Back? # **Epilogue: Mr. White Christmas/Mr. Green Christmas** Upon his return to Obcasis, Eira floated motionless in the healing pool far longer than it took for him to regenerate. He knew the other Lords were watching and waiting and hoped that by laying there with his eyes closed, they’d grow bored and leave. Unfortunately, he knew that they were far too eager to berate and mock him, so they could wait the remainder of their immortal lives if they had to. With a sigh, he fluttered his eyes open, attempting a coy smile. “Oh, hello! H-how long have you all been there?” Gris’ thick, stony fingers closed around his wrists and yanked him to his feet. “Ah! Okay, okay! I’m up!” Eira yelped, shaking the excess water out of his feathers. “I’m capable of standing on my own, Gris.” “I wasn’t sure,” Gris spat gruffly, golden eyes narrowing. “Considering how long you were playing possum.” “P-playing possum?! I…I was doing nothing of the sort,” Eira stammered, eyes flitting nervously. “You were…” Whisper sing-songed, her airy voice lilting mockingly. “You were scared…” “Was not!” “Were too…” She grinned. “Because you knew you failed…” Eira paled. Failed. “I…” Without another word, he darted past his ‘welcoming committee’, cape sweeping behind him as he rushed to his chambers. He hoped he was quick enough that Gris and Whisper wouldn’t see the tears streaming down his cheeks. Failed, failed, failed… Once he reached his bedroom, he slammed the door shut, encasing it in a thick layer of ice. He slumped into his bed, unable to stop the torrent of shame from rushing forth. He had failed. He’d been given everything he needed to succeed, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t good enough. He’d never be good enough. He could try his revenge over, and over, and over again, but it would never matter. He would never matter. He was nothing. He had failed. How could he face the rest of the court after this?! He couldn’t. He could never leave the confines of his chambers again. He’d sooner waste away for eternity than face the mockery of his peers — not to mention the disappointment of his queen. She’d warned him, hadn’t she? “If you mess this up, Eira, — you think you’re treated cruelly now? You haven’t seen anything yet.” And yet, here he was. He had messed up. Again. He never should have expected anything else. He should have known by now he’d never win. He should have known he was nothing but a failure… From the corner of his room, a loud thump interrupted his spiralling shame. He lifted his head weakly towards the noise. A small, pale green figure had entered through his window, landing in a kneel and sprawling onto the floor. The snakes that replaced his hair were snapping wildly, as he massaged his knees to dull the pain. Eira jolted to his feet. “Na’ash! Oh, dear, are you alright?” “I…I’m fine, Eira. Just overshot the landing.” “Why are you up here? I thought the Feast banquet would be ready by now.” “Don’t care about the banquet. I wanted to come see you.” Eira raised a concerned eyebrow. “Did you climb all the way up here?” “Yeah. It wasn’t hard.” Na’ash held up his hands, showing the sticky, lizard-like pads on his fingertips. “I like climbing. And I couldn’t really get in here any other way, since you froze the door shut and all.” “O-oh. Yes, right. I…I’m sorry about that. It’s just…” With a sigh, Eira collapsed to his knees in a fit of sobs. “I failed, Na’ash. I was so close…but I failed. Respect and glory were at my fingertips, and I let them slip away again!” Na’ash sighed. Crawling over to Eira, he wrapped him in a hug and comforted him as he sobbed. “It’s okay, Eira. Come here.” Once he had calmed, Na’ash met Eira’s eyes. “I’ve got a question for you, and I want you to answer it honestly. Let’s say you did succeed. Would the others have respected you then?” “Of course they would!” Eira snapped, before pausing. His shoulders drooped, and he glanced towards Na’ash for reassurance. “...Right?” Na’ash smiled gently. “That’s what I’m asking; would they really? Would this one victory magically prevent them from poking fun at you ever again? Or would they just keep mocking you because they like mocking you?” Na’ash’s question pierced Eira’s armour. No. Winning wouldn’t have done anything. He could win once, twice, a million times, yet the others would never respect him. They’d never respect him, simply because they didn’t want to. “So what you’re saying is I was doomed from the start…” Eira muttered, defeated. Na’ash grimaced. “Nope. That’s not what I meant.” “I-it’s not?” Eira sniffed, wiping his tears. “Nuh-uh. My point is, do the others’ opinions really matter? If they’re never gonna respect you — if they’re never even gonna try — then why should you care what they think? You know what you deserve — if you like yourself, who cares what they think?” “B-but what if no one likes me?” As the words left Eira’s mouth, something dawned inside. Na’ash had scaled the walls of the tower, just so he could come see him. Na’ash had opened his eyes to the truth he so desperately needed. Even if no one else cared, Na’ash did. It didn’t matter if no one else liked him — Na’ash did. Eira pulled Na’ash tighter into their hug, wings wrapping around them. “Thank you.” “No problem. I didn’t want you to be stuck up here all alone. Oh! I also brought you this.” Na’ash crawled back over towards the window, and removed something from his bag. It was a shortbread cookie shaped like a Christmas angel with icy skin and a navy-blue robe, accented with drizzles of silvery icing and glittering blue sugar pearls and sprinkles. It was Eira. Eira put a hand over his heart. “Oh my…Na’ash, did you make this? For me?” Na’ash grinned. “Yeah! Yarru dropped over some extra cookies and stuff to decorate them, and I saw the angel-shaped one…so I tried my best to make you! It’s really messy and smudged, and I think it got a bit crushed on my climb up, but…” “It’s perfect. Na’ash, I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t deserve this…” “Let’s stop worrying about what you deserve, okay? It’s a gift, and I made it for you — just take it!” Eira sighed contentedly, taking the cookie in his talons. “I usually hate saying this, but…Happy Feast, Na’ash.” “Happy Feast, Eira.”
*Somewhere in the mountains of Frosatir…* A world away, a hand closed the heavy leather covers of a hand-written book. As soon as he had returned home after the Festival’s phenomenal concert, Nikolas began weaving the day’s events into a narrative that would capture the spirit of the heroes’ story. He used his oracle powers to relive the day through different eyes, switching between whoever could tell each chapter best. The travellers and organizers had moments in the limelight, as did Yemi and Soren, Jinx and Diaz, and even himself and Eira. For supplemental details, he’d relied on other viewpoints, including a famous musical trio and a group of highly skilled agents. Once his work was done, he displayed it in a place of honour on his desk, setting it aside for now. He’d been cooped up in his office long enough, and his attendants would be expecting dinner after their well-deserved naps. After carrying him through the tumultuous skies, it was the least they deserved. Perhaps someday, he’d share the story in the hopes that someone would find it fitting for the festive season. Or, failing that, that they’d at least enjoy it.