Gubs Games

Sprawled in bed with parchment scattered everywhere, Astarion and Dandy polished off their second bottle of wine and were about to start on a third. The pair cuddled beneath several blankets with Dandy’s head on Astarion’s shoulder as they poured over their copious note-taking.  “What about ‘I crossed oceans of time to find you?’” Astarion motioned wistfully with an outstretched hand.  “It sounds very pretty, but I thought you wanted to veer away from any sentiments that sound like love-is-worth-the-suffering?” He crossed out the line with a sigh. “This is hard. I used to be good at this, you know.” They were trying to craft the vows they would recite at their upcoming nuptials. They already held a “handfasting” ceremony, and Astarion still was not certain why they had to have a second wedding. He did, however, receive wagon from Dandy’s parents at the handfasting, but he was clueless as to whether the wagon was just a gift or some sort of dowry.  “Why don’t you just say what you said when we visited the graveyard? That was lovely.” “I don’t think your parents would appreciate me saying that I didn’t like you when we first met.” “I didn’t like you either.” “Little liar, you are incapable of disliking anyone,” Astarion laughed, “at least, until they have fully acted an ass.” “You certainly did.” Astarion snuck a glance at Dandy’s much more robust collection of notes in her swirling unreadable script and compared it to the few scattered scribbles on his own. His only accomplishment out of an evening’s worth of work was a ridiculous drawing of a dragon that amounted to little more than two S-shapes, stick legs, and a not insignificant amount of consummate Vs. He was just about to add some thatch-roofed cottages for the dragon to attack when Dandy doodled a blobby vaguely-rabbit-shaped orb with wings that likely could not support its weight on his paper. “I gave the dragon a friend,” she noted before adding little hearts and stars to her design. 

Astarion had learned one very important thing after living amongst the Halflings for half each year over two decades: They did not need an excuse to celebrate. Anything and everything could result in a spontaneous potluck or barn dance, and these fêtes could be raucous affairs with family feuds being mended and begun anew over the course of several lagers in one evening.  When Halflings planned a celebration, however, it could turn into a tenday long affair of food and music. They were currently five days into a “baby shower” for one of Dandy’s many cousins. Astarion found it a weird phrase as he felt that the mother-to-be was definitely the one being showered with attention and gifts rather than the lump in her belly. As it was the fifth-day, Safeday as the Halflings called it, the itinerary of activities were a little more pious as Berry Hollow’s clergy were out in their finery, waving the banners of Yondalla, their mother-god. While some were preparing for the village luncheon, despite the fact that they had just finished morning tea, others were setting up games for later in the afternoon. Dandy and her sisters organised the children into several little squadrons and were taking them on the “Wayward Walk,” the least intimidating city patrol one could ever imagine.  From what Astarion understood of the Halflings’ dogma, these walks were meant to prove to their goddess that they loved and protected their home, their greatest gift from the divine. Off Dandy, Happy, and Jolly went with all the children to check over every corner of the village to clear rocks from paths that might stub a toe, to prune brambles in the vineyard that might cause a scratch, and to do small chores for those they met, singing and waving verdant ribbons as they did. Astarion wandered around, watching the festivities and trying to not be awkward. It was a beautiful day, and he wanted to enjoy the sunlight on his face. Astarion flexed his hand, feeling the weight of the Moonbalm ring he wore in place of a wedding band. The ring, found after many years of researching and adventuring, was a large oval of polished lapis fixed into an elaborately carved silver setting. It was a reminder of Astarion and Dandy’s bond, the new life she had given him, and all the improvements, both emotionally and physically, he had worked so hard for. Near the centre of the village, where the children would end their promenade and lunch would begin, there was a large wooden sculpture brought from the nearby temple for the Safeday services. Atop a short pillar, decorated with woven chains of flowers, was a cornucopia bursting with all the lands bounties with a very plump dove perched atop it all. The dove represented Yondalla, and the cornucopia and its contents were all the rewards given to her faithful.  Astarion stared into the wooden bird’s cheerful little face. In the distance, he could hear Dandy singing with children’s voices joining hers. “Listen, I know you won’t help me. No gods have ever done me any favours, and I’m not one of your Little Folk,” he spoke plainly, having learned over time that prayers to this particular goddess usually came with little fanfare or supplications. “But this isn’t for me. It’s for her, and, if you think she doesn’t deserve something after everything she’s been through, then you are a terrible fucking god, and you don’t deserve her.” The carved bird, of course, did not answer, remaining eternally still and content amongst the wooden fruit. “It’s not like I’m asking for a complete miracle either. It’s like a half-miracle.”

The Berryborne triplets were plotting something, and Astarion pretended not to notice, busying himself with a book inside the cottage. Though he could not quite understand every conspiratorial whisper, he caught sight through the parlour window of the sisters pacing about the garden in a little huddle, like a trio of geese.  “Do you think he’ll like it?”  “He’s going to love it!”  “Stop worrying so much! Let’s just go in!” As one would expect from triplets, Dandy and her sisters were nearly identical, sharing the same precious doll-like face and bright eyes. One could easily tell them apart, however, by their hair. Astarion referred to them together as a “harlequin parfait:”  Dandy the chocolate, Happy the vanilla, and Jolly the strawberry. Upon seeing the ladies preparing to enter the cottage, Astarion moved away from the window to pose nonchalantly by the fire, pretending to be engrossed by his book and to not have been eavesdropping. After the unpinning of hats and the removal of shawls, the ladies bustled into the parlour, looking quite mischievous. “Snickerdoodle,” Dandy came to wrap her arms around Astarion’s middle. She swayed from foot to foot, taking Astarion along for the motions. “Welcome home.” He leant down to kiss her forehead before straightening to preen his hair. “I didn’t know we were having company. I must look a mess.” Dandy had to hide her laugh as Happy and Jolly instantly began placating him. “You look wonderful!” “Yes, just lovely! Please don’t fuss on our account!” Much like their sister, Happy and Jolly were very gestural, flapping their hands about when speaking, so the fact that Jolly kept arms behind her back the whole time was suspicious.  “So, ladies, what is the occasion?”  “Jolly’s made a present for you.” Dandy offered, not able to contain the excitement. Jolly’s face went as red as her hair. “It’s nothing special! It’s just that... I got inspired, and, well…” From behind her back, she revealed a lace-wrapped parcel before handing it to Astarion.  Poised to give some charming platitude about the gift, no matter what it was, Astarion lifted up the lace covering to reveal a small canvas portrait. A moment passed before his brain could process that the painting was of him. For so many years, his memories, included that of his own face, had become distorted by pain and time. Like a veil falling, Astarion had his reflection back. “Oh…” was all he managed to say before a lump of emotion formed in his throat. He never thought he would be reacquainted with his own self, captured lovingly by brush. “Hello again…”

Dandy hugged him tighter, knowing how much it meant to him. “It’s not perfect.” Jolly explained, her small hands fluttering about nervously. “It’s more like a sketch. I’d love to have you sit for me though… only you want to, of course!”