Witch Hunter Robin: Solstice (PG)
Summary: Making wishes at the dark of the year.
Notes/Warnings: Continuing my Christmas-to-New-Year's extravaganza, we have the story I wrote as an apology to one of my beta-readers for the story I posted yesterday. Post-canon, but only the vaguest possible spoilers.
SOLSTICE
*
They were somewhere in England, following the whispers and rumors of whispers up toward Stonehenge. There were supposed to be Witches there, not just one or two but an entire coven. Except that no one had seen them, or if they had, they weren’t willing to tell even Robin, who was better at looking innocent and trustworthy than Amon was.
So they’d gone north in pursuit of a possibility. It was safer in England than it had been in Egypt, but also colder. Robin made herself a cup of espresso after dinner each day, and wrapped her hands around it, and stared out the window at the trees bending under the biting wind.
That was depressing enough - going out into the wind, and occasionally the rain, without even the satisfaction of finding a single Witch. But then, coming back to their hotel one evening, Robin looked over at the store window and saw it properly for the first time, with the wreathes of pine branches around it and tinsel and glittering lights. “Ah, it’s almost Christmas.”
“Is it?” Amon said indifferently, not even looking at the store window in question.
“Yes, it is,” Robin said firmly. “It’s already...” She had to stop and count on her fingers: it had been November 27th when they left Egypt, three weeks ago exactly. “December 18th.” She glanced up sidelong at Amon. He was still watching the crowds on the street instead of anything else. “It’s almost Yule, too.”
“Mmm,” Amon said, then, “The restaurant we went to last night is offering a special. Did you want to go there again?”
“Of course. What are they offering?” Robin tucked her hand around Amon’s arm, and let herself pretend, just for a moment, that Amon wasn’t entirely focused on Witches and Seeds and the tangled, complicated sort of destiny that Robin had been born into and Amon had chosen. Just for a moment, she imagined a proper Japanese Christmas, with little love-gifts and sweet cakes and ornaments.
But only for a moment. She’d only been in Japan for one Christmas, for pity’s sake, and besides, Amon wasn’t the sort of person who liked sweets. They were in England. Cold, dank, depressing England. The English had their own Christmas traditions, which were nothing like Japan, or Italy either. Robin put the whole thing firmly out of her mind, but not without one last wistful glance at the decorated window.
*
They spent most of the twenty-first of December inside: a college professor had offered to introduce them to someone who might know where the Witches were, if they could find the correct phrasing of a particular ritual he’d been researching. When they finally left the library, Robin huddled down into her coat and shivered a bit as the wind seemed to bite at her. “It’s snowing,” she grumbled.
“Of course,” Amon said, and to her surprise, took her by the hand and tugged her along the street.
She followed without arguing, despite the snow blowing into her eyes, until they reached the train station. There, she pulled free. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yes. It’s not far away.”
Robin opened her mouth to protest: their things were all back at the hotel, and while it wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to run for their lives with only the clothes on their backs, this time they had some items that she didn’t want to give up if she possibly could avoid it. Then Amon turned to face her completely, with the snow swirling around him and his dark coat, and he held out his hand, and he said, “Please.”
Robin took his hand, and followed him - not into the train station, but past it, out into the fields. In the distance, she could see a light flickering, like a fire. As they got closer, she finally ventured, “Amon?”
“They’d been watching us,” Amon said. “Professor Rupin mentioned it, when you stepped outside.”
“And they’ll just let us come?”
“You have the ritual words.” Amon turned to her, and brushed the hair back out of her eyes, his gloved fingers lingering on her temple as if to remind her where the words were. “And it’s Yule.” As if that was explanation enough - but maybe it was. He was smiling at her, just a little.
Robin smiled back at him, and together they went toward the bonfire ahead, and the people like them, who had lit the fire to last out the longest night.
-end-
This entry is crossposted at Dreamwidth.
Notes/Warnings: Continuing my Christmas-to-New-Year's extravaganza, we have the story I wrote as an apology to one of my beta-readers for the story I posted yesterday. Post-canon, but only the vaguest possible spoilers.
SOLSTICE
*
They were somewhere in England, following the whispers and rumors of whispers up toward Stonehenge. There were supposed to be Witches there, not just one or two but an entire coven. Except that no one had seen them, or if they had, they weren’t willing to tell even Robin, who was better at looking innocent and trustworthy than Amon was.
So they’d gone north in pursuit of a possibility. It was safer in England than it had been in Egypt, but also colder. Robin made herself a cup of espresso after dinner each day, and wrapped her hands around it, and stared out the window at the trees bending under the biting wind.
That was depressing enough - going out into the wind, and occasionally the rain, without even the satisfaction of finding a single Witch. But then, coming back to their hotel one evening, Robin looked over at the store window and saw it properly for the first time, with the wreathes of pine branches around it and tinsel and glittering lights. “Ah, it’s almost Christmas.”
“Is it?” Amon said indifferently, not even looking at the store window in question.
“Yes, it is,” Robin said firmly. “It’s already...” She had to stop and count on her fingers: it had been November 27th when they left Egypt, three weeks ago exactly. “December 18th.” She glanced up sidelong at Amon. He was still watching the crowds on the street instead of anything else. “It’s almost Yule, too.”
“Mmm,” Amon said, then, “The restaurant we went to last night is offering a special. Did you want to go there again?”
“Of course. What are they offering?” Robin tucked her hand around Amon’s arm, and let herself pretend, just for a moment, that Amon wasn’t entirely focused on Witches and Seeds and the tangled, complicated sort of destiny that Robin had been born into and Amon had chosen. Just for a moment, she imagined a proper Japanese Christmas, with little love-gifts and sweet cakes and ornaments.
But only for a moment. She’d only been in Japan for one Christmas, for pity’s sake, and besides, Amon wasn’t the sort of person who liked sweets. They were in England. Cold, dank, depressing England. The English had their own Christmas traditions, which were nothing like Japan, or Italy either. Robin put the whole thing firmly out of her mind, but not without one last wistful glance at the decorated window.
*
They spent most of the twenty-first of December inside: a college professor had offered to introduce them to someone who might know where the Witches were, if they could find the correct phrasing of a particular ritual he’d been researching. When they finally left the library, Robin huddled down into her coat and shivered a bit as the wind seemed to bite at her. “It’s snowing,” she grumbled.
“Of course,” Amon said, and to her surprise, took her by the hand and tugged her along the street.
She followed without arguing, despite the snow blowing into her eyes, until they reached the train station. There, she pulled free. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yes. It’s not far away.”
Robin opened her mouth to protest: their things were all back at the hotel, and while it wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to run for their lives with only the clothes on their backs, this time they had some items that she didn’t want to give up if she possibly could avoid it. Then Amon turned to face her completely, with the snow swirling around him and his dark coat, and he held out his hand, and he said, “Please.”
Robin took his hand, and followed him - not into the train station, but past it, out into the fields. In the distance, she could see a light flickering, like a fire. As they got closer, she finally ventured, “Amon?”
“They’d been watching us,” Amon said. “Professor Rupin mentioned it, when you stepped outside.”
“And they’ll just let us come?”
“You have the ritual words.” Amon turned to her, and brushed the hair back out of her eyes, his gloved fingers lingering on her temple as if to remind her where the words were. “And it’s Yule.” As if that was explanation enough - but maybe it was. He was smiling at her, just a little.
Robin smiled back at him, and together they went toward the bonfire ahead, and the people like them, who had lit the fire to last out the longest night.
-end-
This entry is crossposted at Dreamwidth.