Prompter: randomthunk

Prompt: Marquis/Marchioness 'verse, the equivalent of Christmastime for them and how that all works. Would prefer something pre-children but take your spin with it.

Originally posted: 02 January 2018

Notes: 1488 words; takes place the winter before Clara is pregnant with Lena, so still during the timeline of In Want of An Heir (which is three years old, holy wah), during their courting phase; not really a Christmas equivalent, but close enough (you kinda need a Jesus Christ to have Christmas, even the secular version, due to word entomology, and I've always figured the DW version to be more of a close translation of the secular side than anything); Johan usually does not need a reason to give gifts to Clara so a gift-giving holiday is sort of a moot point

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The End Moon

With the Violet Sky having come and gone, the Doctor and His Companion were alone in their private parlor, taking a relaxing day off from their duties. They were cuddled up on the settee, each reading a book of their own choosing; she was sitting with her legs folded beneath her, whilst he laid with his head in her lap.

"Johan…?" The Marchioness closed her book with a finger to mark the page, furrowing her brows in thought.

"Yes, dearest?" the Marquis hummed in reply. He tilted his head in order to lean into the hand that was gently scratching his scalp.

"Why don't we do anything for the End Moon in Gallifrey?"

That caught his attention. He placed the book open-faced on his stomach and stretched to look up at her face. "Did you used to celebrate the End Moon in Blackpoole?"

"Johan, most places celebrate the End Moon along with solstice," she chuckled. "I mean, the first dark moon after the shortest day of the year? We used to mark our calendars by it."

"Yes, when we were uncivilized and warring with one another and all living in sod-built huts that sprout flowers on the outside every spring." The Marquis wiggled his fingers towards his wife's face and she chuckled. "Would you like to live in a sod hut that sprouts flowers every spring?"

"Not particularly; wouldn't those smell?"

"Not sure—never been in one—though I am sure our forebears would quite enjoy living in the stone and timber houses we do now and not needing to rebuild every time their houses turn into a puddle in the rain." He placed his book on the table in front of the settee and sat up, keeping close to the Marchioness. "Shall we celebrate the End Moon?"

"We don't have to; I simply want to know why we don't."

"I… I'm not entirely sure," he replied. "What do you do?"

"It's mostly visiting with family, eating special treats… things like that," she explained. She slid down the cushion and nestled into his side, content as he wrapped his arm around her. "I can still taste the parkin that our old cook used to bake. Her grandchildren would come over and we'd sit there, watching her all afternoon as she made enough for the entire mansion. It was hard when it first came from the ovens, but a while of sitting and it would be as moist and sweet as any other sweet she would make for us."

"That sounds like it was fun."

"It was—we were her taste-testers, as if she needed them." The Marchioness then glanced up at her husband, looking at him carefully. "Did you ever do things like that with Melody?"

"…yes, we would," he replied quietly. "We were rotating through a couple different cooks at the time, but there was one who would always set aside time for us while he was here. He snuck us treats and sometimes even let us help him cook or bake when he was not pressed for time."

"Why didn't he stay around?"

"Got caught shagging a maid in one of the bedchambers of the guest wing—both were sacked immediately if my memory serves me right." He smiled as his wife stifled a laugh; cogs began turning in his head and he knew what needed to be done. "Are there any other holidays I need to be warned about before we take this much further? Nearly four years and there are things I am still discovering about you."

He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, allowing his other hand to travel down past her former paramour's cuff and to her skin, lightly dragging his fingers over her exposed arm. She giggled softly and knelt up on the cushion, bringing herself to eye-level with him so that they may kiss at their leisure. They did, and little more was said about the End Moon that night.

The following morning, as the Marchioness sat in her office tending to paperwork, the Marquis was down in the kitchens, the entire staff assembled before him. They were nervous with their liege lord standing before them sternly, hands behind his back and a thought-filled frown on his face. He could not blame them for any apprehension; rarely did he visit and even rarer was the good sort of visit.

"Are they all here?" he asked the head cook. She nodded and he continued. "Right then; all I need is to ask one question and then you are all free. Does anyone know what parkin is and how to make it?"

Most of the collected servants stood there with baffled expressions. Only one kitchen assistant—a small, mousy woman barely of-age—raised her hand sheepishly before the Marquis.

"I do, milord," she said quietly.

"Then what is it?"

"A ginger-cake with oats and treacle that's mighty sticky—I helped me mum make it every year 'round this time when I was still at home."

"Do you think you would be able to bake some as a surprise for Her Ladyship by the End Moon?"

The request boggled the servant's mind. "Excuse me for any impudence, milord, but do you know what you are asking? Parkin is not a treat meant for highborn tastes. I feel like forcing Her Ladyship to eat it would be cruel."

"It was something the cook in Blackpoole made during her childhood; if it is truly for middling folk or the baseborn, then it does not matter," he explained. "We do not celebrate the End Moon here in Kasterborous, but that does not bar someone from indulging whether they grew up with the tradition or not."

"Then I can do as milord commands," the servant said. She curtsied shakily and the Marquis dismissed the gathered servants to tend to their duties. He left the kitchens content, knowing that he would not be disappointed, for even if the treat was terrible, it would be the thought that counted.

Nearly a week later and it was the night of the End Moon. With only the stars twinkling in the violet-tinged sky, it made the Marchioness wistful and thought-driven as she went through the day. Memories of End Moons past consumed her, only interrupted by her husband bringing her into conversation, a laugh on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Are you ready to retire for the day?" he asked. They were in their office, tending to the remaining paperwork that had piled up during their few days off around the Violet Sky. The Marquis watched his wife's face as her mind came back to her, her skin flushing in embarrassment.

"Yes," she agreed, "it's probably safer that I do so. I don't know what's wrong with me today." She took hold of his arm as they navigated the castle halls, making their way up to their private wing. "All I've been doing is thinking of the past—that's dangerous, isn't it?"

"Not entirely," he assured her. "I think of the past often, but as long as one thinks about the present and future as well, it is not a bad thing." They made the arduous climb of the main staircase and found the private wing with ease—muscle memory meant that they could have found it in their sleep. "Is it at least good things you are thinking of?"

"Bittersweet at worst; it is childhood memories for the most part," she admitted. She let him lead her into their chambers, where tea was already set and waiting for them. Sitting down, she noticed that there was something different about the spread: a small serving dome covered their snack, obscuring it from view. "Johan, what is this?"

"A treat I thought you might like," he said. The Marquis sat on the other end of the settee and lifted the serving dome, revealing their snack underneath. Soon as she saw the plates underneath, the Marchioness gasped in delight.

"Parkin! Johan! How did you…!"

"A member of the kitchen staff is from the area just outside of Blackpoole and, luckily, knows how to make it," he replied. He passed her a plate and began to pour tea as she ate a forkful, his heart swelling at the sound of her squeaking in joy.

"It's so close to what I remember!" she grinned. "You had this made for me?"

"A small and simple gift to dote on you is worth more than all the riches in the kingdom," he claimed. He kissed the side of her head and pressed his forehead against the kiss. Oh, how her happiness made him feel so alive, he did not know. "You like it?"

"I love it—thank you, Johan." She put the plate down and kissed his lips gently. "This has been the best End Moon surprise I have had in a very long time."

"You mean it?"

"Always."