essea: (42.)
ɪᴏʀᴠᴇᴛʜ. ([personal profile] essea) wrote 2024-11-02 11:56 pm (UTC)

[ "Go on," Astarion says, and Lae'zel rolls her eyes in a way that feels distinctly of the School of Shadowheart. Endearing, almost, that they're rubbing off on each other. ]

I'll report, [ he says to Astarion, unwinding their hands and giving a nudge with his elbow. ] Have Shadowheart see to your face.

[ Best to divide and conquer before the women start coming up with more ideas to punish their wayward elves. Lest Astarion mistake this for getting summarily dismissed, Iorveth cranes sideways and presses his mouth to the edge of Astarion's bruise with the sort of easy affection that manages not to be performative― almost like tucking a stray piece of hair behind someone's ear.

Lae'zel looks vaguely put-upon (she was supposed to be indulging in this gross and fascinating Faerûnian custom of "softness" too, before these idiots ruined it), but allows Iorveth to lead her to the other side of the room, where they discuss what Iorveth'd found under Araj's workshop and the matter of his weaponized blood, while scrutinizing the items that Iorveth'd pilfered from the charred rubble. Talking shop. They fall into a more familiar rhythm, with Lae'zel settling back into her role as leader and Iorveth into his role as a neutral advisor.

Shadowheart, meanwhile, decides to pinch the bridge of Astarion's nose before she gets to work on mending his bruise. "I thought rogues were supposed to be sneaky," she notes. "Sneaky enough not to get decked in the face."
]

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