[ Obviously, tricking hundreds of people into what Astarion presumed was an early death wasn't commendable, but he also had no real agency besides the option to choose death. Iorveth, who understands the value of dying if he has to, also has to acknowledge that, gods, he's glad that Astarion didn't choose to die.
Astarion will probably always be a bit haunted, though. Cursed to remember the scent of that fetid tomb for as long as he lives, which is a long time; Iorveth can't spend an eternity with Astarion, but he can hope that a few centuries might be enough to chase a few of Astarion's ghosts away.
If Astarion doesn't run screaming from a life in the north, that is. Still within the realm of possibility. Iorveth is an idiot for stumbling onto the L-word situation so clumsily, and will have to deal with the fallout accordingly if Astarion decides that, actually, he doesn't want this.
A problem for later (a lot of their problems share this trait, incidentally). Now, Iorveth walks back to Elfsong with Astarion in tow, content to look at his profile every so often in the privacy of empty streets. There are a few vagrants sleeping here and there under half-covered awnings, but after being cloistered by hundreds of spawn, the city feels abandoned by comparison.
When they finally get to Elfsong, he stops outside the front door and turns to face Astarion properly. ]
Before we have to relinquish our privacy again, [ is the disclaimer, before he tips Astarion's chin and leans in for a kiss. Just a soft, fluttering thing, lips lightly pressed against lips. ]
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Astarion will probably always be a bit haunted, though. Cursed to remember the scent of that fetid tomb for as long as he lives, which is a long time; Iorveth can't spend an eternity with Astarion, but he can hope that a few centuries might be enough to chase a few of Astarion's ghosts away.
If Astarion doesn't run screaming from a life in the north, that is. Still within the realm of possibility. Iorveth is an idiot for stumbling onto the L-word situation so clumsily, and will have to deal with the fallout accordingly if Astarion decides that, actually, he doesn't want this.
A problem for later (a lot of their problems share this trait, incidentally). Now, Iorveth walks back to Elfsong with Astarion in tow, content to look at his profile every so often in the privacy of empty streets. There are a few vagrants sleeping here and there under half-covered awnings, but after being cloistered by hundreds of spawn, the city feels abandoned by comparison.
When they finally get to Elfsong, he stops outside the front door and turns to face Astarion properly. ]
Before we have to relinquish our privacy again, [ is the disclaimer, before he tips Astarion's chin and leans in for a kiss. Just a soft, fluttering thing, lips lightly pressed against lips. ]