(Hatred had run so hot through his veins when he'd turned to face Varania. Any semblance of brotherly affection he'd ever held for her— born while two elven children played giddily under the Tevene sun, rekindled with scrawled words and familiar phrases echoed and relearned— was long dead. Murdered by a cowardly woman who was too stupid to see the vipers she'd allied herself with would have disposed of her the moment she ceased being useful. About to be murdered now by the being she'd once called brother, and it would be no less than she deserved. He wanted to do it. A screaming in his ears and all the years of torture and humiliation and agony all bearing down on him in that single moment where he'd wanted to rip her heart out and make the bitch suffer—)
It isn't a lie. They aren't his siblings, not by blood (what worth is a sister you don't even remember?). Their deaths would have deprived Cazador of six potential allies in this upcoming fight; it would have been a mercy to them, slaves that they all are, put down like rabid dogs finally granted rest. It would have been for the best. It would have been smart. Yes.]
Yes.
[The echoing answer lingers in the air between them, underscoring his own in low agreement. Moonlight streams in from a half-open window, turning Astarion's pale skin into something almost ethereal: pale and cold and distant. Not a monster, not at all— but something different from Leto, withdrawn into his own nature.
Only after a few seconds pass does Leto's hand slide up, cupping one chilled cheek with aching tenderness.]
. . . and no.
[It's somewhere between a question and a statement. A way to articulate that churning mass of uncertainty and rage and pity and grief without having to make Astarion actually take the first step. His thumb strokes the curve of Astarion's cheek, ignoring the sharp throb of pain in favor of keeping that gentle contact.]
It would have been better had I left Varania's corpse lying next to Danarius'. But I did not. And I do not regret it.
I cannot say I love her. I cannot say I do not loathe her. But she is still my sister, despite it all.
no subject
(Hatred had run so hot through his veins when he'd turned to face Varania. Any semblance of brotherly affection he'd ever held for her— born while two elven children played giddily under the Tevene sun, rekindled with scrawled words and familiar phrases echoed and relearned— was long dead. Murdered by a cowardly woman who was too stupid to see the vipers she'd allied herself with would have disposed of her the moment she ceased being useful. About to be murdered now by the being she'd once called brother, and it would be no less than she deserved. He wanted to do it. A screaming in his ears and all the years of torture and humiliation and agony all bearing down on him in that single moment where he'd wanted to rip her heart out and make the bitch suffer—)
It isn't a lie. They aren't his siblings, not by blood (what worth is a sister you don't even remember?). Their deaths would have deprived Cazador of six potential allies in this upcoming fight; it would have been a mercy to them, slaves that they all are, put down like rabid dogs finally granted rest. It would have been for the best. It would have been smart. Yes.]
Yes.
[The echoing answer lingers in the air between them, underscoring his own in low agreement. Moonlight streams in from a half-open window, turning Astarion's pale skin into something almost ethereal: pale and cold and distant. Not a monster, not at all— but something different from Leto, withdrawn into his own nature.
Only after a few seconds pass does Leto's hand slide up, cupping one chilled cheek with aching tenderness.]
. . . and no.
[It's somewhere between a question and a statement. A way to articulate that churning mass of uncertainty and rage and pity and grief without having to make Astarion actually take the first step. His thumb strokes the curve of Astarion's cheek, ignoring the sharp throb of pain in favor of keeping that gentle contact.]
It would have been better had I left Varania's corpse lying next to Danarius'. But I did not. And I do not regret it.
I cannot say I love her. I cannot say I do not loathe her. But she is still my sister, despite it all.