[ Astarion quirks a brow. His skeptical expression says that's new. Iorveth has spent every moment since they met calling him foolish and reckless. Unfortunately, Astarion can't refute those allegations. To be trusted now, when the consequences could be so large...
It's nice, but it's also terrifying. How many decisions has he really made for himself? His whole life has been based on instinct and doing as he's told. Can he truly be certain that this isn't a horrible, awful idea? ]
Gods, I really must have charmed you.
[ A dry laugh, under his breath. No, he can't be certain that this won't spell trouble. Once he releases these hungry creatures from their cages, it'll be up to them what they choose to do with their newfound freedom, and that's frightening. He supposes, in a way, that it's somewhat inspiring, too.
He extends a hand, reaching for Iorveth's. Primarily for comfort, like a child reaching out to someone bigger and stronger, but also because he wants Iorveth within arm's reach when those vampires get out — just in case. ]
Well, with you at my side, I suppose there's nothing I can't do. [ Another laugh, this one brighter— ] Except look frumpy. That just isn't in the cards for me.
[ Reached for, Iorveth obliges by knitting his fingers with Astarion's, drawing a step closer without stepping into the radius of Cazador's ruined corpse. (Even completely dead, Cazador manages to put a damper on things. Figures.) ]
Don't speak too soon. I could find a way.
[ Slap a bandana on Astarion, give him ill-fitting clothes to wear in various shades of beige. Unspeakable torture－ Iorveth is a criminal. A brief distraction from the very pressing issue of releasing hungry vampires into the wild; Iorveth allows a sliver of a smile to linger on his scarred lips, tired and exasperated but impossibly fond.
Again, he's proud of Astarion, for whatever that's worth. For better or for worse, he's decided. Iorveth grips Astarion's hand a little tighter, and nods. ]
If I die down here, [ he hums, ] at least I'll be dying in good company.
[ That smile, slight though it may be, is everything. Affection blooms in his chest, the intensity of it more terrifying than the prospect of rabid spawn. ]
Hells, [ Astarion breathes out, shaking his head. ] It should be a crime how you make me adore you.
[ He politely doesn't make any innuendo about the sort of punishment he'd have sentenced Iorveth to as a magistrate. He's too endeared, too charmed, too genuinely besotted to make a joke out of it. He does adore Iorveth, which is a strange realization. Two hundred years of trying to keep his distance, and it's some forest-dwelling freedom fighter who's enthralled him.
Staff in one hand and Iorveth's palm in the other, he leads them back toward the spawn in their cages. Some of them look to be despairing, certain he's left them for dead. Others are simply too tired to care anymore. He should probably make an announcement, perhaps even a speech of some sort, to mark this moment. ]
Well, [ he says, ] here goes nothing.
[ He raps the staff against the ground the way he's seen Cazador do hundreds, thousands of times. It erupts in warm arcane light, glowing so brightly that it hurts to look at it. He closes his eyes, and when he can finally open them again, the ornate iron doors begin to slide open, creaking loudly like they haven't moved in ages.
For a moment, the spawn stare. After so many years, they must wonder if it's a trick. Then, slowly, laboriously, they begin to filter out. ]
[ This isn't the first time Iorveth has agonized over how much he likes being around Astarion, but this is when it well and truly hits him that this is a matter of him being in love (the dreaded L-word): he won't say it, wary of spooking Astarion with too many things to digest at once, but he keeps the impossible weight of his feeling in his chest and confines it to the hard pound of his heart against his ribs. His pulse must feel like hammers where their palms meet.
The spawn are freed. There's no mad rush to murder Astarion, no crazed attempt to tear Iorveth to pieces. Either the lot of them are too exhausted to make the attempt, or they just want to make sure that their emancipation is real, not a cruel rugpull that they have to outrun.
In the distance, Iorveth can hear Petras ushering the first of the escapees towards the elevator-dais, helped by his sisters; maybe all this time, Petras was just waiting to be the big brother for once.
A breath in, a breath out, and Iorveth swivels on his heels to pull Astarion into an embrace. Gaudy staff and all. ]
[ His free hand hangs awkwardly at his side for a moment, his body still unused to being held in any sort of pleasurable way. He has to remind himself that a hug involves two people, but once he does, it's easy to follow his instinct to slide a hand up Iorveth's back and splay his fingers out between his shouldeblades. In Iorveth's grip, he melts, practically purring with happiness. Astarion enjoys shallow praise, but there's something about real praise delivered in Iorveth's voice that's so much better.
Astarion doesn't want to pull away, but he knows that he has to. A vampire lord's crypt that served as a prison for thousands is no place to cuddle. He lingers as long as he can without it seeming strange before he pulls back, smiling faintly. It isn't that he feels optimistic about what he's just done, exactly, but there's something reassuring in Iorveth's presence that makes him feel like everything will be all right. ]
Only because I had you beside me.
[ He wouldn't have had the guts to do it himself. Hells, if not for Iorveth, perhaps all of these spawn would already be dead, their souls consumed for him to ascend. When Iorveth is around, Astarion wants to be the sort of person Iorveth thinks he is.
Cazador's staff twinkles slightly in the weak light. Astarion glances down at it, then tosses it, clattering, to the ground. ]
When this is all over, we should make Gale incinerate this place with a fireball.
A sound idea. It'll be satisfying to watch this place burn to ash.
[ Iorveth kicks the fallen staff into the nearest (now-empty) prison room, content to imagine it crumbling and falling into the abyss alongside the rest of this miserable manse. The last vestiges of Cazador's despicable legacy, lost forever to time immemorial.
It's not a neat bow on top of a nicely-wrapped package. Or, well. It doesn't feel that way to Iorveth, a bystander, so Iorveth assumes that it must not feel that way to Astarion in the slightest. What they've done here was important, but whether it was good or even correct, he has no clue; the world, as always, will be senseless, and one day they might find themselves fighting off familiar-looking faces in the dark.
That's for their future selves to worry about, though. For now, Iorveth is happy with "because I had you beside me," and with the knowledge that Astarion really did do well, that he made a choice, and that it was the harder one to make.
He marinates on that with a mirrored half-smile, which fades as one particular spawn breaks from the throng to approach them. Sebastian, the one that remembered Astarion from however-many-decades ago; Iorveth takes a step forward to place himself between the incoming third party and Astarion once recognition sets in, hackles visibly raised. ]
No closer, [ is a clear warning, Iorveth's single eye narrowed like a speartip. Sebastian only shakes his head, and murmurs hoarsely: "I just want one last word with him, nothing more." ]
[ Sebastian's approach instantly sours his mood. He has every reason to be furious with Astarion, but that doesn't mean Astarion wants to hear about it. He had comforted himself with the knowledge that all of his victims were undesirable drunks, but not all of them were. Sebastian had a whole life ahead of him, and Astarion took that all away.
One last word sounds awfully ominous, but Astarion steps forward alongside Iorveth, arms crossed defensively. ]
As long as you don't fondle my companion again.
[ Like a starving man with a piece of meat. Astarion scowls at the memory. He can hardly blame him after all the starvation he's been through—worse, even, than anything Astarion endured—but he finds himself bristling regardless. ]
If you're here to blame me for your misfortune— well.
[ Sebastian may be regarding him with the casually dehumanizing intensity of a starving man looking at a deer he can hunt, but Iorveth, in turn, is fixing Sebastian with the sort of needlepoint aggression that a wolf would level at an intruder that's tread too far into its territory. Posture leaned forward, hand ready to reach for a weapon.
(Incidentally, it's the same needlepoint aggression he'd leveled at Astarion in their early days of traveling together. Growth.)
If Sebastian registers Iorveth's hostility, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he replies to Astarion's statement with a rather blasé "you are to blame for everything that I've lost", as if it doesn't even warrant repeating anymore. Tired, but still furious. He adds a "you destroyed me," for good measure.
But that doesn't seem to be his one last word; he seems to grapple with what he wants to say for a few beats, alternating between baring his teeth and frowning, until he manages, slowly: "I need to know. You... you freed yourself first, before any of us. Was it worth it? Is it worth it?" ]
[ I didn't free myself, he almost says. The mind flayers did. But what he's done is enough reason for the spawn to despise him without knowing he harbors an illithid parasite in his head, so he carefully avoids mentioning it. ]
What, life?
[ A question for a philosopher, surely, not Astarion. The least he owes Sebastian is an answer, though, so he thinks for a moment. Is freedom worth it? It's more frightening than he imagined it would be when he'd fantasized about some regal warrior storming the palace and taking him away. At least in his slavery, he'd known not to get his hopes up; he'd suffered, but he'd expected it. The freedom to care also means he can get hurt in ways he'd never been hurt as Cazador's plaything.
But he also has the freedom to drink when he wants, to rest when he wants, to wear what he wants. He has the freedom to say 'no' to things, and the freedom to say 'yes' to them. He has the freedom to make his own decisions, terrifying and exhilarating as that is. Bad as his decisions may be, they're his. ]
Yes, I think it was.
[ There's never been one second he'd wished that the mind flayers had chosen someone else. There'll never be a second that he regrets bashing Cazador's face into a red, bloody mess. ]
Anything is better than this. [ He gestures to the crypt. Even his own torture was preferable. Freedom, however intimidating, can only be a step up. ] See for yourself. Make your own decisions. And do try not to fall for any more handsome strangers.
[ Sebastian mulls that thought over. If he's anything like Astarion, the idea of being able to think for himself is strange. Perhaps the idea of being able to think at all is inconceivable; his starved brain must feel like mush.
"I think I'll start with finding a boar," he says, finally. ]
[ Iorveth's aggression wanes. How funny― he's almost grateful that the haggard spawn asked what he did, not because he particularly cares about Sebastian's closure (the meanest elf in the world is still selective about his empathy), but because his heart swells at "yes, I think it was". He's still mulling over those five words when Sebastian mentions his first meal being a boar, and Iorveth―
―well, he has to laugh. Brief but loud, a full-bodied sound that echoes around him for a lingering moment. Once he's done, he shakes his head, smile still tugging at his lips. ]
Yes, that should do nicely. [ Full circle, he thinks. Obviously, it wasn't funny for Astarion back then, when he had to resort to finding a boar to desanguinate, and it isn't funny for Sebastian now, who's staring at Iorveth with obvious affront in his tired-red eyes, but. Well.
Maybe Sebastian will find his own ragtag group of people to travel with him, mid boar-hunting. Life is absurd like that. Another soft chuckle, and Iorveth gestures with one hand, almost as if to wave Sebastian away. ]
You've said your part. Now go find your freedom.
[ Sebastian (who definitely thinks Iorveth is a bit of an asshole now) spares one last look at Astarion before melting back into the crowd, slightly more straight-backed than the rest of them. Purpose tends to do that to someone. Still, Iorveth doesn't care about him even a little compared to how much he cares for Astarion in this moment; he takes a few steps away from Astarion for a better vantage point, looking Astarion up and down with barely-concealed admiration. Like he wants to commit this precise moment to memory, alongside "yes, I think it was". ]
[ Astarion watches Sebastian go, his own apprehension fading as he disappears into the throng of newly freed spawn. They're all weary, some of them looking disbelieving, as if the possibility of freedom after so long could only be a cruel trick. Astarion had wondered the same at first, too. Maybe, he'd thought, Cazador had released his hold on him only to make Astarion prove that he was loyal without being enthralled. He'd considered running back to Baldur's Gate with his tail between his legs and begging for forgiveness. There's no doubt in his mind that at least some of them have that same fear.
He turns his attention back to Iorveth, then, who's stepped back and is looking at him with the sort of fondness he'd have said hurts his stomach less than a tenday ago. He doesn't feel at danger of getting hives anymore. Still, he scolds, ] Stop that.
[ The chastisement is entirely affectionate, though, and he reaches out to tug Iorveth back in. ]
When you look at me like that, it makes me want to do things that a horrendous dungeon is not the backdrop for.
[ Besides, Iorveth really shouldn't be looking too much at him. This lighting is no doubt unflattering. ]
[ The green-blue lighting isn't doing anyone any favors, but it hardly matters: right now, in the aftermath of a decision that could still be cataclysmic for certain ecosystems along the Sword Coast, Astarion is the most beautiful thing Iorveth has seen in ages. Not just in appearance, but in the shape of his anxiously-blooming soul.
Iorveth would embrace him again, if he felt he could get away with it. Not here, though― Astarion is right about the backdrop being all wrong. It'll take a while yet before all the spawn can be corralled out of their ancient prisons, and Petras and the others will likely have their work cut out for them for the next...
...well, however long. They won't be bored, at least. ]
We should leave, then. [ The crowd's movement has halted for a moment, presumably as one of Astarion's siblings go to fetch the remaining brothers and sisters for backup. Iorveth flicks his gaze over towards the direction of where the elevator would be behind the throng of emaciated spawn, and marvels, again, at how many there are. ] ...While we can. I don't plan on spending the night here.
[ Next to Cazador's corpse? No thank you. He takes Astarion's hand and steps forward, fully intending to push himself through the crowd. As if he's not a piece of steakmeat that might get mauled the moment someone decides that they're too hungry to resist. ]
[ Astarion yanks him back, away from the spawn. He might have just set them loose upon Baldur's Gate, but that doesn't mean he trusts them with Iorveth. After all, he knows firsthand just how enticing that neck is. ]
Get in the middle of that crowd, and you might be the next corpse we find here.
[ They could resist for a minute, with bars between them and Iorveth. There's no telling what they might do now that they're free, and Astarion doesn't want to find out. Let them all go hunt boars together.
Astarion places a hand on Iorveth's shoulder and murmurs, ] Invisibilis.
[ Iorveth's body slowly fades from view, starting from his shoulder and crawling to his torso, his limbs, and finally his head, the last thing to go his gifted eyepatch and tousled hair. Astarion steps back, withdrawing his hand. ]
[ Oh, that's convenient. Iorveth feels himself suffuse with magic, the feel of it almost like dipping into cool water; he shivers for a second, acclimating to being invisible, before beginning the rather arduous task of winding through the crowd, taking care not to step on too many feet or accidentally nick himself against something sharp. Occasionally, he looks over his shoulder to make sure that Astarion isn't far behind him, and course corrects with a whisper or a nudge.
It's an ordeal. By the time he reaches Aurelia, who's assuring the first line of escapees that they will get out, they just need to wait for more help to arrive, he doesn't feel so bad about hijacking the elevator so that he and Astarion can finally leave the cluster of bodies behind and return to the surface. Dalyria squeaks in surprise when Iorveth, still invisible, activates the dais, and jumps back as the platform starts to rumble and move. ]
We'll leave the rest to you, [ Iorveth calls out, and tugs Astarion up onto the lift before it can take off without him. ] Maethe taerde.
[ "Good luck", in his native language. The rumbling of the elevator obscures the others' response, but Iorveth isn't listening for it; what will be will be. Maybe they can follow up later, after they remove the tadpole from their heads. ]
[ His poor siblings, stuck with the responsibility of herding seven thousand cats out of this place. Astarion feels no sympathy for them at all. Better them stuck with the grunt work than him! As Iorveth activates the elevator, his form fades back into view. Despite everything, the corner of Astarion's mouth twists up into a little smile. ]
We might have just doomed Baldur's Gate to a bloody death at the hands of a cabal of vampires, you know.
[ Somehow, he can't bring himself to sound too worried. With Iorveth safe and steadily getting farther away from the spawn, it's difficult to find reasons to be upset. What's done is done, and if his newfound siblings decide to rampage across the city, they'll deal with that problem when it comes.
Admittedly, he does really hope it doesn't come.
The dais comes to a heavy stop in the hall to Cazador's private study, and Astarion gives Iorveth's arm an insistent tug. ]
Let's go. I don't want to spend another moment in this coffin.
[ They're of one mind when it comes to the vampire problem; Iorveth's reply to the sentiment that they might have their work cut out for them is a brief "then we'll deal with them when the time comes", with an emphasis on "we". Sure, the emancipation of the spawn might have been Astarion's choice to make, but if it was a bad one, he needn't deal with the fallout alone.
With that said, it's time they left this manse behind. Iorveth huffs a soft laugh at the tug (there's been a lot of manhandling tonight), but doesn't protest the sentiment. He's had enough of this palace for a lifetime, and he's only even been in it twice. Hard to imagine that Astarion had to call this place home for two entire centuries. ]
Come, [ is all Iorveth has to say. The rest of their journey back outside is done in silence, without further acknowledgment of the mansion's abandoned hallways or its gaudy decor; Iorveth'd been fine with the idea of Astarion ransacking Henselt's wares after they were done with the assassination, but he balks at the possibility of Astarion bringing any part of this place with him. Consequently, it's a relief when they finally cross the barrier of the front door and step back outside, leaving all of the haunted things that Cazador collected in that manse to rot.
The air outside tastes fresh, crisp. Iorveth only now becomes aware of the progression of time (being insulated in a windowless tomb tends to be detrimental to timekeeping), as he notes that night is slowly flirting with daybreak, letting just the slightest sliver of light to touch it where the horizon meets the sky. From their vantage point up on the ramparts, the sprawl of city in front of them is pretty, almost picturesque.
Iorveth takes a long breath in, filling his lungs with non-fetid air, then turns towards Astarion. He suddenly feels more tired than he'd anticipated, but the exhaustion is secondary to that pride he'd felt before, when Astarion'd been lit by blue-green light. The sentiment gentles him again, and he lets his expression reflect how he feels. ]
A long night. [ One hand rests on Astarion's head, and sifts over silver hair. ] ―We'll return to the inn. You look drained.
[ Gods, Iorveth really shouldn't be allowed to look at him like that. With warmth and affection, like he's something worth looking at. Plenty of people have looked at him with desire, but no one else has ever looked at him like this, and he suddenly feels a blush creep up the back of his neck. ]
I look gorgeous, [ he shoots back, trying not to look embarrassingly besotted, ] like always.
[ How dare Iorveth suggest anything else! He boops Iorveth on his angular nose, weary but not too tired to be annoying, saying, ] As do you. [ before linking their arms together and starting on the path toward the inn.
He is gorgeous. Even more so now that he's stood beside Astarion as he faced down his worst demons and didn't even blink. He should be disgusted, appalled. He should have told Astarion that he needed to deal with the consequences of his terrible actions alone. But he didn't, and Astarion is grateful for that. ]
[ Obviously, tricking hundreds of people into what Astarion presumed was an early death wasn't commendable, but he also had no real agency besides the option to choose death. Iorveth, who understands the value of dying if he has to, also has to acknowledge that, gods, he's glad that Astarion didn't choose to die.
Astarion will probably always be a bit haunted, though. Cursed to remember the scent of that fetid tomb for as long as he lives, which is a long time; Iorveth can't spend an eternity with Astarion, but he can hope that a few centuries might be enough to chase a few of Astarion's ghosts away.
If Astarion doesn't run screaming from a life in the north, that is. Still within the realm of possibility. Iorveth is an idiot for stumbling onto the L-word situation so clumsily, and will have to deal with the fallout accordingly if Astarion decides that, actually, he doesn't want this.
A problem for later (a lot of their problems share this trait, incidentally). Now, Iorveth walks back to Elfsong with Astarion in tow, content to look at his profile every so often in the privacy of empty streets. There are a few vagrants sleeping here and there under half-covered awnings, but after being cloistered by hundreds of spawn, the city feels abandoned by comparison.
When they finally get to Elfsong, he stops outside the front door and turns to face Astarion properly. ]
Before we have to relinquish our privacy again, [ is the disclaimer, before he tips Astarion's chin and leans in for a kiss. Just a soft, fluttering thing, lips lightly pressed against lips. ]
Despite the unpleasant reminder of their lack of privacy to come, Astarion smiles against Iorveth's mouth, pleased. It's adorable that he feels the need to explain himself at all, adorable that he presses his lips to Astarion's so feather-light. Astarion isn't adorable, so he crowds Iorveth against the door to the Elfsong, pressing their bodies flush together and kissing him within an inch of his life.
The door opens, and they nearly both tumble through, Astarion only managing to catch them with his hands on Iorveth's shoulders. The unwelcome interloper, a little spitfire of a gnome, gapes up at them. "Get a room!" she squeals.
Ever annoyed at having his (very public) affections interrupted, Astarion scowls. ]
[ Gods, liking Astarion is a problem. It's hard to say what it is about this stupid cat that activates Iorveth's long-repressed libido, but he can feel it flare up for just a burning second before he immediately quashes down on it, slams it into a mental cage as if it's a misbehaving animal.
Slightly out of breath (because, unlike Astarion, he still needs to): ] Don't stare at him. [ Pulling Astarion's head to the crook of his neck, obscuring his pretty face. Not a fan of anyone being privy to how sweet he looks when he's kiss-flushed, Iorveth shoos the gnome away with a rather rude gesture; she bristles at being treated like a stray dog and storms away, grumbling "who in the hells would ever pay to watch two stupid elves trying to eat each other's faces?!"
Once the interloper is gone, he heaves a sigh and lets go. ]
Never allowed a moment. [ It's always something. Still, it's hard to dampen the overwhelming pride he feels for Astarion and his first big decision after his hard-earned freedom, and affection lingers in his expression as he starts their trek up the stairs and to their room. Silent, to avoid disturbing the others' sleep; thankfully, Halsin's soft snoring is louder than the click and creak of the door, and the only stirring that happens when the two of them step inside is Scratch cracking his eye open, only to close it once again when he notes that it's just the two weird elves that keep disappearing lately. ]
[ Astarion's steps are light as he creeps into the room, not out of respect for their companions' sleep but because he can't bear the thought of one of them waking up and bothering them. When they've slipped inside, he pushes Iorveth onto the bed, shoes and all, and crawls on top of him to press their mouths together in a demanding kiss. Everyone is asleep; Astarion can put his tongue in Iorveth's mouth as a treat.
And he does, coaxing Iorveth's mouth open and licking insistently into it. There's no other way to rid himself of all of this disgustingly affectionate energy than to pour it back into Iorveth. No one has ever been there for him before, and it makes a surplus of fondness bloom in his heart. Iorveth can't possibly understand what it's like to have someone after being alone for centuries, so connected to his people as he is, but he tries to express his elation regardless.
When he pulls back, he slips his fingers under the leather strap of Iorveth's eyepatch to remove it. More manhandling, even now. He really can't help himself. ]
Gods, you're wonderful.
[ His voice is low, careful not to wake the others and instantly ruin this moment, but it's filled with affection regardless. ]
[ Liking Astarion is a Problem, the Sequel. The burden of having context is that now, Iorveth has all the information to know that there is nothing going on in Astarion's pretty head when he's like this, that he isn't trying to be infuriatingly endearing or angling to get something out of Iorveth by being cute. He just simply Is. It was so much easier to deal with everything when Iorveth could play the "he isn't actually into me" card, when he could measure the distance between them with a mental ruler.
It's kind of appalling, wanting absolutely no distance from someone. Astarion kisses him, pulls his eyepatch off, says kind words to him, and Iorveth has no plans or defenses against these things: he's so rarely a fan of letting anything happen to him, but he lets this happen, and reciprocates. Hands fly to either side of Astarion's face, cradling him in place while Iorveth cranes up and claims his mouth in return with the same depth of affection and intimacy. He keeps Astarion there even when he pulls back for air, and murmurs against his mouth. ]
You've laid yourself bare for me during the past few days, [ is his answer to "you're wonderful". ] And now, with certainty, I can say that you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
[ It isn't that Iorveth is wonderful: it's just that he sees Astarion more clearly now. Someone with all the potential in the world, freed from everything that tried to make him less. Iorveth kisses Astarion again, thumbing under one red eye, enjoying the feeling of his cool skin when he'd all but recoiled from the other spawns' touch. ]
[ No, he's fairly sure it's that Iorveth is wonderful.
His pale skin pinks with pleasure at the compliment, all the better because it's coming from Iorveth who truly, ridiculously means every word he says. It's infuriating how sweet Iorveth is, and how much he makes Astarion want to rip off his clothes when they have seven roommates, not counting the animals. He rolls the word love over in his head again, the way Iorveth's voice had sounded around the word, the way the circus performers had used it so casually to describe them.
He presses into the kiss, then straightens up, reaching behind him to clumsily remove Iorveth's shoes for him. They go flying, but it's the thought that counts. If he can't rip off his clothes, at least Astarion can get him ready for bed. ]
Two centuries, and you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
[ If his voice is low now, it's because he'd die a second time if he were caught being this sappy by anyone but Iorveth. ]
Thank you, [ he says, the words a little awkward in his mouth. He's still not used to gratitude. ] For— ah. [ Where to begin? ] Well, I suppose for being you.
[ How horrible, that Astarion is a vampire and Iorveth can't even use the "have you looked in a mirror recently" in response to that first bit－ and to think that Astarion has the audacity to call him vexing. None of Iorveth's usual defenses work, and he doesn't even have it in him to laugh at the idea that he could be thanked for the person that he is. If anyone else said this to him, it would be a scoff and a "not even my own mother has ever said that to me."
Instead, it's a mirrored reach behind him to tug Astarion's shoes off, a similar rush to make Astarion comfortable. ]
A feat I managed because you chose not to run.
[ Trading compliments for compliments. There was a real possibility, back then, for Iorveth to have been caught and dragged back by his feet to his tormentors up north, and where would they have been if that'd happened?
Shoes tossed aside, collars loosened, Iorveth rolls the both of them onto their sides. Tangled, sheets and pillows shifting under their collective weight. ]
Astarion. [ As nice as it is to hear Astarion say kind things to him, this really is about his accomplishments over the past few nights. So: ] You're stronger than you know. Now you have the rest of your life to realize it.
[ Afraid of everything now, sure, but that's fine. Iorveth hums, and holds Astarion closer to his chest. ] Be proud. You'll never bow your head to anyone again.
[ Astarion slips an arm around Iorveth, nails scratching lightly at his back like the claws of a happy kitten. Deliriously happy. For once, he doesn't even think about how 'the rest of his life' might only be until they face the Netherbrain. With Iorveth saying such sweet things to him, there's no room for pessimism. Gods, isn't that a shock.
Impulse urges him to blurt out something dramatic and romantic, but his appreciation for setting stops him. A shared room above the Elfsong is no place for romantic confessions. Instead: ]
A feat I managed because you helped me.
[ He's not sure he would have had the courage to do it, any of it, on his own. He would never have been able to set foot in that palace without Iorveth standing next to him.
A sigh. ] You're too tempting to bear. Rest, or you'll drive me mad.
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[ Astarion quirks a brow. His skeptical expression says that's new. Iorveth has spent every moment since they met calling him foolish and reckless. Unfortunately, Astarion can't refute those allegations. To be trusted now, when the consequences could be so large...
It's nice, but it's also terrifying. How many decisions has he really made for himself? His whole life has been based on instinct and doing as he's told. Can he truly be certain that this isn't a horrible, awful idea? ]
Gods, I really must have charmed you.
[ A dry laugh, under his breath. No, he can't be certain that this won't spell trouble. Once he releases these hungry creatures from their cages, it'll be up to them what they choose to do with their newfound freedom, and that's frightening. He supposes, in a way, that it's somewhat inspiring, too.
He extends a hand, reaching for Iorveth's. Primarily for comfort, like a child reaching out to someone bigger and stronger, but also because he wants Iorveth within arm's reach when those vampires get out — just in case. ]
Well, with you at my side, I suppose there's nothing I can't do. [ Another laugh, this one brighter— ] Except look frumpy. That just isn't in the cards for me.
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Don't speak too soon. I could find a way.
[ Slap a bandana on Astarion, give him ill-fitting clothes to wear in various shades of beige. Unspeakable torture－ Iorveth is a criminal. A brief distraction from the very pressing issue of releasing hungry vampires into the wild; Iorveth allows a sliver of a smile to linger on his scarred lips, tired and exasperated but impossibly fond.
Again, he's proud of Astarion, for whatever that's worth. For better or for worse, he's decided. Iorveth grips Astarion's hand a little tighter, and nods. ]
If I die down here, [ he hums, ] at least I'll be dying in good company.
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Hells, [ Astarion breathes out, shaking his head. ] It should be a crime how you make me adore you.
[ He politely doesn't make any innuendo about the sort of punishment he'd have sentenced Iorveth to as a magistrate. He's too endeared, too charmed, too genuinely besotted to make a joke out of it. He does adore Iorveth, which is a strange realization. Two hundred years of trying to keep his distance, and it's some forest-dwelling freedom fighter who's enthralled him.
Staff in one hand and Iorveth's palm in the other, he leads them back toward the spawn in their cages. Some of them look to be despairing, certain he's left them for dead. Others are simply too tired to care anymore. He should probably make an announcement, perhaps even a speech of some sort, to mark this moment. ]
Well, [ he says, ] here goes nothing.
[ He raps the staff against the ground the way he's seen Cazador do hundreds, thousands of times. It erupts in warm arcane light, glowing so brightly that it hurts to look at it. He closes his eyes, and when he can finally open them again, the ornate iron doors begin to slide open, creaking loudly like they haven't moved in ages.
For a moment, the spawn stare. After so many years, they must wonder if it's a trick. Then, slowly, laboriously, they begin to filter out. ]
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The spawn are freed. There's no mad rush to murder Astarion, no crazed attempt to tear Iorveth to pieces. Either the lot of them are too exhausted to make the attempt, or they just want to make sure that their emancipation is real, not a cruel rugpull that they have to outrun.
In the distance, Iorveth can hear Petras ushering the first of the escapees towards the elevator-dais, helped by his sisters; maybe all this time, Petras was just waiting to be the big brother for once.
A breath in, a breath out, and Iorveth swivels on his heels to pull Astarion into an embrace. Gaudy staff and all. ]
You did well, [ he murmurs, and means it. ]
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Astarion doesn't want to pull away, but he knows that he has to. A vampire lord's crypt that served as a prison for thousands is no place to cuddle. He lingers as long as he can without it seeming strange before he pulls back, smiling faintly. It isn't that he feels optimistic about what he's just done, exactly, but there's something reassuring in Iorveth's presence that makes him feel like everything will be all right. ]
Only because I had you beside me.
[ He wouldn't have had the guts to do it himself. Hells, if not for Iorveth, perhaps all of these spawn would already be dead, their souls consumed for him to ascend. When Iorveth is around, Astarion wants to be the sort of person Iorveth thinks he is.
Cazador's staff twinkles slightly in the weak light. Astarion glances down at it, then tosses it, clattering, to the ground. ]
When this is all over, we should make Gale incinerate this place with a fireball.
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[ Iorveth kicks the fallen staff into the nearest (now-empty) prison room, content to imagine it crumbling and falling into the abyss alongside the rest of this miserable manse. The last vestiges of Cazador's despicable legacy, lost forever to time immemorial.
It's not a neat bow on top of a nicely-wrapped package. Or, well. It doesn't feel that way to Iorveth, a bystander, so Iorveth assumes that it must not feel that way to Astarion in the slightest. What they've done here was important, but whether it was good or even correct, he has no clue; the world, as always, will be senseless, and one day they might find themselves fighting off familiar-looking faces in the dark.
That's for their future selves to worry about, though. For now, Iorveth is happy with "because I had you beside me," and with the knowledge that Astarion really did do well, that he made a choice, and that it was the harder one to make.
He marinates on that with a mirrored half-smile, which fades as one particular spawn breaks from the throng to approach them. Sebastian, the one that remembered Astarion from however-many-decades ago; Iorveth takes a step forward to place himself between the incoming third party and Astarion once recognition sets in, hackles visibly raised. ]
No closer, [ is a clear warning, Iorveth's single eye narrowed like a speartip. Sebastian only shakes his head, and murmurs hoarsely: "I just want one last word with him, nothing more." ]
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One last word sounds awfully ominous, but Astarion steps forward alongside Iorveth, arms crossed defensively. ]
As long as you don't fondle my companion again.
[ Like a starving man with a piece of meat. Astarion scowls at the memory. He can hardly blame him after all the starvation he's been through—worse, even, than anything Astarion endured—but he finds himself bristling regardless. ]
If you're here to blame me for your misfortune— well.
[ Astarion trails off. He'd be justified. ]
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(Incidentally, it's the same needlepoint aggression he'd leveled at Astarion in their early days of traveling together. Growth.)
If Sebastian registers Iorveth's hostility, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he replies to Astarion's statement with a rather blasé "you are to blame for everything that I've lost", as if it doesn't even warrant repeating anymore. Tired, but still furious. He adds a "you destroyed me," for good measure.
But that doesn't seem to be his one last word; he seems to grapple with what he wants to say for a few beats, alternating between baring his teeth and frowning, until he manages, slowly: "I need to know. You... you freed yourself first, before any of us. Was it worth it? Is it worth it?" ]
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What, life?
[ A question for a philosopher, surely, not Astarion. The least he owes Sebastian is an answer, though, so he thinks for a moment. Is freedom worth it? It's more frightening than he imagined it would be when he'd fantasized about some regal warrior storming the palace and taking him away. At least in his slavery, he'd known not to get his hopes up; he'd suffered, but he'd expected it. The freedom to care also means he can get hurt in ways he'd never been hurt as Cazador's plaything.
But he also has the freedom to drink when he wants, to rest when he wants, to wear what he wants. He has the freedom to say 'no' to things, and the freedom to say 'yes' to them. He has the freedom to make his own decisions, terrifying and exhilarating as that is. Bad as his decisions may be, they're his. ]
Yes, I think it was.
[ There's never been one second he'd wished that the mind flayers had chosen someone else. There'll never be a second that he regrets bashing Cazador's face into a red, bloody mess. ]
Anything is better than this. [ He gestures to the crypt. Even his own torture was preferable. Freedom, however intimidating, can only be a step up. ] See for yourself. Make your own decisions. And do try not to fall for any more handsome strangers.
[ Sebastian mulls that thought over. If he's anything like Astarion, the idea of being able to think for himself is strange. Perhaps the idea of being able to think at all is inconceivable; his starved brain must feel like mush.
"I think I'll start with finding a boar," he says, finally. ]
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―well, he has to laugh. Brief but loud, a full-bodied sound that echoes around him for a lingering moment. Once he's done, he shakes his head, smile still tugging at his lips. ]
Yes, that should do nicely. [ Full circle, he thinks. Obviously, it wasn't funny for Astarion back then, when he had to resort to finding a boar to desanguinate, and it isn't funny for Sebastian now, who's staring at Iorveth with obvious affront in his tired-red eyes, but. Well.
Maybe Sebastian will find his own ragtag group of people to travel with him, mid boar-hunting. Life is absurd like that. Another soft chuckle, and Iorveth gestures with one hand, almost as if to wave Sebastian away. ]
You've said your part. Now go find your freedom.
[ Sebastian (who definitely thinks Iorveth is a bit of an asshole now) spares one last look at Astarion before melting back into the crowd, slightly more straight-backed than the rest of them. Purpose tends to do that to someone. Still, Iorveth doesn't care about him even a little compared to how much he cares for Astarion in this moment; he takes a few steps away from Astarion for a better vantage point, looking Astarion up and down with barely-concealed admiration. Like he wants to commit this precise moment to memory, alongside "yes, I think it was". ]
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He turns his attention back to Iorveth, then, who's stepped back and is looking at him with the sort of fondness he'd have said hurts his stomach less than a tenday ago. He doesn't feel at danger of getting hives anymore. Still, he scolds, ] Stop that.
[ The chastisement is entirely affectionate, though, and he reaches out to tug Iorveth back in. ]
When you look at me like that, it makes me want to do things that a horrendous dungeon is not the backdrop for.
[ Besides, Iorveth really shouldn't be looking too much at him. This lighting is no doubt unflattering. ]
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Iorveth would embrace him again, if he felt he could get away with it. Not here, though― Astarion is right about the backdrop being all wrong. It'll take a while yet before all the spawn can be corralled out of their ancient prisons, and Petras and the others will likely have their work cut out for them for the next...
...well, however long. They won't be bored, at least. ]
We should leave, then. [ The crowd's movement has halted for a moment, presumably as one of Astarion's siblings go to fetch the remaining brothers and sisters for backup. Iorveth flicks his gaze over towards the direction of where the elevator would be behind the throng of emaciated spawn, and marvels, again, at how many there are. ] ...While we can. I don't plan on spending the night here.
[ Next to Cazador's corpse? No thank you. He takes Astarion's hand and steps forward, fully intending to push himself through the crowd. As if he's not a piece of steakmeat that might get mauled the moment someone decides that they're too hungry to resist. ]
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[ Astarion yanks him back, away from the spawn. He might have just set them loose upon Baldur's Gate, but that doesn't mean he trusts them with Iorveth. After all, he knows firsthand just how enticing that neck is. ]
Get in the middle of that crowd, and you might be the next corpse we find here.
[ They could resist for a minute, with bars between them and Iorveth. There's no telling what they might do now that they're free, and Astarion doesn't want to find out. Let them all go hunt boars together.
Astarion places a hand on Iorveth's shoulder and murmurs, ] Invisibilis.
[ Iorveth's body slowly fades from view, starting from his shoulder and crawling to his torso, his limbs, and finally his head, the last thing to go his gifted eyepatch and tousled hair. Astarion steps back, withdrawing his hand. ]
There. Now you can go.
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It's an ordeal. By the time he reaches Aurelia, who's assuring the first line of escapees that they will get out, they just need to wait for more help to arrive, he doesn't feel so bad about hijacking the elevator so that he and Astarion can finally leave the cluster of bodies behind and return to the surface. Dalyria squeaks in surprise when Iorveth, still invisible, activates the dais, and jumps back as the platform starts to rumble and move. ]
We'll leave the rest to you, [ Iorveth calls out, and tugs Astarion up onto the lift before it can take off without him. ] Maethe taerde.
[ "Good luck", in his native language. The rumbling of the elevator obscures the others' response, but Iorveth isn't listening for it; what will be will be. Maybe they can follow up later, after they remove the tadpole from their heads. ]
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We might have just doomed Baldur's Gate to a bloody death at the hands of a cabal of vampires, you know.
[ Somehow, he can't bring himself to sound too worried. With Iorveth safe and steadily getting farther away from the spawn, it's difficult to find reasons to be upset. What's done is done, and if his newfound siblings decide to rampage across the city, they'll deal with that problem when it comes.
Admittedly, he does really hope it doesn't come.
The dais comes to a heavy stop in the hall to Cazador's private study, and Astarion gives Iorveth's arm an insistent tug. ]
Let's go. I don't want to spend another moment in this coffin.
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With that said, it's time they left this manse behind. Iorveth huffs a soft laugh at the tug (there's been a lot of manhandling tonight), but doesn't protest the sentiment. He's had enough of this palace for a lifetime, and he's only even been in it twice. Hard to imagine that Astarion had to call this place home for two entire centuries. ]
Come, [ is all Iorveth has to say. The rest of their journey back outside is done in silence, without further acknowledgment of the mansion's abandoned hallways or its gaudy decor; Iorveth'd been fine with the idea of Astarion ransacking Henselt's wares after they were done with the assassination, but he balks at the possibility of Astarion bringing any part of this place with him. Consequently, it's a relief when they finally cross the barrier of the front door and step back outside, leaving all of the haunted things that Cazador collected in that manse to rot.
The air outside tastes fresh, crisp. Iorveth only now becomes aware of the progression of time (being insulated in a windowless tomb tends to be detrimental to timekeeping), as he notes that night is slowly flirting with daybreak, letting just the slightest sliver of light to touch it where the horizon meets the sky. From their vantage point up on the ramparts, the sprawl of city in front of them is pretty, almost picturesque.
Iorveth takes a long breath in, filling his lungs with non-fetid air, then turns towards Astarion. He suddenly feels more tired than he'd anticipated, but the exhaustion is secondary to that pride he'd felt before, when Astarion'd been lit by blue-green light. The sentiment gentles him again, and he lets his expression reflect how he feels. ]
A long night. [ One hand rests on Astarion's head, and sifts over silver hair. ] ―We'll return to the inn. You look drained.
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I look gorgeous, [ he shoots back, trying not to look embarrassingly besotted, ] like always.
[ How dare Iorveth suggest anything else! He boops Iorveth on his angular nose, weary but not too tired to be annoying, saying, ] As do you. [ before linking their arms together and starting on the path toward the inn.
He is gorgeous. Even more so now that he's stood beside Astarion as he faced down his worst demons and didn't even blink. He should be disgusted, appalled. He should have told Astarion that he needed to deal with the consequences of his terrible actions alone. But he didn't, and Astarion is grateful for that. ]
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Astarion will probably always be a bit haunted, though. Cursed to remember the scent of that fetid tomb for as long as he lives, which is a long time; Iorveth can't spend an eternity with Astarion, but he can hope that a few centuries might be enough to chase a few of Astarion's ghosts away.
If Astarion doesn't run screaming from a life in the north, that is. Still within the realm of possibility. Iorveth is an idiot for stumbling onto the L-word situation so clumsily, and will have to deal with the fallout accordingly if Astarion decides that, actually, he doesn't want this.
A problem for later (a lot of their problems share this trait, incidentally). Now, Iorveth walks back to Elfsong with Astarion in tow, content to look at his profile every so often in the privacy of empty streets. There are a few vagrants sleeping here and there under half-covered awnings, but after being cloistered by hundreds of spawn, the city feels abandoned by comparison.
When they finally get to Elfsong, he stops outside the front door and turns to face Astarion properly. ]
Before we have to relinquish our privacy again, [ is the disclaimer, before he tips Astarion's chin and leans in for a kiss. Just a soft, fluttering thing, lips lightly pressed against lips. ]
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Despite the unpleasant reminder of their lack of privacy to come, Astarion smiles against Iorveth's mouth, pleased. It's adorable that he feels the need to explain himself at all, adorable that he presses his lips to Astarion's so feather-light. Astarion isn't adorable, so he crowds Iorveth against the door to the Elfsong, pressing their bodies flush together and kissing him within an inch of his life.
The door opens, and they nearly both tumble through, Astarion only managing to catch them with his hands on Iorveth's shoulders. The unwelcome interloper, a little spitfire of a gnome, gapes up at them. "Get a room!" she squeals.
Ever annoyed at having his (very public) affections interrupted, Astarion scowls. ]
You should be paying for that free show.
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Slightly out of breath (because, unlike Astarion, he still needs to): ] Don't stare at him. [ Pulling Astarion's head to the crook of his neck, obscuring his pretty face. Not a fan of anyone being privy to how sweet he looks when he's kiss-flushed, Iorveth shoos the gnome away with a rather rude gesture; she bristles at being treated like a stray dog and storms away, grumbling "who in the hells would ever pay to watch two stupid elves trying to eat each other's faces?!"
Once the interloper is gone, he heaves a sigh and lets go. ]
Never allowed a moment. [ It's always something. Still, it's hard to dampen the overwhelming pride he feels for Astarion and his first big decision after his hard-earned freedom, and affection lingers in his expression as he starts their trek up the stairs and to their room. Silent, to avoid disturbing the others' sleep; thankfully, Halsin's soft snoring is louder than the click and creak of the door, and the only stirring that happens when the two of them step inside is Scratch cracking his eye open, only to close it once again when he notes that it's just the two weird elves that keep disappearing lately. ]
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And he does, coaxing Iorveth's mouth open and licking insistently into it. There's no other way to rid himself of all of this disgustingly affectionate energy than to pour it back into Iorveth. No one has ever been there for him before, and it makes a surplus of fondness bloom in his heart. Iorveth can't possibly understand what it's like to have someone after being alone for centuries, so connected to his people as he is, but he tries to express his elation regardless.
When he pulls back, he slips his fingers under the leather strap of Iorveth's eyepatch to remove it. More manhandling, even now. He really can't help himself. ]
Gods, you're wonderful.
[ His voice is low, careful not to wake the others and instantly ruin this moment, but it's filled with affection regardless. ]
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It's kind of appalling, wanting absolutely no distance from someone. Astarion kisses him, pulls his eyepatch off, says kind words to him, and Iorveth has no plans or defenses against these things: he's so rarely a fan of letting anything happen to him, but he lets this happen, and reciprocates. Hands fly to either side of Astarion's face, cradling him in place while Iorveth cranes up and claims his mouth in return with the same depth of affection and intimacy. He keeps Astarion there even when he pulls back for air, and murmurs against his mouth. ]
You've laid yourself bare for me during the past few days, [ is his answer to "you're wonderful". ] And now, with certainty, I can say that you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
[ It isn't that Iorveth is wonderful: it's just that he sees Astarion more clearly now. Someone with all the potential in the world, freed from everything that tried to make him less. Iorveth kisses Astarion again, thumbing under one red eye, enjoying the feeling of his cool skin when he'd all but recoiled from the other spawns' touch. ]
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His pale skin pinks with pleasure at the compliment, all the better because it's coming from Iorveth who truly, ridiculously means every word he says. It's infuriating how sweet Iorveth is, and how much he makes Astarion want to rip off his clothes when they have seven roommates, not counting the animals. He rolls the word love over in his head again, the way Iorveth's voice had sounded around the word, the way the circus performers had used it so casually to describe them.
He presses into the kiss, then straightens up, reaching behind him to clumsily remove Iorveth's shoes for him. They go flying, but it's the thought that counts. If he can't rip off his clothes, at least Astarion can get him ready for bed. ]
Two centuries, and you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
[ If his voice is low now, it's because he'd die a second time if he were caught being this sappy by anyone but Iorveth. ]
Thank you, [ he says, the words a little awkward in his mouth. He's still not used to gratitude. ] For— ah. [ Where to begin? ] Well, I suppose for being you.
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Instead, it's a mirrored reach behind him to tug Astarion's shoes off, a similar rush to make Astarion comfortable. ]
A feat I managed because you chose not to run.
[ Trading compliments for compliments. There was a real possibility, back then, for Iorveth to have been caught and dragged back by his feet to his tormentors up north, and where would they have been if that'd happened?
Shoes tossed aside, collars loosened, Iorveth rolls the both of them onto their sides. Tangled, sheets and pillows shifting under their collective weight. ]
Astarion. [ As nice as it is to hear Astarion say kind things to him, this really is about his accomplishments over the past few nights. So: ] You're stronger than you know. Now you have the rest of your life to realize it.
[ Afraid of everything now, sure, but that's fine. Iorveth hums, and holds Astarion closer to his chest. ] Be proud. You'll never bow your head to anyone again.
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Impulse urges him to blurt out something dramatic and romantic, but his appreciation for setting stops him. A shared room above the Elfsong is no place for romantic confessions. Instead: ]
A feat I managed because you helped me.
[ He's not sure he would have had the courage to do it, any of it, on his own. He would never have been able to set foot in that palace without Iorveth standing next to him.
A sigh. ] You're too tempting to bear. Rest, or you'll drive me mad.
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