Chapter Text
1. You wake up to the sweet sound of an elf singing.
On the first day of the Ethereal Moon, Ferdinand von Aegir wakes up to the sweet sound of an elf singing.
Okay, so the elf is more of a half-elf, and only elven in any sense when they play D&D (and really, half-elf bards are so overdone), and she’s his neighbor and fellow theater major. He wakes up to her singing every day.
Today, however, he groans as dread immediately pools in his gut, and then flips over to bury his face in a pillow. It’s the first day of the Ethereal Moon. That means, as per the hastily drafted Black Eagles Dorm agreement everyone was forced to sign, Dorothea is now allowed to start singing Saint Cichol’s Day carols.
The only bright spot is that at least she didn’t start two months prior, like she tried to freshman year.
There is no goddess forsaken reason she should be so cheerful at such an early hour. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this melodious yet unholy wake up call. It’s not like Ferdinand is late for classes – he’s never late. That would not be befitting a noble! Also, it’s Sunday. To be woken while it’s still dreary and dark outside on a Sunday, such blasphemy! And also… it’s the first of the Ethereal Moon.
Not only is caroling now officially allowed, but all other holiday activities too. It means dodging mistletoe traps and poisoned cookies, most of which accidentally end up inedible. (Some are Hubert’s doing.) It means being drafted into snowball fights that turn into snowball wars and, while admittedly they are fun, the made up geopolitical strife gets so intense that they end up carrying on these rivalries throughout the year. Just once, just once during the holiday season, Ferdinand wants to have tea with his bestie Lorenz without being condemned for “consorting with the enemy”.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Saint Cichol’s Day. He just wishes his dorm (actually all the students of GMU?) would be somewhat more normal in their celebrations. Garreg Mach was supposed to be the most elite institution of higher learning in the entire country. Somehow he ended up surrounded by… not idiots, but these people.
Dorothea’s serenading fails to get him to leave his bed, so she resorts to pounding on the door to his room.
“Ferdie, wake the fuck up. You need to see this.”
“No,” he says, voice muffled by the pillow.
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, Ferdie has a cruuuush–!”
“No!” He bolts upright and begins throwing on clothes as fast as possible.
“Hurry up before I reveal your big secret through song and dance! Three… two…”
He bursts through the door. “Foul witch, cease your dark sorcery at once!”
The foul witch giggles. “Come downstairs, I swear it’s worth your while.”
There’s an awful lot of shouting coming from the lobby/lounge area. A lot of weird grunting, too. And gulping, and gasping. Is that a moan?!
“Awww, they’ve already started,” Dorothea says, and pulls him along faster.
It’s Caspar. And Raphael, visiting from the Golden Deer Dorm. Both of them are shirtless and sweaty, muscles bulging everywhere.
“You can do it, Caspar! Ungh! Yeah! Just a little more!”
“Nnngh! Raaa! I’m gonna do it!”
“You’re gonna do it!”
Gulp, gulp, gulp. “Pwah! Uuuh, nngaah! I don’t think I can do it!”
“You can! You got this! Think of the gains, bro!”
“For the gains! Uuurrrraaaagh!”
Caspar is chugging an entire gallon of eggnog-flavored protein shake while Raphael cheers him on. Beside them, Petra is timing the whole debacle. Hubert is watching with nary an expression, just calmly sipping his coffee. It’s black, like his soul. And his stupid goth fashion sense. He looks unfairly good in turtleneck sweaters. They bring out the angles in his weird, sort of gaunt face.
“Ferdie, you’re blushing!” says the foul witch. She pokes his cheek. “Is it the sweaty muscle dudes or is it your cru–”
“Y’all need Sothis.” He interrupts her before she can say anything else and stomps off.