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[thirsted]

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ASTARION

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[thirsted]

One reason, among others.

But I know it to be a stopgap. True freedom will require more than that.

[nishtha]

His death.

[ A guess, but that's usually how it works, with vampires. ]

[thirsted]

[ Affirmation: ]

My fondest wish, in truth.

[nishtha]

I know vampires who were captured by their makers. Forced to degrade themselves. Given into cruel hands. It is not always about love, between us. And love does not always survive as long as we do. I know my fledgling may come to hate me, in time. And wish for my death as fondly as you wish for your maker's painful end.

Still, I hope that it happens for you. I would not like to see you in chains.

[thirsted]

[ Sympathy is still strange to him, stranger still when it (seems) genuinely meant. He stares at the message for a long moment, the ephemerality of love an ache underneath his ribs. ]

Thank you, Armand.

And I hope what you describe — of you and your fledgling — never comes to pass.

[nishtha]

[ They might not know each other well, may not be more than far distant cousins joined by a legacy of pain, but Armand knows that were Astarion's maker here, he wouldn't hesitate to strike him down. He was a slave once; he won't see it happen again, to anyone. ]

We can only hope.