The Sweeter Side of Things

Ebrus pushed through the door to his house much more forcefully than intended, sending it swinging its full arc into the adjacent wall. The crash that ensued made his heart jump and his fist clench. A stewing rage filled his head as he glared at the door as if it were his clumsy brother dropping a bottle of newly brewed mead. He clenched his fist and made ready to slam it into the door as punishment, but nearly doubled over instead as his stomach constricted, sending a wave of pain through his gut.
The doctor said Ebrus’s body had flushed out the majority of the whatever was messing with his system and sent him on his way home. All the churning that rippled through his midsection during the walk back, however, suggested the opposite.
Hoping nobody was watching, he crawled through the doorway and slammed the door close, all the while clutching his stomach. How this all happened bewildered him. He was a dwarf for Tymora’s sake! His kind is known far and wide for their resilience to all sorts of poisons and thrashings. He escaped the criminal clutches of the Guild back in Baldur’s Gate, and even survived being knocked senseless by a gang of fellow dwarves just weeks ago. Yet a couple of bad apples slip through his watch and into his brews, and suddenly he’s sprawling on the floor. It was just embarrassing. Pitiful.
Finally, the pain subsided enough to let him stand. He gripped the arm of a nearby chair and hoisted himself to his feet, battling to keep a creeping nausea from climbing higher. Only after his brief spell of pain did he recognize the quaint and quiet sitting room he stood in. The familiar couch and armchairs stood interspersed throughout the room surrounding a cold hearth, all of them of more than decent quality yet none of them particularly outstanding or luxurious. A lone painting depicting the mountains outside town hung on the far wall, the only source of beauty in the otherwise dim room. Ebrus hated all of it.
If he got his way in this backwater town, if everything worked out they way they should have, he and his brother Bergrem would be living high on Charlemaine Hill lounging on silk cushions, admiring paintings by artists who actually went somewhere and didn’t drink themselves into oblivion. Instead they were in the same old house in Eronia, still flailing for a chance to climb higher like when they first arrived in Mythrite.
Ebrus sighed and started skulking toward his room, but the lumbering shape of Bergrem emerged from the kitchen entrance. “Ebrus! You’re back already!” Bergrem said with a wide grin that somehow parted his tangled overgrown beard.
“Not now, Bergrem. I—” Ebrus began before he was engulfed in a smothering of arms and beard. “Look at you, brother. You’ve taken beatings from thugs and apple poisonings in the span of two weeks and you’re still walking about as tall as a mountain. Why I’ve heard of legendary warriors of old who’ve dropped dead by much less.” Bergrem released his brother and started guiding him to the kitchen. “I was saving something for you for tonight, but since you’re here now I might as—”
“Bergrem.” Ebrus halted and planted his feet. Bergrem nearly tripped. “I’ve no interest in whatever shenanigans you got yourself in this time. Right now, my stomach is rumbling like a volcano, so I’d prefer to spend the rest of the day in my room where it’s quiet.”
“Are you sure, brother?” A puppy-like expression took over Bergrem’s eyes. “I spent a lot of time on this and I think you’d really enjoy it.”
“I’m really not…” Before he could yell, Ebrus caught a whiff of something in the air. Something pleasant. The rich scent of cinnamon and yeasty smell of bread graced his nose, along with something sweet and intoxicating. “What am I smelling?”
“Ah! That’s what I made for you.” Bergrem disappeared into the kitchen for a split second and quickly reemerged. In his arms, slightly covered with cloth, was a still steaming golden-crisped pie, presented as if were his magnum opus. “I thought you’d like some fresh pie once you came back from the doctor.”
Ebrus couldn’t respond for a while. He simply stood there with his mouth agape. “Since when did you know how to make pie?” he asked. As far as he knew, Bergrem knew only how to roast meat over a fire.
“Oh. Well when you were recovering from your injuries from the thugs, the Greenfoots were kind of enough to let me join their dinners. You know, the halfling family a couple houses down? Mrs. Greenfoot was kind enough to share her recipe and show me how to make it.” “I never knew the Greenfoots were so considerate.”
“Well, you were never around much to really talk with them, brother. You’ve always been working hard at the meadery or thinking through one of your big plans to get us a bigger house.” Bergrem set the pie down on a nearby table before looking back at Ebrus with a child-like grin. “But you’d love them! The youngest one, Barret, tells the funniest stories. His father, Sangin, can make all sorts of shapes with his pipes…”
Ebrus watched his oafish brother come to life talking about these halflings. He chuckled as he described each and every one of them. It was heartening, yet strange. For all their time growing up in Baldur’s Gate, he never saw Bergrem so animated. Here he was able to find people who he connected with, who made him whole. In that moment, Ebrus forgot the beatings, apples, and meadery struggles, simply observed his brother being happy. He remembered that everything he did was to make sure Bergrem could keep being happy.
Perhaps Ebrus could learn from his brother to find his own happiness.
“Alright, alright,” Ebrus said, motioning Bergrem to stop rambling. “You can tell me more about them over some pie.” He took a seat in an armchair. “You never said what kind it is.” “Oh yeah! It’s apple pie!” Bergrem exclaimed.
A sudden roiling took Ebrus’s stomach. He groaned loudly. “On second thought, I’ll just have some tea.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Bergrem said before scampering into the kitchen. In the quiet, Ebrus took a deep breath. These past few weeks were heard, but now he was ready for a peaceful and joyful afternoon with his brother.