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🎁 delivery (dated 12/24).

[thirsted]

[ Astarion debates, not for an insignificant amount of time, whether or not he really wants to participate in gift-giving at all. But it's hardly as though there's much else to occupy his time, and the things he thinks of aren't all the sort that can be picked up and immediately stowed away.

Come Christmas Eve, once the festivities wind down — once Astarion can hear Gale's steady breath on the other side of the door in their shared suite — he steps quietly into their adjoining bathroom and places a single note card by the mirror above the sink. On it, written in Astarion's hand: ]

Find me first
In the place the sun shines
Where your lesson revealed
That reflection of mine.

[ Waiting for Gale in the solarium, upon the table where they'd had their lesson, wrapped in silver paper, is a capsule from the gachapon room, as well as a small pouch containing several of the coins required to use the machines therein. There's another notecard, too, this one reading: ]

Next, seek the room
With the hearth you've enchanted
And seek out the seat
Upon which you're most often planted.

[ This next clue should lead Gale to the little library he's virtually taken up residence in, and upon the chair he most often sits in is a silver paper bag, and within it, wrapped in white tissue paper, is a felted figure of Tara — or at least, of a Tressym with black-brown fur, as best an approximation as Astarion could manage given the occasional description alone. And with it, again, another notecard, another clue: ]

Third, you must look
In the room where we dine
Where often you find
Your chair next to mine.

[ In the dining hall, where they usually sit for mealtimes, is a silver box containing a silver perfume bottle. Around its neck is tied a purple velvet ribbon, upon which has been embroidered, in gold thread: my hand in yours. The fragrance inside smells, even to the untrained nose, of lavender. With it, one more note: ]

And now we come
To the end of the path;
Go look in the place
Where you'd draw a hot bath.

[ If Gale returns to their suite, he'll find, placed upon the mat by the bathtub, a silver jewelry box containing a diamond and opal earring (the gift he considers the biggest swing, considering what the earring Gale already wears symbolizes), as well as a letter, written upon parchment rather than card stock. It's short, though its relative terseness is arguably belied by everything that's led up to it. ]

Gale,

The riddles weren't my finest work, but I expect you enjoyed the experience of puzzling them out better than the gifts they led to. So consider the chase to be my gift to you if none of the trinkets please you.

Either way, don't get too used to it.

Yours Fondly Your friend,
— Astarion

🎄 interlude (12/25).

[corporeity]

[ The earring ought to be what absorbs the whole of Gale’s mind, for all it suggests — and all it entails. Instead, your hand in mine repeats like a favoured chorus, echoed every time he flicks opens the final box and considers the enormity of Astarion’s gift to him.

Christmas Day proves somewhat chaotic in the house, with presents to be exchanged, breakfast to be shared, and speeches to be made. Gale leaves a note upon Astarion’s bed in the interim, spelled to catch the light, so it doesn’t go unmissed. ]

Astarion,

Thank you for my gifts — and for the puzzle you provided to settle my unquiet mind.

You said I ought not get used to this, I know. Still, might I ask a little more of you?

A spot of patience. That’s all.

My earring is not only a token from Mystra, as you surely suspected, but also my arcane focus, which I use to cast spells without the aid of a staff. Give me a week to attune your gift to my talents, and you shall see it worn proudly.

Your friend
Yours
Impatiently,
Gale

[ At Christmas dinner, paper crown upon his head and laughter in his mouth, Gale follows the instructive sentiment provided by the perfume he now wears. Emboldened to reach out under the table, toward the near-constant presence beside him. He brushes the back of Astarion’s hand and waits for permission before threading their fingers together.

Mystral earring or no, his immediate appreciation (and the brightness of his affection) is clear. ]

⭐️ coda (12/25).

[thirsted]

[ Christmas Day is, frankly, a little overwhelming. He expects none of the gifts he receives, none of the thoughtfulness that accompanies them.

Then there's the letter that Gale leaves — one that causes his heart to skip a beat, one that makes him wonder if it wouldn't be for the best to text him straight away, to say, it's just a gift, it doesn't matter to me if you wear it or not. It's not so much that he decides to let things play out as they will as that he decides to ignore it, to put it out of his mind until he can't anymore.

Dinner carries with it the scent of lavender, a giddy breeze that helps place a red paper crown upon his white hair, a smile upon his features even as he groans at the jokes hidden inside the crackers that line the table. Only once does he falter — when he feels Gale's hand find his, hidden out of view, though his head turns so quickly that anyone paying attention would notice, his eyes widening a fraction before his thoughts seem to catch up with him. The line of his shoulders relaxes. Their fingers wind together as easily as though he hadn't paused at all.

He laughs more loudly in the gesture's wake, seems merrier, livelier, brighter. When the time comes for them to return to their rooms, he walks the hallways shoulder to shoulder with the wizard, tittering about this and that, the crown still on his head, their hands still linked as his other hand gestures enough for both of them. It doesn't occur to him that this is one of the rare times they enter their suite through the same door — or perhaps it does, though his chatter as they ready themselves for bed remains the same, easy and fond. (Another thing that touches a nerve, better to be glossed over until it's no longer avoidable.)

He waves goodnight on the threshold that divides his room from their adjoining bathroom, and when he does, a sunstone glints upon his pointer finger.

You’ve not got the eyes right on your mirror image just yet. What a strange thing, to be so seen. ]