Chapter Text
December woke up with a gasp.
Her pale skin was moist and clammy, and her white fringe clung to her forehead, having escaped the confines of the clips she often held it back with while she slept. She had a throbbing headache, too. Her dreams had been ruthless, and she spent the night tossing and turning restlessly as a result.
It wasn’t uncommon for this to happen when she was nearing significant times of the year. For starters, it was the first day of spring — the first day of December’s second year in Mistria. It had also been roughly a year since she left Aldaria’s adventurer’s guild, which she’d joined three years prior. It was a bittersweet change from her snowboarding career, something she’d given up about two years ahead of that after an accident that she would swear up and down was due to a loss of passion and its resulting supposed carelessness.
No matter what horrors December had faced while slaying monsters and saving lives, it never compared to the trauma of landing a move with a loud and excruciating crunch in her hips and knees, a face full of snow, and ultimately darkness when another, louder crunch reverberated through her neck.
She could’ve easily died that day. The fact that she made it out of her coma afterwards was a damn miracle.
It was a time she re-lived often in her slumber, like last night, and it was the predominant reason why she kept a slew of medications in the drawer of her nightstand. SSRIs. Benzos. Anti-inflammatories, both in over-the-counter and prescribed doses. Steroids for worse days, like today; her joints ached more than usual, and if rain hadn’t already been pitter-pattering against her windows, she would’ve known from her body’s signals that a storm was brewing.
That moment in her earlier 20s was also the reason December craved simplicity. Safety. Not a boring life, but one where she was able to feel impactful without risking everything on a daily basis.
Her life in Mistria thus far had been perfect for that. But she couldn’t just wave a hand and magically erase what had already happened, so the frequent nightmares and chronic pains were something she’d just have to deal with.
Goose jumped up onto the bed and made a bee-line for December’s torso, purring contentedly while he rubbed his head against her chin once he was situated. Although the cuddles were welcome, it took only a few moments of her lips being tickled by black and white fur for her to abandon ship. She lifted the cat up and held him close, reassuring him that she’d continue snuggling once she readjusted.
Her vision blurred and sparkled as she sat up. She leaned against the cool wallpaper beside her while she waited for it to pass, taking deep breaths in an attempt to speed up the process and giving Goose neck scratches to distract herself from it.
She figured she could try to map out her day while this went on, too. She wouldn’t have to tend to her crops because of the rain, so that was nice. Wouldn’t have to worry about ringing the animals in and out of their homes either. On a worse day like this, not having to listen to the clanging of the large bell Hayden had trained them to respond to was more than welcome.
December couldn’t really afford to just sit around and relax, despite everything. There was still plenty to be done: errands to run, forage to gather, materials to acquire for Adeline’s projects, ores to mine and smelt and smith… she felt there was no good in putting her life on hold, even for a little bit. So after patting a few kisses to Goose’s forehead, December set him down on her pillow and went on with her usual morning routine.
Her meds went down easy, her breakfast was quick and light, and she let the warm water of her shower soothe her weary body for longer than what was probably necessary. After making sure Goose was fed and watered, she did the same with her barn and coop animals, stopping to give each of them some love along the way. And after that, she decided that she’d spend the day at the forge. She was due for a pickaxe upgrade, and it couldn’t hurt to craft a new sword too if she had the time.
She always felt a little excited to go there. December was by no means a fan of smithing — the heat of the furnace made her skin crawl, and the loud clanging of hammers on steel made her wish she didn’t have ears — but she didn’t hate doing it in the rain or snow, and enjoyed spending time with March and Olric.
For the longest time, she didn’t entirely know what to make of Aldaria’s self-proclaimed greatest blacksmith. That didn’t stop her from developing feelings though. March seemed to never know how to treat her, and that didn’t bother her most of the time — if anything, she thought it was very endearing, and found enjoyment in riling him up — but it could get a bit confusing.
She’d already known that he doesn’t dislike her anymore; and about half a year into her residency in Mistria, he’d stopped basically going after her on-sight. He’d begun to do kind things like teach her his smithing techniques when she struggled, buy her a drink if they ran into each other near Darcy’s stall on Saturdays, and he had tended to her wounds after a particularly rough day in the mines just a few months ago. She’d argue that the last experience softened him even more.
As she passed the inn and waved her hellos to the villagers scrambling to shelter from the weather, December wondered, why was March still so closed off? Why did he try so hard to push her away some days, even after she “proved herself” by being a significant part in restoring Mistria?
The farmer mused that maybe it was their names. Was he mad that there was another month-name in town? She smiled to herself while approaching the fountain, wondering how he’d feel if she tried to duel him about it.
She might as well. Maybe he’d feel like playing today.
Unsurprisingly, the man in question was outside working hard as ever, keeping himself dry and his metal relatively hot with the large red canopy tent he and Olric often set up on days like this. He only noticed December approaching when she walked through a particularly deep puddle, creating a small splash beneath the weight of her combat boots.
March directed his attention back to his work just about immediately.
Foolish mistake.
Claiming a spot on the opposite side of the anvil, December lifted her hands from her pockets, pointing finger-guns at him with both. The motion in his peripherals prompted March to look back up, and December noticed that he seemed to fight a laugh at the sight before him.
“What are you doing?”
Her natural voice, although slightly raspy, was light and gentle. She did her best to lower it an octave and put on a drawl anyway for the bit, “This town ain’t big enough for the both of us.” She failed horribly.
March chewed his bottom lip for a short moment. He was really struggling not to giggle. It made her feel proud.
“What?”
“Put ‘em up.”
“I’m not—“
December squinted and made a few pew sounds as she flicked her wrists.
To her absolute delight, March played along.
His brows raised while he observed her movements, patiently standing his ground as if he wasn’t being brutally wounded. Once she settled, he lifted his chin and his hammer with a sly grin, locked his nearly-black eyes onto December’s icy blue ones, and raised the weapon over his head, swinging it in her general direction.
As she clutched her metaphorical pearls and began to feign taking a hit, December took note of how his intense look had made her heart race. Maybe she was falling harder than she thought.
She swiftly pushed that idea back and moved onto wishing that things could always be this way: March messing around with her too, no (well, some) questions asked, rather than trying so hard to be all stone-cold and macho in the wake of her goofiness. She liked it when he allowed her to know she was his friend, rather than having to assume. She’d cherish the feeling while she had it for now.
“You monster.”
After the exclamation, December straightened herself out and made her way to the stone wall behind her assailant. Over the past year, the corner connecting the wall and the water basin had become the designated spot for her stuff to reside while she smithed.
“Get better aim,” March quipped, dipping his metal… blob, in its current state, back into the fire for a moment before going back to shaping it.
After gathering the ores she’d be smelting, December removed her jacket and draped it atop her backpack to protect it from potentially being flooded. It sucked that it would just be in the way if it were under the canopy with them, but while she could leave it inside the shop, she preferred having her things in sight.
Once she placed her ores down near the furnace, she closed in on March, asking, “How’s this then?” while lifting a single finger-gun to his temple.
She made the same noises as earlier to mimic gunshots before he could properly react.
Reluctantly, March smiled, swatting her hand away. She couldn’t help but smile herself — she loved breaking his facade more than most things.
After a glimpse at her curled lips and dimpled cheeks, a sight he enjoyed far more than he wanted to let on, he rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have some dirt to shovel?”
Tying her hair into a high ponytail and putting on some protective gear, December responded, “Unfortunately for you, I was planning to hang out here all day.”
March groaned. “Just don’t get in my way.”
“Only if you don’t get in mine.”
The door to the smithy opened. It was probably Olric on his way over.
“Do I ever?”
December ignored March’s question in favor of greeting his brother with a smile and wave before getting started.
“Hey, it’s December! Nice!”
“She’s not here to help, you know,” March told him.
“So what?”
“Ugh.”
December turned away from her task to blow a raspberry at March. Another eye roll was all he gave back before locking into his craft again.
Olric stretched his arms across his chest and behind his back while he made his way towards the farmer. “Jo and Hemlock are having everyone at the inn again tonight. Are you coming?”
She shrugged, feeding her silver into the crusher to be broken down. “Depends how much work I get done here.”
“Come on,” he grinned, “it’ll be fun!”
“Are you trying to make me give up on this?”
Olric jested, two gloved thumbs up, “I suppose I’d never turn down a sale!”
“I would,” December mumbled. “Shit’s expensive.”
March grumped, “Go complain to a smith in the capital and let me know how it goes.”
“I never said it shouldn’t be expensive. You guys are crazy good at this.” Prepping the coals now that her ores were ready for smelting, December reasoned, “I just prefer to make my own things.”
Olric beamed and patted her on the shoulder. “Very resourceful of you!” The gentle giant didn’t know his own strength, though, and jostled her more than intended.
To save herself, December batted him away with the too-long fingertips of her borrowed gloves, prompting him to finally go and help March out with their copious amounts of nails. It was almost comical how many of those orders they fulfilled on a daily basis.
March sighed, pausing for a moment while Olric took his place opposite to him. The redhead made sure to nod his head to the side, prompting his brother to scoot further down with him to make room for December to work.
“You know,” he added, “for someone who’s always telling me to take more breaks, you’re pretty bad at it yourself.”
“‘Do as I say, not as I do,’ or whatever.”
“Oh yeah? And what if I ban you from using the forge?” he smirked.
As if it were the most logical answer possible, December stated, “We fight to the death.”
“Again?”
March couldn’t see it, but December smiled at the nod he made to their earlier “battle.”
“A lover’s quarrel..?” Olric wondered. It was barely audible, but loud enough for the two to hear and jump into defense-mode.
“Huh?” December turned to look back at him, wide-eyed and red-cheeked — a rare sight, given how little she usually expressed with her face beyond her mouth — while March told him to fuck off, his own complexion now beet-red and his eyes still plastered on the metal. The older brother snickered, not responding to either of them.
Carefully pouring her molten silver into the multi-ingot mold beside her, December groaned. “If I agree to go, will you stop bugging me about it?” she asked lightheartedly.
“I could be persuaded.”
She huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. March, unfortunately, couldn’t pass up the chance to see her smile again, so he paused his work and watched as she moved to dip her cast in the water nearby before quickly stopping her in the act.
He called out a stern “Hey.” Once he got her attention, he shook his head, silently telling her to stop. December froze in place, her stare swimming with curiosity.
March nodded to the cubby of equipment nestled into the side of the shop and next to the furnace, before instructing her to do the following: grab a pan and a hand towel from it, wet and ring out the towel, then place the towel in the pan and the mold on top of that.
He felt his heart swell with pride as she nodded along, following his instructions. Her only question in the process was why she needed to do this, March’s answer being that it would prevent water damage to the metal.
He’s had a few apprentices here and there that thought they were too high and mighty to do something as simple as follow his directions. But she trusted his judgment completely, even now that she was an incredible smith herself. Something about that made him feel… well, something.
He heard Olric laugh out of his nose and finally turned his attention away from the girl to glare, his cheeks pink again. His brother had been watching the whole interaction and was visibly excited by how smitten March was.
Removing the quickly-cooled ingots from their molds and dipping one into the fire, December finally decided, “I guess I could use a drink...”
“It’s on March!” Olric volunteered his brother, his wide grin sparkling with mischief.
He’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to nudge March to make the move he’d secretly wanted to for so long.
Little did he know it only made March more reluctant. The blacksmith didn’t like being told what to do, nor did he like when people would beat around the bush. He’d gladly suffer for the sake of his own stubborn nature.
March scoffed, “Why would I do that?”
December joined the brothers, ready to begin shaping her silver. As she reached March’s side — not too closely, lest she whack him in the face with her hammer or be burnt by his own materials — she gave a featherlight kick to his calf.
“You tell me,” she teased, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Whatever.”
“So you’re in?”
“Yeah,” December nodded at Olric, “I’ll go.”