Okay, here you go. It's a bit AU, sort of first meet. :)
Secret Gift Giver
It was snowing. That's what he would always remember. The little white crystals were hitting the ground and making him bitterly cold. Still he stood out there in his red Pendragon cloak, waiting for whatever princess was his secret gift giver.
If she was a princess. There was something a bit odd about the gifts he'd received now for a week. They weren't the usual decorative baubles.
Day 1: A box. he had plenty in his chambers, imported from here or there. But there was something about this one made of oak and birch if he was correct. It didn't glisten or have jeweled closure. It was plain if anything and the sides were a bit splintered. Received one in his finger to make the point. But for some reason he liked it very much and it was the first box ever he decided to use for his most precious memento. His mother's rings.
Day 2: Wrapped into a faded brown cloth some sweet bread. Only it was some of the most delicious bread he'd ever tasted. It crumbled with satisfaction into his mouth. And he liked to tear off the end pieces. He was a little sad when the last part was eaten. Missed its honey aroma.
Day 3: A cup of strongly hot cider. All day he'd trained with the knights and complained of feeling chilled to the bone as he swore it was the coldest day of the winter yet. He went back to his chambers and found it sitting there right on his desk, but when he asked his servant about it, he told him he hadn't yet had time to prepare anything. Oh, but how that cider warmed his bones that freezing night. It was like the grandest hug was mixed into it as silly as it sounded.
Day 4: It wouldn't be so much a gift if it hadn't meant all it did to him. When he was barely becoming of age he'd been given by the knight he had most looked up to, sadly now deceased, honorably killed in battle, a pair of dark brown leather skinned gloves. They were his favorites so much that he wore them every day, getting his father the king to tease that one day he would rip a hole into them. One day came just this week. And his father provided the replacement, not wanting his son to look like some peasant. So the prince wore his new gloves all day long and pretended that they were perfect when they were nothing of the kind. They itched his fingers and had none of the warmth of the old. Late that afternoon, he pretended it was sweat, not disgust, that made him thrust them off as he entered his chambers. As they flew down to the floor he noticed them, his old gloves, lain on his bed, perfectly mended. Oh how it made him smile as he caringly put them on his irritated hands, took away that bit of pout that had been there all day.
Day 5: It was the craziest thing. Any other time he might laugh at it, but for some reason this time of year made him sentimental, made him act a little boyish. And so as he looked out his window in the morning hour and saw that snow creature built within the deep white, he laughed with glee. It was holding a sword, silly little snow being. He ran all the way outside to stare at it, like a child. Like the boy he no longer had the luxury to pretend to be. But for that moment, he lay in the snow, looking up at it with the goofiest grin a prince could ever have.
Day 6: Red was his favorite color, Pendragon red. He had half a dozen tunics maybe of the color. But he had no socks of the bright glowing shade, until that morning. Oddest thing. Bright red socks, but he put them on under his boots, feeling their well made warmth, and knew he had more Pendragon red than any of his knights, than even his father, and always would, secretly. Red socks he would have laughed at if bought from market, but made by hand by someone, and he loved them.
Day 7: A note, nothing more. Written on parchment with fine soft delicate strokes. "You have received all my gifts without complaint. Perhaps then you'd not mind meeting me. If so, fine prince, go to the wood on Christmas Eve, where the Sycamore lines the frozen pond. I will be there...waiting for you."
*New LJ format won't let me reply. Here's all of it: http://elsewhere87.livejournal.com/29222.html#cutid1
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Secret Gift Giver
It was snowing. That's what he would always remember. The little white crystals were hitting the ground and making him bitterly cold. Still he stood out there in his red Pendragon cloak, waiting for whatever princess was his secret gift giver.
If she was a princess. There was something a bit odd about the gifts he'd received now for a week. They weren't the usual decorative baubles.
Day 1: A box. he had plenty in his chambers, imported from here or there. But there was something about this one made of oak and birch if he was correct. It didn't glisten or have jeweled closure. It was plain if anything and the sides were a bit splintered. Received one in his finger to make the point. But for some reason he liked it very much and it was the first box ever he decided to use for his most precious memento. His mother's rings.
Day 2: Wrapped into a faded brown cloth some sweet bread. Only it was some of the most delicious bread he'd ever tasted. It crumbled with satisfaction into his mouth. And he liked to tear off the end pieces. He was a little sad when the last part was eaten. Missed its honey aroma.
Day 3: A cup of strongly hot cider. All day he'd trained with the knights and complained of feeling chilled to the bone as he swore it was the coldest day of the winter yet. He went back to his chambers and found it sitting there right on his desk, but when he asked his servant about it, he told him he hadn't yet had time to prepare anything. Oh, but how that cider warmed his bones that freezing night. It was like the grandest hug was mixed into it as silly as it sounded.
Day 4: It wouldn't be so much a gift if it hadn't meant all it did to him. When he was barely becoming of age he'd been given by the knight he had most looked up to, sadly now deceased, honorably killed in battle, a pair of dark brown leather skinned gloves. They were his favorites so much that he wore them every day, getting his father the king to tease that one day he would rip a hole into them. One day came just this week. And his father provided the replacement, not wanting his son to look like some peasant. So the prince wore his new gloves all day long and pretended that they were perfect when they were nothing of the kind. They itched his fingers and had none of the warmth of the old. Late that afternoon, he pretended it was sweat, not disgust, that made him thrust them off as he entered his chambers. As they flew down to the floor he noticed them, his old gloves, lain on his bed, perfectly mended. Oh how it made him smile as he caringly put them on his irritated hands, took away that bit of pout that had been there all day.
Day 5: It was the craziest thing. Any other time he might laugh at it, but for some reason this time of year made him sentimental, made him act a little boyish. And so as he looked out his window in the morning hour and saw that snow creature built within the deep white, he laughed with glee. It was holding a sword, silly little snow being. He ran all the way outside to stare at it, like a child. Like the boy he no longer had the luxury to pretend to be. But for that moment, he lay in the snow, looking up at it with the goofiest grin a prince could ever have.
Day 6: Red was his favorite color, Pendragon red. He had half a dozen tunics maybe of the color. But he had no socks of the bright glowing shade, until that morning. Oddest thing. Bright red socks, but he put them on under his boots, feeling their well made warmth, and knew he had more Pendragon red than any of his knights, than even his father, and always would, secretly. Red socks he would have laughed at if bought from market, but made by hand by someone, and he loved them.
Day 7: A note, nothing more. Written on parchment with fine soft delicate strokes. "You have received all my gifts without complaint. Perhaps then you'd not mind meeting me. If so, fine prince, go to the wood on Christmas Eve, where the Sycamore lines the frozen pond. I will be there...waiting for you."
*New LJ format won't let me reply. Here's all of it: http://elsewhere87.livejournal.com/29222.html#cutid1