And you, Merlin?” he questions, “Do you rejoice?”
Merry Christmas, @babydonut01s-world! I was your Secret Santa this year; below is a story based on The Christmas Fairy of Strasburg by Francis Jenkins Olcott. I hope you like it!
As Lord Meliodas paced the halls of his keep, he found himself more irate than usual. He had only just come from another fruitless meeting with his advisors, who continued to press him to take a wife so that he might have a son to whom he can one day leave the reaches of his domain, yet all those presented to him for his consideration had failed to rouse the barest of his interest. They were too tall, or too short, or too round, or not round enough, a high-pitched nag or a simpering fool. No doubt the old fools who served him believed they had chosen the best for his perusal; if those wretches were the best his lands have to offer, then he would remain unwed for the rest of his days. Let His Majesty decide where the fertile forests and fields go upon Meliodas’ death. He would have no use of them then, anyway.
He decided, as he sometimes did when his mind was thunderous, to take his horse down the forest trails. It was the only time he found any solitude, or peace, and he returned to his quarters only briefly to bundle up against the winter cold before heading down to the stables. A boy there hastened to prepare his finest steed; with the cool leather reins in his fist, his heart began to lighten, and he guided the horse to and through the castle gates. Snow fell lightly through the air, the flakes slow and fat and lazy as they spiralled to cover roofs and shrubs, no doubt bringing joy to the children who lived in the village nearby. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and they would sing their cheer at how fitting it was that it should snow, only to curse it when they were forced to wait for their fields to thaw.
His breath puffed in clouds as he moved through the gnarled oaks that marked the boundaries of the forest. Meliodas had no particular destination in mind. He would ride until he was too cold to bear it anymore, then return to the warmth of his halls and drink mulled, spiced wine to shake the chill from his bones. He passed bushes of holly, their bright fruit obstinately cheery, and firs with coats of lush green needles, taking a meandering path as meaningless as the continued insistence upon his marriage. When he tilted his head back, the whirls of snow drew him in, landing with soft, cold kisses upon his brow and cheeks. Perhaps he would simply remain here for the rest of his days. Estarossa could have the lands, or Zeldris. They would run it well.
It was the abrupt halting of his horse that shook him from the near trance; they were in a part of the wood unfamiliar to him, and a frown marred his features as he carefully dismounted. A small clearing surrounded him, still and quiet, and in the center was a spring, the ground near the edges unfrozen and vibrant with soft, green grass. It was peaceful, and alluring, and he crossed to the water, kneeling next to it to peer within its depths, surprised to see it dark and deeper than he first thought. A soft light swirled within, seeming to call to him. Reach out, it said, warm yourself within my embrace. Aren’t you cold?
He realized quite suddenly that he was. His hands, which he had forgotten in his haste to cover with gloves, ached with it, the fingers pink and stiff and the rings like little blades biting against his flesh. But beneath the ridiculous urge to sink them into the inviting waters was the warning imparted to him by his mother, a woman of whom he only remembered her voice and the kindness of her smile. “The forest is no place for a boy,” she’d told him from beneath the blankets meant to break her fever. “There are fey creatures there who would love nothing more than to keep you forever. Estarossa did not heed me, and he is addled now. But you will be good, and listen to your mother, will you not?” And he, a mere child of seven, had solemnly promised that he would, and he had never set foot within the woods on his own until the hunt that sealed him as a man. Yet there was nothing dangerous here, not that he could see, and steam curled enticingly from the surface of the spring, as if pleading with him to rest and warm his hands. After another moment of hesitation, he listened to the call, dipping his fingers into it.
Joy, fierce and strong, sung through him as a golden heat climbed slowly through his veins. It was not just his hands that lost the cold, but the rest of him too, until he was sweating beneath his heavy cloak. Meliodas let out a quiet groan and submerged himself farther, so that the water lapped around his wrists, an unbidden smile creasing his cheeks. Here, he forgot his worries and his ire; all that mattered was the soothing embrace of the spring and the comfort that came from it. He even fancied that he could feel another hand, small and dainty and smooth, caressing his own like a lover, and he closed his eyes to dwell on that, because it was lovely. Then he leaned over to dunk his face, and when he was mere inches from doing so he paused, his breath catching in his throat. There was another set of hands, white and smooth, curling softly around his own, and as he drew away with a shout of alarm, they tightened just enough that the golden ring he wore slippes over his knuckle and into their palms.
He returned to his horse, goading it into a sprint back to his keep. The ring was no small matter, as it was given to his family by His Majesty and marked their place among his nobility, and he was of the mind to have the servants go and drain the spring. But it was night when he returned — the loss of an entire afternoon sending more unease settling over his heart — so instead he left the horse at the stables and returned to his room to draw up a written order for the next morning. When that was done, he retired to his bedchamber, falling into the couch and closing his eyes, attempting sleep. Yet that eluded his grasp, and he settled into a half-doze, until the baying of the watch-hounds in the yard pulled him harshly from that. Meliodas remained where he was as the sounds of feet on the stairs reached his ears, coming to a halt in the antechamber. Then there were voices, loud and jovial, and he sprung from the couch in a mixture of fury and fear, the starting of a strain of lovely music doing nothing to soothe his nerves.
In the antechamber, there were numerous beings, singing and dancing and chattering excitedly amongst themselves as they flitted about an enormous fir. Some of them were no bigger than the lantern bugs of summer, while some towered to the beams of the ceiling, and their skin is varied, yet all of them seemed full of cheer. He watched them for a moment, his voice locked in his throat, as they decorated the tree with strings of pearls and ruby bracelets, golden circlets and rich silk sashes, daggers with jewel-studded sheaths and rings glittering with sapphires. Meliodas could not move, entranced by the glittering tree, the lights that twinkled from its branches, and, as with the spring, his fear melted away to be replaced by a comforting warmth.
Then the folk fell silent, parting to make a path from the tree to him. Through it stepped a lady of dazzling beauty: her kind eyes seemed cut from the same sapphires that adorned the fir, her long, silver tresses were crowned with a diadem of gold and precious diamonds, her hair flowing around a silk gown of softest azure. She stretched out her hands, elegant and white, upon one which rested his lost ring, and said in soft, musical tones, “Lord Meliodas, I am Queen Elizabeth, of the fae. I have come to repay your Christmas visit, and to return something that was lost in the Fairy Well.”
Her voice was alluring, drawing him as it had at the spring. He took the ring from her small hand, sliding it over his knuckle; then, unable to resist, he pulled her to him, and she smiled as she folded her fingers over his own and lead him amidst the fairies. They danced until dawn, and Meliodas forgot his coldness towards maidens and his disdain of marriage; when the sun kissed the horizon with rosy hues, he fell to his knees and begged her to become his bride. Elizabeth joined him on the floor, lifting his face to hers with her fingers. “I will stay by your side,” she answered softly, “so long as you do not utter the word ‘death’ in my presence, as it is the most abhorrent thing to me.”
And Meliodas agreed.
They were married the next day, their wedding celebrated with much pomp and magnificence, and lived together happily for many years.
Yet men are full of folly, and arrogance, and often forget the promises they have made. So it was when one day, after the ground had thawed and the air was alive with birdsong, that Meliodas decided upon a hunt. The horses were saddled and bridled, stomping nervously against the ground, the men dressed in leathers and light armor, some with spears and others with bows, yet Queen Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Meliodas paced the hall, impatience and ire festering within him, until even his brothers watched him warily. As a youth, his temper had been fierce and dangerous and, though he had managed to tame it as he grew, it still flared to life on those occasions where he felt insulted. Finally, Elizabeth appeared in the hall, dressed elegantly in a green gown of silk, her diadem seated firmly against her locks, and he rounded on her in a fury.
“You have kept us waiting for so long,” he cried, “that you would make a good messenger to send for death!”
Scarcely had the word left his lips when the fairy let out a shrill, wild wail and disappeared from the hall. In vain, Lord Meliodas, overwhelmed by grief and remorse, searched the lands high and low for her, yet he could find no trace of her except for the imprint of her hand in the stone above the castle gate. Years passed, and Elizabeth did not return, and Meliodas continued to grieve. Every year, remembering the night they met, he set up a lighted fir in the antechamber where he first laid eyes on her, hoping that she would return. He never married, nor so much as entertained the maidens who came to court his favor, and the running of the castle fell to his brothers as he fell deeper into his sorrow. Time passed, and the young lord died not so young, and the castle eventually fell into ruin.
And that, some say, is how the first Christmas tree came to the kingdom of Liones.
