[ A 'rather large amount'. Iorveth's brow shoots up, making his eyepatch strap slip somewhat in the process; there's something a bit embarrassing about how just the suggestion of that is enough to make Iorveth feel slightly hotter under his collar, but it does. Astarion should be able to feel it, nestled close as he is－ just a faint hike in temperature, and a skip of Iorveth's pulse.
He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
[ Most of Astarion's affection is out of a genuine desire—or urge, or perhaps need—to be as close to Iorveth as he can, but a small part of it is performative. He enjoys showing off, proving to the world that he has someone who loves him, someone who cares. That's why he catches the shopkeep's exhausted eyes (he can't ever catch a break; just last tenday some irritating wizard came in and started questioning if his fleshwort was ethically sourced) and presses a kiss to Iorveth's cheek. ]
You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
[ The shopkeep is tired of people coming in to buy the most basic of items when they could be sampling some of his more eccentric offerings, but that's life. Meanwhile, Iorveth sways sideways and loops an arm around Astarion's waist, hugging him close－
－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
Adorable, actually. Is he somehow touched at the implication that Iorveth would still love him as a frog? Yes. Is that the worst realization he's ever had? Also yes. He sputters a little, clearly pleased at how cute Iorveth is being but mortified at how much it makes his heart melt. ]
You're so terribly in love with me. It's embarrassing.
[ It really is. Out of all the people in the world that Iorveth could love! He reaches out to adjust Iorveth's eyepatch on his face, letting his fingers graze over the skin more than is strictly necessary. ]
But I suppose you'd make a rather fetching frog, too.
I could attempt to love you less, [ Iorveth shoots back, though the threat is toothless-- as ever, not a fan of claiming something he has no intention of doing. He does intend to apply salve on Astarion's injured leg, however, so he makes sure to drop the tin into his basket of potions for later use...
...After he gives Astarion a quick peck to his jaw. So much for not being embarrassing. ]
--Some might argue that I'd make a more fetching frog. [ Still not a fan of his own looks, though he mentions it with less bitterness around Astarion; he's learned by now that Astarion doesn't receive negative observations about Iorveth's appearance particularly well. ] I might as well be one, I wear so much green.
[ Iorveth isn't allowed to love him less ever, so thank the gods the threat is halfhearted at best. He's also not allowed to disparage his looks, which are incredibly handsome according to Astarion's totally unbiased opinion; he tugs on Iorveth's ear, scolding. ]
You're a prince, my sweet, [ he says, fully delusional, ] not a frog.
[ With Astarion's rose-colored glasses on, Iorveth is a knight in shining armor, the man of his dreams, the most perfect and infuriating being in the world. ]
Although I wouldn't say no to a little more variety in your wardrobe. [ Very much facetious: ] Mm, what do you think of purple?
[ 'Prince' is hilarious, actually－ another raised brow (not enough to dislodge the eyepatch this time), and a half-laugh later, Iorveth moves to pay for their purchases, much to the relief of the young man with his stained fingers. ]
I would reconsider 'forever' if you insist I spend the rest of eternity in purple.
[ As facetious as the suggestion, after a reciprocal tug to Astarion's earlobe. ]
...Which reminds me that we should speak about how we imagine 'forever' to play out, at some point. [ Astarion's least favorite thing: making the fuzzy edges of the future a little sharper. Iorveth packs the legally-procured items into his pack, then flicks the tip of Astarion's nose. ] A daunting task, to be sure.
[ Ugh!!!! Planning. Astarion has an instant negative reaction to the thought, frowning even as he snatches Iorveth's hand up to hold in his the moment it's free. He adores Iorveth with every fiber of his being and, for the most part, he just wants to be close to him. Iorveth is also his security blanket, though, and Astarion feels the need to latch onto him whenever his emotional state veers even slightly unpleasant.
It's all very healthy. ]
I can't imagine what there is to discuss. We'll get married, make sensational love every day [ —the shopkeep grimaces— ] and be happy forever.
[ It's evident that this is the extent of the thought he's put into this. How are they going to support themselves? Where are they going to live? Are they going to adopt 2 dogs like Damris and Linus? (Gods, no.) ]
[ Credit where it's due (?), it's a good short-sightedness; one that speaks to Astarion's desire to live the most uncomplicated, indulgent life that he can. Perhaps he didn't let himself want even that, at some point.
But: ] I'm still a wanted elf, and you'll still be in danger from association for... [ A hum, under his breath. ] ...A century, yet. If complications up north persist.
[ Maybe not the best line of conversation to have in an apothecary. (The shopkeep looks visibly disturbed by 'wanted elf', which is Not Great.) Twining hands and forearms, Iorveth slowly leads Astarion back out into the twilight city, making sure to note if it looks like Astarion is having difficulty with the leg.
Once they're out of that specific earshot: ]
Damris has his ambitions already－ it reminded me that I wish to know if you have any of your own.
[ A century is whatever. A century's fine! Astarion can spend a century as a fugitive knowing that they have many more centuries ahead of them. He just shrugs at the statement, hoping that since Iorveth drops this whole 'future' thing in the store, he's dropped it entirely.
Not so. When they step outside, Iorveth starts back up again, and Astarion looks visibly put out by the line of questioning. Ambitions! Freedom was ambitious enough. Having somebody who loves him was an impossible pipe dream. Doesn't Iorveth see that he's plenty ambitious? ]
Well, I once had the ambition to be the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate.
[ Just pointing out that if ambition is what Iorveth wants, he pretty much crushed the possibility of that.
An exasperated sigh: ] What, do you want me to attend wizard school and become an alchemist like him? Please.
[ Astarion only scoffs because he knows he wouldn't be good enough to accomplish such a thing. He's not really good at anything, save for maybe killing. ]
[ Mention of the unrealized dream of becoming vampire ascendant evokes an obvious reaction; a small but noticeable twitch of Iorveth's scarred lips, the shadow of a frown tugging at the corner or it. It's the one thing that he fears will fester in the future, a thing that Iorveth thinks that Astarion might regret centuries later, when the novelty of being loved by Iorveth might have worn off. A disservice to Astarion to think that way, perhaps, but it's the one small bone in Iorveth's throat that keeps sticking.
He doesn't pull away, though. Might have, in the past. Their hands stay held, even if the grip loosens just a sliver. ]
I wish you to be whoever you wish to be, [ is his response, which is the flipside of the prideful way in which he always states that he's exactly who he needs himself to be; the logical next step after securing one's freedom. ] And if that involves ill-fitting wizard's robes and Gale's pretentious academy, I'd not say no.
[ Iorveth's grip loosens, and Astarion's tightens. ]
I'm not wearing wizard robes.
[ Ew, they're so dowdy. But it's a commentary on the situation as a whole, too, and not just the idea of wizardly fashion: he's not doing any of that. Partly because he has no interest in hitting the books and studying arcane magic when he could just make a deal with a devil like Wyll, and partly because he doesn't really think himself capable of it. He doesn't think himself capable of much of anything; he knows rationally that Cazador must have only called him stupid and useless so many times out of fear that he might ever consider himself otherwise, but it's difficult not to feel like perhaps he is. ]
I don't know. I— would you like me to go back to being a magistrate?
[ Because clearly Iorveth wants him to do something. Make something of himself. It makes sense. He can't just be Iorveth's hanger-on forever. ]
[ The grip tightens again, and Iorveth pauses mid-step to stop, pivot, and press his lips against Astarion's knuckles. A silent assurance that he's not leaving. ]
It isn't about what I want. [ Though he does acknowledge that he's being awfully insistent about something he claims isn't about him. Opinionated and difficult, even at the best of times. Iorveth knows his own flaws; even Isengrim had called him out on it, many many times in the past. ] You could wish to convert to the Church of Ilmater tomorrow, and I'd love you all the same.
[ Another kiss, this time to Astarion's nonexistent pulsepoint along his wrist. ]
Is it so strange to think that it gives me joy to know that you want things for yourself?
[ Perhaps Iorveth doesn't realize what a monumental ambition it is for him to believe that someone could love him not just now, but for eternity. A greater ambition even than becoming the vampire lord of Baldur's Gate. No one would have had to love him, then. They'd just have had to obey him. ]
But— [ He doesn't want to let Iorveth down, and if the thought of him making something of himself brings Iorveth joy, then he should chase it. ] Perhaps I could... do a little research.
[ Figure out what he could do. It's difficult to imagine anything at all when, for centuries, his only frame of reference for success was Cazador. Obviously, that ship has sailed for him, so he'll have to find something else. ]
I'm sure there are plenty of things out there that I would be spectacular at. I'm so very naturally gifted, after all.
[ No idea about how monumental being loved is: in Iorveth's (non-)professional opinion, Astarion is very easy to like, especially after breaking through the initial mask of radish impassivity. He's charming, witty, and easy to bump heads with; a trait that many people would find appealing, vampire or no. Iorveth, meanwhile, is not a universally likeable personality, and being liked by him is hardly an achievement to note.
But he does soften at Astarion mentioning his natural talents, which Iorveth does believe that Astarion has. ]
You'll have me, foolish cat.
[ To the (concerning, for most) point that Astarion has only considered wanting him in the future. A simple wish, he thinks. Unambitious. ]
But you'll need a hobby should you ever get tired of being in bed with me.
[ A little huff of breath, and a quick squeeze of hands. ]
[ Whether it's being in bed in the physically intimate sense—hence the rather large jar of oil—or being in bed in the purely emotionally intimate sense, their hands the only body parts touching. He won't ever tire of either, he thinks. There's still so much of him that feels damaged, his soul bruised much worse than his leg, but being close to Iorveth feels healing.
He squeezes Iorveth's hand back, leaning against him to take some of the weight off of his leg. ]
But it wouldn't hurt to find a way to occupy my time while you're busy saving the elven world, or— whatever it is you plan to do.
[ His dream is for Iorveth to do nothing but spend time with him, but even he knows when such a hope is unrealistic. ]
[ The thing is, he's not quite sure what's on the menu for himself, either: if Saskia is going to bid him to go on diplomatic missions (ha), or if she'll want him to stay away entirely, out of eyeshot of normal elves who wouldn't want to be caught fraternizing with normal, un-ruined elves. It terrifies Iorveth a bit, the thought that there may be a possible future where he's outstayed his welcome and exhausted his uses－ what would he do, when? Who would he even be?
But that's a conversation for a different day. For when they go north, and when Saskia decides Iorveth's fate in one decisive swing of the proverbial axe. For now: ]
Ciaran could teach you how to climb trees.
[ Teasing. (Even though, yeah, Ciaran could.) A gentle nudge, and Iorveth starts to lead them back towards the tower, where Astarion can lay back down again and avoid getting yelled at by Reginald come morning. ]
...Would you want to accompany me, if I were told to go and fight humans?
[ Ewww, he's not climbing trees. And also, if he were going to learn, he would make Iorveth teach him so that they could roleplay student and professor. Sexy, sexy tree-climbing professor.
As for Iorveth's other comment, he can't say he particularly likes the idea of Iorveth being 'told to go and fight humans'. It sounds a bit like being made cannon fodder, and he wants Iorveth to fight people because he wants to, not out of some sense of duty to people who don't even appreciate him. ]
I suppose I would have no other choice. I can't very well dashingly protect you if I don't.
[ A moment, and then he adds, ] You know I would enthusiastically help you [ —he falters, aware of the passersby in earshot— ] eliminate any pesky problems that you wished. But I would hope it was your wish, and not some... tree queen's.
[ He still doesn't really understand how wood elf politics work, but he remembered that there was a queen. He really loves Iorveth!!! ]
[ Oh. Well, so much for not talking about his side of the equation. It's hypocritical of Iorveth, yes, to insist that Astarion figure himself out when Iorveth is also on the verge of an existential crisis－ again, the problem of do as Iorveth says, not as he does.
So: ] I'll do what I must. [ Which sounds awfully like "I have no choice in the matter". Similar to what he'd said before, about how it isn't his job to feel something about what he does. It makes something in his chest ring hollow again, so he fixes his grip around Astarion's hand and crosses the busy street back in the direction of shelter. ]
Our queen is an emblem of peace, but she still requires a sword. If my people are to live without external threat, someone has to prevent invasion. ...With Isengrim gone and the rest mostly dead, the task falls to me.
[ Patently not Astarion's problem, he knows. Astarion really has no reason to put his life on the line for elves he has no ties to; the reason why Iorveth'd been so hesitant to ask him to stay. ]
[ Oh, it's so not Astarion's problem. He'd still do it, if that's what Iorveth really wanted. He'd do just about anything for Iorveth, which is perhaps not the healthiest way to live after spending centuries being forced to do anything for someone, but he doesn't know how to change. Even if he could, he's not sure he would. There's something comforting in following Iorveth around like a little lost puppy.
That aside: ]
I know it's unfair of me to use my superior magistrate reasoning to poke holes in your argument, [ he says, despite the fact that he has no such thing, ] but I can't help but notice that you never said that you wanted to.
[ Iorveth swings the front door open (he's been given a key, which he's been using very liberally for his own purposes) and spills inside, relieved to see that Damris and Linus have retreated to the privacy of Damris's room for the time being－ that, or Linus has already left the tower screaming after finding out that his love is an undead creature. Either way, Iorveth isn't looking to have a conversation with them right this moment, so he maneuvers across the sitting room and up the stairs (slowly), taking that time to consider, as Astarion so eloquently put it, the hole in his own argument.
What Iorveth wants. Strange how it's stayed the same, but also changed dramatically. The continued existence of his people, so that Iorveth can feel at peace with living alongside the man he loves. Selfish, greedy, delusional. ]
Who would I be, if I laid down my arms? I want to be useful, and I'll not have anyone think me toothless or weak.
[ Been there, done that. It's one thing he feels he has intensely in common with Astarion: the desire never to be overlooked, or underestimated. That said, he pauses and sighs before his next addendum. ]
...But I also no longer want to find a suitable place to die. I want you far too much for that.
[ No one could ever think that Iorveth is toothless or weak. He's all sharp, jagged edges, liable to cut anyone who touches him the wrong way, and Astarion wouldn't be half as in love with him if he weren't. Iorveth has been through hell, yes, but he came out the other side swinging. He adores that Iorveth is a fighter, even if he might prefer the idea of settling down in a palace and being tended to all day. ]
Good. [ He's eager to get somewhere that he can sit down, so he interrupts Iorveth's pause with a nudge toward the guest room. ] You know I'd find it terribly inconvenient if I had to track down someone to resurrect you.
[ Basically: I will never let you die, and that's a threat. ]
But if waging war against humanity is what you want— [ Again, it doesn't sound particularly appealing to him, and it's clear in his tone that he's indifferent to the idea. He doesn't really care about the plight of the elves. He just wants to look out for number one (Iorveth) and number two (himself). ] Well, someone will have to watch your back, and you know I don't like the idea of anyone else looking at your backside.
[ A place to sit down is ideal; he needs to be behind a closed door to offer his next admission, so into their guest room they go. The door closes behind them, and he leads Astarion to the bed so that he can take weight off that leg and relax while Iorveth fishes out the potions and salve.
He knows Astarion doesn't really care about the grand details of Iorveth's war. Before, he might have been more offended about it― 'could you be a little more interested about this one thing that has defined me'― but at this point, it speaks more to Astarion's unconditionality. Both very worrying and very sweet. ]
You're the only one foolish enough to be looking at my backside during a fight, [ is what he offers first, before sitting on the edge of their mattress, salve in hand. ] ...But, hm. You're the only one in this godsforsaken world I feel safe around.
[ A statement of fact. Iorveth gentles somewhat, and finally offers: ] Which is why what I truly want is to earn a peaceful future for the both of us.
[ It's a cute backside!!! He loves that backside, just as he loves all of Iorveth's parts. Astarion had truly never thought Iorveth to be ugly, but after growing closer, Iorveth has become impossibly attractive in his eyes. Each part of him is a part of him, and therefore the most wonderful thing in the world. There's not a scar on his body that doesn't make Astarion tingly in all the right ways.
He settles back against the pillows, peering at Iorveth with a smile tugging at his lips. ]
You positively adorable sap. That's what I want, too, of course.
[ I only want you, he'd said, and he'd meant it. The two of them being safe and together is what's really important. Everything else is just noise. ]
But, my love, there are ways to achieve that without throwing yourself into the line of fire. As much as I would love to stare at your backside as you fought.
－illogical. Iorveth knows that he should be covering the bases that Astarion refuses to cover, to fill in the blanks that Astarion doesn't care to fill, because life is rarely as simple as Astarion makes it out to be. But sometimes, when Iorveth is exhausted by the weight of his duties, he hears Astarion say things like "it'll be fine, we needn't worry about it", and Iorveth will believe them, and feel oddly comforted by them.
He shifts his weight, leaning forward to sift his fingers through Astarion's artfully laid-down bangs. ]
And how else would we achieve it? [ A soft laugh, fully expecting "I don't know". It's charming, in certain contexts. ] I suppose we could, if Saskia tells me she has no further use for a deranged soldier in her ranks.
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He combs his fingers through Astarion's curls, petting him slowly. Distracted, but trying to seem impassive. ]
We've already broken the healer's rules. You'd best not tempt me again.
[ Kissing the crown of Astarion's head, while the shopkeep glances at them, at where they're standing and radiates, 'oh, those types of customers'. ]
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You know how I feel about rules.
[ Not a fan. Two hundred years of having to follow far too many, and now he'd rather follow none at all.
Another sigh. ]
But I'd prefer to be in my most athletic shape the next time we, ah, canoodle, so perhaps it's for the best that you attempt to control your wild, lustful urges.
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－and nearly knocking over a row of small, amber bottles in the process. Crisis only narrowly averted. Alarmed, the young man wipes his hands on his apron and calls out: "careful! Those are expensive, and if you break any of them, I will throw you two out."
Hm. Iorveth squints at the tiny label, which reads 'Modify Memory Potion: Very Powerful! Use Responsibly'. The kid over there must be better at his job than Iorveth'd thought. ]
―I'm liable to turn us both into frogs if I start wanting to 'canoodle' here. [ This place is a den of dangerous substances, apparently. ] Though you'd made a pretty frog, mind.
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[ That is—
Adorable, actually. Is he somehow touched at the implication that Iorveth would still love him as a frog? Yes. Is that the worst realization he's ever had? Also yes. He sputters a little, clearly pleased at how cute Iorveth is being but mortified at how much it makes his heart melt. ]
You're so terribly in love with me. It's embarrassing.
[ It really is. Out of all the people in the world that Iorveth could love! He reaches out to adjust Iorveth's eyepatch on his face, letting his fingers graze over the skin more than is strictly necessary. ]
But I suppose you'd make a rather fetching frog, too.
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...After he gives Astarion a quick peck to his jaw. So much for not being embarrassing. ]
--Some might argue that I'd make a more fetching frog. [ Still not a fan of his own looks, though he mentions it with less bitterness around Astarion; he's learned by now that Astarion doesn't receive negative observations about Iorveth's appearance particularly well. ] I might as well be one, I wear so much green.
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You're a prince, my sweet, [ he says, fully delusional, ] not a frog.
[ With Astarion's rose-colored glasses on, Iorveth is a knight in shining armor, the man of his dreams, the most perfect and infuriating being in the world. ]
Although I wouldn't say no to a little more variety in your wardrobe. [ Very much facetious: ] Mm, what do you think of purple?
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I would reconsider 'forever' if you insist I spend the rest of eternity in purple.
[ As facetious as the suggestion, after a reciprocal tug to Astarion's earlobe. ]
...Which reminds me that we should speak about how we imagine 'forever' to play out, at some point. [ Astarion's least favorite thing: making the fuzzy edges of the future a little sharper. Iorveth packs the legally-procured items into his pack, then flicks the tip of Astarion's nose. ] A daunting task, to be sure.
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It's all very healthy. ]
I can't imagine what there is to discuss. We'll get married, make sensational love every day [ —the shopkeep grimaces— ] and be happy forever.
[ It's evident that this is the extent of the thought he's put into this. How are they going to support themselves? Where are they going to live? Are they going to adopt 2 dogs like Damris and Linus? (Gods, no.) ]
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But: ] I'm still a wanted elf, and you'll still be in danger from association for... [ A hum, under his breath. ] ...A century, yet. If complications up north persist.
[ Maybe not the best line of conversation to have in an apothecary. (The shopkeep looks visibly disturbed by 'wanted elf', which is Not Great.) Twining hands and forearms, Iorveth slowly leads Astarion back out into the twilight city, making sure to note if it looks like Astarion is having difficulty with the leg.
Once they're out of that specific earshot: ]
Damris has his ambitions already－ it reminded me that I wish to know if you have any of your own.
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Not so. When they step outside, Iorveth starts back up again, and Astarion looks visibly put out by the line of questioning. Ambitions! Freedom was ambitious enough. Having somebody who loves him was an impossible pipe dream. Doesn't Iorveth see that he's plenty ambitious? ]
Well, I once had the ambition to be the most powerful vampire in Baldur's Gate.
[ Just pointing out that if ambition is what Iorveth wants, he pretty much crushed the possibility of that.
An exasperated sigh: ] What, do you want me to attend wizard school and become an alchemist like him? Please.
[ Astarion only scoffs because he knows he wouldn't be good enough to accomplish such a thing. He's not really good at anything, save for maybe killing. ]
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He doesn't pull away, though. Might have, in the past. Their hands stay held, even if the grip loosens just a sliver. ]
I wish you to be whoever you wish to be, [ is his response, which is the flipside of the prideful way in which he always states that he's exactly who he needs himself to be; the logical next step after securing one's freedom. ] And if that involves ill-fitting wizard's robes and Gale's pretentious academy, I'd not say no.
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I'm not wearing wizard robes.
[ Ew, they're so dowdy. But it's a commentary on the situation as a whole, too, and not just the idea of wizardly fashion: he's not doing any of that. Partly because he has no interest in hitting the books and studying arcane magic when he could just make a deal with a devil like Wyll, and partly because he doesn't really think himself capable of it. He doesn't think himself capable of much of anything; he knows rationally that Cazador must have only called him stupid and useless so many times out of fear that he might ever consider himself otherwise, but it's difficult not to feel like perhaps he is. ]
I don't know. I— would you like me to go back to being a magistrate?
[ Because clearly Iorveth wants him to do something. Make something of himself. It makes sense. He can't just be Iorveth's hanger-on forever. ]
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It isn't about what I want. [ Though he does acknowledge that he's being awfully insistent about something he claims isn't about him. Opinionated and difficult, even at the best of times. Iorveth knows his own flaws; even Isengrim had called him out on it, many many times in the past. ] You could wish to convert to the Church of Ilmater tomorrow, and I'd love you all the same.
[ Another kiss, this time to Astarion's nonexistent pulsepoint along his wrist. ]
Is it so strange to think that it gives me joy to know that you want things for yourself?
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[ Perhaps Iorveth doesn't realize what a monumental ambition it is for him to believe that someone could love him not just now, but for eternity. A greater ambition even than becoming the vampire lord of Baldur's Gate. No one would have had to love him, then. They'd just have had to obey him. ]
But— [ He doesn't want to let Iorveth down, and if the thought of him making something of himself brings Iorveth joy, then he should chase it. ] Perhaps I could... do a little research.
[ Figure out what he could do. It's difficult to imagine anything at all when, for centuries, his only frame of reference for success was Cazador. Obviously, that ship has sailed for him, so he'll have to find something else. ]
I'm sure there are plenty of things out there that I would be spectacular at. I'm so very naturally gifted, after all.
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But he does soften at Astarion mentioning his natural talents, which Iorveth does believe that Astarion has. ]
You'll have me, foolish cat.
[ To the (concerning, for most) point that Astarion has only considered wanting him in the future. A simple wish, he thinks. Unambitious. ]
But you'll need a hobby should you ever get tired of being in bed with me.
[ A little huff of breath, and a quick squeeze of hands. ]
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[ Whether it's being in bed in the physically intimate sense—hence the rather large jar of oil—or being in bed in the purely emotionally intimate sense, their hands the only body parts touching. He won't ever tire of either, he thinks. There's still so much of him that feels damaged, his soul bruised much worse than his leg, but being close to Iorveth feels healing.
He squeezes Iorveth's hand back, leaning against him to take some of the weight off of his leg. ]
But it wouldn't hurt to find a way to occupy my time while you're busy saving the elven world, or— whatever it is you plan to do.
[ His dream is for Iorveth to do nothing but spend time with him, but even he knows when such a hope is unrealistic. ]
Have you any suggestions?
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But that's a conversation for a different day. For when they go north, and when Saskia decides Iorveth's fate in one decisive swing of the proverbial axe. For now: ]
Ciaran could teach you how to climb trees.
[ Teasing. (Even though, yeah, Ciaran could.) A gentle nudge, and Iorveth starts to lead them back towards the tower, where Astarion can lay back down again and avoid getting yelled at by Reginald come morning. ]
...Would you want to accompany me, if I were told to go and fight humans?
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As for Iorveth's other comment, he can't say he particularly likes the idea of Iorveth being 'told to go and fight humans'. It sounds a bit like being made cannon fodder, and he wants Iorveth to fight people because he wants to, not out of some sense of duty to people who don't even appreciate him. ]
I suppose I would have no other choice. I can't very well dashingly protect you if I don't.
[ A moment, and then he adds, ] You know I would enthusiastically help you [ —he falters, aware of the passersby in earshot— ] eliminate any pesky problems that you wished. But I would hope it was your wish, and not some... tree queen's.
[ He still doesn't really understand how wood elf politics work, but he remembered that there was a queen. He really loves Iorveth!!! ]
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So: ] I'll do what I must. [ Which sounds awfully like "I have no choice in the matter". Similar to what he'd said before, about how it isn't his job to feel something about what he does. It makes something in his chest ring hollow again, so he fixes his grip around Astarion's hand and crosses the busy street back in the direction of shelter. ]
Our queen is an emblem of peace, but she still requires a sword. If my people are to live without external threat, someone has to prevent invasion. ...With Isengrim gone and the rest mostly dead, the task falls to me.
[ Patently not Astarion's problem, he knows. Astarion really has no reason to put his life on the line for elves he has no ties to; the reason why Iorveth'd been so hesitant to ask him to stay. ]
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That aside: ]
I know it's unfair of me to use my superior magistrate reasoning to poke holes in your argument, [ he says, despite the fact that he has no such thing, ] but I can't help but notice that you never said that you wanted to.
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What Iorveth wants. Strange how it's stayed the same, but also changed dramatically. The continued existence of his people, so that Iorveth can feel at peace with living alongside the man he loves. Selfish, greedy, delusional. ]
Who would I be, if I laid down my arms? I want to be useful, and I'll not have anyone think me toothless or weak.
[ Been there, done that. It's one thing he feels he has intensely in common with Astarion: the desire never to be overlooked, or underestimated. That said, he pauses and sighs before his next addendum. ]
...But I also no longer want to find a suitable place to die. I want you far too much for that.
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Good. [ He's eager to get somewhere that he can sit down, so he interrupts Iorveth's pause with a nudge toward the guest room. ] You know I'd find it terribly inconvenient if I had to track down someone to resurrect you.
[ Basically: I will never let you die, and that's a threat. ]
But if waging war against humanity is what you want— [ Again, it doesn't sound particularly appealing to him, and it's clear in his tone that he's indifferent to the idea. He doesn't really care about the plight of the elves. He just wants to look out for number one (Iorveth) and number two (himself). ] Well, someone will have to watch your back, and you know I don't like the idea of anyone else looking at your backside.
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He knows Astarion doesn't really care about the grand details of Iorveth's war. Before, he might have been more offended about it― 'could you be a little more interested about this one thing that has defined me'― but at this point, it speaks more to Astarion's unconditionality. Both very worrying and very sweet. ]
You're the only one foolish enough to be looking at my backside during a fight, [ is what he offers first, before sitting on the edge of their mattress, salve in hand. ] ...But, hm. You're the only one in this godsforsaken world I feel safe around.
[ A statement of fact. Iorveth gentles somewhat, and finally offers: ] Which is why what I truly want is to earn a peaceful future for the both of us.
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He settles back against the pillows, peering at Iorveth with a smile tugging at his lips. ]
You positively adorable sap. That's what I want, too, of course.
[ I only want you, he'd said, and he'd meant it. The two of them being safe and together is what's really important. Everything else is just noise. ]
But, my love, there are ways to achieve that without throwing yourself into the line of fire. As much as I would love to stare at your backside as you fought.
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－illogical. Iorveth knows that he should be covering the bases that Astarion refuses to cover, to fill in the blanks that Astarion doesn't care to fill, because life is rarely as simple as Astarion makes it out to be. But sometimes, when Iorveth is exhausted by the weight of his duties, he hears Astarion say things like "it'll be fine, we needn't worry about it", and Iorveth will believe them, and feel oddly comforted by them.
He shifts his weight, leaning forward to sift his fingers through Astarion's artfully laid-down bangs. ]
And how else would we achieve it? [ A soft laugh, fully expecting "I don't know". It's charming, in certain contexts. ] I suppose we could, if Saskia tells me she has no further use for a deranged soldier in her ranks.
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