essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ Astarion hates that Iorveth sees himself as so terribly undesirable. He likes to think he has very good taste, so if he loves this deranged terrorist, surely others would, too. It's funny; he certainly doesn't want to compete with anyone else, but he does want the world to recognize how singularly wonderful Iorveth is. Two wolves inside him. ]

Mm, I don't know about no competition.

[ There are dozens of people attracted to insane one-eyed elves, certainly. Besides, Iorveth had told him once that 'sometimes I even fuck'. He can't imagine someone ever getting the chance to be intimate with Iorveth and not becoming obsessed with him.

Then again, he is a special case. He was obsessed with Iorveth before all of that. ]

Besides, I've heard a ring makes a man more attractive.

[ Incredulous: ] More than you are now? Gods save us all.

[ Because Iorveth intends to return the favor, a ring for Astarion to match the ring for himself. He's noticed that Astarion hasn't been saying much about a reciprocal gesture, and maybe that's intentional― maybe he's not comfortable with putting a band around himself yet, real or perceived― but Iorveth would be lying if he said that he wasn't considering it at all.

So. A heavy implication that he won't be the only one with an occupied finger. Iorveth finally lowers himself down next to Astarion, loosely wrapping an arm around his middle to draw closer. Natural as breathing. ]

I'll have to swat flies left and right. [ Burying his face in Astarion's neck, kissing up where a human's pulse point would be. Some people might find the silence under pale skin eerie, but this is Iorveth's new normal. ]

[ He adores the idea of Iorveth wearing a physical reminder of his commitment, but it wouldn't be truthful if he said the idea of binding himself to another person again isn't a little daunting.

Iorveth is entirely different than Cazador, of course. The thought of being stuck with Cazador for eternity had filled him with dread, but eternity with Iorveth is nothing but desirable. It's just-- well, he generally prefers to do the marking rather than being marked. He doesn't have very good experiences with it, after all. ]

Mm, [ he says, craning his neck to allow Iorveth more of it like a creature enjoying its petting. Which is what he is, he supposes, in its most technical sense. ]

...Will the ring be very shiny?

[ Important to know before he makes any decisions!! ]

[ More featherlight kisses, ending with a quick peck to the jut of Astarion's jaw. Iorveth decides to stay there, his voice a little muffled where he still has his mouth pressed to cool skin. ]

I'll ask Halsin to carve you a ring, and I'll polish it until it shines.

[ Joking!!! Joking. Iorveth didn't ask Gale to fund his gifts, and he would never trust Halsin (affectionate) (derogatory) (affectionate) to make him a ring for Astarion to wear. He just wants the prospect to feel less overwhelming for Astarion, if that's how he feels about reciprocal gestures; they can stagger band exchanges, it's not like Iorveth respects clerical tradition anyway (derogatory).

The arm around Astarion's waist squeezes gently. It's crazy how much he likes this vampire-shaped magpie-cat. ]

It'll be after we get you your cloak, though.

[ Gale mentioned something in passing about someone being able to transfer the effects of the cloak to something less obtrusive to wear. Pretty much the only thing Iorveth retained from all the yapping (affectionate) about the important woman or other at the opera. ]

Edited 2025-04-14 00:46 (UTC)

[ Gods. Astarion also doesn't trust Halsin to carve a ring for him. No offense (full offense), but he and Halsin have very different ideas of fashion. The man wears leaves on his shoulders, for the gods' sake. This ring is presumably something he'll wear forever (which, for him, really means forever) and he certainly isn't going to do such a thing if it's ugly.

Gently stroking Iorveth's hair: ] Of course. I wouldn't want it to clash.

[ Since he's expecting to also wear this cloak forever. He absolutely didn't retain anything Gale said, as is typical for him. Besides, pushing it out to after the cloak is acquired lets him get used to the idea. Prepare for it, emotionally.

A beat, and then: ]

—The tattoo.

[ He'd meant to follow up on the idea, really, but then Iorveth had given him gifts and he'd been so overwhelmed with happiness and affection, and then immediately after they got in their hundredth argument of the past tenday. He was distracted. ]

[ There is still the looming possibility that the Cloak of Dragomir is incredibly ugly, and if so, Astarion is in for a wild ride. What if it, too, has leaves on the shoulders... a harrowing thought (for Astarion, not for Iorveth).

The tattoo, though. Iorveth has also completely forgotten about it in the aftermath of him acting like a moron (self-admitted), which makes him sit up from where he'd nestled against Astarion's neck. Like a dog stirring at the sound of a squirrel. ]

―Slipped my mind completely. [ Congratulations to Astarion Ancunín: the only man who could make Iorveth forget something that he'd planned. ] I suppose we could still find ink in Athkatla. Seems the place for it.

[ As long as the ink isn't laced with, like, poison or something. Iorveth is a wood eld, and as much as he pushes back against some unflattering perceptions of his people, he is, in fact, still hippy-dippy about certain things. Like using natural ink to carve patterns in his skin. ]

[ Astarion reaches out to draw Iorveth back to him. Childish, really, and selfish. Iorveth bemoaned his sharpness as a reason that he's difficult to love, but Astarion is as egocentric and greedy as they come — far harder to love than a wood elf who scowls a little too much. (And besides, Astarion likes Iorveth's scowl as long as it isn't directed at him.)

Still, he doesn't make any effort to appear less of a gluttonous juvenile, taking Iorveth's head in his hands and pressing it back into the crook of his neck. ]

Yes, a city of iniquity does seem like it would have a tattoo parlor on every street corner.

[ Alongside the shady taverns and gambling dens. Overwhelming, just as Iorveth had said. If Waterdeep is difficult for him, Athkatla will be far worse. ]

Darling. Say you don't regret agreeing to go.

[ Again, selfish. ]

[ Effectively tugged. The insistence reads a bit like a child protesting having his favorite toy confiscated, and while that might have rankled before－ "I'm a free elf, not a thing for you to keep"－ Iorveth can appreciate that he said some rude shit tonight that might have made Astarion slightly paranoid about the state of Iorveth's headspace.

(The rational voice in Iorveth's head, the one that sounds a little like Jaheira, warns him not to coddle, but it's contained within the single brain cell that he's allowed himself to have for the night. Not very loud, unfortunately.) ]

Why would I regret agreeing?

[ Yes, he has business in the north, but no one up there has reached out to him to tell him to hurry back. The opposite, even. Even Ciaran had told him to take a vacation before he'd left Baldur's Gate, so. Iorveth supposes that this is the not-so-vacation he's chosen to go on.

Pressed close, Iorveth nudges his nose under Astarion's chin. ]

I'd not deprive myself of a chance to see your needs met. I want you to be happy.

[ And, well. Iorveth never does anything that he doesn't want to do, or see value in doing. He can only ever be himself. ]

[ Astarion resumes his stroking of Iorveth's hair, yes, like a child petting a well-loved teddy bear. He loves Iorveth more than anything, but there's nothing mature about the way he does it. It's still baby's first time having feelings, after all. ]

I am happy.

[ To an extent. As happy as he could possibly be, given the circumstances. Being relegated to the darkness is a tough pill to swallow, but it goes down far easier knowing that he has Iorveth by his side. (And Gale and Tara, but mostly Iorveth.) Besides, he's been filled with hope at the possibility of a solution, no matter how impossible it might be. No matter how daunting the idea of tangling with another vampire lord. ]

How could I not be, with you in my arms?

[ Being relegated to a lanky, elf-shaped teddy bear feels better than it has any right to, so Iorveth doesn't protest. No one has ever really taken the time to be sweet on him the way Astarion is, and likely because Iorveth has never advertised that he wants anyone to; he didn't even know that he liked it before he took the uncalculated risk of sharing a bed with Astarion.

He shifts, nuzzles, kisses. Lips to the rise of Astarion's throat, savoring the way it bobs when he speaks. He believes it when he's told that he makes his most important person happy, but it still feels impossible, every time. ]

Happier, then.

[ A hum, as he slides in the circle of Astarion's arms to pull back from where he'd been tucked in, wanting to see that pretty face more properly. ]

I'd not have you believe I'd regret anything that has to do with you. [ Pressing the point, as he leans in briefly to brush noses. ] Besides. I've said this before, but do you think I could bear it if something were to happen to you in my absence?

[ Stupid cat. It would break Iorveth, and he should know that. ]

[ He does believe that Iorveth could regret something to do with him, if only because love has blinded him to better judgment. To be clear, Astarion doesn't mind Iorveth making poor decisions to please him; he only minds if Iorveth regrets such decisions after the fact. Not that he intends to talk Iorveth out of it, of course. All he really wants is selfish confirmation that Iorveth will still be happy even stuck in Athkatla with him.

Embarrassingly affectionate, he nudges Iorveth's nose right back. ]

As opposed to if something happened to me while you were there?

[ It's still something happening to him! Which, you know, hopefully won't. ]

I guess I would be furious if something happened to you in the north and I wasn't there to be your knight in shining armor.

[ Gods, Astarion is such a theater kid. Iorveth is not thinking of "something happening to Astarion" in terms of "how can I sexily help him in times of trouble" and more "if someone so much as breathes in a hostile way in front of him I will break their fucking neck", but, you know. They balance each other out, probably. The best (?) of both worlds. ]

You guess.

[ Iorveth laughs about it, because it's funny. Sue him. If Astarion ever really did wear armor, he would probably complain about the armor being too heavy and the joints chafing. He's the most lovable drama king Iorveth has ever met.

Arms around Astarion's waist, he gives the small of his back a not-quite-chiding pat. ]

I've only one eye, but it'll remain fixed on you for the duration of Athkatla.

[ No space for regrets at all. Iorveth may really dislike portals and really dislike muggy, ugly cities, but he'll be with Astarion for a clear purpose, which is a net positive in every sense of the word. ]

[ Iorveth laughs, and Astarion laughs, too. Not because it's particularly funny to him, but because Iorveth's laugh—his genuine, lighthearted, carefree laugh—fills him with such joy that it's impossible not to mirror him. As pushy as he'd been about keeping Iorveth close to him, he flops on his back, the back of his hand to his forehead as if swooning. ]

Oh, my hero.

[ His eyes dart over to glance at Iorveth, mouth tugging up. ]

I am so very helpless, after all. Thank the gods I have your protection.

[ Ha. ]

Helpless, [ Iorveth parrots again, this time with slight incredulity mixed into his mirth. ] You're the least helpless man I've met.

[ Astarion "can I stab them? as a treat?" Ancunín, aka Astarion "it was just a nibble 🥺" Ancunín . Iorveth would never (mis)characterize Astarion as a wilting flower, but he is a troublemaker who has the ability to take care of the trouble he makes by murdering it into submission.

He kind of loves Astarion for it, truth be told－ Iorveth could probably never stay with someone who doesn't possess a degree of reckless unpredictability. Keeps things interesting.

He sits up again, regarding Astarion's perfectly-executed swoon with warm amusement. ]

Ridiculous cat. [ Affectionate. ] Trance, before I swallow you whole.

[ Iorveth might not have thought much of saying it, but 'the least helpless man I've met' is perhaps the greatest compliment he could ever have given Astarion. So much of his life has been marked by feelings of powerlessness and weakness; he'd been joking about it before, but he hates the feeling of true helplessness more than anything. To be told that he isn't helpless feels impossibly good. ]

I wouldn't be opposed.

[ To being swallowed whole, he means. By anyone else, yes, he'd despise the thought. With Iorveth, though, the thought of being entirely enveloped is... surprisingly pleasant.

He shifts, getting comfortable in bed before opening his arms, inviting Iorveth back. ]

Come here, my sweet. You know I don't like to be cold when I trance.

[ Astarion doesn't seem to like being a lot of things: helpless, alone, cold. Iorveth relates as best he can, and hopes that life (undeath) will treat Astarion more kindly in the years to come. If he can make sure that the senselessness of the world touches the both of them a little less, he'd be happy.

So. Into the cradle of Astarion's arms he goes, letting that familiar body against him shift and slide and jostle him however it wants until they're both nested comfortably in clean sheets and too-soft pillows. It's the most profound feeling of safety Iorveth has known, and he melts into it with thoughtless ease, limp-limbed and content.

No unpleasant thoughts, mid-trance. Just pleasant drifting from one comfortable sense-memory to another, occasionally stirring just to change positions with Astarion in tow. This is, again, how Gale will find them the next night, tangled and sleep-warm, completely unprepared to be teleported to Athkatla despite everything (a lot of arranging and preparing and asking the right people) Gale'd done during the day.

Having his very nice trance broken by a grumpy wizard clearing his throat wasn't how Iorveth envisioned his day (night) starting, but that's life. Harrumph, Gale complains, and Iorveth cracks his only eye open.

"Rise and shine, friends! Preparations are well underway for your journey－ very well underway, in fact. I even took the liberty of packing your bags, despite Tara's accusations of my being a busybody."

Iorveth sighs. ] Do you feel presentable, love?

[ Rise and shine, Gale says, and Astarion considers casting Fire Bolt at his face. It's well-intentioned, though, he knows, even though being roused from his warm, comfortable trance draws his hackles up. He wants to ignore Gale, turn over, and spend a few more hours basking in Iorveth's body heat, but—

Athkatla awaits, he supposes, and they really can't afford to waste any time.

He slips his hands out from under the hem of Iorveth's shirt, where they'd wormed their way in during their trance, seeking warmth. Scooting up against the headboard, he blindly smooths down his bedhead. How embarrassing — he can't possibly go to Athkatla looking like a mess.

Honestly, he feels a sudden anxiety about going to Athkatla at all. Before, it had only been a distant dream; now, he'll have to face the reality of it. All of the things he didn't think through come to him all at once: what if he never gets the cloak? What if this other vampire is just as horrible and cruel as Cazador? What if— ]

I— [ He swallows, still weakly patting at his hair. ] Gale, go feed Iorveth while I prepare for the journey.

[ A cue. Iorveth sits up next to Astarion, picking up on certain hints that he's come to be able to read from his partner's body language. ]

―A good opportunity to use the brush I gave you. [ Gently tipping Astarion's chin, Iorveth leaves a quick peck along the corner of his mouth before sliding out of bed, not pushing back against the suggestion that he give Astarion some time to himself. ] Take your time. I'll attempt to eat more slowly than usual.

[ Iorveth already feels ready, but then again: he's been running on grim determination for decades. This is his default state of being, to do away with anxiety completely and to just rawdog his way through life with grit teeth and endless determination. He can appreciate that that's a uniquely Him trait. ]

Come, Gale. I'll empty your pantry before I leave.

[ "Challenge accepted," Gale replies, seemingly mollified by the prospect of someone sitting at his table. "I'll explain the details of the trip to you while you eat."

Obviously, Gale has designated Iorveth as the Plans Man. Wise of him. They go downstairs to talk shop while Astarion does with his time as he sees fit; occasionally, Tara paces in front of the bedroom, the click-click of her claws against the wood floor audible even with the door separating her from Astarion. ]

[ It's a relief that Iorveth picks up on the veiled suggestion to leave him, and Astarion does use the time to himself for brushing his hair (perhaps a little neurotically) and applying his fancy new hair oil to the ends. He imagines it must look nice, although he can't actually confirm. The rest of the time is spent pacing back and forth--not unlike Tara--and psyching himself up for the teleportation.

There's nothing to be nervous about, he tells himself, and if there is, it doesn't matter and he shouldn't be nervous anyway. It's only the biggest moment in his life after killing Cazador. Hardly worth stressing about! Sure, he'll feel positively hopeless if he fails, but--

He never really manages to settle himself, but he does gather up enough courage to come down the stairs. Iorveth and Gale have likely finished their meal by now, he expects, so he isn't worried about interrupting when he strides into the room, demanding, ] All right, I'm ready to go. Chop, chop.

[ The faster their journey, the less time he'll have to be anxious about it. ]

Edited 2025-04-16 00:16 (UTC)

[ Iorveth has finished stuffing his face, and Gale has finished going over the outlines of the so-called "plan", which turns out to be more of an infodump than anything else. The curiosities shop is a crooked little building in the corner of the Bridge District known as "The Sleepwalker's Dream", and always seems to be curiously omitted from most official maps of Athkatla; the proprietress is an old woman by the name of "Granny Heart", and many of her neighbors claim to not recall when she appeared or how long she's been there.

Weirdness aside, the cloak being in her possession is a certainty. Gale describes that he's created a portal that leads to Athkatla's Bridge District, and that the portal is ready on his patio (overlooking the river!), and that's about the time Astarion shows up and tells the pair to chop chop.

Iorveth looks up, looks Astarion up and down. His expression visibly softens, unbeknownst to himself. ]

You look pretty enough. [ Understatement. ] I'll fill you in after we step through the portal.

[ "An acquaintance of mine got you lodgings within spitting distance of the Sceptre District", says their resident Good Boy, tail wagging. "Only for a tenday, but that should be enough time for two resourceful elves to procure a cloak, I think." ]

[ It's for the best that Iorveth knows the nitty gritty details and not him. Astarion is more big picture — Iorveth needs only point him in the right direction, and he'll wing it from there (while Iorveth plans and schemes the whole time). The softening of Iorveth's expression softens some of his harsh edges in turn, and the corners of his mouth lift up just slightly. He can't believe he ever maligned the idea of 'love'; it's very real and very powerful, and it makes everything feel a little bit more possible just standing in Iorveth's presence.

He holds Iorveth's gaze for a moment, looking just to look, before he tears away to glance at Gale. Magnificent Gale. A true friend, perhaps the truest he's ever had. He deserves none of it, of course, but Gale gives his friendship freely. ]

You've done well. [ A few steps, and he places a hand on Gale's shoulder approvingly. Gale practically beams with joy. ] I— this is a debt that will be difficult to repay.

[ "Repay— of course not," Gale says, waving his hands. "A friend in need is a friend indeed! And two friends in need are quite impossible to turn down." A pause. "But if you find anything interesting in Granny Heart's collection that she's willing to part with, I wouldn't say no to a curio!" ]

[ Very sweet. A feline and canine, bonding. Iorveth imagines a fluffy white cat curled up on the back of a big, good-natured golden retriever (or whatever the Toril equivalent is), and smiles to himself as he gets up and moves to retrieve his gear from their bedroom. Gale and Astarion can have A Moment while he gets geared up. It's a quick, instinctive process: bows slotting into cradles and quiver slung against his hip, sword in its sheath, knives tucked away out of sight.

He's armed to the teeth by the time he returns, and Gale looks－ maybe a little disappointed by the fact that his guests will be gone again, despite the fact that all they ever did was be rude to him and eat all his food (citation needed). Iorveth makes a mental note to get more than a few souvenirs for Gale upon return.

"Well, I suppose we should get to it," Gale says, invisible dog ears drooping. "I wish I could join you on this little adventure, but I'm sure there'll be more opportunities in the future."

A wave, and they're led out onto the patio with its soft-looking divans and stacks of books. The Sea of Swords stretches deep and dark beyond the glittering portal situated between two armchairs, a dark void that makes the magic look even more frenetic in comparison. ]

I hate portals, [ Iorveth grouses. Which is why he holds out his hand for Astarion to hold, and not because he thinks Astarion needs the support (though he does, a little). ]

[ Astarion finds it sort of endearing that Gale genuinely seems to wish he could take part in this shitshow, which is how he knows he's grown far too soft. Finding Iorveth charming is one thing, but finding Gale charming is quite another. Gods, what's next? Is he going to stop making fun of Halsin? What would be the point in living anymore? ]

I'm sure there will be, [ he agrees. ] There will always be someone who needs to be set on fire, after all.

[ He glances down at Iorveth's hand, reaching out to take it in his own. The support is needed, although he'd never admit it (at least not in front of Gale, who is endearing, yes, but Astarion still can't bear to be vulnerable in front of him). All bluster, Astarion hikes his chin up. ]

Don't worry, darling. Just hold on to me.

[ He's never been through a portal himself, but surely it can't be that bad. Astarion takes a step toward the swirling darkness, reaching out and—

In an instant, he's sucked through the portal, Iorveth alongside him. He feels everywhere and nowhere at once, disoriented with no time or space to anchor him. Complete silence, complete darkness. Then, suddenly, it's all back: the light of streetlamps is glaring, the hustle and bustle of Athkatla in the evening deafening. His head is spinning, and he turns to retch up a little bile onto the street like a cat with a hairball. ]

Gods! Whoever came up with such a piss poor form of transportation?!

[ Iorveth shouldn't have eaten before this.

The portal makes him, unmakes him, puts him back together. It's the feeling of having the floor fall out from under his feet, of not knowing where up ends and down begins, the feeling of existence being pulled, pulled, pulled like putty―

―and it all snaps back. Iorveth, Mr. Wood Elf Balance, Mr. Animal Grace, finds himself letting go of Astarion's hand to stumble, foot crossing over foot, center of balance utterly fucked, until he slams against the nearest wall and mirrors Astarion in the retching.

Ugh. ] Wizards, [ he spits, literally. ] Masochists, the lot of them.

[ "I think I'd like to experience what being dematerialized feels like," said no one but spellcasters, ever. Iorveth lurches back onto the balls of his feet, very disgruntled about the whole affair.

Behind him: a strange, crooked two-story building with a sign that reads, in fading antique-gold letters, "Th Slee wal er's Dr am". A sign hangs on the door, "CLOSED", but a shadow keeps darting across the curtained window flanking it. Someone is inside. ]

[ Astarion reaches out to rub Iorveth's shoulder soothingly, staring up at the eccentric building behind him. It does seem the sort of place that a strange old woman might reside; he feels a pang of nervousness run through his body again. It really is time to face the music, he supposes. No way around it.

Unless: ] Ah, it looks like the place is closed for the evening. Perhaps we should return another time.

[ He's become quite the expert at avoiding things that make him feel even a little bit unpleasant. The idea of begging some old woman for the cloak makes him feel nervous, and so— avoidance. Procrastination. Putting it off until it's a problem for Future Astarion. ]

Honestly, she's probably not even home.

[ As if on cue, a shadow passes behind the curtain again. ]

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you didn't see me notice my messed up grammar like 30 minutes later

listen i always notice my spelling mistakes 3 comments later... you're so valid

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