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[illithidnapped]

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[illithidnapped]

[It can't undo the past. It can't change the loss his fledgling self had suffered, or the collapse of willpower that followed when weeks of waiting shifted into months, and years, and centuries soon eclipsed by the subconscious act of forgetting— or maybe by forgetfulness he never had a hand in in the first place (there is, as they attested to each other, tracing out the lines of glassy lyrium brands, only so much a man can take before his mind opts to wipe the slate).

But it doesn't need to.

What he has now is the penned-out-permanence of a heart that walked through the Crossroads themselves to find him, returned not only once, but twice. What he has now was bought upon the stepping stones of the sihlouette that disappeared two centuries ago, and this time it doesn't leave, and it doesn't abate, and it does more even in the darkest nights than scant lessons or soft-spoken pet names ever could.

Not just the better brother, the better man.

(Perhaps someday the others in the Elfsong bunks might tell him of his brother. Perhaps sometime soon the matter of a ring, and old confessions, and a pitiful goodbye had in Athkatla might come up in fireside discussions of adventures he's forgotten that they've shared. Perhaps, but perhaps is later's gambit.)]

Slim competition, if we're discussing the matter of being backstabbing siblings [A single pattering drop of wetness blurs the ink it spills across— apparently, even penned, his teasing levity betrays him. And at least between the two of them, Astarion admits as much.]

Thank you.