[ "It's nice, if you ignore the fact that it's a place where hags and vampires thrive" is probably not the character witness that Athkatla would want to represent them in a case, but that train of thought dissipates almost instantaneously with the offering of Astarion's very flustered, very mealy-mouthed question.
It takes a moment to register. He'd been trying to mentally prepare for a ring (the word 'trying' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there), but the surreality of the concept has forced Iorveth to compartmentalize it as 'a gift, but even better'; now that Astarion has thrown the term 'marriage' into the mix, Iorveth's ever-churning mind does about ten flips in (not unpleasant) bemusement.
That isn't mentioning whatever the fuck his heart does. There's no word in any language, Common or Aen Seidhe, for whatever goes on in his chest.
After a prolonged moment of silence, where Iorveth cycles through three major urges－ to gape, to lean back, and to surge forward and tackle Astarion onto purple bedsheets－ he finally manages: ]
Some do.
[ Very eloquent. He clears his throat, then raises a hand to touch the side of Astarion's very-flushed face. ] If you're asking because－
[ He stops. Scales tip in his head. He still kind of wants to grab Astarion and kiss him senseless. ] －Would you?
[ Hells. The familiar but rusty feeling of wanting to defenestrate himself returns. ]
no subject
It takes a moment to register. He'd been trying to mentally prepare for a ring (the word 'trying' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there), but the surreality of the concept has forced Iorveth to compartmentalize it as 'a gift, but even better'; now that Astarion has thrown the term 'marriage' into the mix, Iorveth's ever-churning mind does about ten flips in (not unpleasant) bemusement.
That isn't mentioning whatever the fuck his heart does. There's no word in any language, Common or Aen Seidhe, for whatever goes on in his chest.
After a prolonged moment of silence, where Iorveth cycles through three major urges－ to gape, to lean back, and to surge forward and tackle Astarion onto purple bedsheets－ he finally manages: ]
Some do.
[ Very eloquent. He clears his throat, then raises a hand to touch the side of Astarion's very-flushed face. ] If you're asking because－
[ He stops. Scales tip in his head. He still kind of wants to grab Astarion and kiss him senseless. ] －Would you?
[ Hells. The familiar but rusty feeling of wanting to defenestrate himself returns. ]