A winter's feast

The icy wind clawed at Elian's exposed face, stealing his breath and leaving his cheeks raw. He pulled his hood lower, the rough wool scratching his forehead. Beside him, Res huddled deeper into her cloak, her lips a pale blue despite the woolen scarf wrapped around them.

"This wind is a banshee's wail," she grumbled, her teeth chattering.

Ahead, Elara navigated the throng like a seasoned sailor. Her usually tidy braid was now a tangled mess, whipped to and fro by the wind. A stray gingerbread man, tossed from a jostled tray, landed with a sickening splat at her feet. She recoiled with a grimace, dodging a portly woman laden with bags.

"Over here!" Elara shouted, her voice barely audible over the din of jostling crowds and raucous music.

Following the sound, Elian and Res slogged through the snow, their boots sinking with each step. The cobbles, usually smooth, were treacherous under the layer of packed snow. Elian cursed under his breath when his foot slipped, sending a jolt of pain up his ankle.

Finally, they reached Elara, huddled by a stall overflowing with hand-painted wooden toys. The stall owner, a man seemingly whittled from seasoned wood himself, sat hunched behind it. A tangled white beard reached his chest, and his rheumy eyes twinkled like distant stars.

"Well, well," the old man rasped, his voice surprisingly strong for his frail frame. "The scholars grace my humble stall with their presence! Looking to fill your pockets with trinkets, are we?"

Elara, ever the diplomat, managed a smile despite the stinging cold. "Good morning, Mr. Thorfinn! Your work is truly amazing. Did you carve all these yourself?"

Thorfinn barked a laugh, a dry, crackly sound like dead leaves blowing in the wind. "Aye, every last one. Each dragon holds a bit of winter spirit, you see. Brings a touch of luck to its owner."

Res snorted, a puff of white escaping her lips. "Winter spirit? Sounds like a load of marketing fluff."

Elian nudged her with his elbow, a silent plea for a bit of tact. "Don't be rude, Res. Maybe it's just exceptional craftsmanship."

Despite her skepticism, Res couldn't help but be drawn to a delicate snowflake ornament. Its intricate design, painstakingly carved, seemed to capture the winter sun in its frozen beauty. Hesitantly, she picked it up, the smooth wood cold against her numb fingers.

"How much for this one?" she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Thorfinn peered at the ornament, his rheumy eyes clouding further. "That one, lass, is a collector's piece. Five silver coins."

Res's face fell. She dug into her purse, her fingers fumbling with the drawstring. It was clear she wouldn't be able to afford it. Elara, sensing her friend's disappointment, nudged Elian with a knowing glance.

Elian understood the silent message. "We'll take the snowflake, Mr. Thorfinn," he announced, stepping forward. He fumbled with his own coin purse, finally extracting three silver coins. The wind snatched one before he could fully grasp it, sending it skittering across the snow-covered cobbles.

Elian cursed again, his frustration growing with the biting cold. He retrieved the lost coin, his numb fingers fumbling with the fastenings on his pouch. Finally, he managed to place all three coins on the counter.

"Here you go," he said, his voice tight.

Thorfinn's smile was genuine, crinkling the corners of his weathered face. "Excellent choice, young man! Now be off with you, and may the festival bring you warmth and cheer!"

Leaving the stall, Elara and Res wore smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes. The bitter wind seemed to mock their newfound treasures. Elian too felt a pang of disappointment. The cost of the snowflake had cut deeper than he anticipated.

They pushed their way through the throng, dodging steaming mugs of mulled wine and trays piled high with sugary treats. The air reeked of woodsmoke, roasted meat, and the pungent sweat of unwashed bodies. A group of street performers juggled flaming torches, their feats drawing gasps from the crowd. But the spectacle failed to warm Elian's numb fingers or lift his spirits.

Finally, they reached the town square. There, in the center, stood a magnificent ice sculpture – a phoenix rising from the snow. Its wings, carved from translucent ice, shimmered with an ethereal beauty. But even that marvel couldn't erase the gnawing feeling of hunger and fatigue in Elian's gut.

Elian's stomach growled like a hibernating bear, a sound that echoed in the tight space between him and his friends. The wind seemed to whistle a mocking tune, carrying with it the tantalizing aromas of roasting sausages and simmering stews from nearby stalls.

"Food," Res declared, her voice barely a whisper but filled with urgency. "I could eat a dragon."

Elara chuckled, a sound surprisingly melodic given the state of her wind-whipped hair. "Maybe not a whole dragon, Res, but I second the sentiment. My stomach feels like it's trying to escape."

Elian nodded, the cold momentarily forgotten in the face of his rumbling gut. He scanned the bustling marketplace, searching for a haven from the wind and a promise of warm food. His eyes landed on a cozy-looking tavern nestled between a bakery and a blacksmith's forge.

"There!" he exclaimed, pointing. "The 'Wren and Flagon.' I've heard they serve the best stew in town."

Res and Elara shared a look of agreement, their faces brightening momentarily. They pushed their way through the crowd, navigating a gauntlet of steaming mugs and laden trays. The wind seemed to ease as they reached the tavern door, a heavy oak barrier banded with iron.

Elian pushed it open, and a wave of warmth washed over them. The air hung thick with the aroma of roasting meat, freshly baked bread, and a hint of woodsmoke. Patrons crammed into the low-ceilinged room, their boisterous laughter and the rhythmic clinking of mugs creating a comforting din.

Elian spotted a vacant table in the corner, tucked away near a crackling fire. With a sigh of relief, he led his friends through the maze of bodies. As they settled into their seats, a burly woman with a shock of red hair and an apron stained with countless spills approached them.

"Welcome to the 'Wren and Flagon,' young ones!" she boomed, her voice surprisingly cheerful for someone built like a badger. "Cold enough to freeze the horns off a frost giant, eh?"

Elian nodded, a smile tugging at his lips despite his fatigue. "It is, ma'am. We could use some warming up and a hearty meal."

The woman chuckled, a sound like rumbling thunder. "Aye, that's what we do best here. Stew or roast chicken? We have fresh-baked bread too, and perhaps a slice of apple pie for dessert?"

Elian glanced at Res and Elara, their faces mirroring his own longing. "We'll have one of each, please," he said finally.

The woman beamed, her smile revealing a chipped front tooth. "Excellent choices! Coming right up!"

As they waited for their food, Elian noticed the woman pause mid-stride as she passed their table. She leaned in, her voice dropping to a low murmur.

"Your Highness," she said, her eyes twinkling, "Consider this meal on the house. A little something to keep the royal bellies full on this frigid day."

Elian blinked, surprised by her recognition. Before he could respond, she winked and bustled away, leaving him speechless.

Res and Elara, however, burst into laughter. "Looks like someone recognized the crown prince," Elara teased, a playful glint in her eyes.

Elian flushed, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment creeping up his neck. "How did she...?" he stammered.

Res shrugged, her laughter subsiding into a grin. "Royalty has its perks, I guess."

Their steaming plates arrived shortly after, laden with generous portions of stew, roasted vegetables, and crusty bread. The aroma alone was enough to make Elian's stomach growl again, this time with an undeniable urgency.

As they devoured their food, the warmth of the fire, the comforting atmosphere of the tavern, and the camaraderie of his friends melted away the bitter chill of the winter day. For a moment, the weight of responsibility, the pressures of being royalty, faded into the background. All that remained was the simple pleasure of a shared meal, warm company, and a respite from the harsh winter wind.