illithidnapped

It's a change,

[ he admits after a beat. he'd been prepared for the usual response — questions about space, or spaceships, or aliens, or what may lie beyond the stars. not this particular brand of incisive insight, though maybe he shouldn't have expected any less of astarion.

and it occurs to him, for shamefully the first time, that this has to be why astarion relocated to kirkwall. part of it, at least. the city is less full of reminders of its slaving history than the gallows; but it's been easy for him to forget. of course it wouldn't be easy for astarion. ]

Have you found anywhere you'd rather live?

[ genuine curiosity. astarion's been here long enough to see a fair portion of thedas. ]

Fenris suggested Rivain might suit. That there are places in the north a little less...mm. [Withering, that hum.] a bit less like having hot sand scraped directly across one’s balls.

But I can’t say I relate much to the elves from this world, either. Not the Dalish, I mean. Or the ones from the Alienages. Most of them are either too complacent or far too...earthy.

[Adrasteia, Fenris, so far they’re the only exceptions to the rules— and maybe they don’t really count, either, given the uniqueness of their situations: a Grey Warden walking the line between duty and drive, a former weapon turned hounding menace. Two out of thousands isn’t the most overwhelming case for any kind of compatibility.

No, Astarion’s fairly certain Thedosian elves aren’t his type overall.]

So I suppose I don’t know. Not yet, anyway.

What about you?

Derrica could tell you more about Rivain, [ is something of an idle suggestion. she could, but he's not sure astarion would ask when the anchor binds him here anyway.

he makes a soft sound after, an acknowledgement. he can't speak to conditions elves face here, how dalish and city elves differ, but it's easier to imagine the cultural divide for an elf from another world. astarion grew up in a very different environment, attitudes towards elves not what they are here. of course trying to fit in among them would be strange. ]

No, [ he agrees, ] I don't know either.

[ because he mentioned the roci so recently, he admits, ]

It was never the place that mattered. It was the people in it. I would've gone anywhere my crew was.

[It's a kind suggestion. An apt one, too.

Astarion ignores it.

Not because of Derrica, or for some shade of mistrust, but because he knows a touch too much about her story to want to freely draw it into casual conversation: better to press on while they can.]

Gods, do you ever tire of being so intolerably soft?

Not yet.

[ then, ]

I don't know how that's going to translate here. [ no ship, no crew. ] Maybe I should look into Rivain, myself.

We’ll need to win the war first, and find ourselves not thrown in cages alongside our dear, local, self-serving mages.

If we can get through that unscathed, I’ll walk you to Rivain myself.

[ the way he exhales suggests that he considered some answer to self-serving, but that that he doesn't want to have that fight right now.

instead he says, soft, ]

I'll do anything I can to make sure that doesn't happen to you. I hope you know that.

[This time, Astarion’s a little too quiet for a little too long. A contrast to how eagerly he’d normally twist— how swiftly he’d bite— when staring down an open, offered palm.]

...right. Well.

[Halting again. Picking apart the pieces of his own thoughts.]

You got what you needed. If you choose terrible gifts it won’t be because of me.

Just...

Mm.

[And with that noticeable lack of fanfare, he cuts the call short.]

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