Chapter Text
Champions didn’t celebrate things that weren’t worth celebrating. That’s what the Elders had told Gillion. Feasts were to honor the Gods, festivals to honor the Undersea, and birthdays were unimportant in the face of failure. He could celebrate when he was worthy of being celebrated. The Elders were strict in their rulings and Gillion tried his best to listen to them. Every year, however, when the deep trench waters get just a little bit cooler, and the waves on the surface start growing a little bit larger, Gillion lets himself feel excited.
There’s something very special about Fishmas eve. The night before the longest night. When Luna Deas is at her strongest. There’s days of celebration. Of lights and colored sand and sweets.
Gillion swam through the halls of the palace, faster than he should have, most likely. He passed servants faster than they could bow, nearly knocking into a very expensive vase. When the Elders found out about that they would no doubt be furious, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the rules. It was Fishmas Eve, after all.
His training had been cut short that day but he was still covered in bruises and cuts. He didn’t have time to go to the infirmary if he still wanted to get ready in time. Gillion was a triton with priorities and getting healed surely wasn’t more important than his plans for the evening. The pain in his right knee and the stinging pain in his shoulder told him otherwise but he’d gotten very good at tuning out his injuries.
Gillion’s chambers in the palace were grand and empty. The rooms were decorated with nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and training equipment. There was also a small desk in the corner where he could study his more diplomatic “chosen one” duties. Sitting at this desk was the familiar form of Pretzel, who squeaked at his arrival.
“Pretzel! Hello! Training was cut short.” Gillion quickly explained, brushing past the desk to reach his dresser. “We don’t have much time; we’re set to meet them in just under an hour and I still need to get cleaned up and get the presents ready and dress and–”
Pretzel squeaked more insistently, pointing towards the desk. She was thoroughly ignored. Huffing in annoyance, she swirled her way towards Gillion’s frantically pacing body.
“-- and I couldn’t find any fried honey coral in the kitchens, so it won’t be perfect and I–”
Pretzel pulled on Gillion’s half sleeve and slapped his arm with one of her tentacles, pointing towards the desk with another. Gillion looked towards the desk, populated with its usual notes, scrolls, and half finished doodles of Undersea Titans. A newer addition was a single package wrapped in kelp with a letter set on top of it.
“...is it a bomb?” Gillion asked Pretzel in confusion. Pretzel hit his arm again and settled onto his shoulder. “It’s… surely they would just give me my present at tonight’s dinner…”
The present offered no answer. It only sat at the coral desk, waiting to be unwrapped. Gillion hesitantly approached and reached for the letter on top.
“...‘To Gill.’” Gillion read aloud. “The only… I see.” Pretzel trilled in confusion and Gillion set the letter back down, moving Pretzel to sit back on her desk perch. “We don’t need to get ready for dinner, Pretzel. I’m sorry for rushing you. I’ll have the kitchens bring us dinner soon.”
Gillion sat on his bed for a long while, staring at the package with disappointment. Pretzel eventually got tired of his brooding and picked the letter up with her tentacles. She forced the letter into Gillion’s lap and stared up at him expectantly. Gillion rolled his eyes and picked the letter up.
“I don’t even know why you’re having me read this, I know what it says,” Gillion huffed, opening the letter and pulling out a small note. The stench of Kelp drenched the note and Gillion tried very hard not to cry as he choked his way through the letter. “‘Dear Gillion, Your mother, Eydn, and I will not be able to join you for Fishmas eve dinner in the Trench. Barracuda, your sister’s friend’s uncle has passed and we will need to stay home in support of the Kelpkickers. Your sister has written and left you a gift. Sincerely, Reed Tidestider.’ What did I say?” Gillion tossed the note on his bed and stormed over to the desk. Pretzel followed behind cautiously. “It’s been two years since they bothered to visit and I haven’t seen Edyn since… I can’t even remember! They’re always busy with something. ‘Oh Gillion, the farm needs to be tilled before the warm season returns’ ‘Gillion, we need to repaint the stables before the neighbor’s wedding’ ‘Gillion, some triton you’ve never even fucking heard of just died”
Gillion punched through the desk, causing bits of broken coral to float serenely through the cold, stuffy waters of the chamber. Gillion panted in exhausted anger. Pretzel chirped softly, wrapping around his hand and squeezing. He took a deep breath and settled into his chair.
“I’m sorry, Pretzel, I shouldn’t have… broken the desk, sh– the elder’s aren’t going to be happy about that– and for yelling. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Pretzel only squeezed tighter. Gillion sighed and gently moved her to his shoulder, giving her head a few scratches.
“It’s just… frustrating. I know I have a duty to them– to the entire undersea. They’re counting on me to be… not me. I need to be better at this. Maybe it’s for the best. I don’t think they’d be happy to know I can’t even heal myself.” \
Gillion looked at the package again and, after a moment, drew it closer to himself. It was neatly wrapped, a job clearly done with care. The bow on top was cloth dyed a bright red and painted with small blue fish. He carefully removed the wrapping and tucked the bow in his desk drawer. Another letter was tucked into the lid of the box.
“‘Dear Gillion,
Merry Fishmas! I miss you very much and I hope you are doing okay. I went ahead and made the sand tunnels for Sandy Cod but they’re not as good as when you used to do them.
Speaking of Sandy Cod, he’s left you a gift.
The smaller package is from him and the larger one is from me, mother, and father. He also told me to tell you that you are the bravest, noblest, and kindest triton he’s ever seen. He told me to tell you that he’s so proud of you and that you just need to keep going because you are doing so well and he knows you don’t get told that enough.
Merry Fishmas, Gill.
Just keep going.
I love you a million Gillion,
Your big sister, Edyn’”
Gillion silently opened the box. Two parchment packages. In the brown wrapped parchment was a box of fried honey coral. Sticky, gooey, delicious fried honey coral.
“We used to eat this together. Mother would save up for months and swim for hours to almost every shop during fishmas. She said Grandpeepaw discovered the perfect technique to fry it so the coral wouldn’t go bitter, but she couldn’t make the recipe because we didn’t have the “proper materials”. I don’t really know how it’s made, to tell you the truth. Or what’s in it. We would eat it together though.” Gillion handed a small piece to Pretzel who ate it ferociously, bits sticking into his hair.
While she worked through her treat, Gillion moved to the next gift, from Sandy Cod. Gillion hadn’t been visited by Sandy Cod since he left home, mostly because he couldn’t dig the tunnels in the palace. Gillion at his worst moments, when he spent yet another year doubting the existence of the winter trickster fish, found himself doubting the existence of Sandy Cod. After all, a burrowing cod who knew exactly what you were hoping for in the Fishmas tunnels? How would a cod even know he wanted a…
“Oh my GODS– Pretzel, look!” Pretzel paused in her devouring of coral to look at the small figurine in Gillion’s hand. A carved stone statue of a serpent with whiskers and an imposing glare.
“Pretzel, it’s Dugal– no, that’s not his name– it’s the one I was reading about in the scrolls just last week! The big one! This is a statue though, not a real– It’s perfect!” Gillion explained bounding over to his wardrobe, tail flapping from side to side excitedly. He carefully balanced the figure on top of the intricately carved stone and simply stared up at it, munching on fried honey coral and informing Pretzel of every detail he could remember of undersea titans and the big fish of the oceans.
It wasn’t a perfect Fishmas. It wasn’t even close to a perfect Fishmas. But Gillion had Pretzel and fried honey coral and a letter from his sister. And for Gillion, that was more than enough.