[ 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.
[ Fuck Saskia, he thinks but doesn't say, if only because he's not certain they've gotten to that point yet. He needs to ease Iorveth into being selfish and not exasperatingly duty-bound. Instead, he closes his eyes to savor the feeling of Iorveth's fingers in his hair for a moment, before opening them and sighing. ]
Well, I don't know.
[ Called it. ]
I haven't thought that far ahead yet.
[ He's really taking this life thing one day at a time. The future had always seemed so nebulous and miserable, and he'd always done his best not to think about it. Now, planning is endlessly difficult, even if his future is significantly brighter. ]
We could travel the world and go on adventures and kill whoever dared threaten us. [ A vague, childish plan, but one nonetheless. ] Or we could settle down and... raise chickens, or whatever it is Shadowheart and Lae'zel do.
[ Another warm laugh, when Astarion says exactly what Iorveth'd expected him to say. Theatrically exasperated for the sake of it, but mostly endeared; he flicks the tip of Astarion's nose without any venom at all, then slides his hand down and over his chest, down to the waistband of his trousers.
Off, is the implicit request. He holds up the tin of salve with his other hand, to show intent. ]
Hard to imagine Lae'zel living a sedentary life. [ Then again, Iorveth wouldn't have believed it if Shadowheart had told him that she had ambitions to live in a farm with a white-picket fence when she still had bangs and black hair, so. Those two have always been full of surprises from the start. ] I expect she'll tire of wrangling goats and start waging wars against nearby farms.
[ Tracing Astarion's hip with a thumb, Iorveth hums. ]
...As would I, were I in her place. I'd be of no use to you as a farmer.
[ Astarion shimmies out of his pants with only minimal difficulty, although he's struck by the ugliness of the bruising as soon as they're off, grimacing at the hideous purple-blue spotting against stark white skin. There's little claw marks, too, an angry red, and he internally curses that stupid cat. ]
I would help you wage war, if that's what you desired.
[ And he'd probably have more fun doing it than he would fighting a war on humans. It would be so personal and petty! He loves a trivial vendetta. ]
But if you'd prefer to explore the world and see all that it has to offer, well, I certainly wouldn't be opposed to debauching you in every nation on Toril.
[ Astarion shimmies, and Iorveth shifts to situate himself next to that injured leg, sitting sideways to prop it up onto his knees for easier access. ]
If my people require no more from me, [ is what he finally manages after a beat, quieter than usual, more subdued. ] you'd travel with me to the ends of this realm?
[ "That's crazy," is the implication. Because it is. But he smiles about it regardless, popping open the lid of the salve tin, swiping one fingerful of it over the little scratch marks on Astarion's thigh first. ]
[ The salve stings for a brief moment, and Astarion inhales sharply before the relief comes, soothing the burn it caused and any underlying pain. His muscles slowly untense under Iorveth's touch, pacified both by the salve and by Iorveth's gentleness. ]
I always thought you were smart, but if you're really asking that question, now I'm not sure.
[ A mean thing to say, but he immediately follows it up with an exasperated: ]
[ Careful, callused hands. Before falling for Astarion, he'd had to tell himself to remember how to be gentle, to remember how to have patience; traits he'd buried under anger and paranoia, for fear of someone taking those vulnerable pieces of him and running off with them again.
Gods, it feels nice to trust. To love, freely and without apology. He hasn't stopped dreading the possibility of the world taking Astarion from him, but some old habits will die hard, if ever.
He thumbs more ointment over the worst of the claw marks, then slides his touch down to the still-extensive bruises blooming purple-yellow over the majority of Astarion's leg, coaxing him to hoist it up a bit. His hands work over the lighter patches of the bruising first, to build up to the uncomfortable pain that'll inevitably come with massaging the darker bits; a breath, and he dips down to kiss the crest of Astarion's hiked-up knee. ]
Don't promise too much, "you stupid fool". [ Echoing, though the smile stays. This time, when Iorveth presses his mouth to Astarion, it's to his mouth. ] I may ask you for something truly unreasonable.
[ Iorveth's touch is the sweetest, gentlest, most comforting that he knows, but Astarion still has next to no 'mild discomfort tolerance'. He winces again at the feeling of Iorveth's fingers against his bruised skin, although the press of Iorveth's lips to his certainly helps ease the soreness. Iorveth's kisses turn his brain off, so that there's nothing in this world that exists except his mouth. He chases that mouth, pecking him affectionately before allowing Iorveth to pull back. ]
Oh, will you?
[ There's nothing too unreasonable for Iorveth to ask of him, he thinks. Hells, Iorveth told him to give up ascension, and he did. He's been a lost cause since the very beginning of this relationship. ]
What will you ask me? [ Voice lowered, conspiratorial: ] To wear green?
[ Tenderly, Astarion had requested before, so that's what Iorveth sticks to: slow, measured drags of his fingers along Astarion's leg, smoothing salve over his calf. Good at caretaking, despite his jagged edges.
A huff, at 'wearing green'. Iorveth rolls his remaining eye. ]
Yes, I'll ask you to wear green and live in trees and bathe in mud, and whatever else it is that you imagine Aen Seidhe do. [ Not Astarion's fault entirely, since Iorveth hasn't given him a culture lesson. (Iorveth is 99.9% sure that even if he gives one, none of the information of the culture lesson would be retained.)
He cranes up again, this time to playfully bite the crest of Astarion's shoulder. ]
Or to wear those damned sandals you hate so much. [ Another nibble. ] Or to hold my hand, if I start to feel agitated during our journey north.
[ Do they not live in trees and bathe in mud?? Iorveth should be flattered that Astarion, the ultimate city slicker, is willing to do these things for him. Hells, he was willing to be a farmer for Iorveth.
The affection helps soothe the pain, and he only makes a few small sounds of discomfort, overshadowed greatly by the sound of giggling like a besotted schoolboy when Iorveth bites him. He does so enjoy when the roles reverse. ]
I would do it all for you, darling, [ he assures Iorveth, and strangely enough, he actually means it. ] I'm very gallant that way.
[ No part of him is gallant, but he's willing to try for Iorveth. ]
[ Even the sandals??? Oh, Astarion really does need to be careful about who he attaches himself to. Another bite, this time to Astarion's jaw, to distract him from fingers gliding over the worst of the bruising, where the hag really snapped the bone in half.
He hesitates when asked if he's nervous, though; a question he wouldn't entertain if posed by anyone else, but one he's more willing to answer since it's Astarion asking. ]
...Would you laugh if I said yes?
[ A slightly cynical huff, not quite a laugh. He pulls away, adding more salve to his palm. ]
All I've done until now, and I fear their judgment more than I should.
[ Of course he wouldn't laugh. He'd laugh if anyone else said so, but never Iorveth. Iorveth's feelings, unlike everyone else's, matter. ]
If anyone's cruel to you, I'll—
[ Ugh. He tenses up at the feeling of Iorveth's hands on the tenderest part of his leg. As always, Iorveth gets special treatment: if it were anyone else, he might have reacted poorly, the way he did to poor Reginald. But it's Iorveth, who he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt would never do anything to truly harm him, so he takes a breath to steady himself and allows the ministrations to continue. ]
I'll just kill them, [ he finishes, as if that's a reasonable thing to say. ]
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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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Well, I don't know.
[ Called it. ]
I haven't thought that far ahead yet.
[ He's really taking this life thing one day at a time. The future had always seemed so nebulous and miserable, and he'd always done his best not to think about it. Now, planning is endlessly difficult, even if his future is significantly brighter. ]
We could travel the world and go on adventures and kill whoever dared threaten us. [ A vague, childish plan, but one nonetheless. ] Or we could settle down and... raise chickens, or whatever it is Shadowheart and Lae'zel do.
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Off, is the implicit request. He holds up the tin of salve with his other hand, to show intent. ]
Hard to imagine Lae'zel living a sedentary life. [ Then again, Iorveth wouldn't have believed it if Shadowheart had told him that she had ambitions to live in a farm with a white-picket fence when she still had bangs and black hair, so. Those two have always been full of surprises from the start. ] I expect she'll tire of wrangling goats and start waging wars against nearby farms.
[ Tracing Astarion's hip with a thumb, Iorveth hums. ]
...As would I, were I in her place. I'd be of no use to you as a farmer.
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I would help you wage war, if that's what you desired.
[ And he'd probably have more fun doing it than he would fighting a war on humans. It would be so personal and petty! He loves a trivial vendetta. ]
But if you'd prefer to explore the world and see all that it has to offer, well, I certainly wouldn't be opposed to debauching you in every nation on Toril.
[ And Iorveth says he has no ambition!! ]
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If my people require no more from me, [ is what he finally manages after a beat, quieter than usual, more subdued. ] you'd travel with me to the ends of this realm?
[ "That's crazy," is the implication. Because it is. But he smiles about it regardless, popping open the lid of the salve tin, swiping one fingerful of it over the little scratch marks on Astarion's thigh first. ]
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I always thought you were smart, but if you're really asking that question, now I'm not sure.
[ A mean thing to say, but he immediately follows it up with an exasperated: ]
I would do anything for you, you stupid fool.
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Gods, it feels nice to trust. To love, freely and without apology. He hasn't stopped dreading the possibility of the world taking Astarion from him, but some old habits will die hard, if ever.
He thumbs more ointment over the worst of the claw marks, then slides his touch down to the still-extensive bruises blooming purple-yellow over the majority of Astarion's leg, coaxing him to hoist it up a bit. His hands work over the lighter patches of the bruising first, to build up to the uncomfortable pain that'll inevitably come with massaging the darker bits; a breath, and he dips down to kiss the crest of Astarion's hiked-up knee. ]
Don't promise too much, "you stupid fool". [ Echoing, though the smile stays. This time, when Iorveth presses his mouth to Astarion, it's to his mouth. ] I may ask you for something truly unreasonable.
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Oh, will you?
[ There's nothing too unreasonable for Iorveth to ask of him, he thinks. Hells, Iorveth told him to give up ascension, and he did. He's been a lost cause since the very beginning of this relationship. ]
What will you ask me? [ Voice lowered, conspiratorial: ] To wear green?
[ Horrible. It's not in his palette!! ]
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A huff, at 'wearing green'. Iorveth rolls his remaining eye. ]
Yes, I'll ask you to wear green and live in trees and bathe in mud, and whatever else it is that you imagine Aen Seidhe do. [ Not Astarion's fault entirely, since Iorveth hasn't given him a culture lesson. (Iorveth is 99.9% sure that even if he gives one, none of the information of the culture lesson would be retained.)
He cranes up again, this time to playfully bite the crest of Astarion's shoulder. ]
Or to wear those damned sandals you hate so much. [ Another nibble. ] Or to hold my hand, if I start to feel agitated during our journey north.
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The affection helps soothe the pain, and he only makes a few small sounds of discomfort, overshadowed greatly by the sound of giggling like a besotted schoolboy when Iorveth bites him. He does so enjoy when the roles reverse. ]
I would do it all for you, darling, [ he assures Iorveth, and strangely enough, he actually means it. ] I'm very gallant that way.
[ No part of him is gallant, but he's willing to try for Iorveth. ]
...Are you nervous?
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He hesitates when asked if he's nervous, though; a question he wouldn't entertain if posed by anyone else, but one he's more willing to answer since it's Astarion asking. ]
...Would you laugh if I said yes?
[ A slightly cynical huff, not quite a laugh. He pulls away, adding more salve to his palm. ]
All I've done until now, and I fear their judgment more than I should.
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If anyone's cruel to you, I'll—
[ Ugh. He tenses up at the feeling of Iorveth's hands on the tenderest part of his leg. As always, Iorveth gets special treatment: if it were anyone else, he might have reacted poorly, the way he did to poor Reginald. But it's Iorveth, who he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt would never do anything to truly harm him, so he takes a breath to steady himself and allows the ministrations to continue. ]
I'll just kill them, [ he finishes, as if that's a reasonable thing to say. ]
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They won't be cruel, [ he corrects, but the smile stays.] but I'll not be welcomed. Deservedly, some would say.
[ Another laugh, and he slides his hand up Astarion's calf again, making sure the salve is spread evenly across his bruised skin. ]
Unfortunately, beloved, not all problems can be resolved with a dagger.
[ Sucks, huh. ]
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