Very Short Story - Festive Spirit

 A little piece set in the Realm of The Disposable for you, written to given an outsider's view of the strangenesses of our annual festivities. Merry Christmas everyone. :)

Festive Spirit

“It’s not going to shift, is it?”

Bow the Serving Man glanced at his younger brother Scrape as they paused for a moment in their task for a necessary breather. Prickly green spikes now festooned their thankfully sturdy livery tunics, making them resemble something akin to a pair of disgruntled green hedgehogs. The enormous spruce tree, heedless of their efforts, remained firmly wedged in the door frame of the Royal Palace’s Great Hall.

He shook his head in a shower of needles. “Doesn’t look like it. We may have to find some help.”

“What help?” Scrape leaned against the wall as he pulled dark spikes disconsolately from his clothing and flicked them tersely to the floor. “Everyone’s busy. The cooks and the rest of the kitchen staff have been at it for days down there. All the artisans have got their heads down blowing glass baubles and fashioning those wooden stars and snowflakes. Menial and all the maids haven’t been back downstairs in ages – do you know what they’ve got them doing up there?”

Bow wiped a weary hand across his forehead and winched as a needle spiked his brow. “I bumped into Menial yesterday and she told me the Royals have had them… wrapping presents.”

Scrape paused in his own needle extraction and blinked. “Wrapping presents? For a week? How many have they got?”

Bow’s expression spoke eloquently on the subject without uttering a word. He settled for simply elaborating. “Apparently, they’ve used reams of material and ribbons and there have been some challenging jobs. Count Bold got her to wrap a sword up, apparently, though he insisted the Countess shouldn’t see.”

Scrape furrowed his brow. “Seems an odd thing to give his wife.”

Bow smirked. “Turns out he’s giving it to himself. And apparently he’s had ribbons tied to a rather fine war horse too.”

The brothers exchanged an eye roll. Bow frowned. “There was another strange thing she mentioned too. The Queen insisted they make… a costume. Red velvet apparently and a hood lined with fur.”

Scrape shrugged. “You know what the Queen’s like with her dresses.”

Bow returned the shrug. “Not for her. For the King. She’s made him grow a beard and insisted he has to wear it to give out all the presents. Oh, and apparently she demands when he does this, he has to laugh and shake his belly. Since he doesn’t have much of one, they’ve been feeding him up on trifle.” He shook his head. “And that’s not even the oddest part. Did you see that thing in the courtyard as we dragged this in?”

His brother glanced back but the view to their previous path was blocked by spruce limbs. “That weird cart with runners, you mean?”

Bow pulled a face. “It’s called a sleigh. They had the artisans carve it and cover it in bells. And, word is, the Queen’s sent a whole team of Trappers into the hills to try and catch some stags. Menial says she wants to use them to pull it. With the King and the presents inside!”

“Wild stags?” Scrape snorted. “Has he upset her lately?” He copied his brother’s earlier head shake. “What is this all about? We are dragging a giant tree inside a building to cover it with decorations. The cooks are preparing far more food than can possibly be eaten for a massive banquet. The minstrels have been composing special winter ballads about snow and holly and decking boughs. The maids have spent days wrapping presents so the King can dress up as a jolly old man and hand them out in a sleigh pulled by a very unhappy collection of deer. Does anyone know why?”

“Menial said it was Queen Eminence’s idea,” Bow replied with the long-suffering weariness of one engaged in a futile task for no apparent reason. “When The Narrative last passed through, there was some kind of midwinter festival going on and she liked the traditions they saw. Apparently, she reckons it’ll be…” He paused for a moment to give the word the due emphasis it deserved. “Fun to recreate it. She wants to get into the festive spirit.”

Scrape stared at the tree-blocked doorway and his needle-strewn livery. He blinked. “But it’s not their festive spirit – not if it’s all from some Quest!” he exclaimed. “And they are just blindly going along with it all without a clue what it means? Did no one ask why?”

“Why would they?” Bow gave an almighty shrug. “It’s from The Narrative. That makes it right.”

“Even if it makes no sense?”

“Especially if it makes no sense.”

There wasn’t much Scrape could say to that. He sighed.

“No chance we’ll get any presents, I bet.” he mused darkly.

“Don’t be daft. ‘Course we won’t. But ...” Bow glanced furtively from side to side. “I’m told the cooks have over-ordered on purpose. There should be some good quality leftovers waiting for us when their Royal Highnesses are sleeping the day off. And if we can fudge some decorations, maybe bribe the minstrels to play when they come down for their pies...” He smiled broadly. “I reckon we can have some festive spirit of our own. I mean – we don’t need all the showy stuff, do we? Not to have fun. We’ll do what we always do. We’ll make the best of it.”

Scrape gave his brother a more genuine smile. “Now that sounds more like it. Something to look forward to?”

Bow sighed. “I think we’re going to need it.” He stared with resignation at the tree. “Shall we?”

And with a prickly sigh and dreams of leftovers, the two brothers went back to work.