[ Every fleeting glance from Astarion has been slightly off, since Gale received his marching orders. No teasing smiles or flashes of fangs. No intentionally distracting sleights of hand.
Gale, in all his wisdom, attributes the shift to the shuddering darkness, which Astarion so despises, especially after a glimpse of the sun. The lack of untainted blood sources must also rankle, when Gale hasnāt been available to him since they braved the shadows.
Thereās been no time to talk, not to anyone, though he knows he should have been the one to inform his companions of his intentions.
Only Wyll catches him for a quick word, when they change shifts, hand assuring on his arm. I am not a man of faith, but this seems an extreme thing to ask of anyone. But if it werenāt necessary, Gale counters, she wouldnāt have asked. And how can she deem it necessary, when we havenāt yet faced our foe? He doesnāt know. He doesnāt wish to know. To overthink this is to doubt his goddess and weaken his resolve. Gale can afford to do neither. And what of Astarion? A final question, a killing blow that speaks to how brazen their affection has become, for the others to see it so clearly.
Astarion will be fine, protected from Cazador by their fierce companions. Unburdened by the rotting, consuming thing Gale had become. ]
Ah, good. [ His sleepy smile fades fast. Thereās visible tension in the line of Astarionās back. A restless energy to his movements, which carry him farther and not closer (unusual, after all theyāve been through). Perhaps itās the hunger. Gale may be sated, but his companion isnāt so lucky.
With an audible crack of his knees, Gale stands and wanders after Astarion. Still hazy from sleep, he doesnāt bother to smooth the wrinkles from his clothing, instead further mussing his hair with a lazy drag of his fingers. ]
Did you want to drink before we retire?
[ We, such a longing, optimistic thing. There is a difference between sharing a tent for brief spells and taking a room ā a bed ā together, but Gale hopes Astarion will consider it. Itās impossible to know how long it will take to reach the heart of the Absolute. Selfishly, Gale wishes for more time. More hours spent with his newfound friends. More nights to kindle Astarionās every want into steady flames, to be a shelter from the building storms for as long as Astarion allows.
But the world cares not for his wants, so he must make do with what little time he has. ]
no subject
Gale, in all his wisdom, attributes the shift to the shuddering darkness, which Astarion so despises, especially after a glimpse of the sun. The lack of untainted blood sources must also rankle, when Gale hasnāt been available to him since they braved the shadows.
Thereās been no time to talk, not to anyone, though he knows he should have been the one to inform his companions of his intentions.
Only Wyll catches him for a quick word, when they change shifts, hand assuring on his arm. I am not a man of faith, but this seems an extreme thing to ask of anyone. But if it werenāt necessary, Gale counters, she wouldnāt have asked. And how can she deem it necessary, when we havenāt yet faced our foe? He doesnāt know. He doesnāt wish to know. To overthink this is to doubt his goddess and weaken his resolve. Gale can afford to do neither. And what of Astarion? A final question, a killing blow that speaks to how brazen their affection has become, for the others to see it so clearly.
Astarion will be fine, protected from Cazador by their fierce companions. Unburdened by the rotting, consuming thing Gale had become. ]
Ah, good. [ His sleepy smile fades fast. Thereās visible tension in the line of Astarionās back. A restless energy to his movements, which carry him farther and not closer (unusual, after all theyāve been through). Perhaps itās the hunger. Gale may be sated, but his companion isnāt so lucky.
With an audible crack of his knees, Gale stands and wanders after Astarion. Still hazy from sleep, he doesnāt bother to smooth the wrinkles from his clothing, instead further mussing his hair with a lazy drag of his fingers. ]
Did you want to drink before we retire?
[ We, such a longing, optimistic thing. There is a difference between sharing a tent for brief spells and taking a room ā a bed ā together, but Gale hopes Astarion will consider it. Itās impossible to know how long it will take to reach the heart of the Absolute. Selfishly, Gale wishes for more time. More hours spent with his newfound friends. More nights to kindle Astarionās every want into steady flames, to be a shelter from the building storms for as long as Astarion allows.
But the world cares not for his wants, so he must make do with what little time he has. ]