[ Astarion crosses his feet at the ankles over Iorveth's knees, considering his answer. He imagines the pointy ears did have something to do with it. Iorveth could have enlisted Gale and had him cast Knock, a plan that would have been nearly foolproof as it wouldn't have relied on Astarion picking a lock one-handed. Hells, he could have eschewed the ruse entirely and brought along Wyll, or Halsin, or Jaheira; good-natured, good-minded people who would have been willing to help.
Then again, maybe that's why. If Iorveth wanted someone who wouldn't 'play hero', none of them would have been an option. Iorveth knew that Astarion wasn't good-natured, wasn't good-minded. It's a bit unpleasant to hear that that's what Iorveth thought of him, but it shouldn't be. He isn't Jaheira, isn't Halsin, most certainly isn't Wyll. ]
I've already told you that I didn't play the hero.
[ He frowns a little, just faintly, and shakes his head. ]
If I'd liked you less, I probably would have sold you to that king myself.
[ Levelly, as he presses a palm to Astarion's cheek. Iorveth adores Astarion, loves him more than one man should reasonably love anyone, but he can still identify flaws in character. Astarion is a survivor, with his pain quite literally written into his skin; he's had to normalize the worst of what the world had to offer, and that sort of emotional and spiritual torture doesn't take prisoners.
Stroking under one red eye with a careful thumb: ] It had to be you, regardless. In some part, because of the mold of your auricle. [ He admits, because he'd be lying if he said that that wasn't important. ] But, in hindsight, I think you were on my mind.
[ Post-Moonrise Iorveth, impressed that Astarion was still with the group at all. A budding interest and a mounting frustration, the needling annoyance that Astarion was still hiding behind a mask after everything they've been through. ]
[ It's distressing to know that there's a universe out there in which Astarion left Iorveth for dead, or worse, delivered him to his executioner himself. The sting is softened, he supposes, by the acknowledgement that Iorveth already knows this about him and— what, doesn't care? Loves him despite his glaring flaws? He isn't sure, but Iorveth has always been more accepting of the unpleasant parts of him than the rest of their companions.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he asks, teasing, ] Was I so incredibly alluring that you couldn't stop thinking about me?
[ Probably not, but he'd like to live in the fantasy world where that's true. ]
[ There it is, that crooked little smile. Iorveth puffs a quiet chuckle, and turns his palm over on Astarion's face to pinch his nose between a thumb and forefinger. ]
Possibly. [ Sure, Iorveth didn't really want to perceive being Into Astarion until Astarion got hit in the head with a blunt weapon, but whatever. He wouldn't be here if some part of him didn't find Astarion alluring, even then. ] Though some of the thinking revolved around throwing you out of the nearest window.
[ "How dare you make me want to kiss you," etc. Iorveth drinks another sip of wine, and stubbornly refuses to meet Hyacinth's eyes when she swishes by their table and settles another bottle of something strong alongside a bowl of snack food. ]
―If I ask you a question in return, would you answer it?
[ Astarion grins charmingly at Hyacinth as she delivers more goods to their table—an astute businesswoman, it seems—and is surprised when she grins back even more charmingly before flouncing away, a woman who's beautiful and knows how to wield it. He laughs a little under his breath as he slides the bowl of food over toward Iorveth, briefly wondering how offended the patrons would get if he tried to feed it to Iorveth. (Several people have already turned their chairs away from this display; Astarion thinks they're just jealous.)
It's an assortment of cheese and dried fruit, it looks like, arranged artfully. Appealing enough to look at, but still better suited for a living person to eat than a vampire. If only he could request blood on tap. He takes a sip of his unfortunately-not-blood before turning his attention back to Iorveth, eyebrow raised. ]
I'll consider it, [ he says, because promising the truth seems a rather daunting task for someone like him. In retaliation for earlier, he pinches Iorveth's cheek. ] But only because it's you.
[ Opinions are mixed: half the tavern is just waiting for the pair to leave, and the other half (the significantly drunker and noticeably human half) are enjoying watching two elves put on a show. Unfortunately (?) for them, Hyacinth's cheese plate is far more interesting to Iorveth than the attention of strangers, and he gets to work on pecking at it with hawklike attention until he's interrupted by the pinch to his cheek.
With permission granted to ask his question, Iorveth licks his fingers (whoever invented honey dip for cheese deserves some sort of accolade) and settles back in his chair. ]
Did you think I would ask you to stay with me?
[ Hm. A beat, and he appends: ] Did you want me to?
[ Because Iorveth hadn't planned to, and had felt it a monstrous thing to ask even when he did. Not quite on par with Cazador turning Astarion into a vampire, but adjacent in terms of asking Astarion for his future. ]
[ Astarion didn't expect any particular question, but if he'd had to guess, he would never have guessed this. For a beat, he stares back, head cocked like a confused dog, before he starts to laugh. ]
Of course I wanted you to, you fool.
[ Was he not languishing in every corner of every room, absolutely bereft at the idea of the first person he ever cared for choosing to leave him? He'd thought it obvious, painfully so. Admittedly, being invited to the north wasn't his first choice, or even his second; he'd hoped that Iorveth would change his mind and choose to stay in Baldur's Gate because he was so madly obsessed with Astarion, or at least that he'd choose to go somewhere other than back to that forest. But— ]
I want to be where you are.
[ Whether he'd thought Iorveth actually would ask him is another story. Obviously not, considering how upset he'd been over the situation, but he'd rather not say so and remind Iorveth of all of his bad behavior. ]
Why do you ask?
[ His tone is light, but his body tenses a little. Perhaps Iorveth regrets asking him to stay, says the little voice in his head. ]
[ "I want to be where you are". Such a small thing that winds up being the center of Iorveth's world: it turns out that a man faced with the threat of his clan's very possible extinction wants nothing more than something, someone to return to.
Astarion is doing a very poor job of making Iorveth less devoted to him, at any rate. Hyacinth has betrayed Iorveth as well by not throwing them out immediately once they started being disgusting, so she can bear the brunt of Iorveth's ire later. If only she'd been a more responsible tavern owner, Iorveth might have stopped himself from becoming more deranged!!!! She should have thought about that before giving him more wine!!!!!!
Iorveth has upgraded from drawing small cartoon hearts around Astarion's head to drawing one big heart around the entirety of him. He traces over that same heart again and again, the outline getting thicker and stronger every time Astarion does something that Iorveth thinks is endearing; this should be Astarion's cue to run the fuck away, and yet. ]
I ask, because I'd felt monstrous for asking. [ A bit of honesty, here. ] But I think of what it would have been like had I let you go, and the thought burns me.
[ It's fucking unbearable. It was probably a little less so back then, but it's like a knife between his ribs now. ]
[ Oh. The tension drains out of Astarion immediately, relief flooding him. How stupid of him, to think that Iorveth might be getting cold feet. Despite the solemnity of Iorveth's admission, Astarion grins from ear to ear, ridiculously pleased. It should burn Iorveth! He should be just as distraught by the thought of their separation as Astarion is, which is 'very'. If Iorveth had chosen to leave without inviting Astarion along, he—
He likes to think that he would be very stoic about it, that perhaps he'd write a few letters over the years, and then one day they'd visit and Iorveth would see how ridiculously successful Astarion was and beg to be taken back. In reality, he'd probably have thrown a tantrum, maybe gone on a murdering spree around the Gate, and sulked for the next few centuries at least. ]
Yes, you're an awful monster, darling.
[ The hand dangling off of Iorveth's shoulder reaches up to pet his hair, soothing. ]
You've given me a future to look forward to. What could be more monstrous than that?
[ If Iorveth'd been mistrustful and tightly-wound towards the beginning of this journey, he would have left it even more resistant to openness if he'd chosen to leave Astarion behind. A complete commitment to being a weapon instead of a man, fighting and fighting until he didn't even have his sharp edges left.
Very different from how he's acting now, wrapped around and leaning against Astarion like an overprotective canine. Happy to have Astarion's trust, finding purpose in the knowledge that Astarion is willing to look forward to something in his future. ]
A lifetime of wearing green and brown. [ A tease, to keep things light. ] Worse yet, beige.
[ It would make Astarion look so sallow. Awful!!! He bumps his forehead against Astarion's jaw, and vigorously ignores the commentary from two men sitting two tables away― something about whether the elves would like some more company. Rubbish. ]
[ Astarion nearly gags at the thought of wearing beige; he's so obviously a winter! It's a testament to how much he adores Iorveth that he's willing to even consider the idea of looking ugly in order to stay by his side, much less living in the forest like some sort of... Halsin. It would be an unbearable thought if Iorveth weren't also in the picture. Somehow, being with him makes everything seem a little more bearable, even wearing beige. ]
You say such awful things!
[ It's teasing, but also, don't speak Astarion wearing beige into existence! What a horrible man. ]
What will we do in the north?
[ Aside from wear awful clothes. As a city slicker, he really has no idea what this type of living entails. ]
[ Face tucked against Astarion's jaw, Iorveth breathes him in. Luxuriates in the closeness, despite how public he's being with his affection. Speaking of the north, it's likely that he won't be able to get away with what he's doing now in the presence of men and women who know him, who expect a certain sort of behavior from the man meant to liberate their ranks from invading humans; he'll have to wear his title more properly. ]
I'll act less like some foolish love-drunk elf, I suppose. [ At least, not where people can see. ] ...Depending on whether the new queen finds our presence welcome, we'll stay in a town near the forest. I want to make sure that the transition of power has gone as well as can be expected.
[ A soft sigh, his fingers drumming against Astarion's hip. ]
You'll not be burdened by politics, at any rate. I'll take care of my business during the day― my nights will be for you.
[ That leaves the matter of when he'll actually trance, but it's whatever. His circadian rhythm is monumentally fucked anyway; adjusting to make time for Astarion is a far higher priority than five hours of solid trancing. ]
[ Iorveth's declaration that he'll no longer act a fool in front of others makes Astarion frown, displeased. (He should care more about kissing Astarion's face than what people think of him!) The mention of nights deepens his frown. He doesn't want anything to do with the politics of a place he doesn't care about beyond Iorveth's attachment to it, but it does feel disappointing to know he'll have nothing to do with Iorveth's real life, under the sun. He'll be relegated to the darkness again, someone for Iorveth to visit only after nightfall.
Blatantly delusional: ] We don't know that the tadpole will stop granting me benefits after we destroy the brain.
[ There's nothing suggesting that it won't wither up and die, but gods, life without the tadpole sounds like a depressing existence. No, it is a depressing existence -- he knows because he had to endure it before. ]
For all we know, you won't need to lose a moment of beauty rest.
[ The possibility of the brainworm having altered Astarion's physical chemistry permanently is slim to none, but saying "honey, you are being very delusional" would be incredibly unhelpful, so. Iorveth keeps that thought to himself, and massages the rift between Astarion's brows with the flat of his thumb. ]
Not impossible. [ Diplomatically, to the tune of "we both know this is not going to happen". ] But I have other options if the parasite decides to disappoint us. Saskia is well-connected.
[ Saskia, being the dragon-turned-queen. ] I've also mentioned my own connections. I trust sorceresses as far as I can throw them, but there are one or two who've proved to be less awful than the rest.
[ Iorveth reaches for his drink, now mostly-empty. Bad decisionmaking dictates that he pours himself another glass. ]
Jaheira and her trap-filled basement may also prove useful. [ A bottle of wine swimming through his system apparently makes him more chatty than usual; he goes on, regardless of whether or not Astarion is paying attention. Obviously, he's been giving The Sun Problem a lot of thought over the past few tendays. ]
[ Astarion's frown grows fainter as he's charmed by how much thought Iorveth has put into his vampiric predicament. It doesn't entirely fade away, though, because the niggling little voice in the back of his head—that grows quieter with every passing day, but never seems to fully disappear—wonders if Iorveth has thought about it so deeply because he doesn't want to deal with the challenge of having a partner who can't even step outside on a sunny day.
No, he tells himself. Iorveth, of all people, doesn't fear a challenge. If he did, he'd never have gotten involved with Astarion in the first place. He does tend to be... challenging. ]
Jaheira?
[ The most promising place to start. Begging Iorveth's old (if one-sided) flame for help doesn't sit well with him, and he's not certain he'd enjoy being experimented on by sorceresses.
But— ] I would have hoped she would have told me if she possessed the cure for my affliction.
[ Very one-sided flame. One day, Astarion will ask Saskia what her deal was, and her reply will be roughly equivalent to "??? Gods, sorry, I would never fuck Iorveth." Rest in pieces, deranged elf.
But they're talking about Jaheira now, and because Iorveth has a bottle of wine in his system: ]
She's old, by human standards. [ This, about a literal hero who has saved countless lives in many situations. Iorveth respects her, sure, but he's also drunk. ] She may have something of use to us, which she's... [ A vague wave of his hand. ] ...Forgotten about.
[ An incredibly rude accusation, which boils down to "idk lol she's old". The rudest drunk in Faerûn. ]
[ Astarion doesn't even bat an eye at Iorveth's rudeness. He would have said worse; 'old bat', maybe, or 'crone', even though she's a century younger than him. He's young in spirit, which is what matters. ]
Hm.
[ It's genuinely thoughtful. Would Jaheira have something so valuable and just forget about it? It's possible that such a successful adventurer would find such things banal after a while. Maybe she has a sun-walking ring in the back of her closet, waiting for Astarion to fish it out.
(There's that delusion again.) ]
I'd rather start there than with those sorceresses of yours. [ A pointed look. ] It would be a travesty if I were turned into a toad.
[ Two delusional elves cuddling in the back of a tavern-turned-field-of-flowers. Iorveth bats away a piece of ribbon that's dislodged itself from the ceiling rafters to float down onto his head, and takes another bite of cheese dipped in honey.
He snorts at the mention of Astarion being turned into a toad. It's not funny, because the kind of sorceresses he knows would actually do things like that (and worse), but. Gods. He imagines a slimy little creature with Astarion's red eyes, and has the gall to laugh. ]
You'd still be beautiful. Warts and all.
[ A half-orc on his way to the restroom groans loudly as he passes their table; Iorveth drawls "stuff it up your ass" in his native tongue. ]
We can speak to Jaheira, then. I'll find a different opportunity to see you as a toad.
[ Even if Iorveth would still love him as a toad. He couldn't bear to have warts.
He resumes his petting of Iorveth's hair, idle this time, touching for the sake of touching, affection for the sake of affection. Astarion never thought he'd be able to tolerate someone enough to touch them without feeling ill, much less that he'd want to touch someone for his own sake, but touching Iorveth feels good, comforting. Impossibly safe. He leans his temple against Iorveth's, pointy ears brushing. ]
You know, I'll loathe it if you decide not to act a lovesick fool there.
[ Again, other people don't matter, and neither should their opinions. Case in point: Astarion barely glanced at the groaning half-orc, entirely unbothered by the reactions of what might as well be insects to him. He's enjoying himself, which is all that matters.
Besides, he's put on far more disgusting displays in taverns than this. ]
Although I suppose there is some appeal to a warrior in the streets and a fool in the sheets.
[ From grudging acceptance that he might enjoy Astarion's presence, all the way to active appreciation. Things have changed, but they also haven't: Iorveth's pulse still hikes a beat faster when Astarion relaxes enough to press up against him like this, and he still doesn't take the closeness for granted. Familiar but new, every time.
Iorveth wants to kiss him. Wants to do more than kiss him, really, but he knows that some of it is the alcohol testing his ability to get away with being stupid. His middle ground is drawing circles against the small of Astarion's back, fingers slipping under the ornate jacket in search of just a little skin. Just a little. ]
You won't be a secret. [ Just to make that abundantly clear. ] －Though I take issue with the designation of "fool in the sheets".
[ A raised brow, and he pinches Astarion's waist. ]
You weren't laughing when I had you in my mouth. [ A hum, and he closes his eye. Thinking About It, clearly. ]
[ Not a secret. A comforting thought for someone who was, essentially, kept a secret for two centuries. He never expected Iorveth to keep him a secret, of course; it doesn't seem in his nature. He's terminally blunt, honest to a fault. Still, it's nice to have the confirmation.
He pauses his petting, eyebrow raised in amusement. ]
All of that flute-playing paid off, clearly.
[ If Iorveth can pull his pigtails, it's only fair that he pull Iorveth's right back. But-- ]
Fine. 'Fool' is perhaps the wrong word. 'Devotee', do you think? 'Worshipper'?
[ Perhaps the flute-playing did help with the oral fixation. That said: ]
You're worth being devoted to.
[ Can't embarrass him with descriptors that are true!! He shifts Astarion closer to him on their pushed-together chairs, adjusting his perch to sit a little higher on his knees. What this establishment is in sore need of is benches. ]
And in need of some worshipping, perhaps. [ Not just sexually, really. He combs a hand through Astarion's hair, adjusting bangs that don't need further adjusting. ] Not if you find it cloying, however.
[ Astarion hardly needs to be treated like something that might break at any moment; his resilience is something Iorveth respects and admires about him. ]
[ Iorveth is so sweet sometimes that it should rightfully be cloying, especially to someone like Astarion who's always been disdainful of things like romance and 'actually liking someone'. It's entirely unlike him to find such bald-faced fondness endearing rather than pathetic, but when it's Iorveth, he can't help it. Rose-colored glasses, perhaps. Only figurative ones, of course, because he doesn't think glasses hiding his features would flatter him at all. ]
Darling, you're many things, but not cloying.
[ No one would ever accuse Iorveth of being too sweet, although he is. Astarion preens, practically batting his eyelashes. ]
Are you going to worship me, then?
[ Iorveth really should not let him get away with this sort of behavior, and yet. He's only grown more bold. ]
[ Trusting someone is only pathetic when there's an inevitable rugpull, and Iorveth is― well, he's an expert in falling on his face. He's fought for someone, loved someone and held them higher than a god, because he'd believed that ideals and people were more sacrosanct than divinity.
It's a belief he still holds, foolishly and desperately. Iorveth the Woodland Fox, Thrice-Betrayed, putting all his eggs in one basket despite past failures. It's what he's doing now, holding Astarion like he's the only person that's worth anything in this tragic mess of a world. Drunk, fuzzy, smitten. ]
I'd thought that to be the entire point of this night. [ Procuring lavish outfits, stealing pretty trinkets for Astarion to decorate himself with, drowning themselves in expensive drink. Sure, Astarion'd hated the party (he hadn't even known what to expect, which still breaks Iorveth a little), and they'd had to murder someone before winding up in a tavern full of exasperated people, but. Whatever.
The point is, Iorveth tips Astarion's chin and kisses the corner of his mouth. ] How do you wish to be worshiped? Or will you let me decide?
[ A sweet threat. Astarion should be running for the hills. ]
[ The entire point of this night is for them both to have a good time, not just for Astarion to be humored, but he can see why Iorveth might think otherwise. It isn't really pleasing him, though, unless it pleases Iorveth, too. Gods, how odd. He can't believe he actually cares about someone else's enjoyment. ]
I'm sure I could think of a few dozen ways.
[ An understatement. Astarion was born to command, forced to be commanded. Bossing others around comes naturally to him. ]
What would you do, if I graciously allowed you to choose?
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Then again, maybe that's why. If Iorveth wanted someone who wouldn't 'play hero', none of them would have been an option. Iorveth knew that Astarion wasn't good-natured, wasn't good-minded. It's a bit unpleasant to hear that that's what Iorveth thought of him, but it shouldn't be. He isn't Jaheira, isn't Halsin, most certainly isn't Wyll. ]
I've already told you that I didn't play the hero.
[ He frowns a little, just faintly, and shakes his head. ]
If I'd liked you less, I probably would have sold you to that king myself.
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[ Levelly, as he presses a palm to Astarion's cheek. Iorveth adores Astarion, loves him more than one man should reasonably love anyone, but he can still identify flaws in character. Astarion is a survivor, with his pain quite literally written into his skin; he's had to normalize the worst of what the world had to offer, and that sort of emotional and spiritual torture doesn't take prisoners.
Stroking under one red eye with a careful thumb: ] It had to be you, regardless. In some part, because of the mold of your auricle. [ He admits, because he'd be lying if he said that that wasn't important. ] But, in hindsight, I think you were on my mind.
[ Post-Moonrise Iorveth, impressed that Astarion was still with the group at all. A budding interest and a mounting frustration, the needling annoyance that Astarion was still hiding behind a mask after everything they've been through. ]
You made me want to know you. Vexing.
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The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he asks, teasing, ] Was I so incredibly alluring that you couldn't stop thinking about me?
[ Probably not, but he'd like to live in the fantasy world where that's true. ]
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Possibly. [ Sure, Iorveth didn't really want to perceive being Into Astarion until Astarion got hit in the head with a blunt weapon, but whatever. He wouldn't be here if some part of him didn't find Astarion alluring, even then. ] Though some of the thinking revolved around throwing you out of the nearest window.
[ "How dare you make me want to kiss you," etc. Iorveth drinks another sip of wine, and stubbornly refuses to meet Hyacinth's eyes when she swishes by their table and settles another bottle of something strong alongside a bowl of snack food. ]
―If I ask you a question in return, would you answer it?
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It's an assortment of cheese and dried fruit, it looks like, arranged artfully. Appealing enough to look at, but still better suited for a living person to eat than a vampire. If only he could request blood on tap. He takes a sip of his unfortunately-not-blood before turning his attention back to Iorveth, eyebrow raised. ]
I'll consider it, [ he says, because promising the truth seems a rather daunting task for someone like him. In retaliation for earlier, he pinches Iorveth's cheek. ] But only because it's you.
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With permission granted to ask his question, Iorveth licks his fingers (whoever invented honey dip for cheese deserves some sort of accolade) and settles back in his chair. ]
Did you think I would ask you to stay with me?
[ Hm. A beat, and he appends: ] Did you want me to?
[ Because Iorveth hadn't planned to, and had felt it a monstrous thing to ask even when he did. Not quite on par with Cazador turning Astarion into a vampire, but adjacent in terms of asking Astarion for his future. ]
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Of course I wanted you to, you fool.
[ Was he not languishing in every corner of every room, absolutely bereft at the idea of the first person he ever cared for choosing to leave him? He'd thought it obvious, painfully so. Admittedly, being invited to the north wasn't his first choice, or even his second; he'd hoped that Iorveth would change his mind and choose to stay in Baldur's Gate because he was so madly obsessed with Astarion, or at least that he'd choose to go somewhere other than back to that forest. But— ]
I want to be where you are.
[ Whether he'd thought Iorveth actually would ask him is another story. Obviously not, considering how upset he'd been over the situation, but he'd rather not say so and remind Iorveth of all of his bad behavior. ]
Why do you ask?
[ His tone is light, but his body tenses a little. Perhaps Iorveth regrets asking him to stay, says the little voice in his head. ]
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Astarion is doing a very poor job of making Iorveth less devoted to him, at any rate. Hyacinth has betrayed Iorveth as well by not throwing them out immediately once they started being disgusting, so she can bear the brunt of Iorveth's ire later. If only she'd been a more responsible tavern owner, Iorveth might have stopped himself from becoming more deranged!!!! She should have thought about that before giving him more wine!!!!!!
Iorveth has upgraded from drawing small cartoon hearts around Astarion's head to drawing one big heart around the entirety of him. He traces over that same heart again and again, the outline getting thicker and stronger every time Astarion does something that Iorveth thinks is endearing; this should be Astarion's cue to run the fuck away, and yet. ]
I ask, because I'd felt monstrous for asking. [ A bit of honesty, here. ] But I think of what it would have been like had I let you go, and the thought burns me.
[ It's fucking unbearable. It was probably a little less so back then, but it's like a knife between his ribs now. ]
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He likes to think that he would be very stoic about it, that perhaps he'd write a few letters over the years, and then one day they'd visit and Iorveth would see how ridiculously successful Astarion was and beg to be taken back. In reality, he'd probably have thrown a tantrum, maybe gone on a murdering spree around the Gate, and sulked for the next few centuries at least. ]
Yes, you're an awful monster, darling.
[ The hand dangling off of Iorveth's shoulder reaches up to pet his hair, soothing. ]
You've given me a future to look forward to. What could be more monstrous than that?
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Very different from how he's acting now, wrapped around and leaning against Astarion like an overprotective canine. Happy to have Astarion's trust, finding purpose in the knowledge that Astarion is willing to look forward to something in his future. ]
A lifetime of wearing green and brown. [ A tease, to keep things light. ] Worse yet, beige.
[ It would make Astarion look so sallow. Awful!!! He bumps his forehead against Astarion's jaw, and vigorously ignores the commentary from two men sitting two tables away― something about whether the elves would like some more company. Rubbish. ]
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You say such awful things!
[ It's teasing, but also, don't speak Astarion wearing beige into existence! What a horrible man. ]
What will we do in the north?
[ Aside from wear awful clothes. As a city slicker, he really has no idea what this type of living entails. ]
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I'll act less like some foolish love-drunk elf, I suppose. [ At least, not where people can see. ] ...Depending on whether the new queen finds our presence welcome, we'll stay in a town near the forest. I want to make sure that the transition of power has gone as well as can be expected.
[ A soft sigh, his fingers drumming against Astarion's hip. ]
You'll not be burdened by politics, at any rate. I'll take care of my business during the day― my nights will be for you.
[ That leaves the matter of when he'll actually trance, but it's whatever. His circadian rhythm is monumentally fucked anyway; adjusting to make time for Astarion is a far higher priority than five hours of solid trancing. ]
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Blatantly delusional: ] We don't know that the tadpole will stop granting me benefits after we destroy the brain.
[ There's nothing suggesting that it won't wither up and die, but gods, life without the tadpole sounds like a depressing existence. No, it is a depressing existence -- he knows because he had to endure it before. ]
For all we know, you won't need to lose a moment of beauty rest.
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Not impossible. [ Diplomatically, to the tune of "we both know this is not going to happen". ] But I have other options if the parasite decides to disappoint us. Saskia is well-connected.
[ Saskia, being the dragon-turned-queen. ] I've also mentioned my own connections. I trust sorceresses as far as I can throw them, but there are one or two who've proved to be less awful than the rest.
[ Iorveth reaches for his drink, now mostly-empty. Bad decisionmaking dictates that he pours himself another glass. ]
Jaheira and her trap-filled basement may also prove useful. [ A bottle of wine swimming through his system apparently makes him more chatty than usual; he goes on, regardless of whether or not Astarion is paying attention. Obviously, he's been giving The Sun Problem a lot of thought over the past few tendays. ]
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No, he tells himself. Iorveth, of all people, doesn't fear a challenge. If he did, he'd never have gotten involved with Astarion in the first place. He does tend to be... challenging. ]
Jaheira?
[ The most promising place to start. Begging Iorveth's old (if one-sided) flame for help doesn't sit well with him, and he's not certain he'd enjoy being experimented on by sorceresses.
But— ] I would have hoped she would have told me if she possessed the cure for my affliction.
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But they're talking about Jaheira now, and because Iorveth has a bottle of wine in his system: ]
She's old, by human standards. [ This, about a literal hero who has saved countless lives in many situations. Iorveth respects her, sure, but he's also drunk. ] She may have something of use to us, which she's... [ A vague wave of his hand. ] ...Forgotten about.
[ An incredibly rude accusation, which boils down to "idk lol she's old". The rudest drunk in Faerûn. ]
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Hm.
[ It's genuinely thoughtful. Would Jaheira have something so valuable and just forget about it? It's possible that such a successful adventurer would find such things banal after a while. Maybe she has a sun-walking ring in the back of her closet, waiting for Astarion to fish it out.
(There's that delusion again.) ]
I'd rather start there than with those sorceresses of yours. [ A pointed look. ] It would be a travesty if I were turned into a toad.
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He snorts at the mention of Astarion being turned into a toad. It's not funny, because the kind of sorceresses he knows would actually do things like that (and worse), but. Gods. He imagines a slimy little creature with Astarion's red eyes, and has the gall to laugh. ]
You'd still be beautiful. Warts and all.
[ A half-orc on his way to the restroom groans loudly as he passes their table; Iorveth drawls "stuff it up your ass" in his native tongue. ]
We can speak to Jaheira, then. I'll find a different opportunity to see you as a toad.
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[ Even if Iorveth would still love him as a toad. He couldn't bear to have warts.
He resumes his petting of Iorveth's hair, idle this time, touching for the sake of touching, affection for the sake of affection. Astarion never thought he'd be able to tolerate someone enough to touch them without feeling ill, much less that he'd want to touch someone for his own sake, but touching Iorveth feels good, comforting. Impossibly safe. He leans his temple against Iorveth's, pointy ears brushing. ]
You know, I'll loathe it if you decide not to act a lovesick fool there.
[ Again, other people don't matter, and neither should their opinions. Case in point: Astarion barely glanced at the groaning half-orc, entirely unbothered by the reactions of what might as well be insects to him. He's enjoying himself, which is all that matters.
Besides, he's put on far more disgusting displays in taverns than this. ]
Although I suppose there is some appeal to a warrior in the streets and a fool in the sheets.
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Iorveth wants to kiss him. Wants to do more than kiss him, really, but he knows that some of it is the alcohol testing his ability to get away with being stupid. His middle ground is drawing circles against the small of Astarion's back, fingers slipping under the ornate jacket in search of just a little skin. Just a little. ]
You won't be a secret. [ Just to make that abundantly clear. ] －Though I take issue with the designation of "fool in the sheets".
[ A raised brow, and he pinches Astarion's waist. ]
You weren't laughing when I had you in my mouth. [ A hum, and he closes his eye. Thinking About It, clearly. ]
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He pauses his petting, eyebrow raised in amusement. ]
All of that flute-playing paid off, clearly.
[ If Iorveth can pull his pigtails, it's only fair that he pull Iorveth's right back. But-- ]
Fine. 'Fool' is perhaps the wrong word. 'Devotee', do you think? 'Worshipper'?
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You're worth being devoted to.
[ Can't embarrass him with descriptors that are true!! He shifts Astarion closer to him on their pushed-together chairs, adjusting his perch to sit a little higher on his knees. What this establishment is in sore need of is benches. ]
And in need of some worshipping, perhaps. [ Not just sexually, really. He combs a hand through Astarion's hair, adjusting bangs that don't need further adjusting. ] Not if you find it cloying, however.
[ Astarion hardly needs to be treated like something that might break at any moment; his resilience is something Iorveth respects and admires about him. ]
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Darling, you're many things, but not cloying.
[ No one would ever accuse Iorveth of being too sweet, although he is. Astarion preens, practically batting his eyelashes. ]
Are you going to worship me, then?
[ Iorveth really should not let him get away with this sort of behavior, and yet. He's only grown more bold. ]
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It's a belief he still holds, foolishly and desperately. Iorveth the Woodland Fox, Thrice-Betrayed, putting all his eggs in one basket despite past failures. It's what he's doing now, holding Astarion like he's the only person that's worth anything in this tragic mess of a world. Drunk, fuzzy, smitten. ]
I'd thought that to be the entire point of this night. [ Procuring lavish outfits, stealing pretty trinkets for Astarion to decorate himself with, drowning themselves in expensive drink. Sure, Astarion'd hated the party (he hadn't even known what to expect, which still breaks Iorveth a little), and they'd had to murder someone before winding up in a tavern full of exasperated people, but. Whatever.
The point is, Iorveth tips Astarion's chin and kisses the corner of his mouth. ] How do you wish to be worshiped? Or will you let me decide?
[ A sweet threat. Astarion should be running for the hills. ]
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I'm sure I could think of a few dozen ways.
[ An understatement. Astarion was born to command, forced to be commanded. Bossing others around comes naturally to him. ]
What would you do, if I graciously allowed you to choose?
[ Like it's a privilege. ]
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