[ Is Iorveth's very simple, very unhealthy, very deranged correction to Astarion's very considerate remark about things that are better left forgotten. ]
I want to remember all of it. Every offense, every atrocity, so that I never forget how much they made us suffer.
[ Because everything that has ever meant anything to him has made him hurt; nothing is worth keeping if he can't fight tooth and nail for it. Iorveth splays his fingers against Astarion's back, touching as much of him as that one hand will allow. ]
...Besides. It wasn't you that reminded me of the dead. I'd only thought－
[ Another stark difference between them. Iorveth replays all of the suffering and torment he's experienced to the point of insanity; Astarion stuffs it into a box under a rug in the dustiest corner of his mind, hoping never to see it again. Hard to say which is better. Hard to say which is worse. Neither option seems to be working particularly well for them.
If Iorveth had lost him that day, he wouldn't have had a body to wake up to. Astarion would have been a pile of ash before they ever reached Flotsam. Even he knows this is something that he shouldn't mention, though, lest he upset Iorveth. Better that he doesn't have the mental image of Astarion's disintegrated body in his head. ]
It doesn't bother you, then? Undeath?
[ The sound of insecurity in his own voice makes him sick. He hastily continues, ] I'm irresistible dead or alive, of course, but I can see how some might find it... disconcerting.
[ Perhaps Astarion can take solace in the fact that, if he ever did die horrifically, Iorveth would hold onto that trauma and live with it, let it burn him every single waking moment of the rest of his days. (Astarion, please swipe left.) Because Iorveth would, and he plans to if the ever-hovering shoe above their heads drops.
Stupid, he thinks again, as Astarion asks if the nature of his existence is bothersome, as if Astarion hasn't turned Iorveth's entire world upside down by making Iorveth fall in love with him. What does he think, that Iorveth tolerates him?
Still, the reason Astarion is asking is because of the previous night's freakout, so: ]
Astarion. [ Slowly, and with purpose. "Listen carefully," is what the slight lift of his brow says. ] I love you.
[ Like hitting someone in the head with a rock. He hums, thinking of an addendum. ]
Be assured that if another being identical to you appeared right now－ [ a ridiculous hypothetical, but he presents it with dry theatricality, ] ―similar to you in every way, save for the fact that he isn't a vampire...
...I wouldn't look at him twice. Nor would I want him. [ He pinches Astarion's ear, admonishing but affectionate. ] Though I wouldn't want any other vampire, either. Need I go on?
[ More things it's wiser not to say: Really? If another being identical to you appeared right now, we'd be having a threesome.
It's sweet, though, that Iorveth claims he wouldn't be tempted by this alternate universe, mortal version of Astarion. Being told that he's loved still makes him feel like an adolescent with sweaty hands tangling fingers with his first crush, an all-encompassing, light-headed joy. In an eternal lifetime, he'll never figure out what he did to deserve to be loved by someone like Iorveth, but he'll happily soak up all of the undeserved love regardless.
He presses his lips against Iorveth's, trying not to worry that his mouth is too cold. ]
No, but I wouldn't protest if you did.
[ But Iorveth probably already knew that. He's had countless ugly words hurled at him over the centuries. He can't help but want to latch on to the pretty ones. ]
I only asked because I love you, you know. [ Saying so makes him feel a little giddy, despite everything. How lucky he is to have someone worth loving. A little tongue-in-cheek (and a little serious): ] It's strange, but I seem to want you to be happy.
[ He seems to want Iorveth to be happy. Absurd. Iorveth snorts, the sound as undignified as the smile that pulls at his face. ]
Stranger still, then, that you've managed to become the source of my happiness.
[ Ever since he admitted to Astarion that he wanted Astarion to stay, and ever since Astarion answered in the affirmative. Iorveth'd doomed them to the narrative in that moment, and it's something he still thinks about― how things would have been different if he'd just decided to let the tryst be a tryst― but gods, he really is happy when he's with Astarion. Happy in a way that seems impossible, happy in a way that contradicts what and how he should be.
So. He coaxes Astarion closer again, another sliver of space between them breached, fingers loosely curled over the jut of Astarion's hip. ]
...I made you worry. [ An acknowledgment, low and simple. ] You were kind, to consider my feelings.
[ The sort of thing Iorveth will only ever say to Astarion: anyone else would be met with a swift and angry dismissal, a million permutations of "don't fucking patronize me". Iorveth can only trust one person in his life with the shape of his vulnerabilities and feelings, and poor Astarion is that one person. He leans forward for another kiss, murmuring something muffled in his native tongue followed by a rough translation against their pressed-together mouths: you're perfect.
(The sun is coming up. The madam of the inn-brothel is playing with the coin that Iorveth gave her earlier, toying with the idea of going to Commandant Loredo with information about the two elves, considering the pros and cons of having one or two of her girls visit her strange new customers just so she can be sure that the one-eyed one isn't actually "Edgar". Men usually forget to use aliases when they're getting their dick sucked, after all.) ]
I wasn't worried, [ he huffs defensively, although the sentiment gets cut off by the sensation of Iorveth's warm lips against his, and he suddenly feels powerless to protest. ] I was just... [ He racks his brain for a suitable synonym. ] Concerned.
[ Entirely different.
He slips an arm under Iorveth's, snaking around to splay out between his shoulder blades. His fingers are undoubtedly cold, he thinks as he feels the pleasant heat of Iorveth's living body, but he doesn't withdraw again. Foolish Iorveth, hitching his wagon to a dead man's. Astarion is happy to take advantage of his foolishness. ]
Trance now. We've a busy night ahead of us.
[ Not a busy day, not anymore. ]
I've courtesans to woo, and you have... someone to flog, surely.
[ Astarion is cold, but half the pleasure is feeling his own warmth slowly transfer to that cool skin. A bit of negotiating has Iorveth hauling Astarion up and over his torso as much as he can, and the now-familiar weight is comforting enough that Iorveth easily slides into his trance, as suggested－ a dreamless one, rendered only in vague colors and sense memory instead of anything concrete or alarming.
What's alarming is the knock on their door at around nightfall; three melodic raps against hardwood, unmistakable. Iorveth sits up when he hears it, a jolt like a wolf rearing up from sleep, his head instinctively whipping towards the window where he can spot a sliver of red-orange light filtering through the spaces between their blinds. No option to jump outside－ the sun is still out. ]
Astarion, [ he whispers in warning, hand to the small of Astarion's back. Outside the door, he can hear high, lilting voices speaking indecipherably. ]
[ It isn't the knock that wakes him but Iorveth's movement; he's jostled into consciousness, groaning in protest as Iorveth sits up and he slides off of his chest. Reaching for one of the down pillows, he flops back onto the mattress and shoves it over his head in the hopes of muffling any sound. It's only once Iorveth whispers to him that his ears properly perk up and catch the soft sound of conversation outside their door, and he finally sits up himself, brow furrowed.
Iorveth sure as hells can't answer the door when there's probably posters bearing his likeness in the city—wanted: dangerous elven terrorist—so the responsibility falls to Astarion. He swings his feet off of the bed and rises, swiping his shirt to pull it on, still unbuttoned, to hide his scars. ]
Stay, [ he says quietly before making his way to the door. He opens it just enough to poke his head out, expression expectant and impatient. ]
[ Iorveth brushes his hair into his face, hiding more of his features while he readjusts his eyepatch over his missing eye. On one hand, he misses his headscarf－ he'd felt more covered with it on－ but on the other, the bright red cloth might have been even more distinguishing.
From his vantage point, he can't see the two pretty young women who are standing out in the hall, but he can hear them. "I heard there were two Cormyreans staying with us now," one of them (a redhead with lipstick that matches her hair) says, singsong; another voice (a brunette with a defining mole sitting pretty under her left eye) chimes in with "two handsome Cormyreans", punctuated by a flutelike laugh.
A flash of pale skin. The redhead pokes her arm through the gap between the door and the wall, trying to touch Astarion's arm.
"We're ever so curious. Won't you let us in for a chat?" ]
[ Well, there's the courtesans he planned to gossip with. It seems someone else already gossiped to them; it's doubtful they really have any interest in handsome Cormyreans, at least not enough to come knocking on their door. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to slam the door on the redhead's arm, but he stays where he is, smiling. ]
I'd love to, of course, if it's two delectable treats such as yourselves asking...
[ "Oh," the redhead breathes. Not as good of an actor as her companion, who keeps her expression expertly trained to ignorant curiosity; the redhead tries to look past Astarion and towards where she knows the bed to be in a display of nosiness that isn't just idle interest. Like one of the visitors at the Circus of the Last Days, trying to catch a glimpse of the displacer beast.
"I'd love to see how indecent he is," she giggles, though her tone is less seductive and more like a child who's trying to eat some of the cookie dough before it goes into the oven. "Is he terribly shy?"
More standing on toes, more craning of necks. The brunette tugs on her companion's elbow in what could be a half-tease, a half-"don't blow our cover".
[ Astarion tugs the door a little more shut, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. Mind your own business, he wants to snap, but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches down to pat at his belt, making sure his trusty dagger is still in its sheath. He has no intention of hurting these ladies, but it's better to be prepared for the worst. ]
I'm not sure my Edgar is up for your attentions tonight, however... titillating.
[ Mostly because they don't need to get up close and personal with Iorveth, lest they see something worth reporting. ]
But my dance card is empty, [ he adds, shooting them a grin. ] Perhaps we might get to know each other elsewhere.
[ Somewhere without a window, he hopes. Raising his voice: ] You don't mind if I step out, do you, darling?
[ "Edgar", the one her companion called Ada murmurs; Iorveth is better at responding to the alias by now, so there's no suspicious pause or hesitation when Astarion tosses the question back at him. ]
I'd deny you nothing, [ is not what Edgar from the novels would say, but it's Iorveth's reply. ] Do whatever pleases you.
[ A backwards scoot over to the bed's headboard, which he leans against while watching Astarion negotiate with the two women on the other side of the door. The brunette, who manages to make out Iorveth's voice from where she's standing, smiles in a way that could be interpreted as meaningful.
"Oh... he isn't the jealous type, is he?" Fishing. "If I were traveling with someone as gorgeous as you, I wouldn't let you near us!"
A statement of doubt, perhaps, that the elves are actually romantically involved, and that she suspects that they're just saying that they are as a cover. Still, the brunette ("Stella", her friend calls her) steps away from the door, bowing her head lightly. "Maybe your companion can join us later, then. My room is just around the corner― the one with a rose etched on the door." ]
[ Stella and Ada are pleasant enough, if a little suspicious — particularly the redhead, although perhaps the brunette just hides it better. He wouldn't mind clinking tea cups and gossiping about the Commandant with them, if the opportunity presents itself. He shakes his head as if Ada is being too complimentary, although he of course knows that he's gorgeous, even without a reflection. He sure as hells better be, considering all the time he spends on vanity. ]
You ladies are nothing but trouble, aren't you? I do so love trouble.
[ Carefully, he scoots out of the room, squeezing through the teeny tiny opening in the doorway. No need to let Ada get a glimpse of Iorveth. ]
You know where to find me if I don't come back, [ he calls to Iorveth, breezy on the surface and a little paranoid underneath. You know, just in case. He shuts the door behind him, turning to the women with a grin. Iorveth can hear him as he makes his way down the hall to the rose-etched door, saying, ] Now, I bet you troublemakers know everything that happens in this town...
[ The troublemakers do know everything that happens in their town. Astarion is taken to Stella's dimly-lit room with deep-colored furniture, and is coaxed to sit on her floral-pattered bedsheets for their upcoming gossip session. Ada seems disappointed that "Edgar" hasn't joined them, and shoots the occasional backwards glance towards the door with expectant anticipation.
Stella surreptitiously hides her sleeping draught behind two bottles of wine; she pours Astarion a glass, and sidles up to him to start her questioning. Resourceful, and used to men who pay more attention to her cleavage than what's coming out of her mouth.
(The plan: either to knock Astarion out and use him as a means to lure his one-eyed companion to Loredo's mansion, or to get confirmation that the one-eyed companion is, in fact, the one-eyed elf they're looking for. Stella and Ada aren't eager to comply, but the coin they'll get if they cooperate will be enough for them to pack up and move to Waterdeep.)
"Tell us about your adventures," is where they start, sandwiching Astarion between them, leaning in like cats making a pile. An enviable position to be in, while Iorveth gears up and gets ready to stick a man's head into a river. The duality of man. ]
[ Iorveth gets ready to stick a man's head in the river, and Astarion basks in the undivided attention of two very pretty women. What? It's not like he's married. He takes the glass, giving it a cursory sniff. It smells a little odd, but so do most food and drinks since he clawed his way out of his grave. Hard to say if it's 'poison' odd or just regular odd.
Oh, well. He takes a sip. No one ever accused him of being prudent.
He launches into an entirely fabricated story that's dangerously close to the adventures of Nicholas and Edgar, albeit with some key details changed. He isn't a prince so much as, well, a very important magistrate—no one ever accused him of being creative, either—and Iorveth isn't so much an assassin as a hunky rapscallion with a heart of gold. The rest, though, follows the beats of the novel perfectly, sex scenes included.
Another sip. ] But I'd really rather hear about you. Any important customers? Like, oh, I don't know, that Commandant everyone keeps going on about? One has to wonder what he asks for.
[ Stella is privately surprised that the white-haired elf actually drank the wine (a moment of actual fear, here, that he might actually be telling the truth about being a Cormyrean traveler), but she feels a little less bad when said elf starts going on about his torrid sex life. She feigns interest, of course (the polite woman's version of "damn that's crazy"), but can't help but feel relieved when they start talking about the Commandant, which is actually more in line with what she expected the topic of conversation to be.
Meanwhile, Ada has her hand on "Nicholas'" knee, delighted by the traveler's raunchy adventures. Here, too, the duality of man.
"The Commandant?" Ada snorts, waving a hand. "Oh, he's positively awful. He has all these horrible fantasies about..." An awkward beat here, as she realizes that the man she's speaking to has pointy ears and is very non-human. "...Well, you know. Commandant Loredo has... a reputation."
Stella, still smiling, subtly reaches behind Astarion's back to pinch her friend's arm. Get your foot out of your mouth, essentially.
(Jumpcut to Iorveth in the forest upstream of the river, dragging an unconscious guard towards the water by his collar. It's hard work, but someone's got to do it. A dog barks in the distance.) ]
iorveth, bashing a man's head in: it ain't much but it's honest work
[ So the Commandant does frequent the brothel, and by Ada's account, he's an awful customer. Not a surprise, really. Powerful people love to exploit the helpless. A scowl threatens to cross his face, but he beats the expression back, landing on something more quizzical instead. He cocks his head like a confused dog, eyebrows raised. ]
Reputation? No, I— [ He blinks as a wave of lightheadedness overtakes him. Oof. He glances down at the dark liquid swirling in his glass. ] I'm sure I don't know what you mean.
iorveth, killing someone: man life is just so hard
[ Stella has a feeling that Nicholas is playing dumb, but he looks so pretty doing it that she can't help but sit back and let Ada explain:
"Oh... well, you really should know, since you're an elf." Not exactly the most delicate way to put things, but Ada is Trying. "Commandant Loredo really hates your kind."
This time, when Stella gives Ada a warning, it's not-so-subtle. "Ada!"
"What? It's true," the scolded party pouts. "He comes in here with his horrid fantasies about tying up captured elf girls and having his way with them." Predictable, probably. Stella looks like she might stomp on Ada's foot to make her stop talking, but Ada continues anyway, leaning closer to Astarion with her voice pitched low, conspiratory.
"But, you know," she half-giggles. "He sometimes asks me to tie him up. So he can play the part of the human stud for a raunchy 'she-elf' who captured him."
She shudders theatrically, then bursts into laughter. ]
[ Astarion intends to shudder and laugh along with Ada, but he feels suddenly very sluggish. Instead, all he manages is a distant, ] Eugh. [ It is gross. Hypocritical, perhaps, of a man who's repeatedly promised to tie Iorveth up, but it's different when he does it. It's charming and risqué when done by him, depraved and disgusting when done by the Commandant.
He blinks again, slower this time, and sets his glass down. ]
—Apologies, ladies, but I'm feeling rather under the weather. I should get going.
[ The sleeping draught is working, and Stella only looks unsure for a moment before leaning into her role. She's determined to get out of here and study at one of Waterdeep's academies with Ada before it's too late; steeling herself, she grabs hold of Astarion's arm in an attempt to keep him where he is.
"But you just got here," she whines sweetly, pressing close. "You can lie down for a bit if you feel unwell― we can take care of you, the both of us."
Her smile is guileless, beaming. "Anyway, your darling will come find you if you're missing, won't he?" Because the whole point of this is that the one-eyed wood elf will. This entire plan crumbles if the terrorist is the kind of man who would cut his losses and move on, let his comrade die for his sake. "He'd come fetch you." ]
He's— [ Busy flogging someone, Astarion doesn't say, half because it would be incredibly stupid and half because he's too tired to make such complicated words come out of his mouth. He makes a halfhearted attempt to get up, but his body feels very heavy, and he finds himself right back where he started, sandwiched between the women.
A twist in his gut says this isn't right, but it's overpowered by lethargy. His blinks get slower and slower as he fights to keep his eyes open— ] Yes, he'd come for me.
[ —before he passes out completely, gracelessly smacking into the table on the way down. ]
[ Graceless and concerning. The young women mill around the now-unconscious elf, Ada with her hands over her mouth― "Stella, was this really a good idea"― and Stella with more decisiveness, thin arms trying to roll the prone body towards the door. "Yes, Ada, this is going to be good for us."
The rest happens quickly: the pair report to their madam, who calls for Loredo's guards to come collect the sleeping elf. Astarion is hauled up and taken to a stately mansion overlooking the most scenic part of the nearby river (the silver lining: night has fallen by the time the armored men arrive), and, after a sneering evaluation by Loredo, tossed into a basement cellar with his arms and legs bound, dagger confiscated. A footman stands vigil near the stairs, half-asleep.
(Another jumpcut to Iorveth, river-soaked, going back to their inn to dry off before he can set out again to purchase a new shirt for Astarion. He pokes his head into their room, frowning at finding it empty; he presses his ear against the rose-etched door around the corner, and frowns even more when there's only silence on the other side.
[ Astarion comes to in the dark, cold, bound, and immobile, and he could swear he's back in Godey's kennel, the last few months only a ridiculous fantasy, an impossible daydream. If he had a heart that could beat, it would be racing with fear. It doesn't, only lies dead and still as he stares up at the ceiling, mentally preparing himself to beg for forgiveness and mercy. It never works, but the punishment would be worse if he weren't to debase himself.
It takes a good few minutes for him to register that he hasn't just been transported back to Cazador's palace and is, in fact, still in Flotsam. Unable to move beyond impotent flopping and unarmed, there's very little for him to do but lie here helplessly and wait. Across the city, they both think fuck at the same time.
Back in the tavern, a young woman peeks her head outside of her own room. She's blonde and just as beautiful as Stella and Ada, but decidedly less confident about it, her small frame curled over itself in a slouch. Her delicate hand curls around the doorframe, and she says, in a small voice, "Are you looking for someone?"
It's obvious enough. There's only two elves staying here, and, well... "I saw—" A pause. She saw her fellow brothel workers rolling an elf out of their room, heard them talking as they dragged him down the hall past her door. Perhaps it isn't any of her business. Perhaps she should just keep her mouth shut. "—Never mind." ]
[ A mirrored sense of dread, though Iorveth's is laced with indescribable, molten-red anger turned inwards. It's all he can do to keep himself composed as he stands in the hallway, his expression set to blank neutral, no emotions evident on his chiseled features. If he allows himself any iota of feeling, he really might start removing heads indiscriminately.
He swivels his focus onto that small voice speaking to him, and for a knifepoint moment, he thinks he must look the part of a terrifying terrorist with a penchant for murder; she says "never mind", and he considers the pros and cons of dragging her out of her room by all that pretty gold hair and making her speak. Iorveth, despite how devoted he is to Astarion, is not a good person.
He tempers himself, with some effort. ]
If you saw a silver-haired elf, I would have you tell me. I'm traveling north with him.
[ Diplomatic. Iorveth wishes he could be anything but.
Meanwhile, where Astarion is being kept, there are voices above the stairs hotly debating whether it would be fine to rough up their new prisoner. The footman wakes up where he'd been dozing, and laughs passively at the conversation happening nearby; he makes a derisive comment to Astarion about all of them holding his fate in their hands, perhaps reaffirming Iorveth's very extreme claims that humans up north are all collectively trash. ]
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[ Is Iorveth's very simple, very unhealthy, very deranged correction to Astarion's very considerate remark about things that are better left forgotten. ]
I want to remember all of it. Every offense, every atrocity, so that I never forget how much they made us suffer.
[ Because everything that has ever meant anything to him has made him hurt; nothing is worth keeping if he can't fight tooth and nail for it. Iorveth splays his fingers against Astarion's back, touching as much of him as that one hand will allow. ]
...Besides. It wasn't you that reminded me of the dead. I'd only thought－
[ A beat, as he slowly drums his fingers. ]
－I'd feared [ he corrects, ] that I'd lost you.
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If Iorveth had lost him that day, he wouldn't have had a body to wake up to. Astarion would have been a pile of ash before they ever reached Flotsam. Even he knows this is something that he shouldn't mention, though, lest he upset Iorveth. Better that he doesn't have the mental image of Astarion's disintegrated body in his head. ]
It doesn't bother you, then? Undeath?
[ The sound of insecurity in his own voice makes him sick. He hastily continues, ] I'm irresistible dead or alive, of course, but I can see how some might find it... disconcerting.
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Stupid, he thinks again, as Astarion asks if the nature of his existence is bothersome, as if Astarion hasn't turned Iorveth's entire world upside down by making Iorveth fall in love with him. What does he think, that Iorveth tolerates him?
Still, the reason Astarion is asking is because of the previous night's freakout, so: ]
Astarion. [ Slowly, and with purpose. "Listen carefully," is what the slight lift of his brow says. ] I love you.
[ Like hitting someone in the head with a rock. He hums, thinking of an addendum. ]
Be assured that if another being identical to you appeared right now－ [ a ridiculous hypothetical, but he presents it with dry theatricality, ] ―similar to you in every way, save for the fact that he isn't a vampire...
...I wouldn't look at him twice. Nor would I want him. [ He pinches Astarion's ear, admonishing but affectionate. ] Though I wouldn't want any other vampire, either. Need I go on?
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It's sweet, though, that Iorveth claims he wouldn't be tempted by this alternate universe, mortal version of Astarion. Being told that he's loved still makes him feel like an adolescent with sweaty hands tangling fingers with his first crush, an all-encompassing, light-headed joy. In an eternal lifetime, he'll never figure out what he did to deserve to be loved by someone like Iorveth, but he'll happily soak up all of the undeserved love regardless.
He presses his lips against Iorveth's, trying not to worry that his mouth is too cold. ]
No, but I wouldn't protest if you did.
[ But Iorveth probably already knew that. He's had countless ugly words hurled at him over the centuries. He can't help but want to latch on to the pretty ones. ]
I only asked because I love you, you know. [ Saying so makes him feel a little giddy, despite everything. How lucky he is to have someone worth loving. A little tongue-in-cheek (and a little serious): ] It's strange, but I seem to want you to be happy.
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Stranger still, then, that you've managed to become the source of my happiness.
[ Ever since he admitted to Astarion that he wanted Astarion to stay, and ever since Astarion answered in the affirmative. Iorveth'd doomed them to the narrative in that moment, and it's something he still thinks about― how things would have been different if he'd just decided to let the tryst be a tryst― but gods, he really is happy when he's with Astarion. Happy in a way that seems impossible, happy in a way that contradicts what and how he should be.
So. He coaxes Astarion closer again, another sliver of space between them breached, fingers loosely curled over the jut of Astarion's hip. ]
...I made you worry. [ An acknowledgment, low and simple. ] You were kind, to consider my feelings.
[ The sort of thing Iorveth will only ever say to Astarion: anyone else would be met with a swift and angry dismissal, a million permutations of "don't fucking patronize me". Iorveth can only trust one person in his life with the shape of his vulnerabilities and feelings, and poor Astarion is that one person. He leans forward for another kiss, murmuring something muffled in his native tongue followed by a rough translation against their pressed-together mouths: you're perfect.
(The sun is coming up. The madam of the inn-brothel is playing with the coin that Iorveth gave her earlier, toying with the idea of going to Commandant Loredo with information about the two elves, considering the pros and cons of having one or two of her girls visit her strange new customers just so she can be sure that the one-eyed one isn't actually "Edgar". Men usually forget to use aliases when they're getting their dick sucked, after all.) ]
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[ Entirely different.
He slips an arm under Iorveth's, snaking around to splay out between his shoulder blades. His fingers are undoubtedly cold, he thinks as he feels the pleasant heat of Iorveth's living body, but he doesn't withdraw again. Foolish Iorveth, hitching his wagon to a dead man's. Astarion is happy to take advantage of his foolishness. ]
Trance now. We've a busy night ahead of us.
[ Not a busy day, not anymore. ]
I've courtesans to woo, and you have... someone to flog, surely.
[ Their two respective strengths. ]
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What's alarming is the knock on their door at around nightfall; three melodic raps against hardwood, unmistakable. Iorveth sits up when he hears it, a jolt like a wolf rearing up from sleep, his head instinctively whipping towards the window where he can spot a sliver of red-orange light filtering through the spaces between their blinds. No option to jump outside－ the sun is still out. ]
Astarion, [ he whispers in warning, hand to the small of Astarion's back. Outside the door, he can hear high, lilting voices speaking indecipherably. ]
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Iorveth sure as hells can't answer the door when there's probably posters bearing his likeness in the city—wanted: dangerous elven terrorist—so the responsibility falls to Astarion. He swings his feet off of the bed and rises, swiping his shirt to pull it on, still unbuttoned, to hide his scars. ]
Stay, [ he says quietly before making his way to the door. He opens it just enough to poke his head out, expression expectant and impatient. ]
Can I help you?
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From his vantage point, he can't see the two pretty young women who are standing out in the hall, but he can hear them. "I heard there were two Cormyreans staying with us now," one of them (a redhead with lipstick that matches her hair) says, singsong; another voice (a brunette with a defining mole sitting pretty under her left eye) chimes in with "two handsome Cormyreans", punctuated by a flutelike laugh.
A flash of pale skin. The redhead pokes her arm through the gap between the door and the wall, trying to touch Astarion's arm.
"We're ever so curious. Won't you let us in for a chat?" ]
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[ Well, there's the courtesans he planned to gossip with. It seems someone else already gossiped to them; it's doubtful they really have any interest in handsome Cormyreans, at least not enough to come knocking on their door. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to slam the door on the redhead's arm, but he stays where he is, smiling. ]
I'd love to, of course, if it's two delectable treats such as yourselves asking...
[ His eyes shift to the side. ]
But my companion isn't, mm, decent.
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"I'd love to see how indecent he is," she giggles, though her tone is less seductive and more like a child who's trying to eat some of the cookie dough before it goes into the oven. "Is he terribly shy?"
More standing on toes, more craning of necks. The brunette tugs on her companion's elbow in what could be a half-tease, a half-"don't blow our cover".
"Behave, Ada! You'll scare him off!" ]
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I'm not sure my Edgar is up for your attentions tonight, however... titillating.
[ Mostly because they don't need to get up close and personal with Iorveth, lest they see something worth reporting. ]
But my dance card is empty, [ he adds, shooting them a grin. ] Perhaps we might get to know each other elsewhere.
[ Somewhere without a window, he hopes. Raising his voice: ] You don't mind if I step out, do you, darling?
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I'd deny you nothing, [ is not what Edgar from the novels would say, but it's Iorveth's reply. ] Do whatever pleases you.
[ A backwards scoot over to the bed's headboard, which he leans against while watching Astarion negotiate with the two women on the other side of the door. The brunette, who manages to make out Iorveth's voice from where she's standing, smiles in a way that could be interpreted as meaningful.
"Oh... he isn't the jealous type, is he?" Fishing. "If I were traveling with someone as gorgeous as you, I wouldn't let you near us!"
A statement of doubt, perhaps, that the elves are actually romantically involved, and that she suspects that they're just saying that they are as a cover. Still, the brunette ("Stella", her friend calls her) steps away from the door, bowing her head lightly. "Maybe your companion can join us later, then. My room is just around the corner― the one with a rose etched on the door." ]
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You ladies are nothing but trouble, aren't you? I do so love trouble.
[ Carefully, he scoots out of the room, squeezing through the teeny tiny opening in the doorway. No need to let Ada get a glimpse of Iorveth. ]
You know where to find me if I don't come back, [ he calls to Iorveth, breezy on the surface and a little paranoid underneath. You know, just in case. He shuts the door behind him, turning to the women with a grin. Iorveth can hear him as he makes his way down the hall to the rose-etched door, saying, ] Now, I bet you troublemakers know everything that happens in this town...
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Stella surreptitiously hides her sleeping draught behind two bottles of wine; she pours Astarion a glass, and sidles up to him to start her questioning. Resourceful, and used to men who pay more attention to her cleavage than what's coming out of her mouth.
(The plan: either to knock Astarion out and use him as a means to lure his one-eyed companion to Loredo's mansion, or to get confirmation that the one-eyed companion is, in fact, the one-eyed elf they're looking for. Stella and Ada aren't eager to comply, but the coin they'll get if they cooperate will be enough for them to pack up and move to Waterdeep.)
"Tell us about your adventures," is where they start, sandwiching Astarion between them, leaning in like cats making a pile. An enviable position to be in, while Iorveth gears up and gets ready to stick a man's head into a river. The duality of man. ]
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Oh, well. He takes a sip. No one ever accused him of being prudent.
He launches into an entirely fabricated story that's dangerously close to the adventures of Nicholas and Edgar, albeit with some key details changed. He isn't a prince so much as, well, a very important magistrate—no one ever accused him of being creative, either—and Iorveth isn't so much an assassin as a hunky rapscallion with a heart of gold. The rest, though, follows the beats of the novel perfectly, sex scenes included.
Another sip. ] But I'd really rather hear about you. Any important customers? Like, oh, I don't know, that Commandant everyone keeps going on about? One has to wonder what he asks for.
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Meanwhile, Ada has her hand on "Nicholas'" knee, delighted by the traveler's raunchy adventures. Here, too, the duality of man.
"The Commandant?" Ada snorts, waving a hand. "Oh, he's positively awful. He has all these horrible fantasies about..." An awkward beat here, as she realizes that the man she's speaking to has pointy ears and is very non-human. "...Well, you know. Commandant Loredo has... a reputation."
Stella, still smiling, subtly reaches behind Astarion's back to pinch her friend's arm. Get your foot out of your mouth, essentially.
(Jumpcut to Iorveth in the forest upstream of the river, dragging an unconscious guard towards the water by his collar. It's hard work, but someone's got to do it. A dog barks in the distance.) ]
iorveth, bashing a man's head in: it ain't much but it's honest work
Reputation? No, I— [ He blinks as a wave of lightheadedness overtakes him. Oof. He glances down at the dark liquid swirling in his glass. ] I'm sure I don't know what you mean.
iorveth, killing someone: man life is just so hard
"Oh... well, you really should know, since you're an elf." Not exactly the most delicate way to put things, but Ada is Trying. "Commandant Loredo really hates your kind."
This time, when Stella gives Ada a warning, it's not-so-subtle. "Ada!"
"What? It's true," the scolded party pouts. "He comes in here with his horrid fantasies about tying up captured elf girls and having his way with them." Predictable, probably. Stella looks like she might stomp on Ada's foot to make her stop talking, but Ada continues anyway, leaning closer to Astarion with her voice pitched low, conspiratory.
"But, you know," she half-giggles. "He sometimes asks me to tie him up. So he can play the part of the human stud for a raunchy 'she-elf' who captured him."
She shudders theatrically, then bursts into laughter. ]
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He blinks again, slower this time, and sets his glass down. ]
—Apologies, ladies, but I'm feeling rather under the weather. I should get going.
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"But you just got here," she whines sweetly, pressing close. "You can lie down for a bit if you feel unwell― we can take care of you, the both of us."
Her smile is guileless, beaming. "Anyway, your darling will come find you if you're missing, won't he?" Because the whole point of this is that the one-eyed wood elf will. This entire plan crumbles if the terrorist is the kind of man who would cut his losses and move on, let his comrade die for his sake. "He'd come fetch you." ]
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A twist in his gut says this isn't right, but it's overpowered by lethargy. His blinks get slower and slower as he fights to keep his eyes open— ] Yes, he'd come for me.
[ —before he passes out completely, gracelessly smacking into the table on the way down. ]
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The rest happens quickly: the pair report to their madam, who calls for Loredo's guards to come collect the sleeping elf. Astarion is hauled up and taken to a stately mansion overlooking the most scenic part of the nearby river (the silver lining: night has fallen by the time the armored men arrive), and, after a sneering evaluation by Loredo, tossed into a basement cellar with his arms and legs bound, dagger confiscated. A footman stands vigil near the stairs, half-asleep.
(Another jumpcut to Iorveth, river-soaked, going back to their inn to dry off before he can set out again to purchase a new shirt for Astarion. He pokes his head into their room, frowning at finding it empty; he presses his ear against the rose-etched door around the corner, and frowns even more when there's only silence on the other side.
Fuck.) ]
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It takes a good few minutes for him to register that he hasn't just been transported back to Cazador's palace and is, in fact, still in Flotsam. Unable to move beyond impotent flopping and unarmed, there's very little for him to do but lie here helplessly and wait. Across the city, they both think fuck at the same time.
Back in the tavern, a young woman peeks her head outside of her own room. She's blonde and just as beautiful as Stella and Ada, but decidedly less confident about it, her small frame curled over itself in a slouch. Her delicate hand curls around the doorframe, and she says, in a small voice, "Are you looking for someone?"
It's obvious enough. There's only two elves staying here, and, well... "I saw—" A pause. She saw her fellow brothel workers rolling an elf out of their room, heard them talking as they dragged him down the hall past her door. Perhaps it isn't any of her business. Perhaps she should just keep her mouth shut. "—Never mind." ]
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He swivels his focus onto that small voice speaking to him, and for a knifepoint moment, he thinks he must look the part of a terrifying terrorist with a penchant for murder; she says "never mind", and he considers the pros and cons of dragging her out of her room by all that pretty gold hair and making her speak. Iorveth, despite how devoted he is to Astarion, is not a good person.
He tempers himself, with some effort. ]
If you saw a silver-haired elf, I would have you tell me. I'm traveling north with him.
[ Diplomatic. Iorveth wishes he could be anything but.
Meanwhile, where Astarion is being kept, there are voices above the stairs hotly debating whether it would be fine to rough up their new prisoner. The footman wakes up where he'd been dozing, and laughs passively at the conversation happening nearby; he makes a derisive comment to Astarion about all of them holding his fate in their hands, perhaps reaffirming Iorveth's very extreme claims that humans up north are all collectively trash. ]
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