#strike holt

Satinalia. A holiday Caerye had never really celebrated since the fall of Arlathan, but what reason did she have to celebrate? She’d slept for hundreds of years and even when she found other people, she could never really get in the mood. There was always that bitter cloud hanging over, reminding her that any friends she used to have were dead

This year was different, though. She had made true friends, ones she would stand by for eternity, and she was determined to get everyone gifts. Even if it meant a trip…a trip to Val Royeaux. Ugh, Orlesians.

Tavia was probably the easiest gift. A beautiful journal, bound in black Antivan leather, for her to write notes on when she was studying anything, though she suspected it’d most likely go to magical purposes. To go with it, a new inkwell that contained her favorite color and a Great Horned Owl’s feather pen. All items she’d found in Val Royeaux a month ago.

For Quentin, a new set of bracers. She’d gathered the resources out in the field herself, though she made use of the schematics in the Undercroft to put it together. The small enchantments they had ensured that arrows he fired would rip through an enemy’s guard and have a better chance to find those critical areas.

For Tashaath, the Inquisitor, she crafted some horn decorations that had an Elvhen design. They were finely made of silverite, shining softly. They looked delicate, but they had a certain strength to them that said that they wouldn’t break easily. Though even if they did ever break, Caerye would be more than happy to fix them for her.

Strike was impossible. She knew he’d like anything. She knew he wasn’t expecting anything from her. But she wanted to give him the perfect gift. A scarf felt too simple. He’d just made himself a new weapon, or she’d craft one for him. A piece of armor was too close to what she’d done for Quentin. It had to be practical since she was ever the practical type. Nothing she’d found in Val Royeaux was right, though she also wasn’t entirely certain of what she was looking for.

More and more days passed and now there were only two days before the holiday. She’d scoured everywhere, looking for the perfect gift, and she hated that she’d have to settle for something less. At this point, she’d have to craft something, so she rushed down to the Undercroft and started rummaging through schematics.

She could never craft a full chestpiece in time. Any other armor piece felt like it’d be a cop-out to Quentin’s gift. He had no use for a single-handed weapon, shield, bow, arrows, magic staff, or—no that could work. Wait, no, it was bad luck to give knifes. She audibly yelled aloud in frustration, loud enough to be heard over the waterfall and for Dagna to notice her stress.

“What’s wrong?” she asked curiously. “Can’t figure out what to make?” “Yeah…,” Caerye groaned in response. “I can’t figure out what to make for Strike for Satinalia. I made Quentin bracers, and I don’t want to just copy that…” “Well, you wanna keep him safe, yeah? Why not make him a helmet? Or boots! Everyone needs new boots.”

Caerye looked uncertain for another moment before rummaging around and pulling out the heavy armor leg schematics and perusing them carefully. She selected one and set to work, pulling together the metal, cloth, and leather and turning them into something amazing. When she finished, she stood back and examined the work.

She hated it. They looked clunky. Nothing like her usual work. And would they even fit his feet? She could never give those to him. She half-wanted to throw them in the waterfall. Instead, she left them on the workbench and stormed upstairs.

Two days later, she still had nothing. Reluctantly, she returned to the Undercroft. Maybe….maybe she could rework some of it? Tweak it somehow? She surveyed the mess and dismantled it. Time to try again.

Hours passed, and Caerye was still working away. She didn’t notice the door open and close, too focused on her work. She didn’t even really notice that she was being watched until a quiet cough gave him away. Caerye whirled to see Strike, and she immediately stepped in front of her work, cheeks pink.

“Hey!” she greeted awkwardly. “What’s up?” “Uh, well, the festivities have been going for awhile and we haven’t seen you. Norman mentioned you came down here this morning and you hadn’t surfaced all day. Just wanted to check on you.” “Oh. Just…got carried away making something.” “Boots.” “Right. Boots. They’re um… not finished.” “Not finished? They look incredible! The amount of detail you’ve put into them. It’s amazing! You’ll look great in them!” “They’re for you.”

He said nothing and looked her straight in the eyes with the most serious expression. Wordlessly, he reached past her and picked them up. He slid his boots off his feet and put the ones she made on.

“…They even fit my feet. Thank you!”

He beamed at her, a bright ray of sunshine, pulling her into a tight hug, and Caerye smiled, hugging him back. The boots were finished. They had a wearer. There was nothing more she could do to them.

“You know…they’re perfect just as they are now. Happy Satinalia, Strike.” “Happy Satinalia! Come on, I’ve got your gifts upstairs with the others.”

He took her by the hand, and together, the pair stepped up the steps and into the blasting warmth of the hall, where festivities and joy echoed around. Strike led her to a table where Quentin, Alanna, Tavia, and Corrin sat and immediately showed off the work Caerye had done to anyone and everyone. Caerye sheepishly admitted to Quentin and Tavia that she didn’t have their gifts with her at the moment but assured them they would receive them later.