essea | [ ELVES CATCHALL POST. ]

[ To the accusation that he's trying to be a hero: ]

I insist on being your partner.

[ An indignant almost-hiss, though he doesn't let Astarion go from the cradle of his arms. Protective, even when protesting a point. He cares very little for being applauded for his actions, but he does care about being present and sharing danger with someone he loves more than himself.

So it's difficult to concede to the last point about leaving. Silence follows "I demand it", contemplative and conflicted. ]

...And as your partner, I don't wish to do anything to harm you. I can't promise I'll leave, but I promise not to waste my life.

[ There wouldn't really be a point to any of this if he does, Iorveth understands. After the events of last night, he knows to be careful. ]

[ 'I promise not to waste my life' should be reassuring, but this is Iorveth. Astarion wouldn't be surprised if he thought dying in service of protecting someone he cares for was a 'good death'. Ridiculous. Astarion would risk his life for Iorveth, too, but he'd really rather stay alive. In fact, he'd be pretty pissed off if he died, even for Iorveth. ]

Ugh. Why must you lack all sense of self-preservation?

[ The real, stark difference between them. Iorveth has spent the majority of his life willing to lay it down for others. Meanwhile, Astarion spent most of his life sacrificing whoever it took to keep his head above water. Out of all of the things he lacks, a healthy sense of self-preservation isn't one of them. ]

I'm afraid there's no reasoning with a stubborn mule like you.

[ He rests his head on Iorveth's shoulder, sighing. ]

Do try to be careful. The sunlight means nothing to me without you there to bask in it with me.

[ Iorveth, who wants to be seen for what he is, is nevertheless a little touched whenever Astarion gets a good read on him (however unflattering). He laughs to Astarion's sigh, accepting 'stubborn mule' with far more grace than he ever accepts 'handsome'. ]

It would be a shame not to be alive to see you in daylight.

[ Translation: "I don't want to die, don't worry." Resting his chin on Astarion's hair, Iorveth relaxes his hold and glances towards their bedroom. ]

Speaking of self-preservation. [ A pause, slightly contrite. ] ...I'll need a day to recover from last night.

[ His body hasn't particularly appreciated the rapid undoing of a fatal poison: he feels heavy, less quick. Not exactly peak hag-outwitting condition. ]

I understand the need to move quickly, but I'll not risk you because of my subpar condition.

[ Iorveth needn't be contrite. Admittedly, Astarion doesn't feel his most lively today, either. (Another trance subject to the hag's pestering probably won't do him much good, but whatever. He didn't rest well for two hundred years. A few days can't possibly handicap him too badly.) He turns his head enough to press his mouth against the skin of Iorveth's neck, sweet like a dog nosing someone it's fond of. ]

Time is of the essence, but it won't kill us to take one night off.

[ Hopefully not famous last words. ]

You know I don't mind doting on you while you're helpless.

[ 'Helpless' is a very inaccurate term to describe Iorveth ever, but Astarion is allowed to have his fantasy. Ooh, what a sexy, vulnerable man, subject to his whims. ]

...Or, if you prefer, I suppose [ —said with great reluctance— ] that once the sun goes down, I can do some of that reconnaissance you're always talking about.

[ 'Helpless' makes Iorveth laugh again. Hardly the case, but he'll let Astarion fantasize about whatever he wants as long as it helps him feel a little better about the whole "my dumbass boyfriend got poisoned" ordeal.

Letting his limbs go slack, eye closed, he breathes a long exhale against soft curls. ]

Spend your time however you wish. I'll not demand that you stay shut indoors because of my stupidity.

[ Sure, Athkatla sucks (in Iorveth's opinion), but it's still the city of coin, and they haven't done much to explore any of it with all the vampire and hag things going on. ]

Reconnaissance may help us tomorrow, but what you wish to do is up to you entirely. Go enjoy yourself, if you prefer.

[ An encouraging peck, to the side of Astarion's head. ]

Enjoy myself?

[ He hums thoughtfully. There is so much of Athkatla that he's yet to see. Stalls and shops where he can purchase (or steal) shiny trinkets. Taverns where he can play (or cheat at) cards and dice games. He'd rather experience these things with Iorveth, but if he must, he'll go it alone. ]

Hm. I do have a few things to shop for. [ His hand finds one of Iorveth's, and he fiddles with his ring finger. ] A few shiny things.

[ Would Iorveth mind terribly if his ring came from an Athkatlan jewelry shop? Neither of them have had a particularly positive experience here, but he does find himself inspired to seal the deal if Iorveth could, you know, die tomorrow. ]

I'm sure I can entertain myself while you recuperate. But will you be all right alone with our, ah... guest?

[ Oh, he thinks, when Astarion plays with his ring finger. With everything that's been going on, he'd almost forgotten about the bit of jewelry they'd been talking about purchasing. Not because he doesn't want it (he does, which is equal measures shocking and terrifying), but because he feels like he fumbled the timing by almost dying. Stupid.

The thought makes his pulse skip momentarily, but he wills himself to settle. ]

Gods, I deserve to die if I let our 'guest' surprise me.

[ A very rude thing to say about Damris, who may or may not be a good fighter if given even a fraction of a chance. Still, Iorveth's been fighting battles since he was young enough to be told not to, and it's evident by the arch of his brow and the semi-offended hike of his chin that Damris is not, in fact, a threat to him. Like, at all.

(In the other room, Damris has a gut feeling that the two elves are talking shit, and scowls.) ]

Tara was far more frightening than him. You needn't worry.

Yes, well—

[ Tara is more frightening than Damris, even all the way in Waterdeep, but that's more a function of her being a cat able to cast fireball than anything about Damris. It does still make him nervous to think about leaving Iorveth, fatigued and vulnerable, in Damris's orbit, even if he's bound and in the other room. ]

You should simply ignore him while I'm gone. Vampire spawn are terribly manipulative.

[ Kind of a self-own, but true. If he were in Damris's situation, he would have already tried to talk his way out of it a million different ways. It's a wonder Damris hasn't, but maybe that's just because he's been gagged for most of his time awake. ]

Don't trust him as far as you can throw him. [ A thoughtful pause. ] As far as I can throw him.

[ Very cute of Astarion to think that Iorveth would not be a paranoid freak around someone that's already tried to poison him once. Weirdly, this is the thing that reaffirms something that doesn't actually need reaffirming: Iorveth loves Astarion to death. ]

Astarion. [ To the tune of "you are so adorable, I can't stand it". ] Do you truly believe that the tiefling could bat his pretty lashes and compel me to unbind him, when I managed to resist you for tendays?

[ It's sweet of Astarion to worry, but Iorveth is utterly convinced that the chances of anyone trying to charm him into trusting them over Astarion's word are zero to none.

A leanback for a better look at Astarion's face, and Iorveth lets his lips curl into a half-smile. ]

But I suppose you want a promise. [ Because Iorveth refused to promise to leave, he can compromise by giving Astarion this. ] I promise to stay in bed and behave tonight.

[ Astarion's thumb strokes Iorveth's bare ring finger again, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. It'll be the first time Iorveth has ever behaved himself, he thinks. His (not-so-)little fox, clever and mischievous. A mirror to Iorveth's thoughts, he thinks it's sweet that Iorveth would promise such a thing to him. His mind and his body are constantly moving, but he'd pledge to 'stay in bed and behave' just for Astarion. ]

Good.

[ He squeezes Iorveth's hand, then lets his mouth twist a little, amused. ]

You resisted me for far more than tendays. [ Months, probably. ] And I'm not certain you found it particularly challenging.

[ Mostly, when Iorveth says he'll behave, he means it facetiously. Not tonight, though. Tonight, he needs to save his energy for potential hag-related disasters in his future, and let Astarion decompress a bit after the absolute shitshow of the past day. There is a lingering and omnipresent worry of something happening to Astarion out in the city, but that's the overprotectiveness speaking－ Astarion his a career nightstalker, Iorveth tells himself. He'll be fine without Iorveth breathing down his neck for a few hours.

(Famous last words.)

Hands still held in Astarion's, Iorveth gets up off the couch and makes his way back to the bedroom. His fortress for the day-night. ]

Not at first. The problem was when it did begin to get challenging.

[ Sure, it took a while, but falling in love with Astarion was a lesson in trying to resist an unstoppable force. It still feels like that, sometimes. Like missing a step on the stairs, or feeling a well-aimed arrow fly by his ear. ]

I'd promised myself countless times that I wouldn't ask you to come north with me.

[ Iorveth resisted countless times asking Astarion to come with him, and Astarion asked him to be his kept elf in his hypothetical castle before they'd even kissed. It wasn't a romantic overture, exactly -- although he certainly wouldn't have minded if Iorveth had wanted to be his kept elf in multiple ways. He'd just felt terribly lonely about the fact that he seemingly had no future while everyone else had plenty to look forward to, and he'd thought that Iorveth of all people understood the allure of safety at any cost. He hadn't planned on Iorveth finding freedom more alluring.

It's still embarrassing to think about. Gods, no one in this world has ever rejected him more summarily than Iorveth has.

He allows himself to be led along by the hand. Although he won't be trancing again -- seems unwise, if he knows that he's going to have horrible nightmares -- he doesn't mind tucking Iorveth in. It's another one of those little domestic things that he previously couldn't bear to think about doing, because he didn't think there would ever be anyone he loved enough to actually want to do it. ]

I hope you don't have any regrets.

[ About inviting Astarion along with him, that is. He's sure Iorveth has plenty of other regrets. They both do. ]

I don't.

[ Even if the north is awful and uncivilized and he hates it, he'd rather be miserable in the woods with Iorveth than anywhere without him. ]

[ Regrets. A stupid thing for Astarion to ask, though the addendum that Astarion doesn't have any smooths over any errant ripple of exasperation. Iorveth may have wrung his hands over Astarion's future before, but they've had enough fights about takebacks that Iorveth has surrendered that option entirely.

(Or, well. Mostly. Sometimes, the thought still flits across his mind: 'he'd be happier without all this'.)

Into the bedroom, back onto purple bedsheets. By himself, this time. A bit strange, to be in bed without someone; to mitigate, he lets go of Astarion's hand to rummage inside the pack that he'd left by the foot of his bed, and takes out the bottle of perfume that he'd gifted to Astarion before. He dabs a bit of the contents onto his collar, then onto a pillow as he finally answers: ]

Fool. I could never regret you.

[ Glancing at Astarion, then softening somewhat. ] I've accepted that I love you selfishly and unreasonably.

[ Watching Iorveth dab cologne onto his collar makes Astarion bloom with happiness, a grin spreading across his face. He loves this man so much that sometimes he feels he needs to shout it from the rooftops. He wishes he could kill every person who ever hurt Iorveth and drag their mangled corpses back to him like a cat with a bird.

Standing beside the bed, he takes the silky purple sheets in hand and pulls them up over Iorveth's body before perching on the edge of the mattress beside him. ]

Loving me is very reasonable.

[ But he knows what Iorveth means. Hells, he doesn't know if Iorveth has ever let himself do something 'selfish' for the last century. There's nothing more special than being the subject of his selfish affections.

He glances over at the window, where a little sliver of evening sun still peeks out from behind the curtains. ]

If it's all right with you, I think I might mill around downstairs while I wait for nightfall. [ There are people to cheat, pickpocket, and generally harass down there, after all. ] —Don't worry. I won't drink anything.

[ Loving Astarion might be reasonable, but loving Astarion to the degree that Iorveth does isn't. If they were still traveling in a group, it's likely that the others would have found ways to pull Iorveth in different directions, but alas.

That said, Iorveth concedes to Astarion going, freedom-loving elf that he is. He settles into what are now Astarion-scented pillows, giving Astarion's knee one last pat before resigning himself to bedrest. ]

Mm. Go make the city yours, 'Master Blackmane'. [ A brief twitch of his lips, amused. ] Be careful, and only get into the sort of trouble you can get yourself out of.

[ Mischievous cat. Iorveth would never tell Astarion not to carouse, as long as he can come back to him in one piece; with that, he closes his eye and waves him off. Getting as far away from Damris and this cursed inn might do Astarion a world of good. ]

[ Astarion leans over to kiss Iorveth's forehead before he forces himself up and away from this very appealing sight. If he stays, he'll crawl into bed with Iorveth, and if he crawls into bed with Iorveth, he'll trance. So he tears himself away, peeking in to make sure Damris looks well-bound before making his way downstairs. He plays a few games of cards at the bar. Cheats at all of them, but only gets accused once. Well, I've never been so offended in my life, he says before pretending to storm out into the now-nighttime in a huff.

Athkatla is lively at night. He first makes his way to a few of the smaller stalls, making pleasant conversation as he peruses their wares. He buys a bottle of scented oil because, well, he too is a red-blooded male (it's for my hair, of course, he tells the sweet old lady selling it). He asks around for the fanciest jewelry shop in the city, then, and spends about an hour harassing the jeweler about finding the shiniest ring he has.

The place is near the gate to the Scepter District, and poor Linus is on duty at the gate. Astarion swivels around the moment he notices him, but the shock of silver hair must be difficult to forget. "Sir!" he calls out. "Is Damris all right? I haven't seen him come back, and... well, I've been saving a bouquet for him." ]

Oh, gods, [ Astarion says, disgusted at the sweetness of it all. Linus tilts his head in confusion, and he corrects himself: ] I mean, oh, gods, he really must be nervous to confess! Well, I'd best be off.

[ "A-are you sure that's all it is?" Linus calls after him, but he's already scurrying away, making a beeline for purple pennants in the distance. ]

[ Poor Linus. His beloved is hogtied and tossed onto a pile of divan cushions like an attractive sack of potatoes, and the deranged elf responsible is trancing soundly with his face buried in a soft pillow that smells like his beloved. The dichotomy of man.

By the time Astarion returns with his card games won and his trinkets purchased, Iorveth is awake again and lounging in bed, restless but adhering to his promise to behave: he has his heirloom bow sitting on top of his crossed legs, and stops polishing it once he hears the door to their room swing open and shut.

If Astarion beelines for the bedroom, he'll find Iorveth with a throwing knife in hand, Just In Case. It, of course, gets tossed aside once Iorveth confirms that it's not an enemy who's infiltrated his space; he brightens in the way he only does in Astarion's vicinity, lips curling upwards in an uncalculated, unconscious smile. ]

You're back. [ Invisible fox ears flatten, relaxed and pleased. ] How does Athkatla measure against Waterdeep?

[ Starting to put his things away to give Astarion more space, wiping his wax-covered fingers on a dirty rag. ]

[ Astarion looks offended at the throwing knife, but softens when Iorveth tosses it aside. (Very polite of him. He could have been so much more dramatic. He almost died from that throwing knife... or he would've if Iorveth actually threw it.) Those invisible fox ears are just too cute to stay mad at. ]

Mm. It's filthy, stinky, and loud. [ A sigh. ] It reminds me of home.

[ Baldur's Gate, that is. Dirty and rowdy, replete with murderous cultists and rotten fish. Waterdeep is so much better in so many ways — cleaner, prettier, safer — but there's something about a slightly grimy city that feels more familiar. ]

It isn't half-bad, if you ignore the hags and vampire lords. [ Which he's been trying his best to do.

He removes his pack, opening it up to reach inside it. His fingers close around a small box inside, and then he suddenly reconsiders. Iorveth was poisoned yesterday. There's a hogtied man in their study. And there's purple everywhere.

It's not very romantic, is his point. He withdraws his hand, hugging the pack to his chest instead. ]

Do— [ He feels his face heat up even before asking the question. Gods, this is humiliating. ] Ah. Well, what I'm asking, I suppose, is... [ He hems and haws for a moment, ears growing steadily redder, and then finally says: ] Do the Aen Seidhe hold wedding ceremonies?

[ "It's nice, if you ignore the fact that it's a place where hags and vampires thrive" is probably not the character witness that Athkatla would want to represent them in a case, but that train of thought dissipates almost instantaneously with the offering of Astarion's very flustered, very mealy-mouthed question.

It takes a moment to register. He'd been trying to mentally prepare for a ring (the word 'trying' is doing a lot of heavy lifting there), but the surreality of the concept has forced Iorveth to compartmentalize it as 'a gift, but even better'; now that Astarion has thrown the term 'marriage' into the mix, Iorveth's ever-churning mind does about ten flips in (not unpleasant) bemusement.

That isn't mentioning whatever the fuck his heart does. There's no word in any language, Common or Aen Seidhe, for whatever goes on in his chest.

After a prolonged moment of silence, where Iorveth cycles through three major urges－ to gape, to lean back, and to surge forward and tackle Astarion onto purple bedsheets－ he finally manages: ]

Some do.

[ Very eloquent. He clears his throat, then raises a hand to touch the side of Astarion's very-flushed face. ] If you're asking because－

[ He stops. Scales tip in his head. He still kind of wants to grab Astarion and kiss him senseless. ] －Would you?

[ Hells. The familiar but rusty feeling of wanting to defenestrate himself returns. ]

[ Astarion's pale face must be tomato red. He clutches the pack a little tighter, nervousness clear as day in his body language. Yes, they've already spoken about this at length, but he'd always been sure to simply call it what it was: a ring, nothing more, nothing less. Surely they'd both known exactly what he meant, but it feels much more scary to say it aloud. His mind suddenly plays back every time Iorveth has ever turned him down. ]

I don't know, [ he blurts out as a defense mechanism, looking everywhere but Iorveth's eyes. He thinks about saying that he was 'only curious', but Iorveth might take that as him not wanting to. Ugh, if only he could make it clear that he wants to without Iorveth ever knowing that he wants to.

A protracted silence passes. ]

I was just thinking that we might look quite dashing in wedding robes, is all.

[ Wedding robes. Iorveth hasn't even seen an Aen Seidhe newborn in ages; no one has wanted to create unions or new life because of the bleakness of their clan's future. It was easier to comprehend Astarion wanting to put a ring on his finger, but the potential ceremony of it makes Iorveth feel－

－overwhelmed? Slightly. The sort of emotion that he can't put a name to. He blinks back the delirious migraine that's starting to build, too much pounding in his head, in his chest.

A half-sigh, warm, and Iorveth finally surges forward to take Astarion's beet-red face in both his hands, feeling, unbelievably, something hot and wet behind his one eye. ]

―You would be the most beautiful thing the forest's ever seen.

[ Gods, fuck. If Iorveth isn't careful, he might forget to breathe. ]

Edited 2025-05-29 04:29 (UTC)

[ Normally, Iorveth's palms are a comforting warmth against his skin. Now, they feel about room temperature. He must be burning with embarrassment, and the knowledge of that makes him burn more. This isn't smooth and seductive. This is a mess.

Still, Iorveth's reaction makes a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth, uncontrollable. ]

So would you.

[ Whether Iorveth believes beauty of being something he's capable of not. At a certain point, it's out of his hands, an objective truth, Astarion thinks. Iorveth in some soft, silky fabric cut just for him, with a ring on his finger, belonging solely to Astarion-- yes, that would be very beautiful indeed. His heart can't beat, but he could swear he feels it pounding in his chest. ]

If that was something that you wanted.

[ Because Iorveth still hasn't actually said that he wants it. To be fair, Astarion hasn't actually asked him, either. A mess. ]

...I believe this sort of thing is traditionally done on one knee.

[ They've got the order of things all wrong, and awkwardly stumbling over questions and declarations that have only been half-made. Typical. There's nothing slick or smooth about what they're doing, but Iorveth doesn't care― this seems to be the way of things with them, fumbling blind around the things they want, wanting them fervently anyway.

His thumbs smooth against either side of Astarion's red face, enamored by the flush and how it manifests on ivory-pale skin; he really is the most beautiful man Iorveth has ever met. It feels like a physical ache to let go of him when all Iorveth wants to do is tug him into his chest. ]

I don't care how it's done. [ Blunt as usual, but equally warm and affectionate, anticipation and hope smoothing the edges of his candor. ] I want you.

[ And everything that that entails, wedding robes and all (gods, he still can't believe it). A far cry from when he'd been curled next to Astarion in bed, debating the pros and cons of saying a single word ('stay'); Iorveth, with his legs swung over the side of their stupid purple bed, has never been more sure than he is now about needing someone in his life.

It's a dangerous place to be. Vulnerable, foolhardy. Astarion is his only fatal weakness now, and will become so a thousandfold if he formally goes through with this, but that's a risk he'll happily take. For the millionth time, he doesn't love easy. ]

[ Not long ago, Iorveth had been trying to convince him that it would be healthy for them to spend some time apart. If he ever tries to do so again, Astarion might have to actually kill him. He runs a hand over Iorveth's cheek, flushed for another reason now, pleasure pinking his cheeks and ears. And, hells, probably the rest of him, too. It feels like there isn't an inch of him that isn't buzzing with happiness. ]

And I want you.

[ Obviously. It's the whole reason this just happened in the first place. He'd planned on just slipping the ring on Iorveth's finger and calling it a day, but in the moment, it had seemed so... without pomp, for something so monumental.

He giggles then, nervous and giddy. ]

Well! Who could ever have imagined that I would be marriage material? I thought I'd be sowing my wild oats for centuries to come.

[ Honestly, it's not something he ever really thought about before Iorveth came along. Before Cazador, it was an unexciting given that he'd marry someone for status and wealth, maybe have a couple of little brats running about the place. After Cazador, it was a given that he'd never do it whether he wanted to or not. Once the worm gifted him with freedom, the thought of belonging to someone else again would have repulsed him. It's only recently that he's learned belonging to someone because he wants to is endlessly different. ]

--Oh, gods, Gale will insist on coming and giving a speech.

[ He does his best to sound like he doesn't want that, but the excitement in his voice gives him away. ]

[ Marriage. The word still feels like a mallet to the skull, intense and unexpected, and Iorveth has to constantly blink stars out of his eye to keep himself grounded. For a second, he wonders if this entire thing isn't a byproduct of an overactive trancing mind, but even his overactive imagination (when it comes to Astarion and nothing else) couldn't conjure how lovely Astarion looks like now, flushed and smiling and vaguely anxious.

So. This time, Iorveth does give in to impulse. He reaches out and closes his hand around Astarion's forearm, pulling him in, pack and all, onto bed and into the waiting circle of Iorveth's arms. A tight embrace, dripping affection. ]

I'd invite the entirety of the cursed Emerald Grove to bear witness, if it pleased you.

[ Anything. It dawns on him, well and truly, that he would do anything for Astarion, but the realization fails to fill him with dread.

A hand buries in silver hair, petting soft curls; the other rests against Astarion's hip, keeping him close. Coveting, adoring. Iorveth buries his face into Astarion's neck, and kisses right above the mark that Cazador left inextricably where Astarion's pulse should have been. (Fuck that guy. He's dust, and Iorveth will give Astarion the world.) ]

Marry me, Astarion Ancunín. [ Murmured, with reverence. ] I give you all of me― my blood, my heart, my life.

[ Iorveth started with a pledge― he might as well bring it full circle. ]

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