Merry Christmas One and All

[skull_bearer]

As for Christmas prezzies, here they are:

My first attempt at drawing penises. A bit of Past Tense I haven't gotten to yet.

A far more successful attempt.

And finally, a new fic for the est_20 ficathon. A Dragonlance Christmas. Prompt 15, Reflection.

TITLE: Yuletide
AUTHOR: Skull Bearer
FANDOM: Dragonlance
PAIRING: Raistlin/Dalamar
GENRE: Slash
TABLE: Here
PROMPT: 15- Reflection
RATING: G
WORD COUNT:1,153
SUMMARY: My Merry Christmas story. A semi-sequel to Shadowvalkyrie's Blizzard.
WARNINGS: Nothing
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Christmas.

Yuletide

Yuletide was more of a celebration this far north. Probably because winter  wasn't so bad here. They could have winter harvests, rather than the desperately saved scraps that Solace would be down to by the end of the season. 
Raistlin assumed it wouldn't have been so extravagant if the war hadn't been all but over, and the casualties so heavy. Madras had lost more than half his company, and the other- the Crossed Spears, had actually disbanded.
Probably through guilt and more than a little fear, the princeling had allowed them to stay in the castle until the snows had melted. Raistlin suspected Madras' influence in that, the man had always been an iron hand in an iron glove and losing so much of his company had hardly improved his disposition.

Although Raistlin did feel sorry for Madras; the Captain was a good man and the loss had hit him hard; Dalamar couldn't feel anything but smug satisfaction. If it hadn't been for the rather one-way shouting match between Madras and the princeling they'd probably have been celebrating Yuletide in the drafty huts outside. Instead, with the heavy casualties, the Captain had convinced the princeling to let them stay in the castle proper. Considering that the alternative might have ended up with the mercenary companied turning on their employer and to the Abyss with reputation, he'd agreed.

This meant that instead of huddling around a camp-fire, the whole company was spending the longest night of the year in the princeling's banner-hall. The boy had probably meant to throw a banquet tonight, but instead of having the local lords, he was forced to fete mercenaries.
No one dared complain. At least not audibly.
"Are you alright?" Raistlin asked Dalamar.
The Dark elf looked up from his bowl of soup and grinned. The soup was creamy watercress and his teeth were tinted green. "I know why you find it so irritating now." He remarked. "I'm fine, just as I was the last dozen times you asked." He looked at the soup. "It could use some pepper though."
Raistlin glanced around the hall, and beckoned over one of the servant girls. "Pepper." He ordered.
Dalamar laughed, and spooned a heap of the fiery spice into the soup. "Much better." He sent Raistlin a sly glance. "We could get used to this."
Raistlin just smiled. "And mulled wine." He ordered. Madras had ordered his soldiers against drinking, but since when did they have to listen.
The serving girl nodded frantically. Anything to get away from them.
Dalamar nodded, sipping his soup.
Raistlin frowned. "Are you cold?"
Dalamar snorted. The hall had three fireplaces, but Raistlin had insisted that he wore his thickest robes and tucked his own cloak around him. Dalamar suspected he should have fought more, but after the blizzard, he had been seriously ill. Nothing dangerous, thank goodness, or Raistlin would have refused to let him out of bed, but debilitating and long to fade, and Dalamar didn't want to risk a relapse.

Dalamar kissed Raistlin on the forehead. Overprotective or not, Raistlin had taken good care of him. Being cared for like that, so patiently and gently... he hoped he'd been as kind when Raistlin had been ill.
The servant girl had brought a full flagon that steamed even in the warm hall, almost throwing the cups at them. Probably thought she'd be cursed it she touched them. Dalamar kissed Raistlin again, the soft white curls tickling his lips. He'd be happily cursed a thousand times. Raistlin lifted his head and kissed back.

The flagon was joined by a laden trencher, and again Dalamar saw Madras’ hand in that. He doubted anyone would have dared go near them otherwise. It looked delicious, thick cuts of roast with onions and a sauce of winter fruits. There was no cutlery, but between their knives and the thick bread of the trencher they'd make short work of it. Dalamar attacked ravenously. He'd been down to broths while ill, anything else was torture to his raw throat, and he wasn't about to let this pass by. He passed choice cuts to Raistlin, the young mage 
was obviously just as hungry because for once he was eating with as much enthusiasm as everyone else in the hall. He tore off a strip of the trencher and piled it with beef and onions and wolfed it down. Juice ran between his fingers. Dalamar grinned. "Not your usual Yuletide fare?"
Raistlin snored. "Please, remember who I lived with. If we had enough food to last until Yuletide I counted myself lucky. Come spring we were down to dry bread and up to our ears in debt."
Dalamar laughed. "I never thought I'd say this, but-" He lifted his cup. "Poor Sturm."
Raistlin snickered, "Poor Sturm." He sipped it, looking at Dalamar over the rim. "Season of goodwill after all."
Dalamar shook his head, amused, imagining Sturm cursing himself until blue in the face for taking Caramon along. "Why he ever wanted to become a soldier, I'll never know."
"Please," Raistlin waved him off, "I don't want to talk about that idiot."
"Time for the family." Dalamar grinned.
"Please." Raistlin shook his head, and took a sip of his glass.
Time for reflection too, Dalamar thought, his smile fading as he considered the past year. He wasn't about to say that out loud, not when they were warm and well fed, because it was hardly worth reflecting upon. Between the Belzorites and Caramon and Raistlin's Test and Amberyl, it was a year best forgotten. And if this feast would leave a new wall between Raistlin and those memories, it would be worth its weight in gold.

Raistlin did look better; Dalamar was pleased to see, probably since he'd been trying to keep him well. He'd brought the herbs for his tea with him, but obviously spiced wine was preferable.
Dalamar personally agreed, the tea left a rather bitter taste on Raistlin's lips, while the mix of cinnamon and nutmeg was much nicer. Something he was quick to take advantage of.
"Apologies for not getting you a present," he murmured against his lips. "But someone has kept me confined to my bed for the last few days."
"That was enough of a present." Raistlin smiled, golden eyes glittering. "Having you naked and warm and bored enough to agree to anything..."
"You lecherous creature." Dalamar kissed him again.
"Your lecherous creature."
"I love you."
"I know."
"To a better year." He put his cup to Raistlin's lips.
"To a better year." He could taste Raistlin’s lips on his cup.
And in all honesty, with the fire burning high and the warmth of the wine on his lips, it was certainly a good start.

Merry Christmas/Eid/Hanukka/etc to all.