Good. [Sounds more confident than it is— ] because if there was someone else, I'd certainly hate to have to kill the unlucky bastard just to secure my rightful place. [ —Less weak in the knees than he feels, and it's nothing to do with the hiss of spiced static between his ears from too much wine. Too much comfort. The moonlight's blinding at this angle, as is everything else, frankly, and at the fringe edge of that recognition as he leans on all his skills, is the realization that this kind of fondness could be fatal.
That he could make all the wrong choices for someone who looks at him the way that Fenris looks at him, speaks to him as Fenris speaks to him; all strange, enduring brilliance, and a pair of hands roughened by too-familiar scars. Worn down in all the right ways. Made stronger in ways he'd never dreamed of.
Gods help him, he's a fool, that Astarion.]
His mistress is pulling the strings, I think.
[The bottle fits into his hands when he takes it again; he's lost track of the back and forth.] That's what I owed you for your dancing, after all. My assessment. My 'best guess'— which might now be my only guess, considering our graceful exit from the court's envious gaze.
no subject
That he could make all the wrong choices for someone who looks at him the way that Fenris looks at him, speaks to him as Fenris speaks to him; all strange, enduring brilliance, and a pair of hands roughened by too-familiar scars. Worn down in all the right ways. Made stronger in ways he'd never dreamed of.
Gods help him, he's a fool, that Astarion.]
His mistress is pulling the strings, I think.
[The bottle fits into his hands when he takes it again; he's lost track of the back and forth.] That's what I owed you for your dancing, after all. My assessment. My 'best guess'— which might now be my only guess, considering our graceful exit from the court's envious gaze.