[Gale's brow furrows, concern and a struggling hesitance clear in his expression. One hand lifts and reaches for Astarion before he seems to think better of it, and sets it down on his staff instead.
'That isn't the incident they have in mind, I believe, but a more recent one. One involving the settlement just outside of the city gates.' He watches Astarion for a few seconds, searching his face for something. Whether or not he finds it, he adds swiftly: 'But they can tell you themselves later, and you can decide what you will do with it later on.'
It isn't condemnation or a brush-off, but gentle defusion. Again Gale's gaze darts from Fenris to Astarion before he adds: 'In any case: they are determined to help either way, for the sake of killing Szarr if nothing else.'
There's more said, of course, but none of it particularly interesting. He arranges for a time to meet with Fenris (tomorrow at ten in the morning) so that an initial assessment might begin, and from there lesson plans and instructional spars. He gives them the names of all those companions that he had mentioned, along with a list of where to find them and what they can offer in terms of a fighting force, and then makes his goodbyes.
'It was good to see you,' he says to Astarion before he goes. 'Truly, Astarion. You've been missed.'
And then he's gone, and they're left in the aftermath.
There's so much to say, but none of it can be from him first. Fenris— Leto— knows that. Whatever Gale was hinting at is something that either happened during the course of Astarion's lost memories (if they can even be called that, but what other term is there?), or something else. Something that happened before, and was only a revelation made during the course of that adventure . . . and it must be the latter, Leto thinks, for Gale would not expect Astarion to know it otherwise.
So it's something from the past. Something involving the Gur, and gods know Cazador has a sadistic sense of humor. Leto can think of a thousand cruelties he might force his spawn to enact against his murderers, and who's to say if the intended victim was Astarion or the Gur— or both. But whatever it was, it must have happened recently. Call it within the past half-century, maybe, but something fresh enough that this encampment leapt upon the chance to join in.
And whatever it is, Leto knows already, he will stay by Astarion's side. That isn't a question.
But one thing at a time.
He sits heavily on the bed, watching Astarion whether he rants or paces or shuts down. But when there's a breath, a pause, Leto murmurs:]
Tell me.
[The rage. The grief. The resentment. Tell me.]
We need not use them if you despise the idea. We have forces enough that they are not vital.
no subject
'That isn't the incident they have in mind, I believe, but a more recent one. One involving the settlement just outside of the city gates.' He watches Astarion for a few seconds, searching his face for something. Whether or not he finds it, he adds swiftly: 'But they can tell you themselves later, and you can decide what you will do with it later on.'
It isn't condemnation or a brush-off, but gentle defusion. Again Gale's gaze darts from Fenris to Astarion before he adds: 'In any case: they are determined to help either way, for the sake of killing Szarr if nothing else.'
There's more said, of course, but none of it particularly interesting. He arranges for a time to meet with Fenris (tomorrow at ten in the morning) so that an initial assessment might begin, and from there lesson plans and instructional spars. He gives them the names of all those companions that he had mentioned, along with a list of where to find them and what they can offer in terms of a fighting force, and then makes his goodbyes.
'It was good to see you,' he says to Astarion before he goes. 'Truly, Astarion. You've been missed.'
And then he's gone, and they're left in the aftermath.
There's so much to say, but none of it can be from him first. Fenris— Leto— knows that. Whatever Gale was hinting at is something that either happened during the course of Astarion's lost memories (if they can even be called that, but what other term is there?), or something else. Something that happened before, and was only a revelation made during the course of that adventure . . . and it must be the latter, Leto thinks, for Gale would not expect Astarion to know it otherwise.
So it's something from the past. Something involving the Gur, and gods know Cazador has a sadistic sense of humor. Leto can think of a thousand cruelties he might force his spawn to enact against his murderers, and who's to say if the intended victim was Astarion or the Gur— or both. But whatever it was, it must have happened recently. Call it within the past half-century, maybe, but something fresh enough that this encampment leapt upon the chance to join in.
And whatever it is, Leto knows already, he will stay by Astarion's side. That isn't a question.
But one thing at a time.
He sits heavily on the bed, watching Astarion whether he rants or paces or shuts down. But when there's a breath, a pause, Leto murmurs:]
Tell me.
[The rage. The grief. The resentment. Tell me.]
We need not use them if you despise the idea. We have forces enough that they are not vital.