Winter Court Week

“Don’t worry about me,” Elain had reassured him a few hours earlier, as she bade them farewell on her bedroom’s doorstep. It was a strange scene to witness – the female with hair dishevelled from laughter wearing a simple room dress and a heavy pair of wool socks while they were decked out as if they were about to face a siege – justified only by the fact they had a convivial lunch in her quarters. Tamlin would’ve liked to not be so painfully in the way of Lucien’s courting, just like he had once done for him with Feyre, but something always prevented him from disappearing during their moments of tenderness, be it the pressing needs of their roles or some logistical reason. His friend, ever gracious, had never pointed it out, and Elain, who would’ve never voluntarily made anyone feel out of place, least of all the host who allowed her to dictate the pace as she explored her own powers and that world she had feared and despised for twenty years, was always happy to include him in all their plans, rendering him unable to deny the glinting hope in her eyes. Hours always slipped by deft as they drank and played pretend, and although he was still a little rusty when it came to lively settings, Tamlin was less and less able to deprive himself of those stolen moments.

“You should be the one concerned about our wellbeing,” had replied Lucien, his tone way more light-hearted than the stiffness in his shoulders proved him to be. “I read all the Valkyries had signed up for the hunt, and I know for a fact they are rather competitive.”

Tamlin, unlike Elain, hadn’t laughed at his joke, quite certain Nesta would’ve loved to stab and roast him instead of the wild boar, partly because of what he did to Feyre and partly because by now she must’ve been convinced it was his life mission to steal her sisters from her. All he could do was hope she had noticed his efforts to convince Elain in offering her an olive branch the previous evening and, blinded by the joy of reconciliation, may be inclined to overlook his past mistakes, although he strongly doubted it was a reaction fitting to her character.   

“Won’t you miss us?” he had finally asked, immediately regretting how forward and patronizing his words must’ve sounded. Although young, and incredibly inexperienced with the traditions and unwritten rules of Prythian, Elain was an adult who had worked endlessly to make up for the time she had lost in the Night Court, when days and nights had merged in a single skein of pain for which he had to take a good part of the blame. All had been forgiven long ago, but every now and then guilt came back to kick him in the guts.

“I don’t think so,” she replied with a shrug and a sly smile, no sign of discomfort. “Thesan has promised to stick by my side regardless of how long I take by each stand at the market, and a maid I bribed with some harmless gossip said Lucien’s mother will be there too.”

Taking even himself by surprise, once the mass of most eager and hopeful participants had dispersed, Eris had scribbled something on the piece of parchment tied to one of the colourful lanterns, and holding his mother’s arm, who had approached him silently but with a smile speaking volume on her face, he had watched it disappear, headed towards a place where humidity would’ve smeared the ink and erased all traces of his weak heart.

When he had peeled his gaze off the brightly lit firmament, ready to wish his mother goodnight before she could return to her chambers with his father and brothers, Eris had encountered an a pair of intrigued yet icy eyes, whose owner had now joined the other females in their dance under the crackling lanterns in a rare burst of carefreeness, the nine-foot-tall statue of the Mother watching over her with a good-natured gaze, as if enjoying the delight the celebrations brought to her favourite daughter. For the occasion, Nesta had ditched her usual crown braid in favour of an evergreen wreath, an entwine of yew, holly, and mistletoe a noble youngling she had entertained the previous night with tales of glorious battles and moonlit masquerades had gifted her. Despite the festive atmosphere, there were quite a few people peeking furtively, some in apprehension, some in disdain or even fear, at her hair of burnished gold, loose on her naked shoulders and adorned with dozen bells jingling with her every movement. She seemed unbothered, the sound of her laughter lost among the lively rhythm of the percussion and the exuberant notes of the accordion, the prove of its existence painted on her plump lips stained of berry juice. Her velvet dress, whose design belonged to no Court in particular, twirled around her slim ankles every time she was dragged into a pirouette by one of her companions, the young warriors all so different from each other and yet united in reclaiming the space they deserved in a world that didn’t seem to want them on its soil. The youngest, a typical Autumn beauty, moved with a grace unnatural even among that group of excellences, the river nymph blood soaring in her veins in tune with the music as she lifted her freckles arms. Bejewelled golden ivy climbed her fair skin, leaving her barely visible curves intact, lean body hidden beneath a tunic made of a yarn at the same time warm and almost impalpable. She was the portrait of innocence, worthy of a painting posterity would look at with admiration and a hint of envy, a thought even the Shadowsinger, who observed the scene keeping a safe distance from the rest of the guests, seemed to share.

“Curious ensemble, don’t you think?” commented a silken voice on his right, so different from how he remembered it and yet not so dissimilar to his own. Eris didn’t need to turn to know it was precisely him that Lucien was addressing, nor to guess what his goals were, although it wasn’t exactly wise to showcase their rekindled brotherly bond in front of so many people after his abrupt departure from the only Court who agreed to be his ally in Beron’s deposition.

“Not as much as the one you arrived with,” Eris replied, never taking his gaze off the eldest Archeron, whom was about to be approached by a not so determined, yet drunk on the words of encouragement Tamlin had whispered in her ear for the good part of an hour, Elain. His brother’s mate had put on a little weight since the last time he had seen her in Hewn City, and where once he had glimpsed hollow cheeks there was now firm and rosy skin, and her hazel eyes didn’t scan the crowd with fear and a vague disgust oozing on her soft features, but with eagerness to partake in the celebrations. He could only hope that one day it would happen to Nesta too, once her sister's prophetic vision had come true.

It took a lot to get Viviane close to tears. 

She hadn't cried when she left Glacia for university, hadn't cried when her father had refused to let her come home, hadn't even cried a year ago when her sister left for Basic Training. 

But here, on the side of a mountain, facing down the sharp angle of the ski slopes for the very first time, she figured she was justified in being close. 

It was all Mor's fault. “You cross-country ski!” she cried. “It's the same thing, just faster!” And Viviane, like an idiot, believed her. 

And then they made it to the resort, two hours away from the University, and Mor decided that lift tickets really were too expensive to spend the day on the kiddie carpet, it'll be fine, it's the same thing as skate-skiing on a downhill, come on! 

Viviane, having just managed to get on her skis, thought that sounded a little fishy, but Mor knew best. And it had been fine so far - getting off of the chair lift at mid-mountain had been pretty easy, and the bit right next to it where everyone readjusted their poles was alright. The little area after that wasn't too steep - she pretty much just skated down that like Mor had said. And then Mor led her down the start of a blue square trail, medium difficulty but c'mon Viv, it's basically a beginner trail, they just don’t want to have all the little kids riding on the lift. 

And Viviane believed her! 

It was definitely steeper at the beginning, but Mor coached her through a basic turn, and that went alright except she caught one of her skis on the other and fell down sideways. Getting up was the hardest part of that, but Mor was right there to help, and it'd been okay. 

And then Mor had caught sight of a skier below and brightened because that's Emerie, I'm sure it's Emerie, you're doing great, do you mind if I try to catch her? I'm sure we'll find you at the bottom, you're so good on skate skis, you'll be a natural, you're already doing so well! 

And before Viviane could say “what?” Or “Cauldron, are you insane?” Mor had skied off, leaving her alone. 

Or not alone, actually, because she seemed to be in a fairly popular section of the mountain. Not as populated as trails off to the left of the chairlift had been, but the bowl she was in got traffic from the mountain above, and those skiers knew what they were doing. They zipped past her, standing as she was in the middle of the trail. One skied up a little area on the side, going ridiculously fast, and then jumped off of a ledge she hadn't even realized was there. 

She watched, open-mouthed, as he landed. Like skate-skiing, my ass she thought. 

Gods, she wanted to be in the warm lodge right now.

A skier in blue passed by and stopped, probably twenty feet beneath her. They got something out of their backpack - a granola bar? - and started to eat, looking vaguely in her direction.

She decided she ought to at least pretend to move. It shouldn't be hard to get to the side, she figured, so she turned her whole body to an edge of the trail and moved, skating more than anything. Once she was there, she looked back and noticed her tracks were almost entirely horizontal, which would at least explain her speed and control. 

But now she was at the side, out of trail, and she was going to have to actually go down. She tried to turn the way Mor had, smooth and controlled, but one of her skis skittered across an icy patch, and down she went. It was much harder, she discovered, to get up without help.

When she finally managed it, the skier she had noticed was gone. 

There was a fair bit of traffic for a moment, so she took a second to wait for the trail to clear before skiing over to the other side, pretty much horizontal. The trouble was just that when she went even a little bit downwards, she got going so fast. 

At the side, she tried another turn. She made it around this time, but her feet were so far apart at the end that she lost her balance and fell backwards. 

The first few times it had just been mildly painful. Now it hurt, and not just because she kept landing on the same leg. The whole of the mountain was still below her, or so it seemed. And it looked like the trail was just getting steeper and steeper. She couldn't even see over what looked like an edge coming up. 

And steep meant she was going to go faster, and going faster meant worse falls, and - 

She pushed the images of ambulances out of her head. It was just a mountain. Children got down it all the time. 

Actually, one was skiing right by her. The little kid in the purple butterfly suit that had been a seat ahead of her on the chairlift. 

Something about that stung, but she had to admit the ski suit was adorable. 

Viviane angled her skis a little more downwards and started again, but somehow she hooked herself around a little pile of soft snow and suddenly she was pointing directly downhill. She tried to stop herself like she would on skates, but her feet didn't seem to connect to her brain in time and caught on each other again. Down she went. 

Frustrated, Viviane stood back up and looked down the hill. That edge was still coming up. And she had to go over it - that or take a weird track on the side, but it looked thin and she wasn't sure she could turn well enough to survive that. 

Her face was freezing. 

One skier flew by her, almost hitting her but changing course at the last second. She jumped, shaking a little. 

She had to keep moving. She had to keep moving. She glanced up the trail, hoping for a break in people so at least no one would run into her.

A skier in blue, the same as before, came to a stop just a little above her. He pulled off his goggles and waved at her. 

“Um,” he said, “not to be rude, but would you like some help?”

“Yes!” she cried. 

He nodded. “Let's get over to the side -” he gestured with a pole “- it's pretty soft over there and there's less people.”

He skied that way, glancing back at her when he made it, and she carefully followed suit. It wasn't so bad when she wasn't going downhill, she thought. 

“Hey, that was good,” he said. “Have you skied before?”

“I do cross-country,” she said. “Never downhill.”

His eyebrows went up. “And you're here on a first go?”

“My friend brought me here. She said it was easy.”

“Easy?” He asked, incredulous. “What a friend.”

“She,” she said, trying to think of a defense. “Yeah.”

He humphed. “Alright, so, alpine ski 101…” 

He explained the basic mechanics of it - straight skis for speed, a wedge for slowing down. Turns could be hard, but you could plant a pole and use it as a focal point for the turn. Doing a wedge for that part was a pretty good idea, he said. 

“It's actually easier when you go faster,” he said. She made the sign to cut off her throat, shaking her head, and he laughed. “Maybe later.”

Since they were at the side anyways, he made a turn, slowly bringing his skis around a pole. 

She carefully emulated his movements, and made it all the way around the turn without incident. 

“That was good!” he said. “Only a hundred more to go!” 

She groaned. 

It was much faster with his help than it had been. He led her down the little side trail - “yeah, so you should be able to keep a wedge going the whole time, it won't be that bad” - and then the last bit of the slope, which wasn't so bad because she could see the bottom and knew it wouldn't kill her to wedge down the whole thing. 

He turned to her at the bottom. “Go again?”

She laughed. “You're not getting me back on that.”

“It'd be better,” he said. “You were decent at the end there. I bet you could do it twice as fast.”

“So one hour, instead of two?” 

He laughed, and pointed to a chairlift a little bit farther away. “We could go down to that one instead - the runs are easier. Bit of a push to get over there, though.”

She scoffed. “That's the easy part.” 

He looked at her like she was crazy. “It's an uphill skate.”

“And?”

He shook his head. “I'm game if you are, I guess.”

She smiled and started up. This was easy, at least comparatively - sure, the skis were heavier and that made it worse, but not nearly as bad as coming down had been. She reached the point where it switched from an uphill to a downhill and slowly skied down.

She wanted to celebrate when she got to the line for the lift. He caught up to her, having taken longer to get up the hill.

“Guess who didn't fall!” she trilled. 

He laughed. “On that tiny hill?”

“Progress!”

______________________________________________________________

They got to talking on the chairlift. It turned out that his name was Kallias, and that he was also a junior at U of Winter Volis - a political science major, apparently. He was actually in one of her classes for her international relations degree. 

“I wish I had a study group for that,” she complained when the lift stopped. “His assignments are so boring on their own.”

He laughed as it got going again. “If you're looking for a study partner, I'm free on Tuesdays.”

“So am I! It's a plan. Let me give you my number at the bottom.”

______________________________________________________________

She invited him to join her and Mor at dinner. They headed out to a local pizza joint, about a mile from the ski area.

“Who's this friend, again?” he asked as they drove over. 

“Mor, my roommate.”

“Morrigan Dehewn, by any chance?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, actually.”

“From Night,” he stated. She nodded. 

“Do you know each other?”

“I do, actually. I roomed with her cousin when I did an exchange program in Velaris last semester.”

“Wait, seriously?” She turned to look at him. “I also met Mor in Velaris on an exchange program. But mine was freshman year.”

He laughed. “What a coincidence! So to check, we're two citizens of Winter who managed to make friends with all the same people from Night without actually knowing each other.”

She smiled as they pulled into the parking lot. “Clearly we were meant to meet each other.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe we were.”

______________________________________________________________

The restaurant screamed cozy - warm lighting, close walls, red squishy seats. 

She spotted Mor, sitting next to Emerie in a far corner. Kallias saw them, too, and led her back to the table.

Mor looked up as they approached, waving at Viviane. And then she caught sight of Kallias and gasped.

“So,” he said, pointing at Mor, “you're the bastard that abandoned this one on a blue square.”

She laughed. “What are you doing here?”

“School,” he said. “Rescuing hapless cross-country skiers who need better friends.”

He pulled out a chair, waved her into it, and dropped into the adjacent seat. 

Emerie flashed her a look, eyebrows raised and all. Viviane ignored it and reached for a menu. 

They ordered - apparently she and Kallias had the same taste in pizza, so they shared - and had a lovely, civil conversation about how Mor and Emerie were enjoying their exchange semester. 

Except she found herself looking at him the whole time - kept glancing over when he ran a hand through his hair, blond as hers, or when he smiled and flashed a set of lovely white teeth. And she thought that he might've been looking back, especially when she undid her braid and let her unruly hair bounce along her shoulders, but that was probably just ego talking. 

(Or maybe it was more than ego. How long had it been since she'd broken up with Spar?)

He got up for the restroom and she shook the thoughts away. She'd only known him for what, six hours? 

She looked up to find Mor and Emerie, grinning at her like the Cheshire Cat in double. 

“Don't start,” she warned, taking a sip of water. 

“I think you started before we did,” Mor teased. 

She huffed. “I think he was nice and I'm single enough for low standards.”

“No,” Emerie said. “He's pretty great, as men go. You could raise your standards and he'd still make the cut.”

Mor nodded. “You'd literally be perfect together.”

Viviane laughed. “Don't exaggerate just because you think we're getting along.”

“I'm not!” she cried. “He's smart and you like smart men. He's kind and you deserve someone kind. He'd be able and willing to hold you up against a wall, which we both know you'd enjoy. What's not to like?”

“Firstly, how could you possibly know about the wall thing, and secondly, even if I was interested, he wouldn't be,” she said, blushing a little.

Emerie laughed. “Viv, it's not hard to guess. And also, have you looked at yourself? He's interested.”

“Didn't he spend an hour helping you down that hill? And didn’t you ski together after?” Mor chimed in, playing with her straw.

“No thanks to you,” she replied.

“I'm sorry, and -” she pointed her straw at Viviane “- no one spends the whole day teaching someone they don't like how to ski.” 

She opened her mouth to refute it, but he approached the table again, so she said something inane about the Nordic ski season. 

Mor and Emerie both looked like they wanted to laugh, but he looked genuinely interested and asked a question about how the conditions had been, so she let it slide. 

______________________________________________________________

Kallias 

Still on for Tuesday?

I am! 

This test is going to be the death of me. When you find my body, blame it on the school. Sue for tuition.

lol

You and me both.

Coffee shop by the library sound okay?

Sounds great. See you there!

______________________________________________________________

There was a ski meet a couple of weeks later, the last one of the season and just close enough to finals that she knew better than to expect to see anyone at the finish. 

Still, it was a nice day for it, she figured. Bright and clear and cold, admittedly, but she was working hard enough on her skate skis that the temperature didn't matter. 

The last hill in the trail rose above her. She pushed harder, going faster, knowing that there was a clump of skiers just behind her that were all doing the same thing. She could hear them, breath huffing, skis sliding along the groomed path.

She summoned the last of her energy and sped up, cresting the hill and speeding down the long, shallow curve of the last part of the trail. A little bit more, a little bit more, and - done! Not first place, but third wasn't bad, and a whole lot better than what she'd done at the start of the year. 

A familiar voice whooped in the crowd of spectators. She looked over, eyes widening in surprise. Kallias stood there, sun glinting off of his hair, grinning at her. 

“What are you doing here?” she called, skiing over to the sidelines.

“That was so cool, Viv. Gods above,” he said, laughing. 

“Never been to a ski race before?” she asked.

“Never been invested in one before,” he answered. 

“Didn't you need to study?” she asked, smiling brightly. She'd blame it on the exercise if anyone asked.

He waved her off. “I listened to a lecture in the car. This was more important.”

She blushed, noticed her coach calling her across the way. “I've got to -” she gestured. 

“Go!” he said, shooing her. “But I want all the details later.”

She laughed and skied off.

______________________________________________________________

Kal

How'd the final go?

Well, I think

I remembered everything about the Day treaty!

Me too. All that studying paid off

Celebratory lunch?

You know it  

______________________________________________________________

Mor visited again just before the beginning of Spring, when the snow was close to melting, or as close as it got. 

It was slush under her skis, Viviane found. Slush that made her go slower, which made her more controlled, which was fantastic, actually. Mor went off to a black diamond at the top of the hill, something about visiting Andromache, so Viviane did loops alone on the green trails. 

The snow was good, she’d remembered to bring earbuds for music, and there were few enough people that she could have the chairlift all to herself. In theory, it would be a perfect day, even if she wasn’t as steady on her skis as she’d like to be. 

In theory. 

In reality? Viviane sat on the chairlift as it stalled, safety bar far above her head, bopping along to the EDM playlist Mor swore was an essential and tried not to worry about sliding off her seat. The drop was only twenty feet. She’d be fine. 

Wind whistled against her jacket, pressing through the weave. Her face was freezing, her chest was kind of cold, her fingers were going numb. 

How long had the chairlift been stalled? Viviane couldn’t remember. Five minutes? Ten? 

Viviane looked down again, swaying gently to the beat. Maybe it was thirty feet. Still fine. Probably. 

The chairlift picked back up and Viviane sighed in relief. Her fingers were still cold. 

Fun, she thought, staring at the snow below. I’m having so much fun. 

She slid off the chairlift all right, carefully skating to a bench nearby. A minute, she’d just sit for a minute. 

The metal of the bench was cold. Fuck. And the mountain - hill, she reminded herself, it’s just a hill - below, at the trees winding between the trails, tall and pine and absolutely thick enough to break every bone in your body if you hit them fast enough. 

Was it steeper than a moment ago? Yes, Viviane thought, absolutely yes. 

People died skiing, she remembered. Every year! More and more people and shit, shit, shit, Viviane did not want to be on the mountain. 

She still had to get down. Shit.  

“Viv?” a familiar voice called, and Viviane felt her entire body relax at once. 

“Kal,” she called, not bothering to keep the relief from her voice. He skied into view, smoothly gliding as if the skis weren’t two-thirds of his height and didn’t weigh forty pounds. 

“You stuck?” he asked, gesturing at the bench, eyes gleaming with humor. 

“Yes,” she said, and he started to laugh. Kallias had a nice laugh, she decided, nice and smooth and not fake in the slightest. Not mean, either. 

“I’m serious,” she insisted, and he stopped laughing. 

“Do you want help?” he asked immediately. 

She nodded and carefully, they began to make their way down.