[ This isn't the first time Iorveth has agonized over how much he likes being around Astarion, but this is when it well and truly hits him that this is a matter of him being in love (the dreaded L-word): he won't say it, wary of spooking Astarion with too many things to digest at once, but he keeps the impossible weight of his feeling in his chest and confines it to the hard pound of his heart against his ribs. His pulse must feel like hammers where their palms meet.
The spawn are freed. There's no mad rush to murder Astarion, no crazed attempt to tear Iorveth to pieces. Either the lot of them are too exhausted to make the attempt, or they just want to make sure that their emancipation is real, not a cruel rugpull that they have to outrun.
In the distance, Iorveth can hear Petras ushering the first of the escapees towards the elevator-dais, helped by his sisters; maybe all this time, Petras was just waiting to be the big brother for once.
A breath in, a breath out, and Iorveth swivels on his heels to pull Astarion into an embrace. Gaudy staff and all. ]
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The spawn are freed. There's no mad rush to murder Astarion, no crazed attempt to tear Iorveth to pieces. Either the lot of them are too exhausted to make the attempt, or they just want to make sure that their emancipation is real, not a cruel rugpull that they have to outrun.
In the distance, Iorveth can hear Petras ushering the first of the escapees towards the elevator-dais, helped by his sisters; maybe all this time, Petras was just waiting to be the big brother for once.
A breath in, a breath out, and Iorveth swivels on his heels to pull Astarion into an embrace. Gaudy staff and all. ]
You did well, [ he murmurs, and means it. ]