The Gifts White Star Brings.

Grey Mountain, Headmaster of the school of Solarian Mages among other things, was for once busily employed in the act of doing nothing. Well, nothing more strenuous than putting his feet up before the fire roaring away, and idly glancing through a novel. He was not often in the mood for a cheap romance, it must be confessed, but in the spirit of the holidays, and to not hurt the feelings of whoever thought such a thing was a good gift for the bachelor elf, he was willing to at least glance. Besides, he was in no mood for any serious thinking, and reading, even in such a lackluster manner, helped keep that at bay.

His room was decorated in shining green and red, brought in from the nearby woods by Granite, whose heart at least was in the right place. Grey felt no real need to remind him that Hemlock was probably not a wise plant for the decoration of White Star, for its poisonous reputation. Besides, the small attention was oddly touching.

So far, he seemed to be a favorite for many sneaky gift-givers this year. Even Rom, who he had adopted, and who didn’t seemed to grasp the holiday yet, presented him with a picture that ‘he drewed’. Besides that, one day, an elegant potted plant was on his end-table when he came in one evening. Considering it was mint, he suspected Summer, the local head healer. But he might be in error, so didn’t hazard even a guess yet. Several other books found their way in also in the last fifteen days since White Star started, and as yet he was able to only guess Granite’s decorative attempt. The smell of evergreen is not usually on his person, after all. All in all, most of his various friends seemed to have mastered the fine art of sneaking a gift in, as is tradition. But then again, most of them had many years to practice.

Wondering at the stillness, he glanced up, a frown on his face. Since Ron’s arrival, quiet was a rare commodity indeed. And having it now, when he should be home and making sure of a din was disquieting to say the least. Standing, he glanced around the small apartment. No Ron, though plenty of traces of his arrival and activities. Snowy muddy footprints near the door, a pile of plates and bones from a scrounged meal while Grey was half-reading, half-dozing. It was most likely cold. Wax-crayons scattered near his chair, and another picture, a rough elfish blob thing with the word Grey written above. He had to smile at it.

Wandering near the fire, he paused to put a stick in the fire. The snowstorm seemed to have picked up considerably, and the chill seemed fiercer than before. Noticing that, his eyes widened in alarm, and he all but ran to open the door. Sighing with relief at the lack of footprints, he shut it again, and started searching the other rooms carefully.

He nearly tripped on the forty-plus boy, curled up in the shadowy corner of the fireplace. There was a thick smear of chocolate about his mouth that definitely hinted at him finding a gift somewhere. Smiling at his young charge fondly, he gently scooped him up. Ron stirred a bit, considering his up-bringing, how could he not? But the familiar scent of his Father’s seemed to have reassured him, and he drifted back to sleep an instant latter. Putting him to bed, Grey tucked him in, and left quietly. Yes, White Star is the season of gift-giving, and the one he prized most was the one that put the most chaos in his life, the one that now curled up in his bed, a thumb stuck in his mouth.