[ Gale watches Armand process and accept his answer, too observant, too learned not to know what Gale might say, in weighing the offer โ that it would surely hurt Astarion, as one of his kind. He does not think Armand cruel, but โ heโs certainly inclined to push, beyond those boundaries humans would consider acceptable. Another byproduct of eternity, perhaps. Of unrestrained power.
Armandโs explanation, however, proves humbling. A beginning not so different from Astarionโs, though the timelines and mechanics differ in the details. Arun, he sounds out in his mind, knowing Armand will hear it as if spoken aloud. Memorising the shape of it. A good little slave, the word alone making him flinch, though he dares not look away. Gale could identify reverence, absolute devotion, even while blind, while insensate. Immediately, he understands. ]
When you were fifteen. [ Mystra appeared to him long before that, but it was then that she named him Chosen, a token glittering in her transluscent palm. For Arun, he was fifteen and already abused by the world. Fifteen and still naรฏve, surely, about the nature of eternity. Of belonging, even. Did he let you want it, or did he teach you to do so? ]
Thatโs terribly young. [ To know what one wants. To know anything, including a saviour from a keeper. ] Still, Iโm glad that he changed you, else I might never have met you.
[ A soft smile. Sincere in this, at least, even as he resists questioning the nature of such a dark gift. Selfishly, Armandโs answer calls his own potential futures to mind. He could become a god โ and raise Astarion up with him, ensuring neither of them suffers alone ever again. Perfect and protected, no longer vulnerable to potions and foolish mages and resurrections-gone-wrong.
Tempted as he is to ask after the fate of Armandโs master now, he decides against it. Taken is explanation enough. ]
And I do โ understand, that is. As much as anyone can.
[ To be him. To be with him. For so long, Gale dreamt of a life as Her peer and greatest love, not one of many Chosen but an equal, ever at her side. The whole of the Weave at his fingertips, the breadth of eternity to explore their love. Is it so different from a vampiric master kneeling at the side of the dying, offering them more when they could possibly understand the cost? To hear it from another. One he cares for, at that, whom he would risk life and limb to keep from loneliness โ it shifts his perspective. ]
cw: grooming
Armandโs explanation, however, proves humbling. A beginning not so different from Astarionโs, though the timelines and mechanics differ in the details. Arun, he sounds out in his mind, knowing Armand will hear it as if spoken aloud. Memorising the shape of it. A good little slave, the word alone making him flinch, though he dares not look away. Gale could identify reverence, absolute devotion, even while blind, while insensate. Immediately, he understands. ]
When you were fifteen. [ Mystra appeared to him long before that, but it was then that she named him Chosen, a token glittering in her transluscent palm. For Arun, he was fifteen and already abused by the world. Fifteen and still naรฏve, surely, about the nature of eternity. Of belonging, even. Did he let you want it, or did he teach you to do so? ]
Thatโs terribly young. [ To know what one wants. To know anything, including a saviour from a keeper. ] Still, Iโm glad that he changed you, else I might never have met you.
[ A soft smile. Sincere in this, at least, even as he resists questioning the nature of such a dark gift. Selfishly, Armandโs answer calls his own potential futures to mind. He could become a god โ and raise Astarion up with him, ensuring neither of them suffers alone ever again. Perfect and protected, no longer vulnerable to potions and foolish mages and resurrections-gone-wrong.
Tempted as he is to ask after the fate of Armandโs master now, he decides against it. Taken is explanation enough. ]
And I do โ understand, that is. As much as anyone can.
[ To be him. To be with him. For so long, Gale dreamt of a life as Her peer and greatest love, not one of many Chosen but an equal, ever at her side. The whole of the Weave at his fingertips, the breadth of eternity to explore their love. Is it so different from a vampiric master kneeling at the side of the dying, offering them more when they could possibly understand the cost? To hear it from another. One he cares for, at that, whom he would risk life and limb to keep from loneliness โ it shifts his perspective. ]