[ Ha. No one in the world has ever told Astarion that he needs to think about himself more. Iorveth truly is delusional. ]
It's only a leg, darling.
[ It isn't as if he'll never walk again. It hurts like hell, but his body has been abused worse than this and still bounced back. The perks of being a vampire, he supposes. A spawn doesn't regenerate like their master, but a slow healing is healing nonetheless.
As for the rest of what happened, he's already decided to repress it. It can be swept under a rug in the back of his mind with the rest of his unpleasant memories, until one day something triggers it to resurface and he flips out on someone who doesn't deserve it. The way things are supposed to be. ]
But I couldn't turn down such tender ministrations.
[ The so-called tender ministrations continue, because it's the only thing Iorveth can do with his remaining bandwidth. Still simmering in his fury, he sets the washcloth aside to uncork a potion of healing and hold it to Astarion's lips to drink. It won't help at all in mending a broken leg, but he figures that it can alleviate some of the other aches. ]
It isn't just your leg, [ he finally says, sullen. He remembers the violent shove and the madcap scramble after Astarion woke up from being put to sleep, the state he'd found Astarion in when he'd come to from his minor concussion.
Unacceptable. He grits his teeth, still furious about it all. ]
I should go back and kill her, [ he hisses. How the fuck he'd manage that, he doesn't know, but it boils his blood to think of the hag persisting. ]
[ Astarion laughs a little, tired but amused, at Iorveth's sullen response. He adores his scowling little fox, fiercely devoted to his pack. It's light, affectionate, and then Iorveth mentions going back and he shoots up, going from horizontal to vertical in an instant. ]
Ow, godsdammit, [ is the first thing he says, because it fucking hurts to move so fast. Then— ]
Don't ever set foot in Athkatla again.
[ Commanding, demanding. He seems to realize his tone after a moment, then adds, in an attempt to soften it: ] Sweetheart.
[ Astarion, he mouths, chiding his partner for the sudden movement with a palm pressed lightly against Astarion's chest, and a little push that encourages him to settle back down onto the couch. ]
Hn. [ To the demand. Another sullen huff, clearly not happy to be discouraged. ] It rankles to think of that fucking hag persisting.
[ She'd mentioned having seen so much of Astarion's thoughts and memories, and the very notion of someone so wretched having been privy to something so private makes Iorveth want to stride upstairs and demand that Gale open a portal again.
It shows on his face, probably. His stupid, ugly, battered face. Iorveth frowns, and sits back by the side of the couch, looking up at Astarion with one hand sifting through now-cleaner silver hair. ]
I won't let any offense to you sit and remain.
[ Hmph! Maybe in a decade's time, he'll go back to Athkatla with a hireling in tow and drag the hag kicking and screaming out of her lair. ]
[ It would be sweet, if the idea weren't so distressing. Yes, of course, he loves the idea of Iorveth defending his nonexistent honor, but the thought of the hag even laying eyes on Iorveth again makes him start sweating again. He shakes his head, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Iorveth's arm, expression gravely serious. ]
I don't want you anywhere near that awful creature.
[ She wanted to skin Iorveth, might he remind him. Maybe Iorveth doesn't remember the worst of it because he was unconscious, but Astarion sure does. He'd felt very helpless then, and it makes him feel helpless now. His least favorite feeling. ]
Say that you won't. Swear it. On, ah— all the trees in the forest.
[ He doesn't know!! What do wood elves swear on. ]
[ Iorveth, the angriest version of the Lorax the multiverse will ever see, looks a little offended that Astarion is going to make him swear by the godsdamned trees that he won't go and viciously murder the creature that hurt his love－
－but, ugh, fine. Iorveth is weak to Astarion saying I want (and its more important sibling, I don't want), especially since Astarion's usual answer when being asked about what he wants is I don't know.
So, after that moment of incredulous half-exasperation: ]
...Fine. I swear on Aelirenn's honor. [ This probably means absolutely fucking nothing to Astarion, but he'll just have to take Iorveth's word for it when he says it's the most important wood elf thing he can think to swear on. ] But if she crosses paths with me, I'll not stand idly by.
[ Stubborn fox. Another soft hmph, and he takes a swig of his own potion; the angry-raw marks on his face fade a bit, mending just enough so that the parallel lines are no longer exposed and bleeding. ]
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It's only a leg, darling.
[ It isn't as if he'll never walk again. It hurts like hell, but his body has been abused worse than this and still bounced back. The perks of being a vampire, he supposes. A spawn doesn't regenerate like their master, but a slow healing is healing nonetheless.
As for the rest of what happened, he's already decided to repress it. It can be swept under a rug in the back of his mind with the rest of his unpleasant memories, until one day something triggers it to resurface and he flips out on someone who doesn't deserve it. The way things are supposed to be. ]
But I couldn't turn down such tender ministrations.
no subject
It isn't just your leg, [ he finally says, sullen. He remembers the violent shove and the madcap scramble after Astarion woke up from being put to sleep, the state he'd found Astarion in when he'd come to from his minor concussion.
Unacceptable. He grits his teeth, still furious about it all. ]
I should go back and kill her, [ he hisses. How the fuck he'd manage that, he doesn't know, but it boils his blood to think of the hag persisting. ]
no subject
Ow, godsdammit, [ is the first thing he says, because it fucking hurts to move so fast. Then— ]
Don't ever set foot in Athkatla again.
[ Commanding, demanding. He seems to realize his tone after a moment, then adds, in an attempt to soften it: ] Sweetheart.
no subject
Hn. [ To the demand. Another sullen huff, clearly not happy to be discouraged. ] It rankles to think of that fucking hag persisting.
[ She'd mentioned having seen so much of Astarion's thoughts and memories, and the very notion of someone so wretched having been privy to something so private makes Iorveth want to stride upstairs and demand that Gale open a portal again.
It shows on his face, probably. His stupid, ugly, battered face. Iorveth frowns, and sits back by the side of the couch, looking up at Astarion with one hand sifting through now-cleaner silver hair. ]
I won't let any offense to you sit and remain.
[ Hmph! Maybe in a decade's time, he'll go back to Athkatla with a hireling in tow and drag the hag kicking and screaming out of her lair. ]
no subject
I don't want you anywhere near that awful creature.
[ She wanted to skin Iorveth, might he remind him. Maybe Iorveth doesn't remember the worst of it because he was unconscious, but Astarion sure does. He'd felt very helpless then, and it makes him feel helpless now. His least favorite feeling. ]
Say that you won't. Swear it. On, ah— all the trees in the forest.
[ He doesn't know!! What do wood elves swear on. ]
no subject
－but, ugh, fine. Iorveth is weak to Astarion saying I want (and its more important sibling, I don't want), especially since Astarion's usual answer when being asked about what he wants is I don't know.
So, after that moment of incredulous half-exasperation: ]
...Fine. I swear on Aelirenn's honor. [ This probably means absolutely fucking nothing to Astarion, but he'll just have to take Iorveth's word for it when he says it's the most important wood elf thing he can think to swear on. ] But if she crosses paths with me, I'll not stand idly by.
[ Stubborn fox. Another soft hmph, and he takes a swig of his own potion; the angry-raw marks on his face fade a bit, mending just enough so that the parallel lines are no longer exposed and bleeding. ]
...Do you think you can trance tonight?