An Imbolc Brawl

20260201

Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Flash Fiction February Day 1”.

The fight between winter and summer left the mortal world cowering. Each year seemed more contested, more drawn-out than the last. Hailstorms raged against warm fronts, frost brutally cut down tender reaching shoots, and fey armies rode into merciless battle on behalf of their season.
Eventually the Crown Of Seasons would be taken from Father Winter’s bloodied brow, but the losses would be painful. They always were.
Far beneath the fray, hidden in a bubble woven of contrasting magics, Prince Aviv wept in the arms of his forbidden love, Princess Talvi. Though her eyes were dry they held as much sorrow as she gazed out at the combat ravaging the heavens.
“I know, my sweet bud.” Talvi murmured, stroking Aviv’s curly brown hair. “It will all end once we ascend our thrones. A peaceful exchange at last.”
“Y-yes.” Aviv hiccupped. He squeezed her other hand tight. Then, in the abashed tone of a child who knows they’re too old for stories, he softly implored “Tell me how your procession will go.”
A well-worn fantasy that Talvi was happy to dive into, especially now. So she lifted her chin and lightened her tone, musing “Well, I will showcase the majesty of winter in all our splendour. Hailstorms will smooth my path and pave it in sparkling ice, like I’m walking over prisms lit by our best sun rays. In front of me will be our strongest winds, trumpeting my praises.”
When Aviv closed his eyes and filled his mind with the picture she painted, the screams and howls and wails outside could almost be attendants calling Talvi’s name and crowds singing her praises.
“I will ride upon a wild sea-front tempest decorated with winter flowers, clad in a fashionable gown of finest frost-lace. My hair will be braided finely and decorated with droplets of ice in all colours, like gems. Behind me will be representatives from all our weather houses, also in their finest attire. I think I shall encourage trick riding, as well. It will be a marvellous sight.”
“Yes.” Aviv murmured, his brow smoothing.
“When we reach the pavilion where you-” Talvi planted a tender kiss on his cheek “-await us, my heralds will stand aside and I alone will enter to meet you. Every eye will be upon us. I will lift the Crown Of Seasons from my head and place it upon yours. I will curtsey to you. And everyone - on both sides of the pavilion - will cheer the reign of spring.”
“I will be wearing a suit sewn from the brightest newly opened buds.” Aviv said, readily taking up his part of the fantasy. “And a necklace of snowdrops. My path will be beaten smooth by heavy rain, then dried by brisk winds. My heralds will be the birds singing songs of spring joy. My attendants will be animal emissaries, and we will weave amongst the static plant-sprites in a breathtaking dance, trailing ribbons of spring flowers.”
“Oh, how I will love watching you dance.” Talvi whispered. “Proud and happy and safe.”
“The day will come.” Aviv sat up to embrace her, their arms twining tight. “Once we rule our seasons, and Suvi and Stav theirs, there will be peace. No wars between seasons. Only beautiful processions.”
The dream, ephemeral yet determined, lived wherever their forms touched, while outside, the storm raged on.

Prompt was “Write a story or poem about two lovers who find themselves on opposing sides of a large-scale battle.”