[ Would it truly be hot to have a deranged elf glower at you from the other side of the room as you're trying to have dinner??? It's something that Astarion might have to deal with at some point or other, but for now, it's blissfully just the two of them (and Gale, occasionally, as he passes by the closed door and wonders if it's a good sort of closed door, or a bad sort of closed door).
It says something about the state of Iorveth's trust in Astarion that he barely even flinches when fangs cut through the thin layer of his skin and make a very vulnerable part of his body bleed. Iorveth has seen the way Astarion has fed on others－ with no care for the mess he makes or the pain he causes as a result－ but Astarion treats him with a kind of careful reverence that makes Iorveth wish he had more blood in his body to give.
A low exhale, and Iorveth presses his lips to the crown of Astarion's head. ]
The vampire ascendant, making a spawn?
[ There'd been mention that Astarion still thinks about what it would've been like if he'd completed the ritual. No judgment on Iorveth's part, but he isn't sure how he might have reacted to that particular power imbalance; he has no idea how the whole 'turning vampires into spawn' thing works, mechanically, nor does he really know how one could turn from spawn to vampire without the vampire killing his master. The politics of it all seem very messy. ]
[ Sometimes he fantasizes about that, too, when he's feeling particularly low. There's an appeal to making somebody who won't ever be able to leave him, couldn't possibly hurt him. But while a master can control a spawn physically, he still can't control their hearts (unbeating as they may be). He'd always know, somewhere deep down, that Iorveth didn't really love him, and it would make him go mad.
So: ] No. Well, not for long.
[ A vampire ascendant, maybe, but very soon not a spawn. He sucks gently at Iorveth's wrist, almost casual, like this is just as normal as post-coital cuddling. ]
If I fed you my own blood, then you'd be a true vampire. [ Teasing: ] Honestly, Iorveth, if you're going to be married to one, you really should brush up on the lore.
[ Slowly being drained, but happier for it. The fact that Iorveth isn't in any immediate danger makes it easier for him to let Astarion take as much as he can get away with, so he lists against Astarion's side, pliant and warm and pleased. ]
The lore, [ he snorts, but with no derision. ] Is there truly no way for you to become a true vampire, now that the unmentionable cretin is dead?
[ Not even going to speak Cazador's name into existence. Iorveth wonders if the unfinished ritual was truly Astarion's last chance, and if there's some other way for spawn to become vampires by virtue or... well, Iorveth doesn't know. Killing and biting another vampire lord, perhaps? Maybe they could have strung Alkam up and taken his blood; Damris had certainly wanted to.
Kissing Astarion's hair again, he appends: ] I wish to know about anything that may give you more freedom.
[ Which includes, yes, the lore. If Astarion isn't careful, Iorveth will start scheming again. ]
[ Astarion licks a few more times at the soft skin of Iorveth's wrist before he relinquishes it, fitting himself against Iorveth's body as best he can with this stupid leg in the way. Even worse than cockblocking, it's cuddleblocking him. ]
I don't know.
[ The lore isn't exactly his strong suit. He only knows the basics: you become a spawn, and then your master dangles the prospect of letting you drink his blood and become a true vampire in front of your face to torture you for two hundred years. Simple. ]
If there's a ritual to become a vampire ascendant, which, honestly, I'm not even certain is a real thing... [ It sounds fake!! How many fucking levels of vampire are there? ] ...then I'm sure there must be an alternative way to rise through the ranks from a spawn, as well.
[ With the power of devils on your side, it seems you can do just about anything. As long as you pay the price. ]
I guess I never gave it much thought, after— [ Giving up the ascendancy. He already sacrificed the greatest power he could ever have in the world; his lot in life was fairly cemented at that point. ]
[ How crazy would it have been, Iorveth thinks briefly, if Cazador did all that for dramatic reasons and the ritual didn't even work??? And how awful would it have been, if Astarion went ahead with the ritual in Cazador's stead, and it ended up in... who knows, him exploding or something equally as traumatizing? It's a good thing that they didn't consider ascendency－ no amount of power is worth the risk of Astarion losing any part of his current self.
With the feeding done, Iorveth takes his hand back to resume its very important job of petting Astarion's hair, slowly and carefully. ]
After I deterred you from world-changing power.
[ He finishes the sentence, since he's not in the habit of avoiding the truth, even if it doesn't paint him in the most flattering light. ]
You would be justified if you hated me for it, you realize.
[ If not for Iorveth, Astarion might be living in a mansion with 500 hot servants pouring wine over his naked body, or whatever it is that vampire ascendants do. He wouldn't be the Astarion that Iorveth loves now, but Astarion might have been happy regardless. ]
[ Ugh!! Another downside of these injuries: he can't both hold Iorveth's hand and pinch his cheek. Justified in hating Iorveth. Astarion could never be justified in hating him — and he could never hate him. Iorveth could betray him in every possible way, and there would still always be a part of him that longed for Iorveth's love. ]
The only reason to have that world-changing power is to protect you. [ Yes, he wants to be safe himself, but it's become less and less important. Not because he's somehow healed and found that the world is not an inherently dangerous place, but because he's simply shifted his neuroticism onto Iorveth's safety instead. ] The hag would have been a fine paste rubbed into that ugly carpet.
[ And it would have been glorious. If he had only ascended, he would have been able to save Iorveth, really save him, rather than just taking him and running. ]
...But I suppose seven thousand souls is quite a steep price to pay. [ He squeezes Iorveth's hand. ] And your disapproving scowl would have been too much to bear.
[ Iorveth simply just loves Astarion so fucking much. He holds Astarion sacred in a way that no sane person should, and is so concerned with Astarion's happiness to the point of parody: the only thing that scares Iorveth is the thought of anyone taking anything away from the man he loves.
Which is why he's floored by the assessment that Astarion wants to protect him. Iorveth has had lovers in the past, but he can't think of any that have said something like that out loud. It blindsides him (though it shouldn't, at this point), and makes him curl around Astarion, both reciprocally protective and also adoring. ]
Gods, you're perfect as you are.
[ Even if the cloak didn't protect Astarion from the sun, he would have been perfect anyway. He cups Astarion's face with one hand, keeping him in place to kiss all over his cheek, his forehead, his mouth. ]
Love of my life. I'd not change anything about you.
[ Iorveth doesn't need power or coin or prestige; he only wants Astarion, with all his complications and messiness. ]
[ Horrifically, Astarion actually giggles like a besotted schoolboy under the barrage of Iorveth's affection. Iorveth makes him feel— light. Unburdened. Like he really is young again, untouched and untainted. Like he's perfect the way he is. ]
I am particularly wonderful, [ he agrees. ] As are you. Hence why we make the perfect match.
[ There's only one thing he'd ever change about Iorveth, and it's that awful mortality. At least Iorveth isn't a human, or gods forbid, a halfling or gnome. He'd be beside himself if he thought he only had, what, fifty or sixty years before Iorveth's demise. No, he's lucky, really. Iorveth's elvenhood has never meant much to Astarion, but he's grateful for it. It gives him time. ]
...Besides, the whole 'turning you into a vampire' idea is really more of a plan B. I'd hate to bury you six feet under, darling, even for a day. And not only because you know I hate digging.
[ Although that's definitely part of it. Astarion's own death was one of the most traumatizing experiences of his existence. Forcing Iorveth to go through the same would be harrowing.
He'd do it, if he had to. But there are plenty of options to explore. ]
[ Iorveth doesn't care if he's laying it on thick; he kisses Astarion again, rewarding him for sweet behavior despite the horrific suggestion that the option of burying Iorveth underground for a day still exists. Deranged, Iorveth thinks that he'd endure it if it meant that Astarion wouldn't be lonely. ]
We'll do what we must.
[ He remembers Astarion saying that resurrection was as painful as it was terrifying, but those were different circumstances― Astarion was tortured by Cazador from the moment he was turned, but Iorveth knows what Astarion would never do the same to him, would never let him spend horrified hours scraping and digging his way out of dirt.
He squeezes Astarion's hand, enjoying that point of continued connection. ]
...I'd always thought it foolish, whenever I'd heard of humans trying to cheat death. Horror stories about lovers being brought back as mindless ghosts, and the like― I'd thought it a result of human hubris and pettiness.
[ He squeezes Astarion's hand again. ]
But now I imagine the absence of you― a complete absence, unyielding― and understand why others have been so compelled.
[ Astarion practically glows with happiness. Yes, that's exactly how he feels. An absence of Iorveth would be too terrible to bear. It seems very clear that the way his life has gone has been "no Iorveth = awful" and "yes Iorveth = pretty good"; an Iorveth is necessary for things to be all right. ]
Luckily for you, I've already cheated death.
[ Sure, that's discounting the fact that he very much can still die if (and when, probably) someone gets irritated enough with him to kill him, but at least that pesky old age won't get him. ]
Vampirism has its drawbacks, to be sure, but at least I'm not a hideous zombie like that Conway fellow.
[ He's referring to Connor, Mayrina's poor husband. ]
[ Most people have existential crises about eternal life and what it means to outlive everything until the end of eternity, but clearly, Astarion is not Most People. Iorveth would be more concerned about Astarion's short-sightedness if not for the simple fact that he's become complicit in encouraging aspects of it.
He has no idea who the hells Conway is, though. (Rude.) Oh well. Probably no one important. (Double rude.) ]
Yes, yes. [ A verbal eyeroll, affectionate. ] Not a hideous zombie, but the most beautiful vampire in Toril's history.
[ This would have sounded far more snide and sarcastic before; unfortunately for Iorveth, he actually believes this to be true now, so the jab doesn't quite land. More importantly, and on a bit more of a somber note, Iorveth hums under his breath and appends: ]
If my quest for eternal life goes awry, [ translation: 'If I become a hideous zombie', ] I expect you to kill me.
[ Astarion settles close, pulling the covers over their lower halves, head nestled in the crook of Iorveth's shoulder. He simply couldn't be happier; an orgasm, a fiancé, and the promise of Iorveth's quest for eternal life—
Wait, what did Iorveth just say about his quest for eternal life?
Astarion pulls back to get a good look at his face, as if he thinks he might find Iorveth winking and laughing, because surely he's joking. No one would ever say such a ridiculous thing in all seriousness. He raises an eyebrow, wary. ]
I can't imagine how your quest for eternal life could ever go wrong.
[ It's eternal life. He doesn't care if Iorveth is a hideous zombie!! ]
So we really don't have to make any sort of contingency plan.
[ Iorveth's mentioned Astarion's expressive brows before, but he really is enamored by them. Even when they're hiked up in judgment. He smooths over it with a brow, evaluative. ]
I can imagine a few ways in which it can go wrong, foolish cat.
[ Not a single thought in that pretty head (affectionate). An indication of how much anxiety Astarion houses under that polished exterior, perhaps; an aversion to adding more to that expansive pile. ]
If I become a creature incapable of thought or reason, for one. Or if I become someone else entirely after gaining immortality.
[ Worst-case scenarios. He pets Astarion's hair again. ]
I don't wish to be anything but the Iorveth you know.
[ Astarion whines, shifting uncomfortably where he's lying. Why would Iorveth ruin his afterglow with such unpleasant thoughts? He doesn't like this at all. Not at all!! ]
Are you mad? [ he finally says, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. Unfortunately, he already knows the answer is probably 'yes', so he doesn't leave Iorveth time to respond to that. Iorveth is insane, and most of the time, Astarion adores that about him, but not when he's asking him to, what, put Iorveth out of his potential future misery like a rabid dog? ]
[ Iorveth is capable of ruining so many good things. But he also thinks that a disclaimer like this is necessary if they're going to finagle a way to make him immortal, which is a task that everyone would have managed if it were safe or easy. Chances are that the process will be hard and possibly very ruinous, so he should be prepared for the worst.
Like, say, turning into a hideous zombie. He sighs when Astarion whines and cards his fingers gently through soft curls again, fully expecting the continued affection to placate Astarion somewhat. ]
Why not?
[ Still petting, still cuddled close. ] I doubt you'd want to be saddled with an unthinking creature who resembles nothing of me.
[ To the tune of "Astarion, you gotta love yourself more than this." ]
[ The continued affection does placate him... somewhat. Astarion can't help but lean into Iorveth's touch, an insuppressible bodily reaction. The desire to be cuddled outweighs all rational thought, unfortunately. Still: ]
—Because, [ is another petulant whine. He can't believe, actually, that Iorveth is asking 'why not'. Would Iorveth kill him if he were an ugly zombie?
Better not to think about such impossibilities. He'll never be ugly. ]
I would... find a way to fix you. [ After dragging around his decaying corpse, just like Mayrina did to Conway— er, Connor. ] It's as if you've never heard of the healing power of true love.
[ Do as Iorveth says, and not as Iorveth does (he would absolutely drag Astarion's zombie around in search of a cure, but thAT'S NOT THE POINT). A moment passes where he looks like he might be exasperated by the pushback, but then Astarion has the gall to say things like "the healing power of true love", and he kind of just wants to roll Astarion onto his back and kiss him all over instead.
Ugh. Sweet vampire, making Iorveth feel some type of way. His hand slides from Astarion's hair down to his face, thumb gliding over his cheek, his jaw, smoothing along a pout. Iorveth continues that for a few lingering seconds before pressing his lips to that frown, annoyed and smitten in equal measure.
Once he pulls back: ]
You're more of a romantic than I thought.
[ This time, to the tune of "you're so stupid, and I love you entirely". ]
Ridiculous. [ A sigh, verging on a bemused chuckle. ] More ridiculous yet, I believe you.
[ Maybe Astarion is stupid because Iorveth keeps rewarding him for being stupid with things like kisses. Soon, he'll get a Pavlovian reaction of unexplained joy whenever he does something particularly harebrained. Astarion leans in to kiss him back, no longer frowning; he'd thought kissing Iorveth to be a cheat code for happiness on demand once upon a time, and now he knows that's unequivocally true. ]
As you should. I'd be your knight in leather armor, my dear.
[ When will Iorveth get it into his thick head that the only thing worth doing in this world is protecting him? If Astarion can't do that, then there's no point in doing anything at all. ]
But you needn't worry your pretty little head about any of that. [ A pat to the aforementioned pretty head. ] We won't be making any deals with hags, of course. A devil at the very most.
[ A devil, Gods. Raphael was annoying enough, but maybe the next one they run across will inspire slightly less of a kneejerk cringe reaction. ]
Hm.
[ Effectively patted into submission (a feat only Astarion could manage), Iorveth tucks his face into silver hair and gives up, for now, on the arduous task of Thinking About What to Do. They're still entitled to doing lazy post-sex victory laps about having done 1 (one) thing successfully, loath as Iorveth is to being complacent. ]
If we ever do encounter a devil and his infernal contracts, I trust you to read the fine print on my behalf, Magistrate Ancunín.
[ Astarion winning a legal spar against a hellspawn would be pretty sexy, actually. Iorveth hums under his breath, letting his mind wander. ]
[ Proof that there's a lid for every pot: Iorveth responds to Astarion's suggestion that they enter legal negotiations with a devil with astoundingly little fuss. The ugly business of having to mercy-kill Iorveth set aside, Astarion relaxes again, melting into Iorveth's presence once more. He's surprisingly chill as long as everything goes his way forever. ]
I wouldn't dream of not thoroughly reading a contract. Who am I, Wyll?
[ Mean. But also, he stands by it. Wyll really should have taken the time to pore over the finer details! ]
Mm. I'll even put on little spectacles, if you like.
[ Maybe bang a gavel. Say something like 'overruled'. Who knows? ]
[ The bias filter slides back on: weak to the feeling of Astarion relaxing, weaker still to the idea of Astarion being content. Not a great thing to reinforce the idea that tantrums will be rewarded with doting, but whatever. Iorveth will find a different day to actually fight with Astarion, if the need presents itself.
Cuddled close, Iorveth moves Astarion's injured hand so that he doesn't accidentally roll on top of it or brush against it unnecessarily. He lets it rest at his hip, and puts his palm over the wrist, keeping it in place. ]
It'd be the first time you ever paid attention to details. [ Fucking rude!!!! A mean statement punctuated with a kiss to the crown of Astarion's head. ] And you'd look fetching doing so.
[ Little lenses perched on that perfect nose, chin hiked imperiously to deliver a verdict. Iorveth hums again. ]
[ Astarion would react poorly to anyone else moving parts of him around and keeping them in place, but Iorveth has special permissions; it doesn't feel as if Iorveth is trying to restrict him, not in any meaningful way. It feels more like being held close, and there's nothing Astarion loves more than being held by him. (An embarrassing fact he's had to come to terms with.) ]
Well, I don't usually need to pay attention to details, [ he argues, because Iorveth can't just say something mean and then immediately compliment him and think it'll balance out!
All right, it kind of balanced out. The praise softens any edges he might have, and the argument is toothless. ]
I have you to do that. Excessively, some might say.
[ It's not particularly rare for wood elves to huddle close in trusted company, but Iorveth has never really cuddled like this before, or felt a particular inclination to stay so close to one person for an extended period of time. He's been asked, and he's answered, but Astarion still feels― for lack of a better term― special.
Speaking of details, though. There are a million things that Iorveth could be doing right now, instead of the aforementioned cuddling. Cloak conversion plans with Gale, checking in on Damris, buying salve and potions for Astarion's hand, restocking supplies, et cetera, ad infinitum.
Instead: ] I wonder what would happen if I made you make all of our decisions for us for the next tenday.
[ If Astarion is so averse to Iorveth overthinking!!! Iorveth isn't actually offended, though. Curious, mostly. A little guilty, too, for occupying Astarion's first few forays into freedom with a lot of his own bullshit. ]
[ The truth is that Astarion doesn't particularly want to make any big decisions. Independence is a lofty goal, but after so long without a single ounce of autonomy, it's challenging to even know what he wants to do half the time, much less actually make the call. Cazador would probably say something like a dog without a master will always seek one, but he doesn't think of it that way. He can trust Iorveth to make the decisions that his brain is too fried to make.
All of that feels a bit heavy for an afternoon of post-coital lazing around, though, so instead he says, ] You'd spend the next tenday walking around gloriously nude.
[ And then Astarion would get pettily angry at anyone whose eyes lingered too long, and they'd probably argue. ]
[ Headlines: "Local terrorist walks outside with his junk fully exposed, gets caught by Waterdhavian guards. Wizard friend does not post bail." Iorveth laughs at the thought of it, and how ignoble it would be if that was the reason the Woodland Fox finally got manacles clapped on him again, but. You know. Might be interesting.
It's fine, he thinks, if Astarion doesn't have grand goals. He doesn't have to. The great thing about freedom is that you can use it to do whatever the hells you want, and after two hundred years of vacillating wildly between excessive torture and mind-shattering isolation, it's reasonable to want to just. Do nothing.
The problem is Iorveth. (It always tends to play out that way.) Antsy, without purpose. A little terrified of being useless. He's put that fear in a box for now, happy in Astarion's company, but he knows it'll rear its ugly head soon enough. ]
...I'm going to trance a bit, to be more lucid for the evening. [ Admittedly tired from the hag shenanigans, still. His eye closes, and he slowly relinquishes his hold on Astarion. ] If you wish to spend some time in the sun, I'll not keep you here.
[ The sun!! Still an amazing feat, as far as Iorveth is concerned. ]
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It says something about the state of Iorveth's trust in Astarion that he barely even flinches when fangs cut through the thin layer of his skin and make a very vulnerable part of his body bleed. Iorveth has seen the way Astarion has fed on others－ with no care for the mess he makes or the pain he causes as a result－ but Astarion treats him with a kind of careful reverence that makes Iorveth wish he had more blood in his body to give.
A low exhale, and Iorveth presses his lips to the crown of Astarion's head. ]
The vampire ascendant, making a spawn?
[ There'd been mention that Astarion still thinks about what it would've been like if he'd completed the ritual. No judgment on Iorveth's part, but he isn't sure how he might have reacted to that particular power imbalance; he has no idea how the whole 'turning vampires into spawn' thing works, mechanically, nor does he really know how one could turn from spawn to vampire without the vampire killing his master. The politics of it all seem very messy. ]
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So: ] No. Well, not for long.
[ A vampire ascendant, maybe, but very soon not a spawn. He sucks gently at Iorveth's wrist, almost casual, like this is just as normal as post-coital cuddling. ]
If I fed you my own blood, then you'd be a true vampire. [ Teasing: ] Honestly, Iorveth, if you're going to be married to one, you really should brush up on the lore.
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The lore, [ he snorts, but with no derision. ] Is there truly no way for you to become a true vampire, now that the unmentionable cretin is dead?
[ Not even going to speak Cazador's name into existence. Iorveth wonders if the unfinished ritual was truly Astarion's last chance, and if there's some other way for spawn to become vampires by virtue or... well, Iorveth doesn't know. Killing and biting another vampire lord, perhaps? Maybe they could have strung Alkam up and taken his blood; Damris had certainly wanted to.
Kissing Astarion's hair again, he appends: ] I wish to know about anything that may give you more freedom.
[ Which includes, yes, the lore. If Astarion isn't careful, Iorveth will start scheming again. ]
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I don't know.
[ The lore isn't exactly his strong suit. He only knows the basics: you become a spawn, and then your master dangles the prospect of letting you drink his blood and become a true vampire in front of your face to torture you for two hundred years. Simple. ]
If there's a ritual to become a vampire ascendant, which, honestly, I'm not even certain is a real thing... [ It sounds fake!! How many fucking levels of vampire are there? ] ...then I'm sure there must be an alternative way to rise through the ranks from a spawn, as well.
[ With the power of devils on your side, it seems you can do just about anything. As long as you pay the price. ]
I guess I never gave it much thought, after— [ Giving up the ascendancy. He already sacrificed the greatest power he could ever have in the world; his lot in life was fairly cemented at that point. ]
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With the feeding done, Iorveth takes his hand back to resume its very important job of petting Astarion's hair, slowly and carefully. ]
After I deterred you from world-changing power.
[ He finishes the sentence, since he's not in the habit of avoiding the truth, even if it doesn't paint him in the most flattering light. ]
You would be justified if you hated me for it, you realize.
[ If not for Iorveth, Astarion might be living in a mansion with 500 hot servants pouring wine over his naked body, or whatever it is that vampire ascendants do. He wouldn't be the Astarion that Iorveth loves now, but Astarion might have been happy regardless. ]
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The only reason to have that world-changing power is to protect you. [ Yes, he wants to be safe himself, but it's become less and less important. Not because he's somehow healed and found that the world is not an inherently dangerous place, but because he's simply shifted his neuroticism onto Iorveth's safety instead. ] The hag would have been a fine paste rubbed into that ugly carpet.
[ And it would have been glorious. If he had only ascended, he would have been able to save Iorveth, really save him, rather than just taking him and running. ]
...But I suppose seven thousand souls is quite a steep price to pay. [ He squeezes Iorveth's hand. ] And your disapproving scowl would have been too much to bear.
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Which is why he's floored by the assessment that Astarion wants to protect him. Iorveth has had lovers in the past, but he can't think of any that have said something like that out loud. It blindsides him (though it shouldn't, at this point), and makes him curl around Astarion, both reciprocally protective and also adoring. ]
Gods, you're perfect as you are.
[ Even if the cloak didn't protect Astarion from the sun, he would have been perfect anyway. He cups Astarion's face with one hand, keeping him in place to kiss all over his cheek, his forehead, his mouth. ]
Love of my life. I'd not change anything about you.
[ Iorveth doesn't need power or coin or prestige; he only wants Astarion, with all his complications and messiness. ]
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I am particularly wonderful, [ he agrees. ] As are you. Hence why we make the perfect match.
[ There's only one thing he'd ever change about Iorveth, and it's that awful mortality. At least Iorveth isn't a human, or gods forbid, a halfling or gnome. He'd be beside himself if he thought he only had, what, fifty or sixty years before Iorveth's demise. No, he's lucky, really. Iorveth's elvenhood has never meant much to Astarion, but he's grateful for it. It gives him time. ]
...Besides, the whole 'turning you into a vampire' idea is really more of a plan B. I'd hate to bury you six feet under, darling, even for a day. And not only because you know I hate digging.
[ Although that's definitely part of it. Astarion's own death was one of the most traumatizing experiences of his existence. Forcing Iorveth to go through the same would be harrowing.
He'd do it, if he had to. But there are plenty of options to explore. ]
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We'll do what we must.
[ He remembers Astarion saying that resurrection was as painful as it was terrifying, but those were different circumstances― Astarion was tortured by Cazador from the moment he was turned, but Iorveth knows what Astarion would never do the same to him, would never let him spend horrified hours scraping and digging his way out of dirt.
He squeezes Astarion's hand, enjoying that point of continued connection. ]
...I'd always thought it foolish, whenever I'd heard of humans trying to cheat death. Horror stories about lovers being brought back as mindless ghosts, and the like― I'd thought it a result of human hubris and pettiness.
[ He squeezes Astarion's hand again. ]
But now I imagine the absence of you― a complete absence, unyielding― and understand why others have been so compelled.
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Luckily for you, I've already cheated death.
[ Sure, that's discounting the fact that he very much can still die if (and when, probably) someone gets irritated enough with him to kill him, but at least that pesky old age won't get him. ]
Vampirism has its drawbacks, to be sure, but at least I'm not a hideous zombie like that Conway fellow.
[ He's referring to Connor, Mayrina's poor husband. ]
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He has no idea who the hells Conway is, though. (Rude.) Oh well. Probably no one important. (Double rude.) ]
Yes, yes. [ A verbal eyeroll, affectionate. ] Not a hideous zombie, but the most beautiful vampire in Toril's history.
[ This would have sounded far more snide and sarcastic before; unfortunately for Iorveth, he actually believes this to be true now, so the jab doesn't quite land. More importantly, and on a bit more of a somber note, Iorveth hums under his breath and appends: ]
If my quest for eternal life goes awry, [ translation: 'If I become a hideous zombie', ] I expect you to kill me.
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Wait, what did Iorveth just say about his quest for eternal life?
Astarion pulls back to get a good look at his face, as if he thinks he might find Iorveth winking and laughing, because surely he's joking. No one would ever say such a ridiculous thing in all seriousness. He raises an eyebrow, wary. ]
I can't imagine how your quest for eternal life could ever go wrong.
[ It's eternal life. He doesn't care if Iorveth is a hideous zombie!! ]
So we really don't have to make any sort of contingency plan.
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I can imagine a few ways in which it can go wrong, foolish cat.
[ Not a single thought in that pretty head (affectionate). An indication of how much anxiety Astarion houses under that polished exterior, perhaps; an aversion to adding more to that expansive pile. ]
If I become a creature incapable of thought or reason, for one. Or if I become someone else entirely after gaining immortality.
[ Worst-case scenarios. He pets Astarion's hair again. ]
I don't wish to be anything but the Iorveth you know.
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[ Astarion whines, shifting uncomfortably where he's lying. Why would Iorveth ruin his afterglow with such unpleasant thoughts? He doesn't like this at all. Not at all!! ]
Are you mad? [ he finally says, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. Unfortunately, he already knows the answer is probably 'yes', so he doesn't leave Iorveth time to respond to that. Iorveth is insane, and most of the time, Astarion adores that about him, but not when he's asking him to, what, put Iorveth out of his potential future misery like a rabid dog? ]
I'm not going to kill you.
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Like, say, turning into a hideous zombie. He sighs when Astarion whines and cards his fingers gently through soft curls again, fully expecting the continued affection to placate Astarion somewhat. ]
Why not?
[ Still petting, still cuddled close. ] I doubt you'd want to be saddled with an unthinking creature who resembles nothing of me.
[ To the tune of "Astarion, you gotta love yourself more than this." ]
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—Because, [ is another petulant whine. He can't believe, actually, that Iorveth is asking 'why not'. Would Iorveth kill him if he were an ugly zombie?
Better not to think about such impossibilities. He'll never be ugly. ]
I would... find a way to fix you. [ After dragging around his decaying corpse, just like Mayrina did to Conway— er, Connor. ] It's as if you've never heard of the healing power of true love.
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Ugh. Sweet vampire, making Iorveth feel some type of way. His hand slides from Astarion's hair down to his face, thumb gliding over his cheek, his jaw, smoothing along a pout. Iorveth continues that for a few lingering seconds before pressing his lips to that frown, annoyed and smitten in equal measure.
Once he pulls back: ]
You're more of a romantic than I thought.
[ This time, to the tune of "you're so stupid, and I love you entirely". ]
Ridiculous. [ A sigh, verging on a bemused chuckle. ] More ridiculous yet, I believe you.
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As you should. I'd be your knight in leather armor, my dear.
[ When will Iorveth get it into his thick head that the only thing worth doing in this world is protecting him? If Astarion can't do that, then there's no point in doing anything at all. ]
But you needn't worry your pretty little head about any of that. [ A pat to the aforementioned pretty head. ] We won't be making any deals with hags, of course. A devil at the very most.
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Hm.
[ Effectively patted into submission (a feat only Astarion could manage), Iorveth tucks his face into silver hair and gives up, for now, on the arduous task of Thinking About What to Do. They're still entitled to doing lazy post-sex victory laps about having done 1 (one) thing successfully, loath as Iorveth is to being complacent. ]
If we ever do encounter a devil and his infernal contracts, I trust you to read the fine print on my behalf, Magistrate Ancunín.
[ Astarion winning a legal spar against a hellspawn would be pretty sexy, actually. Iorveth hums under his breath, letting his mind wander. ]
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I wouldn't dream of not thoroughly reading a contract. Who am I, Wyll?
[ Mean. But also, he stands by it. Wyll really should have taken the time to pore over the finer details! ]
Mm. I'll even put on little spectacles, if you like.
[ Maybe bang a gavel. Say something like 'overruled'. Who knows? ]
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Cuddled close, Iorveth moves Astarion's injured hand so that he doesn't accidentally roll on top of it or brush against it unnecessarily. He lets it rest at his hip, and puts his palm over the wrist, keeping it in place. ]
It'd be the first time you ever paid attention to details. [ Fucking rude!!!! A mean statement punctuated with a kiss to the crown of Astarion's head. ] And you'd look fetching doing so.
[ Little lenses perched on that perfect nose, chin hiked imperiously to deliver a verdict. Iorveth hums again. ]
You are striking when you're confident.
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Well, I don't usually need to pay attention to details, [ he argues, because Iorveth can't just say something mean and then immediately compliment him and think it'll balance out!
All right, it kind of balanced out. The praise softens any edges he might have, and the argument is toothless. ]
I have you to do that. Excessively, some might say.
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Speaking of details, though. There are a million things that Iorveth could be doing right now, instead of the aforementioned cuddling. Cloak conversion plans with Gale, checking in on Damris, buying salve and potions for Astarion's hand, restocking supplies, et cetera, ad infinitum.
Instead: ] I wonder what would happen if I made you make all of our decisions for us for the next tenday.
[ If Astarion is so averse to Iorveth overthinking!!! Iorveth isn't actually offended, though. Curious, mostly. A little guilty, too, for occupying Astarion's first few forays into freedom with a lot of his own bullshit. ]
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All of that feels a bit heavy for an afternoon of post-coital lazing around, though, so instead he says, ] You'd spend the next tenday walking around gloriously nude.
[ And then Astarion would get pettily angry at anyone whose eyes lingered too long, and they'd probably argue. ]
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[ Headlines: "Local terrorist walks outside with his junk fully exposed, gets caught by Waterdhavian guards. Wizard friend does not post bail." Iorveth laughs at the thought of it, and how ignoble it would be if that was the reason the Woodland Fox finally got manacles clapped on him again, but. You know. Might be interesting.
It's fine, he thinks, if Astarion doesn't have grand goals. He doesn't have to. The great thing about freedom is that you can use it to do whatever the hells you want, and after two hundred years of vacillating wildly between excessive torture and mind-shattering isolation, it's reasonable to want to just. Do nothing.
The problem is Iorveth. (It always tends to play out that way.) Antsy, without purpose. A little terrified of being useless. He's put that fear in a box for now, happy in Astarion's company, but he knows it'll rear its ugly head soon enough. ]
...I'm going to trance a bit, to be more lucid for the evening. [ Admittedly tired from the hag shenanigans, still. His eye closes, and he slowly relinquishes his hold on Astarion. ] If you wish to spend some time in the sun, I'll not keep you here.
[ The sun!! Still an amazing feat, as far as Iorveth is concerned. ]
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