Gift Giving

Sylvi finished the last stitch and tied it off before examining her needle point. With admiration, she gave it a proud nod of approval at the family crest she had just fashioned onto the pair of wool gloves. She had inherited many traits of her mother, her eyes, her nose, her need for a purpose, and independence. But there were also many traits that she did not inherit from the Queen of Erebor. Some she wished for, while others she was grateful not to have been gifted. Traits such as her mother's inability to wield a needle.

Sylvi found herself smiling to herself as she ran her fingers over her most recent masterpiece. While it was not a particular skill that most knew she possessed, she was quite proud of it. Her maternal grandmother had taught her. Siv was more than overjoyed at Sylvi's ability as she had been robbed of passing her own talent of needle and thread onto her daughter, so she had made up for it through her granddaughter.

Passing her critical inspection, Sylvi proclaimed the gloves finished and packed away her sewing basket before walking over to her desk. There she lay the gloves on top of a previously knitted scarf. She admired the way they paired well with each other before taking the lid next to the box and neatly placing it over. She then looked at the clock above the fireplace mantel.

It was late.

But not too late, her mind countered.

Biting at her lip, Sylvi picked up the box and hugged it to her chest. She would make it quick. It was not as if she needed to stay long, in fact she would not need to stay at all. All she would need to do was hand it over. If she waited till morning there was a possibility that she would miss him before his departure.

With the debate settled in her mind, Sylvi nodded her head and prepared to leave.

Her knuckles rapped against the wooden door with a timid knock. As she waited for it to be answered, she fidgeted with the parsel in her hands. She felt out of breath and noted her rapid heart within her chest. She rubbed a hand across her chest, glaring down at the spot where the treacherous organ was thundering. Why was it beating so?

Suddenly the door was yanked open as she started slightly, her head snapping up to take in the towering figure of Lord Ferin. As many times as she had been in his presence, Sylvi had still yet to get used to his aura. Despite his likeness to his son and the ease she had found with Tarbin, Lord Ferin was the most intimidating man she had ever been around. When he first opened the door there had been a look of annoyance, most likely from being disturbed so late at night, but it turned slightly curious when he saw who it was.

"Princess Sylvi, what are you doing here?" he questioned, his voice coming out more interrogative than curious.

Her fingers gripped the box in her hand tighter for moral support. "Oh...um...I was just-"

"Ferin dear, who is it?" came the sweet tone of Hilda.

The honey eyed woman appeared at the doorway, opening the door farther so she could stand next to her husband. Sylvi could not be more thankful to have the woman magically appear. Ferin may be the most intimidating person she knew, but he also had the biggest weakness when it came to his wife.

"Oh Sylvi," Hilda greeted brightly, once she took in the young maiden. "What a pleasant surprise. I am sorry we were not expecting anyone but please, do come in."

Sylvi glanced to Ferin and her feet hesitated. "Um, it's okay," she quickly said. "I am sorry to intrude so late." She fiddled with the box then held it out. "I just wanted to make sure Tarbin got this before he left tomorrow."

Ferin frowned but reached out for it, only to have his hand stayed by a smiling Hilda. "I see no reason why you can't give it to him yourself. Come in, I insist." Sylvi opened her mouth to give out a protest but Hilda was already pulling her inside, past her still frowning husband who closed the door behind them, and making Sylvi feel trapped. "Besides," Hilda continued. "Receiving the gift from the giver is the most precious part about receiving a gift altogether. Especially ones from pretty young ladies," she added, turning her head to give Sylvi a wink as she continued to drag Sylvi through the home to a hallway.

Sylvi had been to their home and down this hallway enough to know that she was being led directly to Tarbin's bedroom. Hilda stopped outside of his room and Sylvi could hear a light ruckus of shuffling, then a trunk slammed shut before Hilda knocked on the door.

"Tarbin are you decent?" she called.

There was another sound of something being shut before footsteps and then the latch of the door as it swung open. "Mother, I thought I asked not to be…" he drifted off when he spotted Sylvi standing behind his mother. "Sylvi!" he commented in surprise.

"You have a visitor," Hilda said brightly as she stepped sideways and gave Sylvi a small nudge. "Why don't you two talk in here as your father and I are using the sitting room. Although you might want to fasten a few buttons my dear son, you might make Sylvi a little uncomfortable," she added as she turned and left.

It was then that Sylvi realized that Tabin was dressed in nothing but a pair of pants and a loose shirt that was only buttoned halfway. Silvi had seen far more of Tarbin's naked chest more times than she could count. She had been around when he trained with other men and all growing up, during the summers when they went swimming with siblings and friends, it was not an uncommon sight. But there was something different about the casual dress and being in his room and all alone that made such things far more intimate and less appropriate.

Tarbin looked down at himself and immediately began to fumble with his shirt as he mumbled an apology. Sylvi felt her own cheeks grow warm as she moved her eyes between the disappearing bare chest and the door as she cleared her throat. With his last button fastened, Tarbin stepped to the side and gestured for her to come in.

Hesitantly she entered, her eyes roaming the room nervously as she felt his eyes follow her. It was not the first time she had been in the room. In fact she had been in here dozens of times. However that was long ago when they were both younger, and they had never been alone.

Now, it was nothing but a tabooed breaking of propriety that she was quite taken aback that Hilda had even suggested such a thing. Then again, Hilda had always made an exception for them. And as uncomfortable as she was with this situation, she would much rather be in Tarbin's room than in the parlor with his father watching.

For the most part everything was as she remembered it. The bed in the far corner with the green bedspread. To her right, the small green chaise lounge next to the fireplace that had a large map of middle earth over its mantle. And on the other side of the room, was the writing desk with several neat stacks of paper. Next to it, a small bookcase with several books and trinkets on display. The only thing that wasn't as she remembered was the mess. Clothes and weapons were strewn all around the room haphazardly. She had always remembered Tarbin having been a neat and orderly person when it came to his belongings, but she supposed things could have changed.

The sound of the door closing caused her to turn around. Tarbin was standing next to it, his hand still on the latch, keeping it slightly ajar as his eyes watched her. "Are you okay with this?" he queried. "Serka and Sven are already asleep next door, I do not wish to disturb them."

Sylvi nodded. "Tis fine," she commented, before her eyes roamed to room once more.

Her distraction seemed to break his attention from her and he hastily walked forward and began to pick articles of clothing and travel supplies from off the floor.

"Sorry about the mess," he mumbled as he began to dump his clothing onto the bed. "I was packing and wasn't exactly expecting to be interrupted tonight...not that you are interrupting," he quickly added as he turned around to look at her. "You're always welcome to come at any time."

Sylvi gave him a smile of understanding, his embarrassment over such a thing causing her to become more at ease. "It's me who should be saying sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to disturb you but your mother insisted."

Tarbin stopped his tidying and strode over to her. He ran a hand through his hair as he gave out an amused huff. "Yes," he said with a sarcastic tone. "Well she certainly likes to insist when it comes to you."

Sylvi found herself nodding before she even registered what he said. She paused mid nod to look at him, a warmth coming to her face. Things just hadn't been the same since he graduated and was added to the official ranks of the royal army. Feelings had been admitted, subtly and secretly, and it was difficult to ignore such things the older they got. She tightened her hands around the box which reminded her altogether as to why she was even here.

"Oh," she exclaimed, holding the box out to him. "This is actually why I came by. It was to give this to you before you left." Tabrin took the box from her hand, his fingers grazing hers all too purposely and leaving a tingling sensation. As soon as he had a hold on it, she retracted her hands, squeezing them tightly at her sides as she did her best to ignore the small smirk on his face. "It's kind of an early birthday present since you will be gone."

He nodded in understanding. Tomorrow he was leaving on assignment to go to one of the northern forts. It was only early fall but he was to remain there until the spring as once the snow fall began, most of the mountain passages would not be passable.

"Anyways...I should probably be going," she said, beginning to slowly walk backwards to the door.

His head shot up from the box. "You will not wait until I open it?" he inquired.

"Oh well…"

"You know the best part about giving a gift is seeing the receiver open it," he added before she could protest.

Sylvi smiled slightly. What was with this family and gifts? He walked over to the sofa and waved a hand for her to follow. He took a seat and gestured for her to take the spot beside him. As she settled down, he watched her, his hands tracing the edging of the box.

They sat in silence for a moment, Sylvi watching him watch her from the corner of her eye before she willed herself to face him. "Well go ahead," she prompted as she gestured to the box.

He seemed to only just remember the box as he nodded and pulled his eyes from her to concentrate on the box. He lifted the lid, paused for a moment, then pulled the gloves out. He stared down at them. Speechless, he ran a hand over the threading stitched into it, recognizing his family seal.

"Did I get it right?" Sylvi asked nervously. He looked up to see her biting at her bottom lip as her eyes moved worriedly between the gloves and him. "I was certain I knew it well enough...did I make a mistake?" She let out a curse under her breath. "I knew I should have never…"

She stopped when his hand grabbed onto hers. "It's perfect," he assured. "You know it well," he said almost proudly.

She gave him a relieved smile and with her confidence restored, she seemed to perk up. She sat up straighter and her eyes began to alight in the way that Tarbin always admired. "It gets cold in the far north so I was hoping these would prove useful. I know wool is not the most fashionable, but it's durable and does well in keeping warm."

In her excitement, she seemed to forget herself, scooching closer to him and pulling out the scarf from the box as well. As she moved closer, Tarbin set the box down on the ground so that she could reach over him more easily and wrap the scarf around his neck. It was thick and soft, much too warm for the current temperature for his room, and to add, her close proximity was only serving to make it warmer. However, he was not about to take it off. Not while her small hands wrapped around his neck, tucking and arranging the scarf before letting them come to rest on his chest as she admired it. Her focus remained all on the scarf around his neck while his, remained entirely on the happy expression on her face. This, that look, this relaxed closeness with her, he would take this over any birthday present someone would give.

"I know green is your favorite color. But I thought the blue would look better," she said as she looked at him and gave a nod. "Yes, definitely the blue."

She froze slightly when she caught him looking at her with a certain expression. It was amused but also secretive. Like he knew something about her that she did not know. It was a look she found him giving her a lot lately...or at least as frequently as they had seen each other, which was not much since he was often busy with his newly acquired duties. But nevertheless, ever since his recovery from earlier in the summer, she had noticed something different in his countenance. Perhaps that is what happens when you stare death in the eye and survive.

She both loved it and hated it. There was something special in that look, but it also did things to her that made her unsure of what to do with herself.

"If you think blue is best, I will trust you on that," he remarked, finally pulling his eyes away from her face to look down at the scarf and then the gloves again. "These are so finely made, it almost seems a sin to take these with me, surely they will get worn and ruined."

Her hand gave the scarf a small tug and he looked up at her. "You will wear it, every day if needed," she instructed. "A scarf and gloves that never get worn out are a waste. If you're so worried, you can bring them back home in the spring and I will mend them for you. Or if they are so utterly destroyed I will make you a new pair."

"Promise?" he asked. "As I recall your needle work is certainly a rare commodity. I was under the impression that you only gifted those most important and dear to you."

Her cheeks flushed red and she looked down at her hands, picking at a hangnail as she tucked her chin. "It's not that big of a deal," she brushed off. "I just don't ever get around to it often. Besides, you are important."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Of course. Every member of the royal army is important."

Tarbin let out an amused snort and shook his head, as if there was some sort of inside joke that she was unaware of. "So am I to assume that you will be dressing the entirety of your father's army?" he asked with a tinge of amusement.

She rolled her eyes. "No," she drawled.

He gave her a grin and leaned forward causing her to slightly lean back as her heart leapt. "So you could say I was...special to you? That I hold just a little more regard than the others?"

This was one of those changes in his countenance. Tarbin had become uncommonly teasing as of late. Not quite to the extent of his cousin, but he was certainly giving Torsten a run for his golden coins. Her cheeks burned and she swallowed before letting out a huff and rolling her eyes to mask her nervousness. "Well if you're going to get a big head about it," she said, moving to unravel the scarf and grab the gloves, "then I will find someone else to give these to."

She moved to take the gloves from his hand but he held tightly and pulled them back to him, tugging her forward as well. She stopped herself from falling into his lap by catching his thigh. When she looked up at him in surprise, it was to find his face dangerously close to hers. She licked her lips nervously and the movement seemed to catch his eye. For a moment, he stared at her mouth before finally looking up into her eyes.

"Too bad," he said. "They already have my name on them and they are my birthday gift, are they not. You can't take them back unless….you had something else to give me instead?"

His eyes dipped back down to her lips which were now parted slightly. Sylvi could hardly breathe, not daring to make a move. His lips curled into a smile and then it was she who could not take her eyes off of his mouth.

"By your silence I assume there is no other gift," he said smoothly, lifting the gloves between them. "I guess I will just have to settle for these."

Sylvi quickly pushed herself away from him. Flustered and red, she preoccupied herself with smoothing her skirt. "Yes well...you better use them. If you come back with eight fingers because you got frostbite, don't come crying to me."

He let out a small laugh which seemed to ease her out of her flustered state. Through the wall someone coughed in the room from the other side and Sylvi was reminded of his youngest siblings sleeping next door, then of the lateness of the night.

"I should probably go," she announced. "You still have packing and I do not wish to keep you up."

He nodded in agreeance, albeit slightly regretful. A piece of hair fell into her face, a phenomenon that he had not seen happen in a long time. Automatically he reached out and tucked it behind her ear and she looked up at him. He had noticed that ever since she had come to him that night in the infirmary, that she did not wear any hair clips at all. Instead she tied her hair back with a leather strap. It did well to keep her hair out her face for the most part, but it seemed as the day went on, the knot would loosen its hold on her golden locks.

He was suddenly hit with an opportunity. "Before you leave," he said, "I have something for you."

"For me?" she questioned.

He nodded, then took her hand and pulled her up and walked her over to his desk. There he let her hand go and opened one of the compartments, pulled out an item, and held it out to her.

Sylvi stared down at his open hand with a mix of emotions. Resting in his palm was a hair clip. The hair clip. The clasp had been reshaped and repaired while the missing onyx stones had been replaced.

With a shaking hand, she tenderly took it out of his and ran her fingers over the familiar metal work. "You repaired it?" she asked.

He nodded. "A while back but I never saw the opportunity to give it to you. Wasn't sure if you wanted it back seeing as it's just an old and tarnished trinket." Sylvi cringed at the repeated harsh words she said what felt like long ago, but was only two seasons. "I will understand if you don't want it back but thought maybe you could use the luck一"

He was cut off when she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. "Thank you," she mumbled into his chest.

Before he could even respond to her embrace she was pulling away, but she paused halfway. Her hands went up to the scarf that was still around his neck. "Promise me you will wear it. Don't worry about it getting holes," she said. "Scarves can be replaced….you can't," she said so quietly he nearly missed her words.

When she managed to look up at him, he was nodding.

"I'm going to go now," she announced.

He nodded again and she began to walk towards the door. Just as she reached for the latch, he spoke.

"Sylvi," he began, and she turned to look at him, "If you are not too busy...a letter, every once in a while, would be nice." He scratched the back of his head and shrugged his shoulders. "You know, just to make sure Vali stays out of trouble and maybe keep me up to date with anything new around the mountain."

She gave him a smile before leaving.

He watched her golden hair disappear and even when she was long gone, he was still staring at the door. Finally, when he heard the chime of the clock in the sitting room echo down the hall and announce the lateness of the night, he went back to his packing. The last things he placed into his pack before laying down to rest, were the gloves and scarf. And when he went to bed, he could not help but smile to himself.

He had not been optimistic about his departure. But now, now he could leave without any worries, without any regrets, and without any longings. He had something to look forward to. He had hope.

It was bitterly cold and the harsh wind that cut through the valley did not make it better. It was not even the peak of winter yet which meant it would only get colder in the next month. As another gust of bone chilling wind rushed through the encampment, Tarbin tucked his head deeper into the safety and warmth of his scarf. When he breathed in he was granted the faintest of sweet scents that remained from its maker.

Making his rounds of the outer curtain wall of the fort, he made a full circle of the ramparts, coming to a stop near the open grated fire at the barbican. Gathered around were several other soldiers who had been posted with him for the winter as well. At his approach most gave him a nod of acknowledgement, most out of respect for his noble birth, some from his position as a ranked officer, while a few were out of acquaintance. He was still fresh in the army, not having been an official member for a year, but Tarbin had quickly learned to distinguish between all three of these nods. It said a lot about a person's character. The reasons why they gave respect gave him insight on who to trust by how they saw him. By the way they nodded, it told him if they saw him as a title in which they could glean gain from, as a soldier who would follow his lead until they were above him in rank, or as a friend who knew him for his skills and traits, not just accomplishments.

Despite their various reasons, Tarbin gave them all an individual acknowledgment, calling them by their own name individually. "Ane, Thorgrim, Olaf," he greeted the three eldest. "Amma," he greeted the lone shieldmaiden. "Igor, Ivar," he said to the last two. A pair of brothers who were identical in likeness with the exception of a scar that raged across Ivar's brow.

He continued this way with several others until all of them had been named. Once he had drawn up fully next to the fire, he withdrew his hands from his pockets and held them close enough until he could feel the warmth of the flames penetrate through his gloves. He listened in to the small conversation, not paying particular attention as they talked of the mundanes of the cold world they were living in. After time passed, the group around the fire began to dwindle as shifts were changed, rounds were done, or they retreated into the warmth of the keep to fetch some ale and bread.

At some point in the night, Tarbin found himself no longer listening in the hushed chatter of the night watch. Instead, he stared forward at his outstretched hand, taking in the way the stitching of his family seal was so well designed and how the golden thread seemed to absorb the warmth and light of the fire. He soon found himself staring into the hypnotizing flames and thinking of the owner of the hands that had done such fine stitching.

Just that morning he had received a raven with a letter written by those very same hands. It had been the third one he had received since his departure, one for each full moon cycle, not that he had been counting. It had not been anything different nor shy of what he asked for. Updates on his good friend the prince, although portrayed in a slightly biased opinion of a sister. Then there was also the news of everyday life in the mountain, which given the sparse paragraph, not much had changed in his absence. As mundane as the letters were, they were what he looked forward to with the passing of time. And with each one that he received, the more eager he became for winter to end.