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the lockpicking lawyer ([personal profile] nibbling) wrote2024-06-08 03:58 pm
essea: (24.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-08-31 11:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Ominous, Astarion says, and Iorveth huffs a breath in light exasperation. A silent "why would I promise you something bad, you ridiculous creature", which he doesn't say, because. Well.

Swiftly moving on:
] The promise is thus: no matter the disagreements we may have, I'll always return to our bed at the end of the day.

[ Simple. He traces the point of Astarion's ear, enjoying how it feels between his fingers. ]

You can do as you please, but the matter of where I'll return to shall never be a mystery to you.

[ A matter of principle. One unshakeable point of consistency is an important thing to have, like a good weapon; because their circumstances are in a constant state of unpredictable flux, having any single assured focal point can feel grounding, no matter how insubstantial that focal point may be. ]
essea: (1.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 01:45 am (UTC)(link)
[ Iorveth, the meanest elf in the world, actually laughs when Astarion takes offense to their prospective disagreements. Just in case Astarion has forgotten that he is, in fact, a huge asshole. Of course they're going to butt heads about things― he'd find it more unnerving if they didn't.

Still amused, with one brow raised, he reaches sideways for a pillow and makes himself more comfortable in the messy nest of limbs and blankets that they've made.
]

There's no collective opinion, I suppose. Individually, there are bound to be some who dislike the concept of vampires in general. But our knowledge comes only from lore― the distant, vague threat of ambitious nightwalkers was rather far from our mind, considering the immediate threat of ambitious humans.

[ A vague gesture with his free hand, as if to swat away even the thought of humans. ]

You're the first vampire I've ever met. Which would make you the first vampire any Aen Seidhe has met in recent history. It's likely that the Northern Territories have always been too politically fraught for any of your kind to take interest in.
essea: (32.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 02:14 am (UTC)(link)
[ Speaking of butting heads. Iorveth almost looks like he'll bite back with a you're the one that asked, but the rest of Astarion's statement tempers it.

Instead of being offended, he just laughs again. Aware that it's a legitimate concern, yes, but the way the concern is framed tickles something in his gut.
]

If any of my people seriously believe that I can be enthralled, [ again, a real thing that vampires can really do, but. ] They wouldn't know me very well at all.

[ What kind of stupid vampire is going to choose to enthrall a weird, unpleasant wood elf terrorist anyway??? For what gain??? Iorveth can't imagine it, so he continues to chuckle about it. How absurd. ]

Mm. I'll silence the detractors. This wouldn't be the first time I've done something that many consider completely mad.
Edited 2024-09-01 02:15 (UTC)
essea: (42.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 02:53 am (UTC)(link)
[ The very real problem of whether or not some people might not want Astarion around has a very real solution to Iorveth, which is relayed with blunt simplicity: ]

Astarion. [ His lips rest on soft curls, somewhere in the vicinity of the crown of Astarion's head. ] No one will dare touch you, under my watch.

[ A touch of possessiveness of his own. The sort of iron-clad, bared-teeth protectiveness that's kept Iorveth going for the past century; Iorveth draws on it now, a familiar and comfortable fire in his chest that he throws kindling onto. His grip around Astarion's waist tightens just a fraction. ]

Some may be wary. Some may protest. But I'll not let any of them treat you poorly.
essea: (47.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 04:21 am (UTC)(link)
A handful of a cat, more like.

[ Regarding treating Astarion like a so-called princess. If push comes to shove, Iorveth is sure that Astarion is resourceful enough to fend for himself without being cloistered like a helpless maiden locked in a tower, but it's the principle of the thing. If Iorveth is going to make Astarion trudge halfway across the continent alongside him, he might as well make sure that it's at least worth some of the trouble.

Mirroring the touch to his torso, Iorveth runs his fingers along Astarion's spine over the loose robe, tracing it up and down.
]

It's likely that she has some idea where we may have gone, though hasn't believed us stupid enough to actually go by ourselves.

[ Which, like. Fair. ]

Do you feel strong enough to face her wrath?

[ The alone time is nice, but Iorveth is also aware that someone tangentially related to Cazador knows that the two of them are here; how else would he have received that note? Maybe a sibling will show up in the night, and Astarion might not prefer to speak to them yet. ]
essea: (32.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
[ Back to reality, and more bloody trials to follow the one they've just undergone. It's a shame that the most complicated part of Iorveth's life moving forward can't be figuring out how to etch a clean circle using needle and thread, but some things are simply impossible.

He can't complain. Some part of him is, in fact, still reeling at the memory of Astarion agreeing to being with him.
]

Mm. The others haven't earned it.

[ Dryly, but without bitterness. Iorveth will never fancy himself very pretty to look at, but he'll accept Astarion's sweet delusions for free. He gets up to find his new shirt amidst the wreckage of their room, then picks up the discarded headscarf on the floor to re-situate it over his missing eye. They don't have a lot of inventory to pack up: just the half-empty bag of anti-vampire items, their sewing kit and clothes. Iorveth finishes the rest of the food that he was given that morning, and shoves the evidence of his embroidery practice into the basket for safekeeping.

One quick survey of the room, before they leave. Housekeeping is going to have a bad time with the bloodstains and the mangled sheets (they should probably burn them alongside the discarded old clothes); Iorveth leaves an extra piece of gold along the windowsill for the unfortunate employee's trouble.
]
essea: (46.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 02:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The careful way Astarion twines their hands together makes Iorveth's heart clench with an immediacy that he can't describe in words. It's such a small thing, unnoticed by the throngs of city-dwellers who have far more to care about than two elves walking hand-in-hand; still, to Iorveth, the feeling of Astarion's palm slowly warming against his own is sacrosanct.

He glances down to where they're twined. Happiness tugs at the corner of his mouth, pulling his austere features into a smile that lasts, physically, for only a moment. Spiritually, it lingers, even when they finally reach Elfsong and make their way up to their party's base of operations: there's no move to untangle himself from Astarion after he opens the door and steps into the radius of their companions' scrutiny, secure in the knowledge that he really doesn't give a shit what the others may say about them.

The others, incidentally, happen to be just Wyll and Gale. Holding the fort for Iorveth and Astarion's potential return while the women go and get actual things done, presumably― Wyll leaps onto his feet from where he'd been cleaning his weapons on one of the room's many well-cushioned armchairs, and approaches them with the sort of open-armed earnestness that'd felt unbearable in the early days of their journey.

"Hells, you're finally back, the both of you! After all the ducking and hiding you two have been doing the past few days, we'd thought―"

Wyll's mismatched eyes flit down, obviously registering the very improbable reality of Astarion and Iorveth holding hands, but also being raised too right to call attention to it in a way that would be uncouth. He clears his throat, and continues.

"―Well, whatever we thought didn't come to bear, and for that I'm grateful." Sincerely, as Wyll is about most things. After a beat, he appends:

"You look... comfortable, Astarion." Taking note of the loungewear, which he's fairly certain Astarion didn't leave in. Huh.
]
essea: (32.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-01 10:12 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Iorveth watches as Wyll's expression dances neatly from one disparate sentiment to another: one brow hiked in skepticism, joined by the second in surprise, then both furrowed in vaguely amused curiosity. Obviously, he looks like he wants to press the point, but is interrupted by Gale, who pops his head out from beyond his curtained bed with his own interjection.

"At the risk of sounding uncouth, your actions over the past few days have been telegraphing more "secret mission" than "lovers' retreat"."

A fair observation, but one that comes from a human wizard, so Iorveth has very little respect for it by default. He hikes his chin up at Gale's scrutiny, nothing of the softness he's been showing Astarion apparent in the now-proud slant of his posture.
]

You think yourself the authority on how lovers act, do you.

[ To the tune of "you got dumped by a Goddess for acting like a moron, don't even talk to me." Very mean. Gale frowns, and Wyll reacts, appropriately, with a full-bodied yikes.

"Let's not argue the point any further," is the diplomatic middle ground that Wyll decides to keep. "We're here to be confided in when you feel it's time to confide in us. I hope you both know that."
]
essea: (12.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-02 01:01 am (UTC)(link)
[ Gale is really going for gold in the "make Iorveth bristle" Olympics, an event that no one asked to join but everyone is nevertheless participating in- Iorveth even lets go of Astarion to see if he can't wipe the grin off of Gale's face through common intimidation, but finds himself derailed by the sudden accusation that he's the one that needs recovering after the events of the past two days.

Ugh. He has half a mind to poke the still-healing wound on Astarion's shoulder to prove a point, but he won't. Turns out that he actually shares Wyll's sentiment about giving Astarion space and time until he's ready to talk about things, how irritating.

Wrinkling his nose, obviously vexed but entertaining the farce:
] My vampire has an unruly appetite.

[ He pulls down his collar, where the fang-shaped puncture wounds still burn red and warm against his neck from their recent fooling around. That shuts Gale up nicely and makes Wyll clear his throat again, promising to find them something as he turns and jogs back towards the direction of his supplies.

Iorveth snorts, and glances sideways at Astarion.
]

Leave the mace on Lae'zel's bed. [ Handing him their bag still half-full of anti-vampire items, where the Blood of Lathander is still gently gleaming. ]
essea: (42.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-02 03:22 am (UTC)(link)
[ On second thought, maybe they should have left the mace next to Lae'zel's bed instead of staining her pillowcase with it, but what's done is done. Iorveth takes the potion when it's offered to him by a returning Wyll, and offhandedly passes the round bottle to Astarion without giving it a second glance; a silent you need it more, leaving little room for debate.

With that, he returns to his sequestered spot in their collective room, and marvels at how different things are from when he last slept on this particular mattress. Henselt seems a world and a half away, as does anything pre-Cazador- it's always humbling how certain spiritually-upending changes aren't readily observable in one's physical surroundings.

Iorveth unburdens himself of his belongings, and rolls his shoulders. It feels strange, being here with the others. They'll have to move on to all the other bullshit that they still have yet to solve, but Iorveth's skull still feels packed, full with thoughts of Astarion, lingering concerns mixed with future plans. Having to think about anything else is exhausting; every time he tells himself to consider the Gortash problem again, his brain does a quick heel-face turn.

A sigh, and he beckons Astarion back to him. At this point, Gale and Wyll look like they still only half-believe that Iorveth and Astarion are actually intimate with each other (the bloody mace is clear evidence that they weren't actually just canoodling around with each other), but Iorveth truly cannot be assed to care about the optics at this point.
]

I intend to go tell Ciaran to call off his investigations, [ Iorveth explains, if Astarion obliges him with his presence. ] If you want to stay and rest, stay and rest.
essea: (44.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-02 12:53 pm (UTC)(link)
[ "Ciaran will come around", Iorveth doesn't say, because he doesn't speak for his brother-in-arms, who is just as stubborn as Iorveth is. Instead, Iorveth places a palm on Astarion's forehead, as if he can feel the thoughts building like stormclouds just under his hand, dark and roiling. ]

Bask in the others' attention for a while. [ Sliding his touch down to Astarion's cheek, letting it linger there to feel for tension along his temple, his jaw. Eventually, Iorveth relents. His hand strays back to his own side. ] Some voices aside from mine will do you good.

[ Wyll is, at the end of the day, a kind person; so is Gale, even if Iorveth wants to humble him nine times out of ten. If Astarion changes his mind at any point about staying with him and decides to linger in Baldur's Gate with Wyll or travel to Waterdeep with Gale, Iorveth would be content in the knowledge that Astarion is in good hands.

So. One last bump of forehead to forehead, and Iorveth slips out to do his errands. The entire time, he thinks he feels a pair of blood-red eyes watching him from the shadows, the presence looming closer as the sun starts to lean.

Meanwhile, Wyll approaches Astarion with a vintage Talis deck and a bottle of red: "I thought you could teach me some sleight of hand", he beams, and invites Gale over for a game or two.
]
essea: (1.)

[personal profile] essea 2024-09-02 11:01 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Iorveth's talk with Ciaran ends the way Iorveth expected: with apprehension, but acceptance. A reminder that while Ciaran has no reason to enjoy Astarion's company yet, he won't deny Iorveth the things that make him happy.

He mulls over that during his walk back to Elfsong. Happy. Something he'd always wanted for his clan, but not necessarily for himself. It unnerves him, somewhat― has he earned this? Is he deserving?

He's frowning by the time he returns to their room, contemplation drawing sharp lines over his austere features. "Well, someone looks cranky," Shadowheart notes when Iorveth closes the door behind him, looking up from her casual perch next to Lae'zel with a coquettish grin.

Iorveth folds his arms, defensive.
]

Have you tended to Astarion yet? [ Is a question that earns him a laugh-snort, the laugh from Shadowheart and the snort from Lae'zel: "he's been hiding", they say in unison.

Hm. Iorveth passes them by and strides over to his bed, spotting the lump of silver hidden under pillows and the dark fabric of his robe.
]

Stealthy, [ he remarks. Dry, but fond. ]

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