Five Minutes
Bernard x Winter Spirit Reader
Synopsis: Bernard is not good at waiting. He is not patient, nor is he open-minded regarding the persistently sluggish passage of time. He misses you, and it is torturous to wait for your yearly arrival.
Word Count: 3.2K
Pronouns Used: You/Your
A/N: Computer, play 'Easy' by Commodores
(^Pinterest)
Five minutes and forty-seven seconds. Bernard only had to wait for five minutes and forty-seven seconds.
Forty-six seconds.
Forty-five seconds.
Patience did not come easily to the North Pole's Head Elf. It never had, truly. To so thoughtlessly relinquish what little control he had over time seemed wholly unpalatable, and Bernard would much rather spend his waking hours pretending that his efforts to command chronology were effective. What else could he do but delude the reality of his situation? What else could he do but assume the role of 'willing participant' to the anemic stretch of an entire year? An entire year without comfort? Without familiarity? Without you? The powers that be sought to mask this perpetual occurrence as mere happenstance as opposed to unrequited dogma, but Bernard knew better. How could it be that you were doomed to non-existence nine months out of the year? He had begged countless times—groveled like some helpless begger—that you be allowed to remain all three hundred sixty-five days. That if you were not meant to exist in a warmer climate, you might seek refuge at the Pole. The epicenter of magic.
He had no such luck, and Bernard had no choice but to otherwise accept the narrowness of his situation. To fashion a relationship with the Winter Solstice seemed rather ill-advised in hindsight, and he recognized that. The northern hemisphere couldn't remain balanced without your absence, just as it could not remain balanced without your ubiquity. You needed to come and go as the season itself. That was the correct thing. That was only fair.
Fair to all but Bernard, but he tried not to dwell on that fact too often.
You had existed since the beginning of time. You were born from the first northern winter; frost threaded your existence together like a mother's touch and left an ancient burning in its wake. Bernard had known you for as long as he'd been alive—two-thousand-something years and counting—and even back then he recognized your eldritch disposition. You resided in the same realm as the elves had, and Bernard had grown to know you well. At first, you did not have a residence. Similarly, you did not speak his tongue. You spoke nothing at all. A mere presence of cold with the underlying promise of life everlasting; you had been a specter.
You returned to this earth on the first day of winter, and left midway through March… vanishing into the wind as if you'd never stood by him at all. There were many spirits of winter—there were many spirits nevertheless—but Bernard had taken a particular liking to you. The cold might have clung to your ethereal body, but your presence was shrouded in warmth. He could sometimes imagine the feel of your furs against his cheek… the way your large arms would envelope him and the heavy, weather-worn fabric of your cloak would swallow him whole. He'd feel the rough padding of thick winter gloves cupping his face. His ears would play tricks on him some days, and he'd hear the familiar 'thump, thump' of your hefty boots against the Workshop floors.
Bernard did not enjoy waiting. He did not find it poetic, nor did he romanticize his tragedy like many of his elven counterparts. There was nothing beautiful about waiting nine months to see your beloved. There was only hurt.
Year after year… there was only hurt.
He sat slumped over his desk, head resting in the subpar cushioning his arms created. There was a stack of unorganized paperwork spanning from blueprints to sign-offs to draw-overs, and he'd barely managed to make a dent in any of it. The days always seemed to get longer leading up to your return, but Bernard knew it was just his mind playing a cruel trick on him. His eyes flitted up to the clock that hung above his office door.
Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.
Bernard sighed and buried his face into the crook of his elbow. Usually, he'd be in much better spirits. He was anxious to see you, make no mistake. But he was also exhausted. This year had taken more out of him than he'd been prepared to give, and the Head Elf found himself horribly burnt-out before the Christmas rush had even neared. Long days and nights maintaining the Workshop became torturous, and Bernard had started neglecting himself on a level never before concieved. His magic couldn't even keep him energized at this point, and he'd been struggling to save face in front of his fellow elves.
Gods, he needed you…
He prided himself on his independence. His ability to hold fast in the face of adversary. His innate sensibility to always—always—plan for any and all outcomes. He'd never needed anybody before he met you, and he still wrestled with that notion. Part of him disliked how much your absence truly affected him. How his moods would shift dramatically when you were no longer by his side. How his mental health practically deteriorated behind a pile of barely-touched paperwork.
The other part of him continued to check the clock.
Bernard knew it would be pointless to try and get any work done. He halfheartedly considered prepping his office… maybe organizing his things a bit? Would you care? He already knew the answer was no, but that didn't stop his mind from wandering. Typically, he'd have the Workshop in much better shape in preparation for your arrival. As much as it was Bernard's own enthusiasm, you were also a hit with the elves. They found your gentle disposition and venerable comforts rather soothing, and many of the younger lot loved to hassle you about your powers. It was truly a precious sight; the elves at the North Pole appreciated you just as much as Bernard did. They admired the season you brought forth, and with it the exultation of an entire year coming to a close. And despite their obvious excitement upon your arrival, the elves remained gentle. Patient. You had a tendancy to space out the hours after your reanimation, and Bernard could only imagine the spiritual pressure that put on your psyche.
To not exist one moment—to be without body or mind or soul or thoughts—only to be plucked out of the void the very next moment with the force of an eternity of winters.
And that thought alone made you all the more beautiful. Because the very first thing you did after being birthed into this world once more was go to Bernard. Your very souls had been bound together a long time ago; tethered by wire and unrelenting in the face of nine months of vacancy. You followed that wire year after year, and you always ended up back at the Pole. At the Workshop. Standing in front of Bernard.
He had not realized there were tears burning in the corners of his eyes until one of them slid down his nose. He hated to be this way. He hated feeling this exhausted. He wanted to greet you as he usually did; composed and abetting with open arms, ready to lather you in greetings and kisses and an embrace so warm it omitted your time spent apart. You'd need it. Because as hospitable as your tender heart was, Bernard knew you'd be exhausted. That you'd grin and plant a kiss against his forehead, chiding him for worrying. That you'd assure him spirits didn't need to sleep, and then proceed to hibernate in his bed for two to three days until you got your bearings once more. You needed him to be there for you. To be present enough to greet you. To kiss you. To hold you.
And he was weeping silently at his desk because… because what? Because he was tired? Lonely? Because he missed you? He felt that negative concoction of emotions all year long, so he could not understand for the life of him why they seemed content on tormenting him, now. When you were mere minutes away from arriving.
"Stop this," he muttered to himself, rubbing the tears from his eyes. "You're alright…"
There was a sudden knock on his office door, and Bernard sank further into his chair. He sighed and permitted whoever was on the other side entry. Curtis practically threw the door open, handbook in hand, and Bernard found himself wincing at the energy the younger elf exuded.
"Curtis, can this wait until tomor-"
"They're here!"
Bernard blinked. Straightened. Looked at the clock.
Five minutes had passed.
"What?"
"They're here! C'mon!"
Curtis was already turning and speeding out of Bernard's office before the Head Elf could even stand up. He checked the clock once more to ensure his mind was not merely playing tricks on him. Bernard had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't even registered the subtle passage of time.
Oh, gods. You were here.
Bernard exited his office with more momentum he believed himself to possess, following briskly behind Curtis as his second-in-command made haste down to the main floor of the Workshop. The elves down below were already gathering in massive droves, chattering excitedly and calling your name in delighted greetings. Bernard could feel the air shift the moment he made it downstairs; a cold blanket had settled over the ground floor and was steadily creeping up the walls and into the cracks beneath their feet.
You.
When Bernard lifted his gaze and found you amongst the loquacious crowd of thoroughly-distracted elves, something in his chest seized. He felt unable to move, allowing his eyes a moment to drink you in. Nothing had changed about you. Nothing ever had. Your irises still shone magnificently beneath hooded eyelids, an affable grin tugging at the corners of your lips. Your cloaks and furs draped around you in a familiar silhouette, dusted with frost and powdering the floorboards you stepped upon. You towered over the concourse—towered over Bernard—your timeworn presence a substantial framework of security. Of repose.
Bernard let out a shuddering breath, dragging himself towards you. He found, in that moment, that he still did long to kiss you. To hold you. To wrap you in the warmest of comforts and allow you to sleep for however long you deemed necessary because as long as you were here, he would be happy.
But he also felt himself crumbling.
Nine months without you. Nine months of overexertion. Nine months of cursing every Legendary Figure there was for tormenting him so. For keeping you away. For condemning you to nihility. He had missed you so deeply, as he did year after blasphemous year. He had grown so exhausted. He just wanted to collapse into you and let you breathe life back into him… the same way you always did.
Noticing his approach, the elves that swarmed you started to split, backing away and hording together into smaller cliques. Bernard knew they were watching him—watching both of you—but he couldn't bring himself to care. He hadn't exactly been acting like the Head Elf he was supposed to be these last few months, anyway. As much as he'd attempted to bury his internal strife and keep it out of his team's sight, Bernard knew better. Elves were perceptive creatures, especially when it was their leader in dire straits. He no longer cared if they saw him like this.
He only cared about reaching you.
Bernard's blood turned to ice the moment you lifted your head. The moment your eyes met his, all hazy and burnished with a light so unlike the fatigue currently weighing you down. Your movements slowed, your attention drawn away from the last few stragglers still rushing up to say hello. Bernard stiffened, willing his heart to stop thundering against his ribs. Slowly, he reached up to tug the hat from his head. Dark curls shifted at the movement, shrouding his eyes as his arms hung limp at his sides. Bernard swallowed, trying to find the right words to say.
You spoke instead.
Your expression softened impossibly, and your mouth pulled into a genuine smile. A show of relief. Of devotion. Of love.
"Beloved," you exhaled, the ancient timbre of you voice sending a jolt straight down Bernard's spine.
And that was all it took.
The Head Elf's expression crumbled, his eyebrows knitting together in a last-ditch effort to control the anguish on his face. He took a heavy step forward, then another… dropping his hat on the floor as an exhausted sob bubbled up the back of his throat. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, his ears twitching in distress, as he shakily brought his hands up to reach for you.
You closed the gap between you in three strides, large arms coming out to encircle Bernard's smaller frame before pulling him against your chest. His hands clutched desperately at the fabric of your cloak, and instead of greeting you with a warm smile and bountiful kisses…
Bernard greeted you with a mess of violent weeping.
One of your gloved hands came up to cradle the base of his skull, threading carefully through his curls as the other rested around his back, keeping him upright. The elves around you had started to quiet down, a sympathetic hush falling over the Workshop at the apparent weight behind this reunion.
And despite the heavy anguish emitting from Bernard's trembling form, you remained patient. And you smiled down at him. And you ran you hand through his hair.
Your lips brushed against the crown of his head, breath warm despite the cold that clung to your spirit:
"I have missed you so deeply."
Bernard's breath hitched, his grip around you only growing tighter. He rutted his head against your lips, seeking the kisses he knew you were bound to give, and attempted to get a better handle on his emotional state.
"I'm so sorry…" he croaked, because what else could he say? This was not an especially wonderful reunion, and it certainly wasn't a spectacular start to the next three months he'd have with you.
Only three months… He really was meant to suffer, wasn't he?
"I'm so s-sorry," he repeated. "I'm just… I'm so tired… I'm so tired, and I've missed you…"
"Shhh…" you interjected kindly before planting your lips against Bernard's forehead. A broken sound left him at the feel of your very first kiss of the year, the tips of his ears growing red hot. "No tears, beautiful. Let me see your face."
Bernard's chest swelled when he felt your hand slip away from his hair and instead towards his face. You cupped his jaw tenderly, tilting his head upward so you could better witness him. Your elf's face was a cascade of tears, and the bags beneath his eyes were so dark you mistook them for shadows. His pupils were dark pools, dilated and shimmering with a profound mixture of relief and long-withheld-agony.
"There you are," you breathed, leaning down to kiss the very tears that painted his cheeks. You could taste the salt on your tongue, could feel the heat of his skin against your lips. "Bernard."
To hear you speak his name was nothing short of a blessing. He relished in your accent; you'd learned elvish thousands of years ago for him, and Bernard never tired of the heavy way in which you spoke. Like every syllable meant something. Like every word you uttered in reference to him was the most important sound on earth.
He brought his hand up to clutch weakly at your wrist, willing his heart to stop beating so loud. You were here, now. You were present, and you were speaking to him, and you were kissing him, and in an instant the last nine months of waiting didn't seem to matter much at all.
"Forgive me…" he began, but you were already shaking your head.
"There is nothing to forgive."
And then you craned his head up even further, leaning in and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against his lips. They parted beautifully, allowing you entry as you breathed him in with everything inside of you. You could feel his body melting against yours the deeper the kiss became, his hiccuping breaths steadying the longer you embraced him. His arms slid easily around your neck before the two of you eventually parted, elliciting a few hushed gasps and knowing chuckles from the elves surrounding you. Your eyes pressed into his face, and despite the weariness that hewed to his very spirit, you decided then and there that he had never looked more beautiful.
"You are tired," you said. Bernard knew it was not a question, and his shoulders slumped even further. He gave a feeble nod of his head, ears drooping shamefully.
"Yes…" he whispered, closing his eyes and resting his face against the crook of your neck.
Your hand began rubbing soothing circles against his back, and you gave the elves around you a deliberate look. "I am, too."
They understood your unspoken request instantly, and began diverging further to create a small path for you to pass through. You walked Bernard towards the stairs that led to the elf barracks, granting a nod of thanks to your small friends for their cooperation. With a subtle twitch of your index finger, a gust of cool wind lifted Bernard's hat from the floor and placed it into your waiting grasp. You kept one arm hooked over his shoulders, shrouding his little body in the hefty fabric of your cloak. The walk to Bernard's quarters was made in silence. The wire that attached your very souls together was cumbersone, straining against the smallest shift. You could tell Bernard needed the quietude, and by the time you made it to his quarters, the Head Elf was practically dragging you towards his bed.
There was a ritualistic aspect to your reunion. A pleasant aura that filled your heads with smoke and kept you chained to the present. You placed Bernard's hat on the nightstand. You tugged his boots off, and as you knelt before him he cradled your head in his hands and pressed a kiss to your hair. He helped you unbutton your cloaks, allowing the sacred garments to fall to the floor. You two were reduced to nothing but the careful brushing of fabric and skin, and soon enough you were cacooned in the impossible warmth that Bernard's bed offered.
And it was like you had never left at all.
Your elf was huddled close, arms wrapped around your middle as he rested his head of dark curls against your chest. His emotional state had calmed drastically ever since secluding the two of you in his quarters, and you could feel the strain on that invisible wire start to loosen. You wrapped your arms around Bernard's body, the last remnants of that insurmountable void relinquishing its grip on your psyche. The Winter Solstice had arrived, and with it an abundance of affection. A promise of hope. Of continuation. The harshest front of winter quelled by the promise of life persisting. Of love persisting.
Bernard gave your body a slight squeeze as his eyelids fluttered closed. He nestled closer to the sanctuary of your neck as you pulled the blankets tighter around both of your nesting bodies. His lips pressed a chaste kiss against your pulse, and he muttered a sleepy, "I love you."
You smiled, resting your head back against the mound of fluffy pillows before closing your eyes, as well. And with all the certainty in the world, you whispered back, "I love you, too."
