So. If you two feel for each other as deeply as you say you do, then it's possible Astarion will, as he grows closer to the stage, find he prefers the limelight itself rather than the title he didn't fully understand as a child. Or that he prefers you..
There are plenty of troupes in Paris, Fenris. His training here alone could net him a decent salary. And yours.
[Maybe. Maybe Astarion will decide he loves the limelight and not the groping hands; maybe he'll come to the conclusion that acting is far more worthwhile than being a courtesan. Maybe he'll decide to leave all he's ever known and loved (What if I don't ever get bored? a voice calls from childhood. What if I stay here forever and drink sherry and perform every night for strangers that you hate?
And he'd replied, steadfast and so, so in love even then: then I'll stay).
It's too little a promise against too insurmountable a problem, and that's no one's fault. He cannot blame Zevlor, for all that the tiefling would surely weather any unfair lashing out (for how many times has he endured Astarion's petulance or Fenris' brooding?). It certainly isn't Astarion's fault, for his brother has been clear on what he wants to become from the moment they met. And it isn't Fenris' fault (except it is, sort of, in that he should have seen this coming a long time ago). It's just . . .
It's just something he's going to have to learn how to bear, he thinks miserably.]
It's possible.
[He echoes the words dully, though he doesn't mean to. It's too hard to try and be strong just this second, no matter how badly he wants to be. And again he thinks of Zevlor's half-formed belief that his son might try and leave, and wonders if that will be his future. If he will even be able to tolerate staying— and how in turn even that thought makes him miserable, for he doesn't want to leave, not really.
It's a problem with no solution. A misery that will happen no matter how he tries to brace against it. Fenris inhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face just once before he looks up at Zevlor.]
I will learn to bear it. And if, when the time comes, I find I cannot . . .
[Well. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it. He nods to himself, resolute (and soothed by the promise that Zevlor will not spill his secret). He'll stow away his misery and pain, refusing to htink of the future, and when it comes, he'll deal with it as best he can. Astarion need never know his anguish until then, for such a thing would be selfish, Fenris thinks. It would be cruel beyond measure to make him choose between his dream and his lover, so Fenris won't.
But ah . . . one last bit of preparation before he faces the future. With the air of a wounded soldier grimly facing another charge, he asks then:]
How badly did it hurt, those nights when you did not see him?
A paladin learns not to feel [(when things are at their worst)] in the line of duty.
Emotions on the battlefield are costly, after all, and a soldier's luck is just as poor as he is. [Said gingerly, it comes only with a strong hand laid around the back of his son's neck, bringing him closer to his shoulder. A place to sit, or lean, or do nothing for a while— mutual survivors of the wreckage caused by meeting their own limits face-to-face. Knowing that all that's left is to stay standing....and that, to the best of their abilities, they will.
Sterner stuff, as the saying goes.
He tries to flex a smile, though its as aching as the iron-limned expression Fenris wears. Brave boy.]
I remember nothing but the waiting on those nights.
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illithidnapped) wrote2025-05-31 06:45 pm
2/2
There are plenty of troupes in Paris, Fenris. His training here alone could net him a decent salary. And yours.
no subject
And he'd replied, steadfast and so, so in love even then: then I'll stay).
It's too little a promise against too insurmountable a problem, and that's no one's fault. He cannot blame Zevlor, for all that the tiefling would surely weather any unfair lashing out (for how many times has he endured Astarion's petulance or Fenris' brooding?). It certainly isn't Astarion's fault, for his brother has been clear on what he wants to become from the moment they met. And it isn't Fenris' fault (except it is, sort of, in that he should have seen this coming a long time ago). It's just . . .
It's just something he's going to have to learn how to bear, he thinks miserably.]
It's possible.
[He echoes the words dully, though he doesn't mean to. It's too hard to try and be strong just this second, no matter how badly he wants to be. And again he thinks of Zevlor's half-formed belief that his son might try and leave, and wonders if that will be his future. If he will even be able to tolerate staying— and how in turn even that thought makes him miserable, for he doesn't want to leave, not really.
It's a problem with no solution. A misery that will happen no matter how he tries to brace against it. Fenris inhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face just once before he looks up at Zevlor.]
I will learn to bear it. And if, when the time comes, I find I cannot . . .
[Well. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it. He nods to himself, resolute (and soothed by the promise that Zevlor will not spill his secret). He'll stow away his misery and pain, refusing to htink of the future, and when it comes, he'll deal with it as best he can. Astarion need never know his anguish until then, for such a thing would be selfish, Fenris thinks. It would be cruel beyond measure to make him choose between his dream and his lover, so Fenris won't.
But ah . . . one last bit of preparation before he faces the future. With the air of a wounded soldier grimly facing another charge, he asks then:]
How badly did it hurt, those nights when you did not see him?
no subject
Emotions on the battlefield are costly, after all, and a soldier's luck is just as poor as he is. [Said gingerly, it comes only with a strong hand laid around the back of his son's neck, bringing him closer to his shoulder. A place to sit, or lean, or do nothing for a while— mutual survivors of the wreckage caused by meeting their own limits face-to-face. Knowing that all that's left is to stay standing....and that, to the best of their abilities, they will.
Sterner stuff, as the saying goes.
He tries to flex a smile, though its as aching as the iron-limned expression Fenris wears. Brave boy.]
I remember nothing but the waiting on those nights.
[A breath.]
And then it was done. You'll be fine, Fenris.