essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ Gods, Gale really does want to be a host. Astarion can't find it in himself to scoff; the man is ridiculously earnest and overeager, but perhaps those aren't the awful things he once thought him to be. Astarion sits at the table, picking up a fork and awkwardly poking at the black pudding. It's been a long time since he had use for silverware, but it's sweet that Gale thought of him. Admittedly, he's not sure how pleasant the experience of eating will be, but he plans to lie to spare Gale's feelings if it's horrible. ]

Yes, but you have to do all of that studying.

[ He makes a face. Gross! ]

Mm. Perhaps I should get back into the magistrate business, if you're so fond of extravagant living.

[ As if there's any universe where that's possible, or any universe in which Iorveth is interested in extravagant living. ]

[ Studying, Astarion says contemptuously, and Iorveth wonders for a brief moment if pre-spawn Astarion had ever spent any amount of time holed up in a library pouring over books about ordinances. In truth, Iorveth found something very attractive about Astarion lounging about on their bed in Elfsong, flipping through pages with infuriating elegance; sure, the books themselves were often trash, but Astarion looked very nice reading them.

Settled in the seat adjacent, Iorveth glances at him, appraising. ]

And risk earning your ire for making you wear frumpy robes? I think not.

[ Iorveth has no idea what magistrates wear, actually, but he's assuming.

Gale clears his throat from the opposite side of the table, and gestures towards the food. "All things we can consider while we eat." Implied: "I will be so upset if you critique the food after it gets cold." Iorveth doesn't need more coaxing, and gets to work demolishing the omelettes in record time while Tara picks gracefully at her own plate full of small fish.

After a bit of eating, Gale ventures: "One small question that came to me in the night― if it turns out that the cloak you're looking for has, ah, fallen into the hands of... unfriendly individuals, would you still be keen on procuring it?" ]

[ The idea that Iorveth would 'risk earning his ire' after having done just that (and having done it plenty of times previous, too) is ridiculous, but he is right: Astarion would be furious if he had to wear frumpy robes. Part of him misses the power and prestige that came with being an important person, but he also knows that it would be nearly impossible to ever live that sort of lifestyle again. His vampirism flies under the radar because he simply isn't relevant enough for people to pay attention; as a magistrate, everyone would be looking for reasons to extort him, and being undead would be a vulnerability he couldn't afford.

Besides, he's not really into the whole 'working' thing.

He takes small bites of the blood pudding, a little apprehensive of chewing and swallowing solid food instead of gulping down blood. It feels strange — not unpleasant, but strange. It's been two centuries since he consumed anything but pure blood. The parts of the sausage that aren't blood do very little for him, but it's nice to be included.

Astarion is lovingly watching Iorveth inhale his meal when Gale speaks up. 'Unfriendly individuals'. He laughs under his breath. ]

Oh, we've never had to contend with unfriendly individuals before.

[ It's not like they killed a giant evil brain or anything. ]

Of course I'd still be keen. I don't care what we have to do or who we have to kill.

[ A bit of a milestone, watching Astarion eat. Iorveth subtly shifts and nudges Astarion's knee with his own after that first nibble, a gesture of acknowledgement more than anything else.

Meanwhile, Gale is thinking over a mouthful of oatmeal, considering the response he's gotten. "Yes, we did do a good job of saving the wold, didn't we." Proud of that, obviously. "I was rather more― well, afraid wouldn't be the right term. Considering, perhaps. That is..."

A little mealy-mouthed. Iorveth, stacking cheese and cured meat on top of his slice of toast, tips his head as if to say get on with it, which Gale obliges.

"...That is, I had wondered if it might be unpleasant for you, if the cloak had found its way to another vampire. All still hypothetical, of course."

Gale hadn't been around for Cazador or the hundreds of spawn locked under the palace, so Iorveth doesn't begrudge him his lack of reference; he glances towards Astarion, the shrug written on his expression. Iorveth has no hangups about vampire hunting again, if need be. ]

[ Another vampire. Astarion wrinkles his nose, displeased at the thought of dealing with more undead. He's had his fill of vampires a hundred times over, and he would really prefer not to deal with one again, especially one lacking a significant vulnerability. It would be trivial for Iorveth to drag a vampire out into the sun, but if their enemy is in possession of the cloak, that puts a damper on things. ]

...Well, as I said. I'll kill anyone.

[ He sniffs. ]

I've killed a vampire before. It wasn't so hard.

[ A huge understatement, but Gale doesn't need to know that. ]

[ Astarion killed the vampire, as far as Iorveth is concerned. He doesn't know of any others (sorry Strahd), and by all accounts, a vampire who'd managed to collect enough souls to consider the Rite of Profane Ascension must have made Cazador one of the most powerful vampires out there.

Or, at least, the most careful, until he wasn't. Iorveth glances at Astarion, remembering how he'd absolutely pulverized that rat until he was a bloody mess; Astarion is the love of his life, truly.

While Iorveth draws hearts around Astarion's head, Gale keeps the conversation going. "Gods, I do wish you'd told us that you were going to do it. Far be it for us to have told you how to go about things, but we could have offered assistance."

A thing that Gale obviously still thinks about. Which is perhaps why he brought this up in the first place. "I am very happy to help you when I can, Astarion."

Big soft brown eyes. Wet dog very much wants to be friends with fluffy cat. ]

[ Astarion falters. Genuine displays of emotion from anyone who isn't Iorveth have always been difficult and uncomfortable to navigate, especially when it's regarding something so private and somewhat embarrassing as his history with Cazador. He looks down at his plate, poking the sausage with his fork. ]

...What's done is done.

[ Maybe he should have recruited the others, but he was terrified of them seeing something so personal. He couldn't bear the thought of that vulnerability; he could barely bear it with Iorveth. Still, it's kind of Gale. ]

But thank you. I do appreciate it.

[ He glances back up. ]

For now, the only help I need from you is locating that cloak. [ A pause, during which he glances at Iorveth's nearly empty plate. ] And, I suppose, continuing to feed this feral beast.

[ "And find that cloak I will," Gale replies, warm and happy to be asked. "As for Iorveth, well..."

Iorveth reaches for another helping of cheese, head tipped in distinct "feral animal" fashion.

"...I'll do my best."

Poor Gale. Iorveth laughs despite himself, low and soft. ] I'm already outstaying my welcome. Don't give him any more reasons to want to throw me out.

[ A wave of his hand, dismissive. Gale looks like he wants to say something about that, but is interrupted by Iorveth's addendum: ] For a start, we'll be going out tonight. No need to play host for dinner.

Oh, [ Astarion says. He'd forgotten all about his plan to visit the Yawning Portal, too distracted by their argument and subsequent making up. He straightens up, attentive. ] Yes, he's right. We do have plans.

[ "Oh," Gale echoes, seemingly surprised that Iorveth has any interest in 'going out'. "Well, that's wonderful. I did hope that you would get to appreciate Waterdeep's many splendors." He pauses, watching Iorveth eat. "—But I'll leave some food for you when you return, regardless. I'm used to cooking for an army nowadays, after all."

Astarion raises an eyebrow. Perhaps Gale misses the camaraderie of being in a group, and he actually wants to keep them here in the city for as long as he can. A strange realization — he'd been certain they'd be burdens to him, but Gale seems to enjoy the company. It's easy to forget that he'd spent a year locked in this tower, all alone with his problems. Maybe it's been difficult to return to such a place by himself. ]

We'll need to root through your closet, of course.

[ He can't go out looking less than stunning! Gale frowns a little at that. "You know, there are plenty of clothing shops in the city..." ]

Ugh. I promise I won't destroy any more of your things, [ he says, rolling his eyes as if Gale is being dramatic. ] Happy?

[ Gale is so... nice. Not a bad thing, in all certainty, but people-pleasing is what got a Netherese orb stuck in his chest, and what got him stuck with two finnicky (?) elves. He really needs some more self-preservation instincts, Iorveth thinks.

(Then again, Iorveth is the most paranoid person in the world, so there's that for comparison's sake.)

"I should hope you wouldn't," is the equivalent of a verbal finger-wag. Very ineffective against vampires. "I know you tried to open one of my chests last night－ it was very cross this morning."

A physical finger-wag. Gale continues: "Now, I can give you two some coin if you promise not to spend it in an ill-advised way. Fey Day is just around the bend, which means that there should be plenty of pretty things to peruse."

Gods. ] You're going to regret offering.

[ Astarion beams. Gale is so nice, and so easy to extort things from. Their very own little dog, wagging his tail and begging to be liked. He places a delicate hand over his heart, turning solemn. ]

Oh, I'd never spend money in an ill-advised way.

[ It can't be ill-advised if you don't take advice in the first place. Astarion is a horrible, reckless spender, too excited by the concept of 'having things' to control himself in any meaningful way. It isn't just the excitement of having something pretty in his possession—although that's certainly part of it—but also the wonderful feeling of getting to choose, of being a real person again. He'd longed for so many things during his time as a spawn: a shiny ring in a window, a book on the shelf, a nice bottle of wine. Now, he's determined to buy himself all of the things he could never have. ]

I expect we'll need to trance first [ —because screaming at each other is a bit exhausting— ] but we'll be out of your hair [ and in his wallet ] the moment the sun goes down.

[ "Well, alright. But don't think I've forgotten about our opera tickets― I'll see if I can't conjure them for a different night."

Gale hasn't forgotten about the opera, but Iorveth sure has. Too late to invite himself to that outing, not that he wants to interrupt a nice night between friends. Astarion could probably stand to spend some time without Iorveth hovering behind him like a one-eyed specter.

Not today, though. Iorveth piles a few portable breakfast items onto a plate, and scrapes his chair back to get up onto his feet; as accustomed as he is to being exhausted, he isn't immune to a post-argument, post-food consumption coma, and he'd like to be in bed with Astarion when the wave of unconsciousness starts to knock. ]

Astarion. Come. [ A quick press of his lips against silver curls, coaxing. With that done, he glances towards Gale and offers: ] ...Where are my manners? The best breakfast I've had in an age― thank you.

[ Not since the one he had with Dolores' friend, the one who gave him embroidery lessons and thought Astarion was his terminally sick love. He won't say that, though, and not just because Gale wouldn't get it. Gods forbid anyone think him sentimental. ]

[ Tara, in the midst of nibbling on her meal, gives Iorveth an appreciative nod of the head at remembering his manners. If he hadn't, she would have had to have words with him — her Gale will not be taken for granted in his own home.

Astarion, on the other hand, should be annoyed by being beckoned like a dog, but making up with Iorveth and getting to participate in a meal like a real person have put him in a good mood. (How quickly he swings from one extreme to another; only hours ago, he was rooting through Gale's study, brooding about the future.) So, he offers Gale his own thanks for breakfast and takes Iorveth by the hand that isn't occupied with his plate to lead him back up the stairs and into the guest room. Gale calls after them, something about making sure not to leave crumbs on the bedsheets.

Back in the room, he takes the liberty of placing Iorveth's plate on the nightstand so that he can manhandle him onto the bed and crawl up beside him, slotting himself into the space created by Iorveth's body just for him. ]

I love you.

[ Just in case that was unclear at any point today. ]

[ Back to being horizontal. Iorveth is reaching behind him for a pillow when Astarion says what he says, and it disarms Iorveth completely; not because he thinks the statement is a lie, but because of the timing of it.

When it finally sinks in, it makes him feel heartsick all over again. One hand glides smoothly to Astarion's waist, pulling him inwards with a clear intent to keep him close. ]

...And I, you. [ The one thing that never wavered, even when he'd hit Astarion with the possibility that he might leave after Astarion got his cloak. Iorveth adores Astarion to death, and he doubts that that will change even if they wind up breaking each other's hearts. Some part of him will always belong to Astarion.

That said, being disarmed means that Iorveth's defenses crumble completely. If he'd retained some of the poised austerity that clings to him like a second skin during breakfast, he sheds it completely now: he looks more tired and raw, pressed against Astarion with his single eye half-narrowed in affection, but he also looks a little younger. Less burdened than usual. ]

...Nothing feels better than being beside you. [ Leaning in, he punctuates that with a nuzzle. ]

[ Iorveth softens, and Astarion loves him all the more for it. He adores watching Iorveth give others verbal—or physical—beatdowns, but he far prefers when Iorveth is sweet and unguarded, a feral fox whose affection and docility he's earned. He breaks out into a warm grin, fondness radiating out of him. ]

Nothing?

[ He closes the small distance between them to press a kiss to the tip of Iorveth's nose, innocent, playful, and full of affection. ]

Not even this? [ Another kiss to Iorveth's strong chin. ] Or this? [ And one to his cheek— ] What about this?

[ Oh. Well, that's unfair. Laughing under his breath, Iorveth angles his head and gives Astarion's earlobe a light nibble in retaliation. He knows how much it means to be trusted with this sort of affection, especially after they've had a bit of a row. ]

Words, [ he laugh-sighs again. ] Fine. Nothing feels better than you.

[ If Astarion must know. Not as grudging of a rephrasing as it could have been, with Iorveth all too happy to spoil Astarion a bit for hurting him earlier, for making him think, even for a second, that Iorveth didn't believe that Astarion cares for him.

Rubbing noses, he drops a light peck to the corner of Astarion's mouth. ]

I wish to build the rest of my life with you.

[ Iorveth can't possibly know how much this chaste affection means to him, how wonderful it feels to engage in physicality without any pressure to go further. Healing, he might say, if that weren't an embarrassing thing to admit. He leans in with the intent to kiss Iorveth back, but he stops when Iorveth speaks again— ]

Oh, [ he says, stupidly. It isn't an unpleasant thing to hear, necessarily, but he hasn't any idea how to respond. No one has ever told him anything like it before. After all, before Iorveth, no one ever wanted more than a night with him.

He pulls back an inch, searching Iorveth's face like he's worried that there's some kind of catch, like maybe Iorveth doesn't actually mean it. ]

Really?

[ Said, again, stupidly. ]

[ Oh, Astarion says, and Iorveth thinks "too much?". After all they'd argued about, Iorveth'd thought it would be the logical conclusion: "I would follow you anywhere", seguing neatly into "I want to build my life with you". (An insane man's train of logic, probably.)

Iorveth is as serious as the plague. He returns the bemusement with a kind of bemusement of his own, a question mark floating above his own head, trying to work out if there's a simpler or more meaningful way to phrase what he'd already said. ]

Yes, [ he finally decides. ] You're no tryst. Nor a goal to fulfill, nor a challenge to overcome.

[ Those things have expiration dates, usually. Iorveth presses a palm to Astarion's cheek, keeping their mismatched eyes (one to two) locked. ]

It has become hard, [ he admits, ] to imagine a life without you. It becomes harder every day.

[ Feeling important to someone may be the greatest high in the world, more intoxicating than any drug or any blood. Over the years, worthless wretch started to feel less like an insult and more like a fact of life. To matter to someone is overwhelming in the best sort of way, his body overcome with warm, fuzzy feelings. ]

Every day with you lessens the pain of the past a little more.

[ Because Iorveth doesn't like to hear that his presence 'makes up' for Astarion's suffering. Still, Iorveth makes him so deliriously happy that he can't imagine going back and doing anything differently. All of the sadness and anger and loneliness was only a precursor to him. ]

—I want to keep you forever.

[ An unfair reminder that the rest of Iorveth's life is not exactly the rest of his life. ]

[ "Forever" is a little insane, mostly because Iorveth can't envision it. Two centuries has been enough for him to think about how much of his present is most non-elves' past, so he can't imagine what it must be like for someone that perceives time as nothing more than a routine instead of a creeping inevitability.

Iorveth likes insane, though. Astarion matches his own desire for impossibilities, which only makes Iorveth feel more affectionate. A vicious cycle. ]

Another problem for us to solve, then.

[ If Jaheira could extend her life far longer than she was entitled to, Iorveth might be able to squeeze an extra few centuries with Astarion using a magical trinket or other. It doesn't solve the problem of forever, but it'll be a start.

He rakes his hand through Astarion's hair, pushing it away from that beautiful face. ]

Your cloak first. I'm keen to see you in the sun again.

I'm keen to stand in the sun again, believe me.

[ He'd only had it back for such a short period, but the effect of no longer being confined to the night had been instant. Vampirism has plenty of drawbacks, but if he could at least solve that one, he thinks he can tolerate the rest. It helps that he has a willing donor to keep him well-fed; the hunger never really goes away, but Iorveth's blood quiets the worst of his cravings. ]

—But first, you should get some rest. I hear the Yawning Portal can get rather rowdy.

[ Which he likes, of course. A theatre kid lives for the drama. ]

[ Vampires look lovely in moonlight with their pale skin and red eyes, but Iorveth still recalls how beautiful Astarion'd looked with his silver hair catching the gold glow of midday sun. He deserves that again, Iorveth thinks, and reaches sideways to pull Gale's obscenely soft blankets over their bodies. ]

If you want me to throw a few punches in a tavern to earn you some coin, [ he murmurs, ] I'll consider it.

[ "Acting a fool", Iorveth'd said of things like this once. His opinion hasn't changed― it is foolish to engage in tavern brawls for a lark― but it's also nice, doing things that make someone important to him happy.

His single eye shutters. It's a luxury, still, to feel the weighted assurance of Astarion's presence against his body while he rests. The stillsame sense of being anchored, even when his trancing mind threatens to pull him into unpleasant directions. Like the first night he'd ever spent with Astarion, he focuses on the comfortable reality of the body near him; his meditation becomes peaceful and unburdened, but poor Astarion will have to contend with Iorveth's arms wrapped around him, unwilling to let go without some coaxing. ]

[ Were it anyone else with their arms wrapped around him, Astarion would feel suffocated and trapped. With Iorveth's arms around him, he feels safe, loved. He nestles into the crook of Iorveth's shoulder, mouth pressed against his skin, until night falls and then some. He wakes from his trance before Iorveth does, and he closes his eyes again, pretending to still be meditating while he soaks in Iorveth's affection.

He stays like that for awhile, content, until he grows restless enough to want Iorveth to consciously pay attention to him again. Shifting in his arms, Astarion kisses the delicate bit of skin behind Iorveth's ear, unable to resist nibbling gently on his earlobe. What can he say? He likes how vulnerable and defenseless Iorveth looks while trancing, which is probably questionably healthy. ]

Darling, [ he whispers, nudging lightly. ]

[ Astarion, privy to all of Iorveth's vulnerabilities. He shifts where he's wrapped himself around the body next to him, smoothing a palm up what he knows is Astarion's back, before cracking open his remaining green eye. Kneaded awake by his favorite cat. ]

...A pleasant thing, for your face to be the first thing I see. [ Everyone who modded out Grinchstarion is weak....... Iorveth plants a kiss to Astarion's jaw, and slowly, slowly unfurls his grip from around that eminently holdable waist. ] Is it already dark?

[ He'll answer his own question: a sideways roll that unfortunately pulls him away from the not-so-warm body on the bed, to peek through the curtains at the state of the outside world, at the bustling night that follows the busy day in Waterdeep. ]

Mm. We should get ready to leave.

We should, [ he agrees. They're on a time table; he'd hate to get stuck at the tavern just as the sun rises.

Still. Astarion isn't exactly the type of person to hop to. He flops onto his back, sprawled out over more bed than he can politely claim, pouting a little. He longs for the days when they'll have nothing to do but lie in bed with the curtains open, basking in the sunlight (a realistic goal when one is in a relationship with Iorveth, who couldn't be idle if he tried). ]

At least kiss me good morning first. [ A pause, then a correction: ] Well. Good night.

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