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[illithidnapped]

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[illithidnapped]

[A simple reiteration slides its way in as gloved fingers pull a gilded mask fully free, discarding it in lush grass off to one side (they won't need it now, will they? If he turns up here tomorrow it'll only bring about a swift kick in the ass— or as Fenris so aptly surmised: thugs— let alone a deeper inquiry as to who at all invited them, and he'd rather not bring suspicion down around the Duke's ears either for having spent the evening at his side, an inevitable consequence of investigation. No, he'll cash his check and find another way to ferret a few tidbits of information without being seen, or endure the consequences; Riftwatch can't even begin to compare with Cazador's admonishments, after all), white curls slightly damp from dancing and the blowback of his breath behind that mask, leaving them splayed wildly in all directions.

In sore need of combing down, which he does with his fingertips thereafter, exhaling.]

Keep flattering me and I might actually commit myself to teaching you. You weren't a terrible study, as it so happens. [Is a tease, and an admission, and it comes with a far more praising wink for good measure before he leans back.

Squints up at what few stars can be seen over city lights as they continue on.]

Hah! Goodness no.

Despite the way it is both well-known and perfectly acceptable as an art in higher hallways, you certainly won't catch the Duchal Grandmatron hiking her skirts with both hands at the start of every ball. [Spares one delighted half-snort of delight at the imagined thought.]

Most are either rowdy enough to warrant warnings depending on the establishment, or remain about as stuffy as your typical exchange back there. The usual step-pause-step-step-pauseeee~ [a bored half-sweep of his hand runs long] ~wait for your partner to imagine the whole of your lives together, the children you might rear, growing old together whilst battling the scars of the past through tearfelt romantic readings of old memories plucked from a notebook, something-something kissing in the rain- anddddd step.

[doggish]

[He laughs at that descriptor. His cheeks are aching, he realizes. He can't remember the last time he smiled so much around someone— a real smile, too, not just a mean smirk or sardonic grimace. And as for laughing, Maker, he's rusty at it. The sound startles him even now, a full-throated laugh as he tosses his mask atop Astarion's, quietly gleeful at the wastefulness.]

Come, now.

[As truly chiding as Astarion's own words, his tongue thick and a little clumsy as he speaks.]

You can do better than that for a compliment. Or did I not keep up with your every step and move?

[His hand lifts, his wrist rolling with surprising flexability as he offers it.]

Must I prove myself again? Though you may not find me quite as nimble after so much wine.

[illithidnapped]

[Spontaneous, the laughter he breaks into without thinking; angles his attention low across the bench towards the backs of pretty ears.]

If it means watching you dance again, I'll tell you you're the worst in Faerûn though it'd be a lie—

[Ah.

Ah, that's right. Silly to forget a thing like that when his own palm's aching like it's been stung, but....

His inhale's clipped. His smile thinned down to something sober where he isn't, and it makes it hard to keep up with what he feels before it up and speaks for him.]

You make it easy to think of better days I can't remember.

[doggish]

[Oh.

Something like astonishment crosses his expression as he turns to face Astarion, soft and light in a way that eases the years in his face. For just a moment he isn't the jaded and cynical elf that had crossed the border three days ago; instead, he's something less roughened. Doe-eyed and a little awed by this wondrous, impossible companion who speaks from the heart instead of the head.]

You make it easy to simply be.

[The words are soft, but genuinely meant. And though some part of him balks at such honesty, he doesn't take it back. The moons shine so bright tonight, making Astarion's hair look like starlight; his eyes glimmer in the darkness, twin rubies that Fenris wouldn't look away from for anything.]

And I think it is fair to say I have never met anyone like you before. Not in all my years.

[illithidnapped]

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.

[doggish]

[Something was lost in those breathless seconds. Something that Leto can't quite name, but his heart mourns all the same. Wait, wait, and he doesn't know how to beg to go back, nor even what he would say if they could. He's breathless as Astarion's words weave around him, his mind caught in that endless undertow—

Before he moves on, for there's no other choice.

(Hours later, when Astarion is asleep, he'll allow himself to wonder about that moment. And years from now, curled up in the circle of his arms, his memories half-restored to him, he'll pity his younger self, and be grateful for the way it inexplicably still managed to work out).]

It's enough to satisfy Riftwatch, in any case.

[His voice is a little distant, his mind still caught on before.]

I suspect you're right, but even if you aren't, they will not ask for confirmation.

[It's funny: nothing has changed, and yet all at once, everything has. The air smells a little less sweet; the noises around them are a little too sharp, vulgar laughter and the endless drone of violins now offensive to his ears. His legs are restless, and without thinking he stands, his hands pushing into his pockets as he glances down at Astarion.]

Come on. We can finish the bottle in our rooms. But it will be a long journey back to Kirkwall tomorrow, and a lack of sleep will not help it.