#*donnick

"His family honour in tatters, his motto flouted. Felled By None? Nay- felled by my mother's own cider! How will he ever regain his dignity, his reputation, his–" 

Donnick's words are smothered by a heavy arm thumping across his chest as the drunken duke turns to throw him to the ground. Even this deep in his cups, Jacob still knows how to use his weight. They both snicker like miscreants half their age when the man pins Donnick to the forest floor with all his weight. Donnick doesn't have the good sense left to even pretend to struggle. 

"They'll never believe it," he chuckles into the side of Jacob's head. There's nowhere else to put the words, because the duke has lain down on top of him and all his bulk is keeping Donnick from escaping. Not that he'd try. 

"Defeated by an apple." 

"Hush," Jacob grunts, and loosely takes hold of Donnick's chin. There's no escape. 

"Laid low by a peasant's brew–" 

His smile is growing and it works- Karo barks out a merry laugh and finally claps him on the back with an open palm, thumping the duke so hard his wine jumps from the cup and down the front of his shirt. They laugh together until Karo's smile tempers down to something almost fond. 

"You're not stuck at a high table now, your Grace," he says with a sigh, and lifts his cup. He's got a finger extended to point across the celebration and Jacob does turn to follow this time. He twists all the way around and slings a leg out from under the table to sit comfortably and take in the view. 

The high thatched roof is keeping out the snow and the vast fire pit in the middle of the party, a tree-trunk burning long and low at its heart, is holding the cold at bay. That log will burn all night, but still the crowd is warmer. Firelight and candles turn the mist of the crowd's breath into a glowing haze above them, and every laugh and dance, and cry of happiness adds to it. 

Karo nudges his arm and Jacob follows again. In the dancing crowd, spinning in pairs to music as quick as a heartbeat and twice as light, is an achingly familiar face. Nothing is rigid in the midst of the party. No formation holds them all together, but still Donnick manages to hoist a young woman into the air and down again in time with all the rest.

Jacob's brows furrow upwards with a pang and warmth on his cheeks. He knows this dance. He knows what Donnick's laugh sounds like, even if he can only see the flash of the elf's smile across the crowd. 

Sharp pain cracks across Jacob's cheek and he nearly tips sideways on the bench. Spluttering, he looks around for what just struck him. 

Karo is already skipping away into the crowd, laughing. "That's a good opportunity just slapped you in the face, so you'd better know it! On your feet, your Grace!" 

Dazed, Jacob lets the chuckle bubble up and out of his chest. How different things are here, he allows himself to think. Isenholm isn't on the other side of the country but it could be another world. No one here would even blink an eye if he were to step in time, place his hands at Donnick's side and lift him high into the air. The thought was headier than spiced wine ever could be.