essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ It would probably be safer and saner for Astarion to find someone who isn't constantly on the wrong side of a conflict, but Iorveth has given up on warning Astarion against him; every time he's tried, he's buckled under the weight of Astarion's hurt, and it's gotten to the point where he really can't bear the thought of it.

The suggestion to leave, though, makes Iorveth frown. ]

...Astarion. The cloak would let you walk in the sun again.

[ It might not be a necessity, but Iorveth would rather die (not productive) than let Astarion give up on the quality of his very long, very eternal life. The conflict shows on his face, his frown pinching into pensive concern. ]

I wouldn't have you settle. Perhaps we could talk to that old crone again.

[ The Alkam mission might be bust for now, but surely there's something. Iorveth, back at it with his unhinged obstinacy. ]

It isn't worth risking you for a tan.

[ But it's more than that. The cloak would mean being part of the world again, no longer confined to a prison of darkness. He could live life freely and without fear, the way he's always wanted, and he could bask in the sun's warmth until it becomes so positively mundane that he no longer feels the need to. Gods, he could go outside with Iorveth during the day instead of forcing him to hide away until nightfall like a fugitive. ]

...But if you believe the old woman could help, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to speak with her again.

[ He's doubtful that she can, but old biddies have surprised him before. His gaze drifts toward Damris's unconscious (or dead?) form on the floor, and he frowns. ]

If we're to stay in Athkatla, then we can't leave him here like this. He knows too much.

[ Unreasonably in love with Astarion, but willing to argue with him about his happiness. Iorveth knows that third parties would find all of this very ridiculous, but it doesn't matter― Astarion's quality of life is imperative to him, and reintroducing the sun would be a marked success in reclaiming at least one of the things that Cazador forcibly took from Astarion.

He deserves that. Iorveth believes it, with all the conviction he has when he says that the Aen Seidhe deserve to reclaim their land. Even if Astarion isn't yet convinced of what he's earned or hasn't earned, Iorveth is doubly convinced for the both of them. ]

We can speak to her tomorrow. [ Today has been, to say the least, A Lot. ] We can return to our room with this one in tow for tonight, and hope he hasn't spoken to Alkam about us yet.

[ The problem is, uh. Carrying Damris. The tiefling isn't Karlach-shaped, but he is a statuesque, tall man. Iorveth grumbles under his breath, and tries to see if he can sling him across his wide shoulders, fireman-carry style. ]

Hope, [ Astarion echoes, shaking his head, before reaching over to stop Iorveth from what will almost certainly kill him. Or, you know, at least sprain something. Instead, he slings one of Damris's arms across Iorveth's shoulders and one around his own, so that they can carry him side-by-side like a passed-out drunk and not someone that they just poisoned. Yet again, he's willing to do manual labor only for Iorveth. ]

That isn't a concept I would have entertained before you, you know.

[ He detests the idea of bringing Damris back to their sanctum, but he hates the idea of him running to Alkam before they're ready more. No life-affirming intimacy tonight, he supposes, with a tiefling-shaped cockblock tied up in the other room. ]

Ugh. [ Astarion shifts, repositioning himself (and Damris). ] Couldn't he have been a halfling?

[ An annoyed rumble, when Damris' horn knocks against the side of his face. ]

Troublesome, even when unconscious.

[ As if they aren't the reason for him being that way. Then again, maybe they wouldn't have had to knock him out if he hadn't poisoned Iorveth's wine, so there's that, too. Karma, if Iorveth believed in that sort of thing.

The only positive about the situation is that the way out of the manor is straightforward: an easy path down the hall, through a door, down a steady incline into the basement paths, then up a ladder once they reach the far end of the cellar. An unpleasant and unwanted journey, especially considering the trouble of carrying Damris up so they can breach the cellar hatch, but preferable to remaining in the mansion and confronting Alkam with no plan and no weapons.

Still, it isn't ideal. Iorveth still feels annoyingly weak from the aftereffects of the toxin, and he's sweating by the time he reaches the greenhouse, less pale than when he entered but markedly more grumpy. ]

Hells, I forgot about the gatekeeper. [ Lucas? Linus? He was half-dead at the time. ] You'll have to do the talking, beloved. I might kill him out of impatience.

[ Damris is (possibly literally) dead weight, and Astarion gripes and complains the whole way up to the greenhouse. He's only finally just started to accept his circumstances as they drag Damris's body out of there and onto the streets of the Scepter District, but then Iorveth brings up the gatekeeper, and— ]

Shit.

[ Obviously he'll have to do the talking! As much as he adores Iorveth, he understands where their respective strengths lie, and. Well. Iorveth's CHA score is probably, like, a 3. Astarion isn't Wyll with his effortless charm and boyish grin, but what he lacks in that he makes up for in complete lack of scruples. Lying is his favorite thing!

So, they make their way slowly but surely back to the gate, where Linus still stands on the lookout. Great. He had hoped there might have been a miraculous change of shift in the time they've been gone.

"Damris!" he calls, waving, before his hand slows and his brow furrows. "—Damris? What in the hells—" ]

We found the antidote, [ Astarion says quickly. ] And, well, of course we had to celebrate. Some of us a little too much, mm?

[ He jostles Damris's limp body. Linus doesn't look convinced. "Are you sure he's all right? What did you say he drank? Gods, it hasn't even been an hour!" ]

...Ah, who can remember? [ He smiles, but Linus only stares back suspiciously. ] —You know, you wouldn't believe what he said under the influence. Oh, he'd kill me for saying so, but he told us that he's sweet on you.

[ That distracts Linus. Gods, people are so easy. "Wait, he did? Really?" ]

[ Poor Linus. Or not― he might yet be the thing that undoes Damris's skeptical heart. Iorveth watches Astarion breezily offer their excuses regarding the tiefling's very unresponsive state, as charming as he is pretty, and thinks about how glad he is that Astarion takes the mask off when Astarion is around him.

Once Linus starts prying: ] Don't spoil the surprise, love.

[ Implying that there's some sort of sweet confession on the way, and that Linus should wait to hear it from the man currently unconscious (?) and sandwiched between two weird elves. Iorveth's way of subtly demanding that the gatekeep stop asking questions.

Which he... does, partially. However, he starts getting googly-eyed about the whole thing, which is possibly worse.

"The surprise...? Oh. Oh. Gods, I'd always hoped... But he's so lovely, and has so many admirers, I thought that he couldn't possibly. Then again, he's always stopping by the gatehouse at this hour― he knows that I'm permanently on night shift."

Babbling. Iorveth stifles the urge to roll his eye. ]

[ 'So many admirers'. Astarion represses his urge to ask how many of those admirers are still alive. (Not many, he imagines.) Instead, he titters like he actually gives a shit whether these two end up together. ]

How darling.

[ An optimist would think that, despite everything, perhaps Damris has a fondness for Linus after all. A cynic like Astarion thinks that Damris is just using and manipulating, as vampire spawn are wont to do. Luckily, he doesn't care. If Linus is stupid enough to get manipulated by a vampire, then he deserves whatever bloodsucking he gets. ]

True love is so rare these days. But, ah, if he's going to confess, we'll need to take him back to our place to freshen up.

[ "Oh! Yes, of course. I wouldn't dream of rushing him."

Again: darling. It makes Astarion sick. ]

And he's really going to have quite a hangover, so I wouldn't expect to see him out for a bit.

[ "Oh. Well, do take care of him for me, will you? I'd do it myself, but... duty calls."

Gesturing around himself, puffing up his chest a bit. Proud of his work, it seems, or proud of the fact that perhaps it's the thing that keeps him connected to Damris in some way. Iorveth diagnoses Linus as a hopeless romantic, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, if not for the fact that it landed him in a possibly one-sided romance with a vampire.

Stones and glass houses, though. Iorveth hefts Damris a little higher along his shoulders, and nods at the lovely vampire that he's enamored by, to indicate that they should go.

"－If you can, ask him what kind of flowers he likes!", Linus calls out as they start moving. Very twee, in a sad way.

Once they're out of earshot: ] What kind of flowers do you like?

[ To Astarion. Dryly teasing. ]

[ It's all so sweet that Astarion could puke. Linus is obviously being played, says the pessimist inside him, and if he's lucky he'll only end up brokenhearted. Or maybe Damris really does care for Linus, and he'll be the one who ends up brokenhearted when the guard finds out he's a vampire and turns on him, pitchfork swinging.

There's only so much growth one person can have in a short time. While he's come to recognize that love is 1) real and 2) wonderful, it's difficult to believe that many people, or perhaps any people, could be as worthy of love as Iorveth. There's one person in this world with good intentions and a pure heart, and that's his sweet little terrorist. ]

Ugh. None.

[ The corner of his mouth does turn up, though, relieved that they've made it through the worst of this trek. Now, they'll just have to drag him into the inn and upstairs to their room without anyone asking too many questions. ]

You spend all of that time watering them just for them to die, and I already have one unfortunately mortal thing to tend to.

[ It's almost a guarantee at this point that everyone at the inn will avoid Masters Blackmane like the plague, so Iorveth isn't too worried about it. It stings his pride a bit to be considered a troublesome, spoiled aristocrat ('troublesome' is fine, 'spoiled aristocrat' less so), but whatever helps them further their cause, at the end of the day.

Broad archer shoulders heft Damris higher; the tiefling's stylish but worn shoes drag against cobblestone as they move. ]

I'm more of a handful than a handful of flowers.

[ If all the grief he's given Astarion in the past few hours hasn't proven his point. ]

Can't even give me away, either.

[ Poor Astarion. Iorveth is here to stay. ]

[ Damris's head hangs down between them, and Astarion peeks over his horns at Iorveth. ]

'Give you away'. You know I loathe when you say such ridiculous things.

[ It makes him feel— bad. For another person, which is a strange and unusual sensation. He doesn't like to think that any part of Iorveth feels anything but entirely convinced that he is anything but loved beyond belief. This isn't exactly the most romantic setting to make declarations of his (quite literally) undying love, though, so he keeps much of it to himself. ]

If I had it my way, you would never leave my side.

[ Damris has very nice horns, but they curl backwards in a way that threatens to poke Iorveth's remaining eye out if he's not careful. Eager to be rid of the load that they're bearing, he hastens his steps and beelines for the purple pennants flying in the near distance, mindful not to accidentally make Damris's head loll too dangerously near Astarion's pretty face either. ]

An easier thing to achieve if we weren't carrying literal dead weight.

[ He really would love to be sticking to Astarion's side right now, but alas. Another annoyed half-sigh, and he drags Damris up the three steps leading up and into their not-quite-safe haven.

The halfling who 'helped' them earlier notices the trio, opens her mouth to say something, then promptly seems to reconsider. Her smile remains plastered on her face as she motions towards the stairs; 'welcome back, now please go' is how Iorveth interprets it.

He doesn't need to be told twice. They huff and puff up to their suite with the spawn in tow, and once they're past the door and back into the privacy of their space, Iorveth drops Damris like a sack of potatoes and heaves the biggest sigh of the night. ]

Gods. Even Ketheric didn't give us so much trouble.

[ Once Damris falls to the floor (with another loud thump; he definitely hit his head this time), Astarion leans against the wall with a dramatic sigh, arms limp. Gods, he's exhausted. First Iorveth—which he didn't mind, because he loves Iorveth, no matter how heavy he is—and then Damris, which he absolutely did mind, because he doesn't give a fuck about Damris. He can feel himself sweating again; at least this time it isn't the sort of cold, frightened sweat he'd woken up with. ]

Where's a Karlach when you need one?

[ Life is so much harder without a barbarian around. He stares down at Damris, heaving another sigh. ]

I want him bound. [ A moment of thought. ] And gagged.

[ One more sigh, as he lets his head loll back against the wall. ]

Not the sort of binding and gagging I had hoped would happen in this room.

[ He has the hardest life of anyone on the planet. ]

[ A blink, followed by a tired laugh despite himself. ]

I would hope you wouldn't want to gag me. It'd take the fun out of things.

[ Implying that Astarion would find it very boring if Iorveth didn't put his mouth to good use, either by giving him shit or doing salacious things. The kind of repartee he can engage in, now that he's not in (immediate) danger of being dead.

He steps over Damris and slinks over to Astarion, stroking silver hair with obvious affection and relief. He lets the touch linger, fingers running over one pointed ear, before he breaks away. ]

Go rest. I'll handle the binding― I happen to be an expert.

[ All the times he tied people up and tortured them for intel were just preludes to this particular moment. Crouching down, he slides his arms under Damris's armpits and starts to drag him into the suite's small study, which is a modest-sized room furnished with a comfortable-looking divan and a writing desk. ]

[ Astarion nearly mentions that he didn't say which of them would be bound and gagged, but-- it's rather obvious. It wouldn't be sexy at all if Astarion were to start hyperventilating during the act (no matter how much Iorveth has probably wished to gag him unsexily since they met). But no, Astarion wouldn't really want to gag Iorveth. He loves his mouth too much, and the ridiculous things it says, and the way Iorveth looks when he smiles.

He has no such issue with gagging Damris, though. The less he speaks, the better. ]

I'll stay, [ he says, trailing behind Iorveth--because he didn't say he'd help--and lounging on the divan. Casual, like they didn't just sedate a man and now plan to tie him up. ] You know I like to watch your hands at work.

[ Like a freak. But more importantly: ]

...And I don't like the idea of you alone with him after he's tasted your blood. [ He isn't sure how long it will take for Damris to wake, or if he'll even wake at all without being injected with the antidote, but the thought of anything more happening to endanger Iorveth makes him sick. ] You may not know this because I'm in possession of such an iron will [ ha ] but a hungry vampire is really quite beastly.

[ No pushback at all about Astarion staying. As much as Iorveth likes to give Astarion space to decompress when necessary, he also likes seeing silver in his peripheral: he can't help but smile briefly to himself when he spots Astarion draping onto furniture like an oversized cat.

Quelling the temptation to gravitate towards that lounging form, Iorveth does as suggested, and keeps his hands busy. A brief trip to the other room with his pack later, he starts binding Damris with a bit of climbing rope he'd kept in his survival kit, and deftly secures long arms behind the small of the tiefling's back, then works to frog-tie long, long legs so that the ankles are bound securely to the thighs. It requires a fair bit of finessing and the threat of horns poking out his eye again, but Iorveth works with meticulous efficiency.

While that's happening: ] I'm aware that my sweet cat is the exception, not the rule.

[ A soft huff, as Damris lists against his front. His face does sway uncomfortably close to his neck, but he seems very much knocked out. ]

Though, speaking of. I need you to disinfect my finger later. [ Brandishing the index that Damris licked. Iorveth shudders. ]

[ Is it wrong that it's kind of hot watching Iorveth hogtie someone? Ooh, he's so capable.

To be fair, Iorveth is hot doing nearly anything, which is why Astarion will never understand how he denigrates his appearance so much. He could be hideous and Astarion would still love him, obviously, but he isn't; a little asymmetry never hurt anyone. Very rugged, very handsome.

With a laugh: ] Come, now. They say their mouths are cleaner than ours.

[ That's dogs.

His smile fades as he looks at Damris, limp and drooling a little bit. ]

You know, when I think of how he treated you, I wonder if it wouldn't have been better to just kill him.

[ Capable of all kinds of lurid tying techniques, and yet not compelled at all to put them to use on Astarion. Damris is strung up like a holiday pheasant, and left to rest along a stack of cushions, which is as much comfort as Iorveth is willing to give the guy for now.

With that done, he wipes his hands of Damris (literally), palms to drawn (purple) curtains, dragging down. ]

He treated me no differently from how most usually treat me.

[ Matter-of-factly. Not self-pitying or self-deprecating in any way: like stating the weather, or commenting on a stain in the carpet. ]

You needn't mind it so much. I only wish to be looked upon favorably by those I care for.

[ Like Astarion, for example. He moves towards the divan, and sits on the floor next to it. ]

[ Astarion sits up, feet on the floor, so that he can reach over to stroke Iorveth's hair gently. Iorveth deserves some soft handling after everything he's been through today. Idly, he runs a thumb down the shell of Iorveth's ear. He couldn't care less if Iorveth has pointy ears or not, but they're his pointy ears, so Astarion loves them. ]

I do mind it.

[ Argumentative, but affectionate. Iorveth might be used to this sort of treatment, but Astarion never grew used to it, ever. Every scornful look and disdainful comment over the past two centuries made him seethe, and now is no different. ]

No one should ever disrespect us again.

[ Sitting up an inch, Iorveth cranes his neck to tip into the hand sifting through his hair. The most docile he'll ever let himself be, if only because he trusts the man touching him not to judge him negatively for accepting softness.

A few more seconds in that position, and he tilts to rest his head on Astarion's knee. ]

I've earned my disrespect, unlike you.

[ "I'm a terrorist, remember?" A reminder that Iorveth has earned his reputation through blood and fire, though he also understands that that's not the entirety of what Astarion is talking about when he mentions disrespect. ]

But, mm. [ Nosing against the crest of Astarion's knee: ] I wouldn't say no to killing anyone who disrespects you.

[ Astarion loves Iorveth, he does. But that doesn't mean Iorveth doesn't fucking irritate him sometimes. He frowns at 'I've earned my disrespect', displeased. Who cares if Iorveth did a little light terrorism? Like terrorism's such a crime?

Well. Maybe it is, but he doesn't care. Iorveth could mass murder every damn human in the world, and he'd still be the best person on this planet. Astarion wouldn't even miss them! Except maybe Gale. And Wyll. The jury's still out on Minsc.

He reaches down, taking Iorveth's head in his hands, thumbs pressed against the line of his jaw. ]

When will you get it through your thick skull? I'm in love with you, you infuriating man. Disrespect to you is disrespect to me.

[ Very stubborn. Iorveth thinks that Astarion will burst a blood vessel in his brain if he chose to get angry about every human that will inevitably treat Iorveth with the sort of contempt that Iorveth has come to expect, but he doesn't say so. No point in giving Astarion more grief than he has today; besides, he's touched that there's someone on this Godsforsaken planet that cares for him the way Astarion does.

Tilting sideways into the hands holding him, he presses his lips to one slim finger, then takes the tip of Astarion's thumb in his mouth. A light nip, then he lets go to kiss along its side. ]

You'd find me boring if I were respectable.

[ He smiles against that thumb, crooked and knowing, then gentles. ]

...I'm lucky to have you, Astarion.

You are.

[ It doesn't always feel like it, and it certainly doesn't today, when Astarion's mere presence nearly got Iorveth killed. All the same, he won't argue with Iorveth if he wants to feel lucky. What, like he's going to try to talk Iorveth out of loving him? He's not that much of an idiot.

His thumb grazes Iorveth's lower lip, as reverent as someone like him can be. Then: ]

It might come as a surprise, seeing as how brave and dashing I was about it all. [ He sighs. ] But I did fear that I would lose you tonight.

Edited 2025-05-20 02:41 (UTC)

[ Silence hangs for a moment, as Iorveth gives that statement the consideration that he thinks it deserves. He's never thought of himself as expendable (the opposite; he's always been aware that the future of his clan hinges on how long he could evade the ire of his enemies), but there was always the expectation that the only logical end of his crusade was, well. His end. Death, like a promise just beyond the horizon.

Sliding up from the floor onto the divan, Iorveth perches next to Astarion on the divan. Serious, watchful. ]

I'd always assumed I would die before you.

[ For obvious reasons (their different lifespans), and for circumstantial reasons (Iorveth is a highly wanted man, not in a good way). A blunt statement of truth, followed by something more careful, searching: ]

But I also want you to live without the fear of losing me.

[ A conundrum. It's not like either of them are gods; they get hurt, they can be killed. ]

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