You saved us, [ is a near-immediate correction. Eye still closed, shoulder to the dirt-streaked perimeter of their hard-earned alcove. He finally looks at Astarion when he's asked if he's alright, and though the answer is "no" ("I'm angry, I'm fucking furious, I'll never stop being fucking furious"), he gentles at the Wet Cat Aura that Astarion is exuding. ]
I'm tired enough that I don't wish to argue with you.
[ Because he could. He's on the verge of telling Astarion that he should go to Waterdeep and stay with Gale while Iorveth goes to burn the entire town of Flotsam down, that it would simply fucking kill him if he had to watch anonymous humans treating Astarion like an animal again. Iorveth knows that Astarion doesn't want to be told to go, but seeing him with rope around his wrists felt like a shattering of something hereto unknown inside him; never again, he thinks for the millionth time that night.
He notes how disheveled Astarion looks, how his hair is a mess of flyaway curls. There's a compulsion to touch him, but Iorveth remembers all those hands on Astarion just recently, and keeps his own to himself. Astarion deserves some reprieve. ]
no subject
I'm tired enough that I don't wish to argue with you.
[ Because he could. He's on the verge of telling Astarion that he should go to Waterdeep and stay with Gale while Iorveth goes to burn the entire town of Flotsam down, that it would simply fucking kill him if he had to watch anonymous humans treating Astarion like an animal again. Iorveth knows that Astarion doesn't want to be told to go, but seeing him with rope around his wrists felt like a shattering of something hereto unknown inside him; never again, he thinks for the millionth time that night.
He notes how disheveled Astarion looks, how his hair is a mess of flyaway curls. There's a compulsion to touch him, but Iorveth remembers all those hands on Astarion just recently, and keeps his own to himself. Astarion deserves some reprieve. ]
―They struck your face, [ he hisses. ]