Chapter Text
After all the fuss, the Christmas party ends up sneaking up on Eli.
Everything blurs together in a rush of holiday excitement and responsibilities, and before Eli knows it, it’s Christmas Eve. He pulls out nicer robes to wear—one of the white sets, with detailed embroidery—and helps Brooke tie a little ribbon around her neck.
He surveys himself in the mirror, spending more time than usual tying his belts and smoothing his shawl down. He’s nervous.
“Why am I nervous?” he mutters to his reflection. “I love parties. I get to see my friends and my—my lover. I should be overjoyed, not nervous.”
Brooke flutters up to perch on his shoulder. You’re letting the least kind parts of your mind plague you, and have been for some time now, child.
“That feels like an understatement,” Eli says with a rueful smile, offering her a pat on the head.
Brooke accepts, squinting happily. It is, so don’t chase it any further. All that leads that way is heartache and ruin.
Eli chuckles. “As always, I appreciate your honesty, Brooke. I’ll—I’ll try not to.”
Brooke bobs her head in almost a nod, and nips his fingers. Good. Now come along child, let us go see what this thing that the Queen and the Barkeep have put together is really all about.
The party is already in full swing when they arrive down to the Manor’s ballrooms. Eli slips in to a round of greetings from Ms. Bourbon, Ayuso, and Baden, drinking merrily together by the entrance. Ms. Bourbon is in delightfully festive attire, and seems to have coaxed Ayuso into joining her. Even though it’s early in the evening, he can tell they’ve been enjoying their drinks for quite awhile.
After exchanging pleasantries and slurring small talk for a moment, he bids them farewell and starts making his way around the ballroom. He scans the crowd, searching the taller faces for Hastur. His heart sinks when he realizes that Hastur doesn’t appear to be among them.
Eli fights to keep the disappointment off his face. Had Hastur decided not to come after all?
Brooke notices his frown, and nips his ear. It’s enough to shake him out of his thoughts before they spiral. Don’t go down that path, child. I’ll return later.
“Wait, where are you going?” Eli mutters to her, but instead of answering she wings across the ballroom and out the open balcony door, leaving Eli alone.
He sighs. He’s been accused of being cryptic before, but he suspects he may have learned it from somewhere.
He gets himself a drink at the refreshments table, making more light small talk with a smiling Ms. Lester. She keeps eyeing the large Christmas tree in the corner, and when he asks about it, she explains that she made many of the decorations on it, together with Valden and Mr. Beck.
“It’s—it’s perhaps a bit silly, but I keep looking to see if people are enjoying it,” she says sheepishly.
“It’s lovely, Ms. Lester,” Eli assures her. “Beautiful and festive, everything you’d want for a Christmas tree.”
She smiles, bright and open. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Clark.” Her eyes get a little far away and wistful. “It’s nice to have one’s work admired by the people it was intended for, don’t you agree? Especially this time of year, with so many little gifts and kindnesses competing for notice.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Do you think kindness often goes unnoticed, Ms. Lester?”
She blushes, focusing her gaze on Eli again. “Ah, perhaps that—that was a bit too honest, or maybe a little unfair of me. I think that. Hm. I think that sometimes people don’t see the things we do for them until the very last moment. It’s not always nice, I think, not being seen while you prepare things; it’s nice to be noticed! But the reward at the end, the smiles—those are worth the wait.”
Her eyes slide back to the tree. Eli watches her lips quirk up again with a smile, and he follows her line of sight to spot Ms. Plinius turning an ornament shaped like a butterfly around in her hands. Eli raises an eyebrow, filing that away for later.
“I think everyone will notice all the care you put into your work, Ms. Lester,” Eli says, maybe a bit too knowingly. When it becomes clear he’s lost Ms. Lester’s attention, he politely makes his excuses and sets out to wander around the ballroom.
As he keeps an eye out for Hastur, Eli indulges in a little people watching. The people at the manor are always so interesting, so colorful—Eli enjoys peaking in on them when he can, even if it’s usually only in matches. But with Eli playing wallflower right now, it’s the perfect opportunity to take everything in.
Ms. Behamfil is making her way over to Ms. Bourbon’s trio by the door with a determined look on her face. When Ms. Bourbon spots her, she lights up, immediately straightening up from where she’s been leaning on Ayuso. She stumbles over and throws her arms around Ms. Behamfil’s neck. Ms. Behamfil puts up a token protest, but catches Ms. Bourbon’s full weight in her arms without hesitation. Ms. Behamfil’s smile is small, almost secret, but Eli spots it.
Shifting his focus to the dance floor, Eli spots Balsa trying to pull Kreiss into a waltz. It’s uncoordinated, half because Kreiss seems to be fighting him every step of the way and half because neither man looks entirely sober. Eli can hear Balsa’s ringing laughter from across the room, so he must not mind overly much. From seats nearby, Valden offers undoubtedly acerbic commentary from where he leans against Grantz’s shoulder. Whatever he says makes Kreiss flush deeper, and Balsa laugh harder.
Across the dance floor, he sees Ms. Mary fluttering around Ms. Grace and Ms. Michiko. Ms. Mary looks radiant, having pulled out one of her most embellished costumes to dress up for the occasion. After all the work Eli saw her put into the party, she’s honestly more than earned it. She seems giddy with excitement in a way that makes her look younger than Eli knows she is as she pulls Ms. Michiko into a dance, calling over her shoulder to Ms. Grace to pay attention to the steps. Both her companions smile indulgently at her, twin looks of fondness clear to Eli even across the room.
As he turns he catches Norton and Naib in another corner, sitting together at one of the tables. As promised, he can tell by their body language that they’re both well on their way to being piss drunk. But Norton is laughing hard, and leaning into Naib’s shoulder, and Naib is giving him a broad grin back. It looks like Naib’s hand is on Norton’s knee under the table, casual and intimate. They look happy together, joyfully celebrating the season and each other in their own way.
Eli can’t help the little stab of jealousy that wells up. All of these people—his friends—are celebrating the season with people they love. It should make him happy to see it, happy that there’s so many wonderful bonds on display around him. Instead it leaves him aching again for his own strangely missing love. As soon as he realizes what he’s feeling, Eli can’t help but feel worse for it. It’s too selfish, self-centered—everyone here has been through worse than he has, and deserves to find their happiness where they can. His jealousy is completely unfair.
He sighs out loud. He’s still being ridiculous.
He does another quick scan of the room to look for someone to speak with, preferably one he won’t be interrupting with a lover. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Aesop standing out on one of the balconies and smiles in relief. Talking with Aesop will be a good distraction from his envy.
But then Eli spots Mr. Desaulniers heading out the same set of doors with two flutes of champagne, and stops in his tracks. Aesop looks up over his shoulder at the sound of Mr. Desaulniers’ arrival, and Eli can see how his eyes crinkle at the corner in the way that means he’s smiling behind his mask. Mr. Desaulniers notices it too, from what Eli can see of his expression. He hands Aesop one of the glasses, and Aesop pulls down his mask to properly reveal the small smile beneath.
Traitor is Eli’s first thought, though it’s more fond than angry. It’s nice to see that Aesop seems to have made up his mind about some things since their last conversation. He’s happy for his friend, and hopes he’ll have a lovely evening with Mr. Desaulniers.
But it does still leave Eli with the same sick sense of envy and fewer avenues for distraction.
He looks around the room again, feeling a little lost. Everyone he’s on good terms with seems to be coupled or grouped up, and he’s not sure where he fits right now. It’s almost overwhelming. He sees Fiona leaning heavily on Ms. Dorval’s shoulder across the room, and decides to head in their direction. They’ll at least not make him feel too much like an outsider to their relationship if he goes and spends some time with them.
Before he can get too far, however, Brooke reappears, fluttering her way through an opened window. She has a small envelope clutched in her beak, which Eli holds his hands open to accept. She drops it, settling on his shoulder with a flourish.
“What’s this?” He asks softly.
A piece of a bargain, she responds, their bond sparking with a strange sense of—irritation? And part of a gift for you, child.
Eli raises an eyebrow, but turns the letter over without question. His heart skips a beat seeing the wax seal. “This is the Yellow Sign,” he murmurs, fighting to keep his grin from being too obvious.
Astute observation, Brooke responds drily. He’s deigned to ask for my help in preparing something for you. I’d start by opening the missive, dear one.
Eli feels giddy, all thoughts of envy flying out of his mind. He breaks the seal as fast as his fingers will let him, and pulls out a piece of yellowed parchment, with what he’s learned is Hastur’s distinctive spindly handwriting.
Beloved,
The Yule season for mortals once involved great hunts for beasts to honor the passage of Time. I wish to pass on some of the thrill of the ancients to you, though what can be done here is greatly diminished. But to begin your Hunt, find that which drives mortals to cheer and ruin—that which amplifies their thoughts and dismisses their hesitations.
Eli’s eyes grow wide as he realizes what the note means. “He’s made me a—a scavenger hunt?”
Brooke sends a confirmation through the bond. I’m not permitted to assist in any way , she sends, feathers ruffled. It’s a condition of the bargain we made.
Eli gives Brooke another long look, trying to will her to talk about whatever deal she’s set up with Hastur, but she doesn’t say another word. Eli sighs, and turns his focus back to the note.
He needs something that “drives mortals to cheer and ruin,” something that “amplifies thoughts and dismisses hesitations.” He thinks for a long moment, stuck. Something that could cause those effects sounds like magic, or like it should possess magic. He doesn’t know of anything mundane that could do those things.
He looks around the room, trying to think of what magic might be around the manor, and if it has anything to do with what Hastur describes. He happens another glance at Ms. Bourbon’s group as he does so, and stops dead in his tracks. Ms. Bourbon has taken Ms. Behamfil’s face in her hands, and is cheerfully dropping multiple kisses on her cheeks. She does this with absolutely no hesitation or shame, despite how public the party is.
“That’s it,” Eli murmurs, and then adds in a stronger voice, “the next one’s at the refreshment table.”
Sure enough, Eli finds another envelope with the Yellow Sign wedged between two bottles of strong Dovlin. He steps off to the side and pulls the note out eagerly.
Beloved,
Nothing is too harsh a challenge for your clever mind, as I knew it would not be. Find what you next seek among that which has died by mortal hands to be enjoyed by mortal eyes.
Eli bites his lip. What dies to be admired? He thinks for a moment of asking Aesop—he knows so much about dead things, after all—but then dismisses the thought. He doesn’t want to interrupt Aesop’s time with Mr. Desaulniers, and he should be able to figure this out on his own, besides. After all, Hastur complimented his clever mind.
Looking around the room, his eyes linger on the Christmas decorations Ms. Mary has put up. The holly branches and garlands lead the eye through the room back to the large Christmas tree. Eli knows Ms. Mary and Ms. Bourbon had argued over the set up for days, both demanding things to be a certain way. The edges of the branches are just the slightest bit brown under the ornaments.
It’s pretty, a feast for the eyes; he hadn’t been lying to Ms. Lester when he told her it was lovely. Eli grins, giving Brooke a quick pat on the head before hurrying over. He finds the next note tucked into the ribbon of a small box under the tree.
The note tells Eli the box is for him, but that Hastur would prefer if he waits to open it. Eli feels a little perplexed at the request, but sticks it in his robes for safekeeping. The next clue directs Eli to find cut cloth, always warm, that offers no man warmth , which immediately leads Eli to the stockings Ms. Mary had hung over the ballroom’s hearth. In the third stocking he checks, he’s rewarded with another envelope bearing the Yellow Sign.
The new note is shorter than the others, consisting only of a single sentence after the address. Find that which you seek from the depths of your dreams.
Eli stills, confused for a moment, before the dream from a few weeks ago comes back to him. His heart skips a beat; he knew that dream wasn’t just wishful thinking. He waves off Brooke’s confusion, and heads straight for a door to the gardens.
He reaches the stairs down to the gardens in record time, and takes them two at a time. It’s snowing again, and bitterly cold—the wind nips at his one ungloved hand. But despite the chill, Eli feels warm with the knowledge the wait is almost over.
He tears through the gardens, nearly breaking out into a run to reach one of the secluded corners. Brooke urges caution through their bond, but he’s too excited to pay it much heed; he’ll apologize for ignoring her later. He thinks this is the right way—hopes this is the right way—and can’t stand to draw things out any longer.
When Eli rounds a final row of hedges, he’s rewarded with the sight of mistletoe clutched in a tentacle’s grasp. Before his eyes, another one is called forth, forming a rough heart shape with the first.
Eli’s heart skips another beat.
“Lord Hastur?” He calls out to the darkness tentatively, suddenly nervous again. “I’m here.”
“Eli, my beloved,” Hastur replies, voice all warmth as it seems to surround Eli. The god materializes from a shadow to stand before him, dressed in pale robes that—to Eli’s delight—almost leans into the touch.
“I’ve missed you,” Eli murmurs, giddy affection making him feel almost too honest. “Has it been so hard to find you because you were setting all this up for me?”
Hastur strokes a thumb over the line of Eli’s cheek bone. “That is correct. Mortal holiday celebrations appear so intrinsically tied to those things which they may conduct over and over again, to what is passed down through the ages and generations. Observing the cycle of nature begets new cycles, does it not? I wished to ensure that you would get to experience that which you are accustomed to, beloved—while also seeing these things made new again, experiencing them perhaps as I do.” He pauses for a moment, as if realizing suddenly how much he's said, how vulnerable he seems. “Did you enjoy it?”
There’s an uncharacteristic nervous note in Hastur’s voice, Eli realizes with a start. He isn’t sure whether it comes from unfamiliarity with mortal traditions, or that somehow Eli is making him feel nervous. He feels his heart swell with affection—Hastur is so cute, so charming sometimes. “I liked my scavenger hunt very much, my lord.”
Hastur leans down, and Eli feels the phantom sensation of a kiss on his forehead. “I’m—I am happy that you liked it.” He pauses for a moment, as if in thought, absently rubbing his thumb again over Eli’s cheekbone. “Is this—Is this feeling, this fascinating effervescing happiness, is this why mortals bestow gifts upon each other? I have never truly understood the purpose—mortals cannot bestow gifts to one another with any meaning, beloved, not like the gods can; mortal gifts can not shape the cosmos or grant true boons. But this feeling—is this why?”
Eli laughs, not unkindly. “Yes, I think so. Is it that feeling of happiness, at seeing someone you lo—like smile?”
Brooke titters, just a little, at Eli’s near slip. Eli shushes her through their bond, knowing a flush is creeping up his cheeks. He’s not quite ready to admit to feelings of love yet, no matter her teasing—no matter if he thinks the thought to himself late at night sometimes, turning it over until it’s smooth like a stone in a river bed. Even if Hastur is being so cute again, it’s not time for that yet.
There will be time later, Eli is sure. His gut feelings are so rarely wrong.
“ Yes ,” Hastur almost breathes, wonder clear in his voice. It surrounds Eli again, as if all of the shadows around them are joining Hastur in his revelation. “My beloved Eli, this feeling is intoxicating .”
“It’s nice to see people happy, I think. It’s even nicer to know you put it there. It makes everything worth it," Eli says, thinking back to Ms. Lester. He reaches up to grab Hastur’s hand and gives it a squeeze, steadying himself for what he wants to say next. It’s ok to be a little selfish, Aesop's voice reminds him, to ask for just a little. “But I do wish I could have seen you more in the past couple of weeks. I love my gift, I do, but I love time with you as well, my lord.”
Hastur goes unnaturally still in Eli’s grasp. There’s a beat, where all Eli can hear are the distant sounds from the party filtering out into the garden as Hastur stands frozen. Then Hastur says softly, “Oh, Eli, I have done wrong by you in my efforts to please. I’m sorry such things were clouded from my view, that I could not see plainly without intervention.” He puts a hand almost tentatively to what appears to be his breastbone. “It appears I am learning of so many surprising mortal emotions this night—I suspect this one may be regret.”
It’s so endearing, the shift from Hastur’s normal unflappable self-assurance. Eli feels almost dizzy for a moment when he realizes that he’s caused it, too. Hastur, an old god who exists outside of time, has allowed himself to be vulnerable twice now in front of Eli, feels regret that he might have hurt Eli’s feelings. He surges forward with the realization, and pulls Hastur down into his arms. He feels Hastur’s arms circle his shoulders, and a tentacle from behind him circle his waist.
“It’s ok, my lord—I really do like my gift,” Eli says into Hastur’s shoulder. “I just want to spend time with you, too. More time, I mean. Maybe that’s—that’s selfish, but—“
“All selfishness is permitted, my love, all madness entertained in my presence,” Hastur murmurs soothingly, carding a hand through Eli’s hair. “If you wish for my presence, you shall have me at your call. I would promise all the stars for you if I felt such things would please you, my beloved Eli.”
Eli feels himself go warm, and buries his face deeper into Hastur’s shoulder. His heart beats loudly in his ears—he’s nearly certain Hastur can hear it. “When you say things like that it’s—it’s so—it’s very nice.” He winces as the word nice leaves his mouth, hating how poorly the word measures up to what he’s feeling.
He wishes he had half of Hastur’s gift and experience with words, so he could convey properly the things that Hastur does to his heart.
“I’ll say that and a thousand more nothings, then, if it pleases you—all for you, love.” Hastur says, the warmth in his voice almost overwhelming. “But for now, I’ll add only one more—happy holidays, beloved.”
“Happy Holidays, Lord Hastur,” Eli returns, smiling so wide into Hastur’s shoulder it almost hurts.