[ Astarion would very much like to bask and be basked in, but as usual, he has the hardest life of anyone on the planet. With great effort—both due to reluctance and physical discomfort—he removes himself from his spot on top of Iorveth, groaning a little so that Iorveth can see how pathetic and hurt he is and feel inclined to coddle him some more.
He's been horizontal this whole time, but he finally pushes himself up against the headboard, blinking blearily. The long trance did wonders for his emotional state, but it's difficult to readjust to the waking world now. ]
Darling, I'd shout it from the rooftops if you'd only let me.
[ That is to say, he has no intentions of keeping it a secret. This engagement is the best thing that's ever happened to him. ]
[ Coddling is bad, usually, but not when he's coddling a man who almost had his soul sucked out of him through nightmares by a hideous hag who also shattered his leg. Astarion deserves to have his every whim entertained for at least the next 48 hours as he staves off The Horrors, which is why Iorveth indulges him: Iorveth swings off the bed ("soft-boiled", he calls down to Gale), moving to the closet to get Astarion a comfortable robe (purple, to his dismay) and soft, loose pants that he can shimmy into without much trouble. ]
Well, then. [ Iorveth finally replies, as he helps Astarion close the front of his robe and then moves to find a brush for his hair. Falling into the morning grooming routine with the same care and efficiency he shows when tending to his weapons. ] You can tell whoever you please, whenever you please.
...Preferably not in witness of the cleric. I imagine he'd have some smart-assed thing to say about time and perspective.
[ As if Iorveth hasn't tried those things already, all to Astarion's distress. ]
Ugh. [ Regarding 'the cleric'. ] He's just jealous, obviously.
[ Reginald very much is not jealous, but Astarion has decided to convince himself that he is. It's the only thing that makes sense. Why else would someone suggest that he not be up Iorveth's ass every minute of the day? It's a very reasonable place to be. ]
I feel bad for him. [ He doesn't, but he sighs dramatically anyway. ] But not everyone can meet their perfect match, unfortunately.
[ And Iorveth is that for him, certainly. A perfect fit, like hand in glove. He smooths down the fabric of his pants and stands, obviously favoring his leg but far more mobile than before the healing. ]
After you eat, we should... [ He trails off, intimidated by the prospect of testing their arcane loot. ] You know. The cloaks.
[ A bit more rummaging, and Iorveth finds a rather adorable pair of owlbear slippers that he does not, in fact, give to Astarion to slip into. Instead, Astarion gets the comfortable-looking (also purple) indoor slippers, and Iorveth quickly goes through his own grooming routine, which consists of just tossing his dirty shirt off, putting his eyepatch on, and calling it a day.
He also picks up Astarion's lumpy pack when the subject of the cloaks is brought up, and slings it over his bare shoulder. ]
I'd not forgotten. [ The elephant in the room. Hard to ignore it when it's the reason why they went through hell in the first place. ] Our moment of truth.
[ Triumph, or devastation. Iorveth offers Astarion a hand as they walk downstairs to the dining room (which smells glorious― Gale continues to outdo himself). ]
[ Astarion has no real interest in mortal food, but even he can admit that it smells enticing. Meat, cheese, eggs; he wonders if doing all of this is easy for Gale because of his magic, or if he simply does it regardless of effort because he's incapable of doing anything halfway.
Gale lights up at their arrival, apron on and plates in hand. "Perfect timing, my friends," he says, grinning. "Breakfast is fresh off the flame!"
Astarion isn't looking at Gale, though. He's staring at a tiefling interloper sitting at the table. ]
I'm sorry, what is he doing here? He doesn't even eat.
[ Gale looks a little offended as he sets a plate down, piled high with sausage and breakfast rolls. For Iorveth, ostensibly, because a moment later there's an egg cup placed beside it. "You don't eat either, and you're no less a guest for it!" ]
[ Iorveth takes his seat, which is directly opposite Damris; the tiefling only glances at him before turning his attention towards Astarion, obviously competitive with him in a way that only two beautiful people who started off on the wrong foot can be.
"Unlike you lot, Gale has manners," he states crisply. Now that he's not bound and gagged, he's the picture of regality: tall, stately, his long black hair brushed into a low ponytail that trails down, nearly to his waist. "I can't imagine why he keeps such ugly, barbaric company."
The 'ugly' is lobbed at Astarion with casual nonchalance; again, a pretty person trying to aim below the belt when insulting another pretty person. Damris is probably starting a burn book, and Astarion is probably on the first page.
Iorveth shoots Damris a Look, but the insult is so ridiculous (there is no reality in which Astarion is not the most beautiful man in Toril) that it doesn't even warrant acknowledgment on his end― thus, he does something even ruder, which is to ignore Damris entirely and start piling his plate full of bread and cheese. ]
Sit, love. [ He motions for Astarion to settle down next to him. ] ―You can drink after my breakfast, if you wish.
[ Astarion settles in the chair beside Iorveth, stroking his hair in a sort of performative, defensive way as he glowers at Damris. A way that says this is mine, not because he thinks Damris has any designs on trying to steal Iorveth away from him, but because he wants Damris to know there would be consequences for trying to break his toy.
Gale sits down, too, smiling with forced chipperness. "Well. Doesn't it feel good to have breakfast with friends?"
There might as well be crickets.
Finally: ] Don't get too comfortable in Waterdeep, Dennis. We'll be arranging travel to the Underdark before long. [ A waved hand. ] Tell that lovesick fool of yours to meet you there, if you wish.
[ Not that Astarion cares what happens to nice, sweet, besotted Linus. Not at all!!! ]
[ Iorveth is piling cheese onto a piece of toast, head leaning into Astarion's touch like a fox unconsciously tipping towards scratches. Damris turns his nose up at the display, and Gale looks resigned; Reginald, who has also stuck around for breakfast, is happily demolishing his omelette, though he notes that he needs to get back and help his wife with the laundry soon.
"The Underdark?", Damris huffs, not deigning to address the subject of his mistaken name. "Absolutely not! Gale might introduce me to someone who has opened a night school for prospective wizards."
Gale clears his throat, avoiding Iorveth's scrutiny. Damris continues: "And what does Linus have to do with any of this?" ]
So you do acknowledge that he's in love with you, [ Iorveth points out, turning Damris a lovely shade of red. ]
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He's been horizontal this whole time, but he finally pushes himself up against the headboard, blinking blearily. The long trance did wonders for his emotional state, but it's difficult to readjust to the waking world now. ]
Darling, I'd shout it from the rooftops if you'd only let me.
[ That is to say, he has no intentions of keeping it a secret. This engagement is the best thing that's ever happened to him. ]
no subject
Well, then. [ Iorveth finally replies, as he helps Astarion close the front of his robe and then moves to find a brush for his hair. Falling into the morning grooming routine with the same care and efficiency he shows when tending to his weapons. ] You can tell whoever you please, whenever you please.
...Preferably not in witness of the cleric. I imagine he'd have some smart-assed thing to say about time and perspective.
[ As if Iorveth hasn't tried those things already, all to Astarion's distress. ]
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[ Reginald very much is not jealous, but Astarion has decided to convince himself that he is. It's the only thing that makes sense. Why else would someone suggest that he not be up Iorveth's ass every minute of the day? It's a very reasonable place to be. ]
I feel bad for him. [ He doesn't, but he sighs dramatically anyway. ] But not everyone can meet their perfect match, unfortunately.
[ And Iorveth is that for him, certainly. A perfect fit, like hand in glove. He smooths down the fabric of his pants and stands, obviously favoring his leg but far more mobile than before the healing. ]
After you eat, we should... [ He trails off, intimidated by the prospect of testing their arcane loot. ] You know. The cloaks.
no subject
He also picks up Astarion's lumpy pack when the subject of the cloaks is brought up, and slings it over his bare shoulder. ]
I'd not forgotten. [ The elephant in the room. Hard to ignore it when it's the reason why they went through hell in the first place. ] Our moment of truth.
[ Triumph, or devastation. Iorveth offers Astarion a hand as they walk downstairs to the dining room (which smells glorious― Gale continues to outdo himself). ]
no subject
Gale lights up at their arrival, apron on and plates in hand. "Perfect timing, my friends," he says, grinning. "Breakfast is fresh off the flame!"
Astarion isn't looking at Gale, though. He's staring at a tiefling interloper sitting at the table. ]
I'm sorry, what is he doing here? He doesn't even eat.
[ Gale looks a little offended as he sets a plate down, piled high with sausage and breakfast rolls. For Iorveth, ostensibly, because a moment later there's an egg cup placed beside it. "You don't eat either, and you're no less a guest for it!" ]
no subject
"Unlike you lot, Gale has manners," he states crisply. Now that he's not bound and gagged, he's the picture of regality: tall, stately, his long black hair brushed into a low ponytail that trails down, nearly to his waist. "I can't imagine why he keeps such ugly, barbaric company."
The 'ugly' is lobbed at Astarion with casual nonchalance; again, a pretty person trying to aim below the belt when insulting another pretty person. Damris is probably starting a burn book, and Astarion is probably on the first page.
Iorveth shoots Damris a Look, but the insult is so ridiculous (there is no reality in which Astarion is not the most beautiful man in Toril) that it doesn't even warrant acknowledgment on his end― thus, he does something even ruder, which is to ignore Damris entirely and start piling his plate full of bread and cheese. ]
Sit, love. [ He motions for Astarion to settle down next to him. ] ―You can drink after my breakfast, if you wish.
[ Damris, knowing what drink entails, scowls. ]
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Gale sits down, too, smiling with forced chipperness. "Well. Doesn't it feel good to have breakfast with friends?"
There might as well be crickets.
Finally: ] Don't get too comfortable in Waterdeep, Dennis. We'll be arranging travel to the Underdark before long. [ A waved hand. ] Tell that lovesick fool of yours to meet you there, if you wish.
[ Not that Astarion cares what happens to nice, sweet, besotted Linus. Not at all!!! ]
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"The Underdark?", Damris huffs, not deigning to address the subject of his mistaken name. "Absolutely not! Gale might introduce me to someone who has opened a night school for prospective wizards."
Gale clears his throat, avoiding Iorveth's scrutiny. Damris continues: "And what does Linus have to do with any of this?" ]
So you do acknowledge that he's in love with you, [ Iorveth points out, turning Damris a lovely shade of red. ]