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In the years following King Cecil and Queen Rosa’s coronation, it had become tradition for Baron to host an annual Yuletide celebration. What had started off as a modest affair between a handful of friends became an internationally attended gala and the social event of the year.
Preparations for Yuletide started well before the winter season started, while autumn was just making the air crisp in the evenings. In Baron, Queen Rosa had the castle in a frenzy of activity, with endless cleaning, rearranging and decorating, until all the staircases were lined with colorful garlands, the air spiced with the perpetual smell of pine, every door proudly displayed a wreath, and elaborate silver candelabras lit every dim hallway.
In Damcyan, Fabul, Mysidia, and every other nation in the world, ambassadors and other important figures prepared for the journey to Baron, packing their ships and airships full of gifts. Some gifts were to Baron and other countries directly. These were most often treasured resources, like lumber from Troia and glass from Damcyan. But more politically and socially important were the gifts to the important heads of states and other dignitaries. People from each nation obsessed over guest lists and the perceived and intended meaning of each gift, never wanting to risk the faux pau of an inappropriate or worse, an underwhelming gift.
In Eblan, however, King Edge paced back and forth in front of a table, where an assortment of brightly colored jewelry was laid out. He paused at one, a necklace with three large dangling rubies in a gold setting. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, then made a sour face. “Is this it?”
“These are the finest pieces from the best jewelers in Eblan,” the Seneschal said with no small measure of pride. “The mines below the caves had produced some of the world’s biggest and clearest gems. They are incomparable.” The Seneschal frowned when Edge did not perk up at this information. “You asked for something impressive, did you not?”
“Yeah...” Edge reluctantly agreed, then set the necklace back on the table. “But maybe impressive isn’t the right angle here.”
“Perhaps the young lady would prefer something more delicate?” the Seneschal suggested, trying to sound hopeful. “If you could tell me which young lady, I could be more helpful...” When Edge did not reply, the Seneschal continued. “Or just her coloring, so I can suggest something to complement?”
Edge waved dismissively, and the Seneschal smiled, with a hint of knowing mischief. The Seneschal circled around the table, searching for something specific. He found it, and lifted it carefully from the table, with one hand cradled underneath it.
It was certainly more delicate than the previous pieces which were designed to be sturdy enough to hold magnificently large gems. But the beauty of this necklace was its fine filagree metalwork, precise and elegant. Modest gems winked within the silver net, and when Edge leaned in to look closer, he saw that they were topazes, as blue as the sky overhead on a day perfect for flying, the color of freedom from the earth and its unending responsibilities and duties, the color of perfect clarity of knowing what he wanted, pursuing it doggedly, without thought or worry for anything else.
And the color of Rydia’s eyes.
Edge swallowed hard, his heart suddenly in his throat. “That one,” he said, just managing the words.
Despite his many trips to Baron, Edge could never quite adapt to the cold. Eblan always enjoyed a warm climate and Edge found himself shivering by the time they landed in Baron’s engineering bay. The wild wind kicked up by the engines did not help circumstances, sending icy insistent fingers down his neck and into his clothes.
Feeling a bit miserable, Edge stood on the bridge of the Falcon, waiting for the sailors to drop the gangway so he could disembark and get inside. He was chilled throughout, in that awful way that made it feel like he’d never be warm again.
Pulling his cloak closer, Edge hunched into himself, trying to stay as contained as possible and keep the cold out. As he crossed the gangway down onto the dock, he saw a familiar green head in amongst the waiting crowd of Baronian officials.
Realizing it was Rydia was like missing a step in the dark, and Edge stumbled awkwardly forward. He caught himself by the gangway’s railing and held on until his feet found balance again. He looked up to see her watching him with amused (and still so very blue) eyes.
“Hi,” Rydia said with a smile.
“Hi,” Edge parroted back, feeling stupid and embarrassed. “I, uh...”
Rydia held up a hand to silence him. “No,” she said, shaking her head but still smiling. “I think that’s the most charming you’ve ever been. Don’t ruin it by saying something gross.”
Edge didn’t feel the cold anymore.
Rydia escorted him and his entourage to their quarters, before leaving them to get settled in. Edge had followed her in a sort of stupor, inarticulately nodding behind her at everything she said, barely remembering the conversation afterward.
He glared at himself in the mirror, frustrated and confused by his odd reaction. He ran his fingers through his short hair, ruffled it up a bit in places, then looked back in the mirror to assess.
Get it together, Geraldine, he told himself. If his mirror-self had a reply, he kept it unsaid, only offering Edge’s serious look right back at him. He tried a smile, something that was usually charming and disarming, but found it made his face look even stranger.
A knock at the door startled him. He was dismayed by his uncharacteristic jumpiness and unawareness of his surroundings; he was not one to be lost in thought and caught unaware.
Edge found Rosa on the other side of the door.
“Edge,” she said with genuine fondness. “Welcome back to Baron.”
“When will you finally run away with me and escape the tedious life of a royal?” Edge asked playfully, feeling more like himself in Rosa’s reassuring presence. Rosa always had a calming aura about her that Edge found eased his worries, at least for the time being.
“You wish,” Rosa said with a laugh.
“But I do, my lady,” Edge replied, with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. Then, he stepped back, allowing her entrance into his quarters. “Come in,” he offered a low dramatic bow, that he held until she crossed into the room.
“Very funny,” Rosa said as she found a seat in the room’s foyer, in a circle of cushioned chairs, the arrangement designed to entertain guests. An assortment of foods laid out on a low table in the middle, offering easy food and drinks for them to eat and drink as they chatted.
“Cecil’s greeting another group arriving from Damcyan, but you’ll see him once the chaos dies down.” Rosa said as Edge sat opposite her, in a matching chair. “In the meantime, do you have everything you need?” she asked, casting a quick glance around the room, to spot any detail that might be out of place. “Anything you forgot to pack?” Rosa continued as she looked back at him. “Or any last-minute gifts to find?”
“The consummate host, as ever,” Edge said as he plucked a mug of something warm up. It smelled wonderful, a mix of apple and spices and that made his mouth water. “I’m prepared with gifts, although...” he paused, thoughtful in Rosa’s patient silence, before continuing more quietly, “Perhaps I could use your advice.”
“I’m listening,” Rosa said, also taking up a mug of her own. She took a sip, watching Edge carefully over the rim.
“What if I’m not sure about a gift?” Edge asked, watching her face carefully for any reaction. Rosa kept her expression neutral. “If I’m doubting, doesn’t that mean it’s the wrong gift?”
“What gives you doubt?” Rosa asked. She set her mug down, then leaned back on chair to watch Edge, her eyes inquisitive but giving nothing else away.
“I don’t think they’ll use it,” Edge said carefully, stepping around the specifics. He didn’t even want to admit the specifics, he found. “When I got to Baron, I thought, hey idiot, she’s never worn one before, why would she--” he suddenly paused, realized his mistake, and hurried to correct himself, “--they, I mean, why would they... use this item, if they have never used it before?”
“I see,” Rosa said, drumming her fingers against her chin in careful thought. “I can say, if it is a friend, they will appreciate the thought--”
“I don’t want appreciation ,” Edge said abruptly, his teeth tightly clenched as he spoke. Rosa looked surprised at his interruption, and Edge winced at himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that, I only mean...” he fumbled for words, “I just want this gift to be...”
“Special?” Rosa offered with a growing smile.
“Damn it,” Edge swore softly under his breath. “Yes, maybe, I guess,” he admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know.”
“You should talk to Cecil,” Rosa said as she picked up her mug again, taking a long sip now that it had cooled some. “He’s good at picking out special things.” Her smile widened, amusement lighting up her eyes. “For a special person,” she added coyly.
“Enough,” Edge growled as he got to his feet, already making for the exit. He felt his cheeks burning.
“Good luck on your quest, fair prince!” Rosa called out after him.
Edge could only groan in reply.
Edge found Cecil in another area of the guest wing, waving goodbye to a group of Damcyan nobles.
“Edge,” Cecil said fondly as Edge approached, pulling Edge into a sudden embrace that caught Edge off guard. “It’s been too long,” Cecil said as he let go, taking a step back to look Edge up and down. “You look well, although worried. What’s on your mind?”
Edge inwardly winced, hating that he was so transparent to the people around him. Well, not everyone, Edge corrected himself as he thought of the surrounding diplomats who had accompanied him to Baron, and others present in his life. They hadn’t seen the brewing conflict in Edge, but Rosa and Cecil certainly had, which made Edge wonder what that might mean.
“Rosa told me to talk to you, actually,” Edge began, not finding easy words as he usually did. “She said you were good with gifts. That you might have some advice on finding the right one.”
“Did she now?” Cecil asked with subdued amusement. “What sort of gift are you thinking?”
“Something...” Edge hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. He looked aside, trying not to feel silly. “Meaningful?” It sounded less stupid than special but not by much.
“I guess it depends on what you want it to mean,” Cecil said, his tone suddenly cautious. “Are you trying to impress and ingratiate yourself in with this person, so they feel like they owe you...?” Cecil watched Edge with a carefully assessing eye. “Or are you trying to tell this person something personal about yourself?”
Edge considered the question, not unaware of Cecil’s intended meaning. Cecil had always watched over Rydia with a paternal look, so Edge was not surprised by Cecil’s protectiveness now. Edge had never had trouble impressing women in the past, both with extravagant gestures and his own charm, but found those both inadequate with what he wanted to say.
“I want the gift to say....” Edge started, unsure of what he was going to say until he blurted it out, “I am here and thinking about you.”
Cecil absorbed this with a thoughtful nod, not replying for a long while, until he gently offered, “It sounds like you want this gift much that you can’t say yourself.”
“I guess so,” Edge said with a hard exhale.
“You should talk to Edward,” Cecil said, clapping a friendly hand on Edge’s shoulder. “If anyone could give you advice on finding the right gesture to say what you mean, it’s definitely Edward.”
Edge found Edward in the castle’s main hall, where different groups had gathered to informally socialize. Edward sat perched on a cushioned seat beneath a window; he held his harp on his lap and a loose pile of papers with a quill sat beside him. Edge watched the bard for a few moments as Edward plucked a few experimental notes on the harp’s strings, then paused to scribble something down on the parchment.
“How’s it coming along?” Edge asked conversationally as he approached.
“A bit stuck, I’m afraid,” Edward replied with a small sigh, setting aside the quill, then looked back up to Edge. “You look troubled.”
“Do I?” Edge counted Edward as another who was apparently more observant than expected. “I had a question, actually.”
“Mm?” Edward made a soft, inquiring noise.
“You courted Anna before she knew you were a prince, right?” Edge asked.
“Yes,” Edward replied with a small smile. It was not sad or bittersweet, but a fondness for a treasured memory. “My greatest achievement as a bard,” he said wistfully.
“Without being grandiose or showy?” Edge asked, sounding almost incredulous.
“A little showy,” Edward admitted with a grin. “I wrote her a song. As a prince, I could offer her anything, but so could another rich man. Did she really want more dresses and jewelry--”
Edge inwardly winced.
“--or did she want something unique that no other man could offer her?” Edward continued, unaware of Edge’s discomfort. “Something made just for her and no one else, something only she would ever have.”
“Something for her and no one else,” Edge repeated, mulling over Edward’s words and advice, wondering what gift he could give that could possibly be so unique to Rydia and say everything he wanted to say. “I have a lot to think about.”
Edward watched Edge for a moment, then smiled. “You know, you should visit Cid in his workshop. He might have another approach to your dilemma.”
Cid, officially, had been retired three years already, but maintained a small workshop in the engineering bay. He had declared himself far too bored to stay at home all day, and the new Chief Engineer was content to let Cid tinker with whatever project interested him in the moment.
Strangely, a small crowd of children had gathered outside the workshop door. Edge paused from a distance and watched as one, with his ear pressed to the door, reported the various sounds he could hear from within. When Edge finally approached, they parted and made room for him, watching with wide, curious eyes.
“What’s with the kids?” Edge asked as he walked in but found the answer waiting for him. Suspended from the ceiling was a miniaturized Enterprise, recognizable by its sleek, non-red hull. On the floor below it lay the guts of its engine, laid out in piles.
Cid sat amongst the organized chaos, oil and grease smeared through his graying beard. He looked up as Edge approached, already grinning, waving around a large wrench as he spoke, “Are they still there?” He put aside the wrench and stood up with a groan, knees creaking as he stretched up. “I told them it wouldn’t be ready until Yuletide.”
“Is this what you’ve been up to since your retirement?” Edge asked as he glanced around, fully taking in Cid’s crowded workshop. It was filled with the usual tools and spare parts, but as Edge looked closer, he saw projects in various stages of completion: a chocobo, made up of gears and wires, stood on a bench, its wings in a half spread; several clockwork Xus hung from a low part of the ceiling, their huge wingspan still impressive in miniature; a half built Imp laid scattered in pieces on a bench, a wicked little blade gleaming in its mechanical grip.
Cid watched Edge take it all in and was grinning when Edge looked back to the engineer. “It keeps me busy,” Cid remarked.
“Making toys?” Edge asked incredulously. While sometimes overbearing, Cid had a brilliant mind, one that was best used creating innovative technology, and Edge was surprised to see Cid doing anything else but that.
“Spreading joy,” Cid corrected Edge. Cid picked up something from a work bench and at a closer look, Edge saw that it was a smaller version of the chocobo. Cid twisted a key at its back, then set it back down. Gears clicked and whirred as the chocobo puffed up its mechanical chest and spread its wings, flapping them a few times, before the gears settled back down and the wings came back to rest. “It’s better than designing warfare.” He touched a fond hand to the chocobo’s head, as if he were petting a real creature. “Much better.”
Edge approached the bench, peering down at the still-again chocobo. Tentatively, he picked the toy up, turning it over in his hands, a sense of awe washing over him. “You made this?” Edge asked.
“I did,” Cid said, stroking his beard with a smile.
Edge ran a careful finger over the metal feathers. It reminded him of...
And an idea suddenly came to him. He placed the chocobo down, and on Cid’s messy workbench, found a sketch book. Cid must have recognized the strike of sudden inspiration, because he had a charcoal stick in hand to offer as Edge flipped open the sketch book to a blank page. In quick, messy lines, Edge drew out a rough drawing.
“What do you think?” Edge asked as he pushed the sketchbook toward Cid.
Cid took the charcoal stick back, and with more practiced fingers, drew a cleaner version of Edge’s drawing beside it on the next page. It had more defined details, with Cid’s more intimate knowledge of which gears and wires to use.
As Cid drew, Edge reached into his pocket, removed the small jewelry box he’d been carrying around like an albatross around his neck. He thumbed the lid open and showed Cid the necklace displayed inside. “Could you make it with this?”
Cid considered the necklace and its details for a moment, then returned to the drawing, and added in more details with the sharp tip of the charcoal. “Like this?” he asked.
“Yes,” Edge breathed the word in awe as he took in the updated design. “Can you make it?”
“No. If you want this in time for Yuletide, I won’t have time to make it.” Cid said, pushing the sketchbook across the bench back toward Edge. “But you can.”
“I can’t...” Edge started.
“It will mean more if you do it yourself,” Cid continued over Edge. He grabbed a spare work apron from its hook on the wall and handed it to Edge. “It was the same with the Falcon, wasn’t it? Don’t you love that ship more because you used your own hands to make her better?”
Edge pondered the question, then reluctantly nodded, the word love leaving him with an odd, uneasy feeling. He caught sight of the necklace, still in the open box on Cid’s bench. Then, he shrugged on the heavy apron, tying it closed behind his back.
Cid watched Edge with an approving smile. “Let’s get to work.”
The height of Baron’s festivities happened the night before Yuletide, in a grand celebratory ball where gifts were exchanged. Servants stood on standby to run opened gifts back to guests’ quarters, so that everyone could stay and feast into the small hours of the morning.
While Eblan’s diplomats and their entourage had countless gifts to pass out, Edge himself only held one, a medium box, unwrapped, held under his arm. Edge wandered through the party aimlessly, feeling oddly uncomfortable in his formal attire.
When Edge finally spotted Rydia, she was facing away, her distinctive green hair giving her away easily in the crowd. She wore a gown of dark green velvet, her hair twisted up in loose chignon, leaving her neck bare. Inexplicably, the sight of her exposed skin made him pause, his heart lurching sideways in his chest. He thought of the necklace again, and its current state now, and suddenly felt foolish.
As she turned, about to spot him, Edge fell back into the crowd, easily slipping away – away from not only Rydia, but the complicated feelings about her that both terrified and thrilled him, away from the vulnerability that those feelings demanded, away from the expectations she might have of him if she ever knew those feelings.
Edge found himself outside on a balcony, suddenly desperate for the chilly air of the outdoors. He gulped in a few greedy breaths, before realizing he was not alone. Yang stood at the balcony’s edge, watching Edge with a concerned look.
“Are you well?” Yang asked carefully.
Edge nodded but found he did not have a voice yet for a reply.
Yang, perhaps sensing Edge’s need for quiet, said nothing else as he looked back out to the sky. Edge joined him at the balcony’s railing, breathing in slow, deep breaths, until his wild heartbeat finally calmed back down.
“How do you do a thing you’re terrified to do?” Edge blurted out suddenly, thinking of the stories of Yang, of his unflagging bravery as he jumped into the sea after Rydia. Yang, who seemed unflappable, always as a calm as a pond on a windless day.
Yang considered the question for a moment, in his usual methodical way, before replying. “You must consider what scares you more: doing the thing, or not doing it.”
Behind them, the door to the Grand Hall opened, briefly exposing the loud noises of the party. Both Yang and Edge turned to see Rydia standing there.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Yang said, offering Rydia a quick nod as he passed her, opening the door and disappearing back inside.
“Are you avoiding me?” Rydia asked once they were alone.
“No,” Edge said too quicky and saw the immediate skepticism on Rydia’s face. “I’m sorry, I just...” he hesitated, fumbling after his words. “I don’t know,” he finished, sounding exasperated.
Rydia’s face remained neutral for a moment longer, before warming with a smile. “It’s cold,” she said, beckoning him with a gesture. “Edward’s about to play, let’s go inside.”
Edge followed her inside, not trusting himself not to say anything stupid and saying nothing instead. She led him through the crowd and found a quiet corner of the hall, though still within sight of Edward, who was set up with his harp, readying to play.
“So why have you been avoiding me?” Rydia asked again, once they were clear of the other guests. “You’ve been acting so strangely. I thought that...” she paused, chewing on her lip briefly as she considered him. “I don’t know -- that maybe you’d want to see me?”
“I’m an idiot,” Edge admitted easily, wishing he could use his Ninjutsu and Smoke his way out of here. But then he remembered Yang’s words and knew that not doing this would be worse. “Here.” Without further ceremony, he thrust the package out toward her.
The first few notes of Edward’s harp began to play, soft and delicate, a slow progression that gradually built to a soft, almost melancholy but also hopeful song, somehow sounding both beautiful and kind.
Rydia gave him an uncertain look, then took the package. With uncertain fingers, she opened the box and peered inside. Nestled within, made up of gears and springs, was a mechanical dragon, its wings repurposed from the original necklace, the filagree making up the webbing. The eyes were the same blue topazes, sparkling brightly under the soft candlelight that surrounded them.
“Oh,” Rydia murmured. Wide-eyed, she looked back to Edge. “Did you make this?”
“If you turn the key,” Edge said instead of answering, too excited in the moment, then reached into the box to crank the key himself. The toy dragon’s gears clicked as it shifted, then reared back with its wings fully stretched, its mouth open in warning. It held its pose for a moment, before clicking again, then settling back into its original pose.
“It’s my mother’s dragon,” Rydia said, sounding breathless. “How did you...?”
“Ah,” Edge said, wagging a finger at her. “Ninjutsu secret, I’m afraid.” The truth of it was simpler: Edge knew Rydia and her summons and knew the meaning of the Mist Dragon through her and Cecil’s stories.
“Oh!” Rydia exclaimed, recognition lighting up her eyes. It was not the reaction he expected, as she pulled a slim package out from under her arm and handed it to him. “Speaking of Ninjutsu,” she said with a grin.
It was his turn to be confused as he pulled the wrapping from it, revealing an old, slim leather book. He opened it to find meticulous handwriting, the paper thin and delicate, but within were illustrations of --
“Are these Ninjutsu spells?” Edge asked, leafing through the book. On one page, a ninja stood in triple image, representing Mirage; on another, a giant wave dominated the page, to indicate Flood. “Where did you get this?”
It was Rydia’s turn to be excited. She flipped back a few pages toward the beginning, tapping an illustration of a shadow wyrm. “There’s some evidence that Ninjutsu was originally Eidolon magic,” Rydia said, chattering quickly, “The story is that a man from ancient Eblan came to the Feymarch to learn new magic. He offered himself in service to the Shadow Wyrm to learn its secrets and carried the knowledge back to Eblan. The ninjas were born from this new knowledge and evolved into the Ninjutsu you know today.”
“Rydia...” Edge started but found he had no words.
“I was thinking,” Rydia continued as if he had not said anything. “I could come to Eblan, to look through your libraries and see what else I might find that might connect Eblan and the Feymarch.”
“You want to come to Eblan?” Edge asked, not sure he heard her correctly. He looked up to see her holding the toy Mist Dragon, carefully turning it over as she inspected it, her eyes full of marvel and the shine of unshed tears. “Rydia?” he asked carefully, unsure if her reaction was positive or not.
She looked up, blinked back her tears, then smiled as she lowered the dragon back into the box. “Yes,” she said, then smiled. “If you invite me to Eblan, I’ll come.”
“Come to Eblan,” Edge said quickly. He took the box from her and set both gifts aside on a nearby table. “But not to research or study magic.” He closed the distance between them with a certain step forward. “But because I want you to see you.” Edge considered Yang’s words again and continued, trying not to feel terrified. “And because I miss you.”
Rydia did not move, not stepping back but standing her ground as Edge moved closer. She watched him with wary eyes. “Why do you miss me, Edge?” she prompted in a small voice.
For one frustrating moment, Edge almost gave up. Rydia wanted too much from him, too much vulnerability and exposure. It was easier when he didn’t care so much, when he wasn’t so invested in the outcome of every interaction, when he could move on easily to the next woman if things didn’t go well.
“Because I love you!” Edge blurted out because the prospect of not ever saying it was worse.
For one horrible moment, Rydia said nothing, only watched him, her face fixed in a disappointing disbelief. Then, miraculously, a smile softened her serious mouth. “Really?”
“Really,” Edge echoed back, his heart picking up in rhythm as he took another step closer to her. She seemed frightfully close. At this distance, he could see the push of her pulse in the hollow of her throat and wondered if it was as erratic as his own. “Don’t ever wear a necklace,” he murmured.
“What?” Rydia asked, either not hearing or not understanding what he meant.
“Never mind,” he said instead, then lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her.
Happy Yuletide, Edge thought, as Rydia sighed softly and kissed him back.