[ Astarion moves silently, tread so light that Gale would miss his approach, if not for the expanse of pale skin entering his view. His eyes snag on Astarion’s fine collarbone before he finds his face again, relieved to find interest, not judgment.

The breakup wasn’t cataclysmic in the wider sense, no. On a personal note, it was ruination itself. Another hefty swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. No one in Astarion’s position has ever asked after how things ended — perhaps because his friendships had faded, when he dedicated himself to his goddess in all things. His mother and Tara have made their own assumptions, informed by their initial disapproval. It isn’t as if one can bring the goddess of magic home to the family, after all.

Astarion’s scrunched face brings him out of his head, a startled laugh on his tongue. ]

Not to your taste, my bloodthirsty companion? [ How foolish of him to ever think this man was a mere elf. ] And here I was, ready to toast to our partnership.

[ He takes a sip of Astarion’s glass now, as if that counts. Then, he half-sits, half-collapses into the chair, kicking out his legs. Catching a thief was a more involved and physical affair than any of his tower-bound exploits in the last six months. ]

It was neither amicable nor cataclysmic, to answer your question. [ Another drag, the warmth of the wine settling in his chest, softening the ache for her. ] I was no longer fit to serve. [ A note of bitterness curdles his mouth. ] Too ambitious, too wanting, though I’d argue that she cultivated those instincts with her own hand. [ Sacrilegious, whispers devotion, but so is laying with the divine. ]

Another has taken my place in the field, if not in her bed, and I have returned home. To my tower, to much gossip — to more courters than I ever enjoyed as a dashing apprentice — and now, you.

[ Only now does he dare appraise Astarion properly, with liquid courage in his veins. ]