[ Gale trips over himself in his rush to Astarionโs room, suddenly gangly and unsure of his every limb. Clerical collar askew and sleeves half-rolled on one side. It seems to him that if heโs a few seconds too late, Astarion will be gone โ he might already have disappeared inside, compacted by Galeโs contrarian mix of cowardice and neediness. Made small by his foolโs belief that every look was exaggerated, surely, out of kindness or pity. Why shouldnโt the sun smile upon the earthworm, after all?
Oh, but itโd be a lie to say he hadnโt hoped to have his cake and eat it, too, courting Astarion without any danger of having his heart crushed underfoot. No need to fear the blade, if you keep it clutched in hand.
And yet he finds himself in the same spot, at risk of a fatal wound. No, already bleeding out.
He raps his knuckles on the door, other hand flitting to steady the tremble in his arm. Mystra did not know how to beg, he recalls without knowing why. Not for his life or his death, ever accustomed to obedience. Unable to comprehend his denial of her. But you do.
Should the door open or not, he confesses in a rush. ]
Even if this is all a lark to you โ I accept it.
[ If Astarion views him the same as the others, a weak man invited to fall within the walls of Saltburnt. ]
Iโm yours to discard. Iโve been yours for months now. [ Years, if only he could reach through the fog of his memory to find the start of their connection. ] Only I was so very afraid to admit it. Iโm still โ
[ Afraid, hands shaking, twisting before him, when they ought to be gesturing or reaching out. Useless, broken things, without any power. ]
I wanted to ask you to run away with me the day I arrived. And when I held your hand in the maze. I want to ask you now. Iโm asking you. Do I โ should I phrase it like a question?
[ Stupidly, he thinks, Jeopardy rules? It makes sense, that he ought to risk his heart and whatever remains of his dignity, if heโs to have any chance at happiness. The spells of old ask that you spill your own blood, take your own liver, cut out your heart and offer it for consumption. ]
๐ฌ โ after gossipgate.
Oh, but itโd be a lie to say he hadnโt hoped to have his cake and eat it, too, courting Astarion without any danger of having his heart crushed underfoot. No need to fear the blade, if you keep it clutched in hand.
And yet he finds himself in the same spot, at risk of a fatal wound. No, already bleeding out.
He raps his knuckles on the door, other hand flitting to steady the tremble in his arm. Mystra did not know how to beg, he recalls without knowing why. Not for his life or his death, ever accustomed to obedience. Unable to comprehend his denial of her. But you do.
Should the door open or not, he confesses in a rush. ]
Even if this is all a lark to you โ I accept it.
[ If Astarion views him the same as the others, a weak man invited to fall within the walls of Saltburnt. ]
Iโm yours to discard. Iโve been yours for months now. [ Years, if only he could reach through the fog of his memory to find the start of their connection. ] Only I was so very afraid to admit it. Iโm still โ
[ Afraid, hands shaking, twisting before him, when they ought to be gesturing or reaching out. Useless, broken things, without any power. ]
I wanted to ask you to run away with me the day I arrived. And when I held your hand in the maze. I want to ask you now. Iโm asking you. Do I โ should I phrase it like a question?
[ Stupidly, he thinks, Jeopardy rules? It makes sense, that he ought to risk his heart and whatever remains of his dignity, if heโs to have any chance at happiness. The spells of old ask that you spill your own blood, take your own liver, cut out your heart and offer it for consumption. ]