[ Their anger — shared, Gale realises, by the tadpole — lowers to a simmer after the literal shock to their systems. It does not, however, loosen Astarion’s grip. If anything, he shifts to better pin his quarry, Gale’s breath stuttering in answer. If he mustered all that remains of his magic, he could send Astarion flying, but if he were to shore up that energy, it might trigger a worse, decidedly unintended retaliation.

For a brief moment, he indulges the possibility of wiping that smug snarl from Astarion’s mouth. Only the desolation of this entire corner of the realm seems like overkill. He settles for a warning spark, where his hand clutches at Astarion’s. ]

And yet it’s my words that you recall. [ Gale swallows hard, willing his heartbeat to slow even as he inclines his head, closer still. It occurs to him that this is the dearest intimacy he’s experienced since his folly. Pathetic. ]

Would you like me to lump you in with all the rest? [ Heroes, liars, it matters not. This isn’t about them. ] No, I think you rather fancy the role I’ve ascribed you. [ Tiger, predator, threat. ] There’s power in it, after all.

[ Power and protection in being the hunter, not the hunted. Desired, but not wanting. Gale brushes against the thin veil shielding their minds from one another, his present view blurring through their connection. It’s more of an impression than a picture: the fear pressing under his tongue, the outrage fizzing behind his teeth, the heat pooling low in his gut (anger, maybe, or something else). All he needs is for Astarion to chase their tether or snap it, to divert his attention long enough to reverse their positions — ]