[ rand is, of course, no hero. not really. born with the echoes of lews therin reverberating through his soul can't much count, least of all with all the harm he'd done three thousand years ago. going to the eye of the world doesn't count, by his estimation, either. maybe he'd been willing to give his life there, but he hadn't, and in the end had only made things worse. can falme count? why in light's name would it? no, there's no point to comparison, no point to seeing him as any better than he is.
(and no reason why he of all people wouldn't sympathize with wanting control over one's own life. thank the light that, at least, astarion has been able to reclaim some.)
a banquet table is, perhaps, an understandable extension of the metaphor. he can understand the meaning, he thinks, at least. far more flattering than he would've expected; but then astarion goes on, and becomes much more flattering than he would've expected. sweet, palatable, strong. delineating between him and everything else. it's like a knot in his chest, having this kind of care extended his way.
but he scoffs at the end, finally finding it in himself to look up, indulgently amused. ]
Come off it.
[ back in emond's field, he only had eyes for egwene for nearly as long as he's had eyes, and so had never had reason to assume anyone else ever noticed him at all. and selene — lanfear — was, well. she had her own agenda. the reasonable assumption, therefore, is that astarion really is just trying to make him feel better! which is kind but misguided. ]
Well, if you ever do need — more, [ because light only knows how many people are offering astarion their necks, ] I don't mind helping. When I can, at least.
no subject
(and no reason why he of all people wouldn't sympathize with wanting control over one's own life. thank the light that, at least, astarion has been able to reclaim some.)
a banquet table is, perhaps, an understandable extension of the metaphor. he can understand the meaning, he thinks, at least. far more flattering than he would've expected; but then astarion goes on, and becomes much more flattering than he would've expected. sweet, palatable, strong. delineating between him and everything else. it's like a knot in his chest, having this kind of care extended his way.
but he scoffs at the end, finally finding it in himself to look up, indulgently amused. ]
Come off it.
[ back in emond's field, he only had eyes for egwene for nearly as long as he's had eyes, and so had never had reason to assume anyone else ever noticed him at all. and selene — lanfear — was, well. she had her own agenda. the reasonable assumption, therefore, is that astarion really is just trying to make him feel better! which is kind but misguided. ]
Well, if you ever do need — more, [ because light only knows how many people are offering astarion their necks, ] I don't mind helping. When I can, at least.