[ 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. ]
[ Who the fuck is Aelirenn, he very politely doesn't say. He just thinks it instead. It seems serious enough to Iorveth, though, so he relinquishes his grip on Iorveth's arm, letting his hands rest limply by his sides instead. ]
I don't know.
[ His favorite words, apparently. It's been three days without proper rest, and even with human blood still coursing through his system, he feels exhausted. He wants to trance, but there's a part of him that fears what he might see when he lets go of any bit of control. It's irrational. The hag doesn't know where he is, and he hasn't had a real nightmare in ages. Even knowing that, his stomach twists at the thought. ]
Perhaps I'll stay up, make sure you don't take a turn for the worse. You did get a rather nasty bonk on the head.
[ Astarion lets go, and Iorveth shifts so that he's resting sideways against the couch, not-quite-parallel and not-quite-perpendicular, legs sprawled in front of him and his shoulder to the edge of the couch cushion, head listing near Astarion's forearm. ]
A turn for the worse, [ he parrots, softly amused. ] Who knows? A blow to the head could have fixed my personality.
[ One can only hope. Iorveth is staunchly opposed to the idea of Astarion losing more rest just to make sure he doesn't get sick all over himself during the day, though, so he shakes his head (ugh, not a good idea). ]
We'll both trance properly once Gale brings the cleric over for your leg.
And your head, [ he adds, lest Iorveth forget the whole concussion that he has. Astarion isn't certain if he's brushing it off because he's Iorveth, or because he's so concussed that he doesn't realize he's concussed. Hard to know, when Iorveth claims to be fine all the time. It's irritating and charming at the same time.
He reaches out to place a hand on Iorveth's head, weak but still affectionate, petting lightly. ]
This isn't exactly how I had hoped this would go.
[ Obviously. He'd thought he'd be manic with happiness right now, but he just feels tired. ]
I had thought we would be celebrating vigorously right now.
[ Like, just to be transparent. He absolutely expected Iorveth to be naked at this point. ]
[ 'Celebrating vigorously'. A hum-laugh, and Iorveth finally lets the last of his posturing drain from his shoulders, succumbing to the pleasant feeling of Astarion's now-familiar touch. ]
Things rarely go as one hopes, love.
[ A mean, cynical statement, tempered (he hopes) by the use of that affectionate term, love. Still, Iorveth isn't quite looking to have the last word tonight, so he lets the preaching go.
Instead: ] Ambitious of you, regardless, to have assumed that you could have gotten erect after three days without rest.
[ Translation: "ain't no way you could have gotten a boner". Iorveth is the worst. ]
[ Iorveth is the worst. Astarion starts to sit up again, offended, but he quickly learns his lesson this time and settles back down, reclining. He does tug on Iorveth's ear as punishment, though. ]
For you, I could.
[ Unrealistic? Maybe. The truth of the matter doesn't change anything. Like it always is, the truth is boring. ]
Take off that hideous gambeson, and perhaps I still will.
[ He won't. Admittedly, he's in no emotional place to be taking his clothes off. And, for more practical reasons, the leg would be a real turn-off. ]
[ Oh, Astarion. A lying liar that lies, but in a way that makes Iorveth want to pick him up and squeeze him. Accepting the tug to his ear (deserved), he reaches up and pinches the bridge of Astarion's nose. Retaliatory. ]
You'd stay soft, and I'd be offended, and we'd have a row.
[ Joking. Literally none of that would happen minus the Astarion not getting an erection part, which is the only thread of truth here (again, incredibly rude). It's a funny mental image, though, especially with Gale and Damris in the other room, and Tara presumably one more strike away from expelling the two bad influences in her wizard son's life.
Iorveth relinquishes the pinch, and pets Astarion's hair. ]
[ Iorveth is the only person he'd allow to tease him in such a way. He hates being poked and prodded at, but the way Iorveth does it is affectionate, sweet in its juvenile nature. He doesn't mind being poked at all.
However: ]
It's... perhaps for the best.
[ A little faltering, as if reluctant to share but pushing through regardless. People who love each other are supposed to be honest with each other, he's pretty sure. Too bad being honest with anyone ever makes him want to jump off the nearest cliff. ]
I don't feel particularly... inclined toward that sort of thing. At the moment.
[ Before, being told that Astarion preferred not to be intimate would have made Iorveth pull away entirely, cautious of boundaries in a near-militant way. Now, he still stays within Astarion's periphery, letting his fingers sift through damp curls for one more lingering moment instead of yanking them away immediately. ]
Understandably.
[ Iorveth won't pretend that he doesn't see the outlines of that unspoken why. He's tried not to touch it, has left it well enough alone, but he ventures: ]
[ He always wants to talk about it, and he always wants to ignore it. Never happy, no matter what he does. What the hag did was awful, of course, and he feels horribly violated to have his most private thoughts breached in such a way, but conversely, it's almost a relief that someone else looked at his memories and thought that they were terrible, too. ]
I don't want you to see me in that way.
[ Iorveth has seemingly always been a fighter, holding onto his pride with white knuckles. Astarion was and is an endurer. Iorveth would probably be disgusted with the sort of things he put up with. He laughs, dry. ]
I suppose you always did say that I lacked self-respect.
[ A beat, as Iorveth takes a moment to realign himself on the floor. Perpendicular this time, legs folded, facing Astarion more properly. When he opens his mouth to speak, he knows that his opening statement won't be particularly pleasant to hear. ]
At the time, I believed you did. You tried to ingratiate me to you without warmth or sincerity.
[ Which felt insulting, and yes, self-effacing. Hardly something to lie about. ]
But I didn't know then what I know now. [ The why-s, the still-nebulous how-s. It's not that Iorveth wants Astarion to relive the specifics of his past to make a case for himself (no one is owed Astarion's anything), but: ] Do you think I would think less of you?
[ Astarion still feels a little defensive of his ingratiation. He had no idea then that Iorveth would be the first person to actually like the real him. Should he have just relied on what seemed, at the time, to require an impossible act of the gods, rather than use tried and true methods to establish himself as a party member worth protecting (and not staking)? Iorveth would probably say yes. But what does Iorveth know? He's always had a tribe of elves behind him. He doesn't know what it's like to have to navigate this world alone.
But that's not the point of all of this, so Astarion pushes the offense down for now. ]
It's just that, well, you like me so much. [ Somehow. Miraculously. But Iorveth also sees him in a way that Astarion doesn't see. He'd once called him the least helpless person he'd ever known. If he saw the Astarion that Astarion sees, he might not feel that way anymore. ] And I'd really prefer for you to keep liking me.
[ So, yes. He does think Iorveth would think less of him. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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－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?
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I don't know.
[ His favorite words, apparently. It's been three days without proper rest, and even with human blood still coursing through his system, he feels exhausted. He wants to trance, but there's a part of him that fears what he might see when he lets go of any bit of control. It's irrational. The hag doesn't know where he is, and he hasn't had a real nightmare in ages. Even knowing that, his stomach twists at the thought. ]
Perhaps I'll stay up, make sure you don't take a turn for the worse. You did get a rather nasty bonk on the head.
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A turn for the worse, [ he parrots, softly amused. ] Who knows? A blow to the head could have fixed my personality.
[ One can only hope. Iorveth is staunchly opposed to the idea of Astarion losing more rest just to make sure he doesn't get sick all over himself during the day, though, so he shakes his head (ugh, not a good idea). ]
We'll both trance properly once Gale brings the cleric over for your leg.
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He reaches out to place a hand on Iorveth's head, weak but still affectionate, petting lightly. ]
This isn't exactly how I had hoped this would go.
[ Obviously. He'd thought he'd be manic with happiness right now, but he just feels tired. ]
I had thought we would be celebrating vigorously right now.
[ Like, just to be transparent. He absolutely expected Iorveth to be naked at this point. ]
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Things rarely go as one hopes, love.
[ A mean, cynical statement, tempered (he hopes) by the use of that affectionate term, love. Still, Iorveth isn't quite looking to have the last word tonight, so he lets the preaching go.
Instead: ] Ambitious of you, regardless, to have assumed that you could have gotten erect after three days without rest.
[ Translation: "ain't no way you could have gotten a boner". Iorveth is the worst. ]
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For you, I could.
[ Unrealistic? Maybe. The truth of the matter doesn't change anything. Like it always is, the truth is boring. ]
Take off that hideous gambeson, and perhaps I still will.
[ He won't. Admittedly, he's in no emotional place to be taking his clothes off. And, for more practical reasons, the leg would be a real turn-off. ]
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You'd stay soft, and I'd be offended, and we'd have a row.
[ Joking. Literally none of that would happen minus the Astarion not getting an erection part, which is the only thread of truth here (again, incredibly rude). It's a funny mental image, though, especially with Gale and Damris in the other room, and Tara presumably one more strike away from expelling the two bad influences in her wizard son's life.
Iorveth relinquishes the pinch, and pets Astarion's hair. ]
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However: ]
It's... perhaps for the best.
[ A little faltering, as if reluctant to share but pushing through regardless. People who love each other are supposed to be honest with each other, he's pretty sure. Too bad being honest with anyone ever makes him want to jump off the nearest cliff. ]
I don't feel particularly... inclined toward that sort of thing. At the moment.
[ He doesn't include why. ]
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Understandably.
[ Iorveth won't pretend that he doesn't see the outlines of that unspoken why. He's tried not to touch it, has left it well enough alone, but he ventures: ]
Do you wish to speak about it?
[ Just in case. ]
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[ He always wants to talk about it, and he always wants to ignore it. Never happy, no matter what he does. What the hag did was awful, of course, and he feels horribly violated to have his most private thoughts breached in such a way, but conversely, it's almost a relief that someone else looked at his memories and thought that they were terrible, too. ]
I don't want you to see me in that way.
[ Iorveth has seemingly always been a fighter, holding onto his pride with white knuckles. Astarion was and is an endurer. Iorveth would probably be disgusted with the sort of things he put up with. He laughs, dry. ]
I suppose you always did say that I lacked self-respect.
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At the time, I believed you did. You tried to ingratiate me to you without warmth or sincerity.
[ Which felt insulting, and yes, self-effacing. Hardly something to lie about. ]
But I didn't know then what I know now. [ The why-s, the still-nebulous how-s. It's not that Iorveth wants Astarion to relive the specifics of his past to make a case for himself (no one is owed Astarion's anything), but: ] Do you think I would think less of you?
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But that's not the point of all of this, so Astarion pushes the offense down for now. ]
It's just that, well, you like me so much. [ Somehow. Miraculously. But Iorveth also sees him in a way that Astarion doesn't see. He'd once called him the least helpless person he'd ever known. If he saw the Astarion that Astarion sees, he might not feel that way anymore. ] And I'd really prefer for you to keep liking me.
[ So, yes. He does think Iorveth would think less of him. ]