Post by devilinthedetails on Jul 3, 2020 3:21:31 GMT 10
Series: The Warm Heart of Winter
Title: Cloves and Cinnamon
Rating: PG
Event: Wicked in Winter
Words: 774
Summary: Roald and Shinko sip cider and share memories by a fire in winter.
Cloves and Cinnamon
“Something to spice up your life, my love.” Roald poured a steaming mug of cider and extended it to Shinko as they curled together by the fireside, a blanket tugged tight about their shoulders.
“Thank you.” Shinko accepted the mug, smiling inside at how it warmed her fingers as she held it. She didn’t lift it to her lips, but instead let it hover beneath her nose so she could sniff the rich scent of cloves and cinnamon imported from Jindazhen.
Roald also seemed to be inhaling the spicy aroma from his own mug of cider, and, for him, the smell seemed to be carrying him on the winds of memory to a past place and time invisible to Shinko but brought to life in her own mind by his words as he continued, “The smell of cider always reminds me of Kally. When we were little, we’d sip cider out of cinnamon sticks as a treat, and sometimes she would blow bubbles in the cider with her cinnamon stick when our nursemaids weren’t watching. It was funny.”
“I imagine it was.” Shinko’s smile became an external one as she pictured Roald’s spirited sister—the sibling to whom he had always been closest—getting into such childhood antics behind the backs of her nursemaids.
“I think of her this time of year as Midwinter approaches.” Roald sipped at his drink. “I suppose she doesn’t need to drink cider in Carthak, land of eternal summer.”
“I’m certain she thinks of you this time of year even if she doesn’t need to drink cider.” Shinko searched for a detail to make his sister’s caring concrete for her husband. “She sent us a Midwinter card a week ago.”
“Yes, she did.” Roald’s mood lightened as if a weight of memory had been lifted from him. It was a small detail and comfort to the deep, endless sorrow of losing a sister to a distant, strange empire that Kally had written a Midwinter card, but somehow it was the small details and comforts that always mattered most to him, Shinko had noticed. “Very thoughtful of her, and we have written back to her too, so she knows we likewise remember her especially during this season of celebration.”
Changing the subject now that her husband’s mood was shifting to something more jovial, Shinko observed as she took the first sip of her cider, tasting the bite of strong spices on her tongue, “I’d never felt the sting of cloves and cinnamon in my mouth until I came to Tortall and tasted it in your cider.”
“You hadn’t?” Roald’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Cinnamon and cloves aren’t native to Tortall, but imported from Jindazhen at great expense.”
“Imported from Jindazhen at great expense,” Shinko repeated with emphasis on “Jindazhen,” the country which she wasn’t from and which routinely raided the Yamani Islands, where she had been born and bred. “Not from the Yamani Islands.”
“Of course not.” Heat began to burn in Roald’s cheeks, turning them red as the sparks cackling above the wood in the hearth. “I just figured that since Jindazhen is close to the Yamani Islands, you’d have more exposure to spices from there than we would in Tortall.”
“Tortallans season their food with spice as a mark of status.” The cloves and cinnamon continued to tickle Shinko’s tongue and throat as she drank. “The Yamani prefer our fish and rice unseasoned. I’ve heard that many foreigners even describe our food as bland and flavorless, though we find the taste of fish and rice enough for our palates. In Jindazhen, however, they delight in adding many strong spices to their dishes. In the Yamani Islands, we have quite different tastes than those in Jindazhen.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed. That was tactless and insensitive of me.” Roald ducked his head, his face falling into shadow. “Forgive me.”
“Your assumption wasn’t entirely baseless, my dear.” The affection and amusement in Shinko’s tone made her husband’s head lift again. “Much of our culture and traditions have been influenced and shaped by Jindazhen over the centuries. There is a reason the Yamani Islands are sometimes referred to as a daughter of Jindazhen.”
“Tell me more about how the Yamani Islands are similar and different to Jindazhen.” The way Roald’s blue eyes fixed on her warmed Shinko like the hottest part of a flame. “We have a long time until the fire burns itself out.”
“I’ll talk to you about it until the fire goes out,” Shinko agreed, and soon her words were birds flying them both across the waves of the Emerald Ocean to the rugged shores of the Yamani Islands.
Title: Cloves and Cinnamon
Rating: PG
Event: Wicked in Winter
Words: 774
Summary: Roald and Shinko sip cider and share memories by a fire in winter.
Cloves and Cinnamon
“Something to spice up your life, my love.” Roald poured a steaming mug of cider and extended it to Shinko as they curled together by the fireside, a blanket tugged tight about their shoulders.
“Thank you.” Shinko accepted the mug, smiling inside at how it warmed her fingers as she held it. She didn’t lift it to her lips, but instead let it hover beneath her nose so she could sniff the rich scent of cloves and cinnamon imported from Jindazhen.
Roald also seemed to be inhaling the spicy aroma from his own mug of cider, and, for him, the smell seemed to be carrying him on the winds of memory to a past place and time invisible to Shinko but brought to life in her own mind by his words as he continued, “The smell of cider always reminds me of Kally. When we were little, we’d sip cider out of cinnamon sticks as a treat, and sometimes she would blow bubbles in the cider with her cinnamon stick when our nursemaids weren’t watching. It was funny.”
“I imagine it was.” Shinko’s smile became an external one as she pictured Roald’s spirited sister—the sibling to whom he had always been closest—getting into such childhood antics behind the backs of her nursemaids.
“I think of her this time of year as Midwinter approaches.” Roald sipped at his drink. “I suppose she doesn’t need to drink cider in Carthak, land of eternal summer.”
“I’m certain she thinks of you this time of year even if she doesn’t need to drink cider.” Shinko searched for a detail to make his sister’s caring concrete for her husband. “She sent us a Midwinter card a week ago.”
“Yes, she did.” Roald’s mood lightened as if a weight of memory had been lifted from him. It was a small detail and comfort to the deep, endless sorrow of losing a sister to a distant, strange empire that Kally had written a Midwinter card, but somehow it was the small details and comforts that always mattered most to him, Shinko had noticed. “Very thoughtful of her, and we have written back to her too, so she knows we likewise remember her especially during this season of celebration.”
Changing the subject now that her husband’s mood was shifting to something more jovial, Shinko observed as she took the first sip of her cider, tasting the bite of strong spices on her tongue, “I’d never felt the sting of cloves and cinnamon in my mouth until I came to Tortall and tasted it in your cider.”
“You hadn’t?” Roald’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Cinnamon and cloves aren’t native to Tortall, but imported from Jindazhen at great expense.”
“Imported from Jindazhen at great expense,” Shinko repeated with emphasis on “Jindazhen,” the country which she wasn’t from and which routinely raided the Yamani Islands, where she had been born and bred. “Not from the Yamani Islands.”
“Of course not.” Heat began to burn in Roald’s cheeks, turning them red as the sparks cackling above the wood in the hearth. “I just figured that since Jindazhen is close to the Yamani Islands, you’d have more exposure to spices from there than we would in Tortall.”
“Tortallans season their food with spice as a mark of status.” The cloves and cinnamon continued to tickle Shinko’s tongue and throat as she drank. “The Yamani prefer our fish and rice unseasoned. I’ve heard that many foreigners even describe our food as bland and flavorless, though we find the taste of fish and rice enough for our palates. In Jindazhen, however, they delight in adding many strong spices to their dishes. In the Yamani Islands, we have quite different tastes than those in Jindazhen.”
“I shouldn’t have assumed. That was tactless and insensitive of me.” Roald ducked his head, his face falling into shadow. “Forgive me.”
“Your assumption wasn’t entirely baseless, my dear.” The affection and amusement in Shinko’s tone made her husband’s head lift again. “Much of our culture and traditions have been influenced and shaped by Jindazhen over the centuries. There is a reason the Yamani Islands are sometimes referred to as a daughter of Jindazhen.”
“Tell me more about how the Yamani Islands are similar and different to Jindazhen.” The way Roald’s blue eyes fixed on her warmed Shinko like the hottest part of a flame. “We have a long time until the fire burns itself out.”
“I’ll talk to you about it until the fire goes out,” Shinko agreed, and soon her words were birds flying them both across the waves of the Emerald Ocean to the rugged shores of the Yamani Islands.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!