[ The sun being their enemy is a very immediate problem, all things considered (what the fuck could Iorveth even have done if those horrid humans decided to toss Astarion out in daylight and watch him burn???), but he obliges the idea of it being an issue for another day. He's tired in a way he hasn't felt in a while, and so he rolls off Astarion's knee and flops onto the grass, beckoning for Astarion to join him in being horizontal.
If Astarion obliges, he'll find himself being tucked under one arm, held to Iorveth's chest with just enough wiggle room that he can squirm out if the embrace starts feeling a bit Much. That's how Iorveth eventually slips back into his trance state, comfortable with that Astarion-shaped weight sprawled halfway on top of him, grounding him in the present so that his meditations don't take him too far back into the past again.
Day wanes, and night falls. Sunset has come and gone by the time Iorveth groggily comes back to, which means that they both have to drag their weary bodies from forest to caravan path back into river-flanked forest as quickly as they can; luckily enough, they find one of the now-dead soldiers' horses still lingering by the camp, and Iorveth's wood elf charisma allows them to convince it to carry their bags, if not allow Astarion to climb on its back.
It's a grueling trek, but a few hours later, they make it to their destination: a somewhat ramshackle merchant town built near and, in some places, directly onto the wide river that runs north to south along it. The side of the town that faces the forest is fortified by a cobblestone wall, presumably to keep unwanted neighbors from coming in; the bare-boned residences closest to said wall are largely occupied by the few non-humans that have been granted sanctuary－ dwarves and gnomes, primarily－ and the closer Iorveth and Astarion get to the river and its commerce, the nicer (and more structurally sound) the buildings become.
Most of the town is still asleep by the time they arrive. A handful of fishermen trying to beat the morning rush stare at the two strangers warily, but say nothing despite noting their pointed ears.
Iorveth adjusts his eyepatch over his broken face. ] Someone might recognize me.
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If Astarion obliges, he'll find himself being tucked under one arm, held to Iorveth's chest with just enough wiggle room that he can squirm out if the embrace starts feeling a bit Much. That's how Iorveth eventually slips back into his trance state, comfortable with that Astarion-shaped weight sprawled halfway on top of him, grounding him in the present so that his meditations don't take him too far back into the past again.
Day wanes, and night falls. Sunset has come and gone by the time Iorveth groggily comes back to, which means that they both have to drag their weary bodies from forest to caravan path back into river-flanked forest as quickly as they can; luckily enough, they find one of the now-dead soldiers' horses still lingering by the camp, and Iorveth's wood elf charisma allows them to convince it to carry their bags, if not allow Astarion to climb on its back.
It's a grueling trek, but a few hours later, they make it to their destination: a somewhat ramshackle merchant town built near and, in some places, directly onto the wide river that runs north to south along it. The side of the town that faces the forest is fortified by a cobblestone wall, presumably to keep unwanted neighbors from coming in; the bare-boned residences closest to said wall are largely occupied by the few non-humans that have been granted sanctuary－ dwarves and gnomes, primarily－ and the closer Iorveth and Astarion get to the river and its commerce, the nicer (and more structurally sound) the buildings become.
Most of the town is still asleep by the time they arrive. A handful of fishermen trying to beat the morning rush stare at the two strangers warily, but say nothing despite noting their pointed ears.
Iorveth adjusts his eyepatch over his broken face. ] Someone might recognize me.