[ There’s always intimacy in channelling, particularly when augmented by another. The Weave bears down on them — a soft, encouraging presence. The scent of rosewater and ozone in the air, something sweet settling on the tip of the tongue. ]

You’re a natural. [ All warm assurance, coupled with a soft kiss under his ear. ] Hold onto that feeling. [ Something like comfort washing over them, encouraged by every point of connection: Their mental link, their closeness, their magic. ] Close your eyes.

[ Both to aid Astarion’s concentration and to indulge his own proclivity for a reveal. The process may interest him most, but it’s the prestige that wows an audience. ]

There. [ Spellcasting finished, he wraps his arms around Astarion fully. ] As much as I’ve enjoyed our nights spent under the majesty of the celestial canvas, there’s something to be said for the comforts of home.

[ Weathered floorboards have warmed to a polished, honey brown. The dire twin beds have disappeared, a lush four-poster (like the one Gale spoke of) in their place. Every grey has been replaced a richer hue, the kind they both prefer when given a choice. And there isn’t a speck of dust in sight. ]