[ It stings, the distrust of his goddess and his judgment — all the more painful for the truth he can’t deny. Mystra did not see fit to save him until he became useful again. It is her way, he tells himself, appraised of a picture so vast, he cannot comprehend its size or shape.

Unfortunately, his words only seem to plunge Astarion deeper into anguish. There are people who care for you, a reality he can’t face, when it takes the form of Lae’zel’s feral grin or Shadowheart’s sly smile. When I — His mind supplies a hundred fantasies, each more fanciful than the last. A love that exists outwith his magic, a home safe from the coming war. Astarion deems him unworthy of it, regardless.

I don't trust her. Not with you. Despite everything, heat floods his chest and flushes his cheeks. No one has ever extended such consideration to his person, his life. Gale takes Astarion’s hands gingerly, touch tentative until he brings their entwined fingers together over his heart and the orb both. ]

Very well. [ A beat. A harsh response fizzes behind his teeth like carbonation, and he wills it to settle. Stiffly, then — ] I suppose… I can understand that. [ No god ever favoured Astarion. None acknowledged his cries or softened his sorrows, left to a fate worse than death time and again. Even now, Astarion’s hands are so cold, Gale can’t help but try to warm them. He blows a hot breath into the cup of their hands. ]

But you — [ Brown eyes seek Astarion’s brilliant red, knowing he could find their bright shade even in the dark. ] you trust me, don’t you? [ As much as Astarion can trust anyone. His lips brush Astarion’s knuckles, penitent. ] At least enough to give me time to think. [ murmered against his skin. ] To consider what you’ve said. To go over every option. [ There isn’t any time left, whispers the voice at the back of his skull. If faced with the choice tomorrow, how could he decline? ]