[ That startled moment is lucky enough to escape Sir Godfrey's notice - but he might as well have his hand around his heart for how that light squeeze tightens in his chest.
Godfrey settles down deliberately; near to him, near enough to still be joined by the gentle clasp of their hands, but only so near. Open, but not imposing. Godfrey knew well enough that it was Astarion who ought to have control over how close they would come. So it is that Godfrey settles back and stretches his legs before him, propped up at his elbow to rest facing Astarion, still cradling his hand in his in the short space between them.
He studies their hands together, the stark paleness of his skin against Godfrey's own rosy tone. Astarion will see his downcast eyes cringe as his smile touches them, breaking his solemn and thoughtful silence - the humour still flashing in them when he does look up and let his gaze linger on him, his face softening after a thin moment too long.
Then, he looks back down, lets himself indulge in Astarion's delicate wristbone, his pale fingers. He touches gently the fingers of his other hand against the peaks of his thin knuckles. ]
I know that I am not as... available, in this regard, as some others.
[ This is spoken softly, and with apology. He swallows. ]
It has not been solely that I thought you spoke in jest. I have not courted, or been courted, since-- my husband. I have thought it impossible that I would ever be again, for so long. I do not tell you this to make my burden yours, I wish for nothing less than to burden you. But I want to speak plainly of this, that you know and may decide yourself if I can give you what you seek from us, because--
[ He brushes the warmth of his hand over Astarion's, then, and sighs briskly, brow knotting. For as much as he wished it, he couldn't spend the rest of this conversation avoiding his eyes. He gives himself a moment, then, lifts his eyes to Astarion's, in gentle and quiet resolve. ]
I do care for you, Astarion. Whatever is decided here, if you take only one sentiment to your heart, let it be this - for you will not change it. I have come to care for you, very much.
Godfrey settles down deliberately; near to him, near enough to still be joined by the gentle clasp of their hands, but only so near. Open, but not imposing. Godfrey knew well enough that it was Astarion who ought to have control over how close they would come. So it is that Godfrey settles back and stretches his legs before him, propped up at his elbow to rest facing Astarion, still cradling his hand in his in the short space between them.
He studies their hands together, the stark paleness of his skin against Godfrey's own rosy tone. Astarion will see his downcast eyes cringe as his smile touches them, breaking his solemn and thoughtful silence - the humour still flashing in them when he does look up and let his gaze linger on him, his face softening after a thin moment too long.
Then, he looks back down, lets himself indulge in Astarion's delicate wristbone, his pale fingers. He touches gently the fingers of his other hand against the peaks of his thin knuckles. ]
I know that I am not as... available, in this regard, as some others.
[ This is spoken softly, and with apology. He swallows. ]
It has not been solely that I thought you spoke in jest. I have not courted, or been courted, since-- my husband. I have thought it impossible that I would ever be again, for so long. I do not tell you this to make my burden yours, I wish for nothing less than to burden you. But I want to speak plainly of this, that you know and may decide yourself if I can give you what you seek from us, because--
[ He brushes the warmth of his hand over Astarion's, then, and sighs briskly, brow knotting. For as much as he wished it, he couldn't spend the rest of this conversation avoiding his eyes. He gives himself a moment, then, lifts his eyes to Astarion's, in gentle and quiet resolve. ]
I do care for you, Astarion. Whatever is decided here, if you take only one sentiment to your heart, let it be this - for you will not change it. I have come to care for you, very much.
[Godfrey's quiet deliberation in this moment feels worshipful, sacred. Astarion can't stop his heart from fluttering uncomfortably in his throat, as much as he wishes he was in control of the moment. But he has enough control at least to keep it from showing in his expression when Godfrey looks to him.
He reaches up, cupping Godfrey's cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing softly over his skin.]
My dear, I would never doubt you. I could never doubt the depths of your heart, your devotion.
He reaches up, cupping Godfrey's cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing softly over his skin.]
My dear, I would never doubt you. I could never doubt the depths of your heart, your devotion.
( previously )
Though I can appreciate the nuance and differences in the two of us and your talents alike, I tell you this plainly now; an option that consigns innocents to death to ease our own shortcomings is no option at all. We overcome, or we fail.
[ his kingdom for a NORMAL scry cast tbh ]
Likely not without risking ourselves further in travel. Setting a campsite would be safer.
Though I can appreciate the nuance and differences in the two of us and your talents alike, I tell you this plainly now; an option that consigns innocents to death to ease our own shortcomings is no option at all. We overcome, or we fail.
[ his kingdom for a NORMAL scry cast tbh ]
Likely not without risking ourselves further in travel. Setting a campsite would be safer.
( previously )
No trouble at all. You shall know they've arrived when you hear me rap the door.
[ Very, very gently, of course. ]
If I've anything that may help clear this morning fog, trust that it will arrive as companions to your broth and sweetmint. Worry yourself not with tithe if you do not speak in jest.
No trouble at all. You shall know they've arrived when you hear me rap the door.
[ Very, very gently, of course. ]
If I've anything that may help clear this morning fog, trust that it will arrive as companions to your broth and sweetmint. Worry yourself not with tithe if you do not speak in jest.
( previously )
I am the sort who has but one spoon, I fear.
And I am unsure as to how my Lord might feel about my... pot-stirring, besides. In the conventional definition. I have been one tasked to create and foster unions, not to unsettle them.
I am the sort who has but one spoon, I fear.
And I am unsure as to how my Lord might feel about my... pot-stirring, besides. In the conventional definition. I have been one tasked to create and foster unions, not to unsettle them.
( previously )
There is value in what you say.
But I do fail to see the greater path waiting to be revealed by throwing open a set of barn doors to reveal them in the act of coitus, purely in jest.
There is value in what you say.
But I do fail to see the greater path waiting to be revealed by throwing open a set of barn doors to reveal them in the act of coitus, purely in jest.
I will try my utmost to make myself presentable, but please forgive my lack of polish, if you will.
[ The gesture will certainly be appreciated. Elves have rather sensitive hearing, after all. ]
My friend, I may not be the most pious of knights, but I would never deign to jest in the face of your own piety. Truly, your good works have been invaluable to our team, and I feel I ought to repay your kindness in some small way.
[ The gesture will certainly be appreciated. Elves have rather sensitive hearing, after all. ]
My friend, I may not be the most pious of knights, but I would never deign to jest in the face of your own piety. Truly, your good works have been invaluable to our team, and I feel I ought to repay your kindness in some small way.
You know, that's perfectly fair. There are some things we are just not meant to know. I can appreciate the courage to be open about it, but I don't want to discover it.
[ There's more Godfrey would have said, of course. Not all conversations needed to happen tonight - he saw no reason yet to mention his daughter to Astarion, for instance, for he knew that no relationship which did not prioritize her could last. But all the same, Godfrey had more to excavate; he had planned to unearth more grief, more hardship. Perhaps even reassure him, gingerly, that he held no expectation that he might try to place him in the hole Vladimir had left in him, Godfrey's sadnesses felt paltry when put next to Astarion's, yes, but sadnesses still they were, and he had no desire to oblige Astarion to them.
This is before he feels the touch of Astarion's hand, cool and soft, on his cheek.
Godfrey stops. His thoughts, chest, mouth - all, for a moment, stop. He can't remember when last he felt another's touch like this, only who it came from. He regards Astarion with a gentle trepidation and, slowly, exhales. Releases. The grave and serious resolve on his face gives way to what waited underneath. Soft, warm yearning.
And so far, the moment lives long enough for Godfrey to begin to think that all of his concerns, perhaps, mattered less than he thought they did.
The tent is quiet, but for his own soft breathing. Godfrey presses Astarion's hand gently with his own, leaning just slightly into this tiny piece of affection. His eyes slip closed.
He turns his face into his palm, grazing the edge of his pale hand with warm, living, even breaths. He kisses its heel. Then, the still inner of his wrist.
He says nothing. ]
This is before he feels the touch of Astarion's hand, cool and soft, on his cheek.
Godfrey stops. His thoughts, chest, mouth - all, for a moment, stop. He can't remember when last he felt another's touch like this, only who it came from. He regards Astarion with a gentle trepidation and, slowly, exhales. Releases. The grave and serious resolve on his face gives way to what waited underneath. Soft, warm yearning.
And so far, the moment lives long enough for Godfrey to begin to think that all of his concerns, perhaps, mattered less than he thought they did.
The tent is quiet, but for his own soft breathing. Godfrey presses Astarion's hand gently with his own, leaning just slightly into this tiny piece of affection. His eyes slip closed.
He turns his face into his palm, grazing the edge of his pale hand with warm, living, even breaths. He kisses its heel. Then, the still inner of his wrist.
He says nothing. ]
Edited (i need to be clear that hes kissing him twice here its Imperative) 2023-10-22 04:04 (UTC)
Our betters are ever eager to trade lives for some amorphous idea of a greater good. Personally, I have no illusions. But good on you, I'll take conviction over dawdling.
[ Her proposal is informed by expedience before ethics; she belongs to neither of the aforementioned schools of thought and whether that makes her a person of low character is somebody else's business. ]
Praise be! I'd petition you to carry me before braving another rolling hill, seeing how brazenly uninconvenienced you are by physical labour.
[ The young woman is really gaunt and short of breath and yet surprisingly tenacious despite her difficulty keeping up, as if propelled forwards by her spite. As they set camp Samarie walks the perimeter, tracing a circle around their refuge with a crooked stick while muttering indiscernible grievances to herself. ]
[ Her proposal is informed by expedience before ethics; she belongs to neither of the aforementioned schools of thought and whether that makes her a person of low character is somebody else's business. ]
Praise be! I'd petition you to carry me before braving another rolling hill, seeing how brazenly uninconvenienced you are by physical labour.
[ The young woman is really gaunt and short of breath and yet surprisingly tenacious despite her difficulty keeping up, as if propelled forwards by her spite. As they set camp Samarie walks the perimeter, tracing a circle around their refuge with a crooked stick while muttering indiscernible grievances to herself. ]
No, bully you: appropriate space between rp and life having ass, healthy boundary having ass
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forrestertailor
2023-10-22 04:10 pm (UTC)(link)
More for me, then. I’ll say not all unions are worth the work: I had one couple who would have a row about the wife’s mother all the time, so of course I went to meet this lady on my own time and she and I became good friends. Come to find out, the mother refused to see them because the husband had first married the wife’s cousin, gave her a child and then broke things off to take up with the wife.
So armed with this, the next time they get to fighting I get between them and tell them about what a lovely birthday his child had just had. The looks on their faces, Gwilym, I’ll never forget.
So armed with this, the next time they get to fighting I get between them and tell them about what a lovely birthday his child had just had. The looks on their faces, Gwilym, I’ll never forget.
Hold, my friend, hold.
I meant no insult, to you nor myself. I meant only to say that you need not feel obliged to compensate His tithe for my aid. I offer it freely.
[ Speaking of; three very gentle knocks at the door, beyond it waiting a mug of bone broth, sweetmint sprigs, and some jarred pickles. ]
I just knocked. I hope you heard me.
I've left some things outside for you. Trouble yourself not with seeing me - you ought be in rest, not putting on airs.
I meant no insult, to you nor myself. I meant only to say that you need not feel obliged to compensate His tithe for my aid. I offer it freely.
[ Speaking of; three very gentle knocks at the door, beyond it waiting a mug of bone broth, sweetmint sprigs, and some jarred pickles. ]
I just knocked. I hope you heard me.
I've left some things outside for you. Trouble yourself not with seeing me - you ought be in rest, not putting on airs.
Then they are not our betters.
[ Just in case she was starting to feel that his conviction's a one-way road.
And he leaves the conversation at that, for the moment. He settles into work without being asked; as she's already observed, he's ready for it, both by training and abundance of physical endurance. Godfrey shoulders the work himself of gathering wood, preparing their fire, and pitching both tents, with not a word of complaint and all of the precision of a soldier out of training. He asks her for nothing - not because of any fear or lacking trust, but simply because of the stark differences in their physicalities. Godfrey is strong, and taller, and hardly winded by the road they've walked - not so for her.
Besides... whatever she's doing has some import, maybe.
He isn't sure. He knows little about this worship; they're a secretive group. Godfrey has tried always to bear in mind his own lack of knowledge whilst dealing with Samarie, but-- well, it would be a lie to say that he has not felt himself hold his breath a little in her presence, and he swore an Oath.
For the time being, Godfrey - free of his heavy plate - squats by the fire. He cuts carrots from his pack into a hot iron pot, currently perched over the flame, driving the blade through the root and against his thumb.
Godfrey doesn't disturb her - but he watches her, as he might any idle curiosity. ]
[ Just in case she was starting to feel that his conviction's a one-way road.
And he leaves the conversation at that, for the moment. He settles into work without being asked; as she's already observed, he's ready for it, both by training and abundance of physical endurance. Godfrey shoulders the work himself of gathering wood, preparing their fire, and pitching both tents, with not a word of complaint and all of the precision of a soldier out of training. He asks her for nothing - not because of any fear or lacking trust, but simply because of the stark differences in their physicalities. Godfrey is strong, and taller, and hardly winded by the road they've walked - not so for her.
Besides... whatever she's doing has some import, maybe.
He isn't sure. He knows little about this worship; they're a secretive group. Godfrey has tried always to bear in mind his own lack of knowledge whilst dealing with Samarie, but-- well, it would be a lie to say that he has not felt himself hold his breath a little in her presence, and he swore an Oath.
For the time being, Godfrey - free of his heavy plate - squats by the fire. He cuts carrots from his pack into a hot iron pot, currently perched over the flame, driving the blade through the root and against his thumb.
Godfrey doesn't disturb her - but he watches her, as he might any idle curiosity. ]
[ His solitary attendance to the physical labours of establishing a camp would be par for the course were she a woman of status in the company of her knight, but from Samarie's standpoint, she is no different from the spawn of "cow shit," to use the verbiage of the gentry in reference to peasants, and therefore she ought to contribute like a dirty little peasant girl should. Well, she'd probably fumble the pitching of the tent and his pre-emptive intervention in the matter spares her the indignity of asking, but she is in fact playing her part in securing their sleep. The seemingly aimless scribble the dark priest etches into the dirt is in service of thwarting an ambush, a necessary precaution in enemy territory.
Godfrey is cutting carrots when, apropos of nothing, Samarie suddenly explodes: ]
Kaa! Do you think I'm some feckless rube? I studied sorcery at Fiend Petr's Basilica!
[ Before he can so much as part his lips, the young woman whips out a blade and opens her outstretched forearm with the end of the knife. Blood runs hot from the gash and speckles the grass and soil at her feet. A burst of flame casts shadows upon the their faces as fire travels the circumference of their camp like the lit fuse of a dynamite before vanishing into the darkness from which it came, leaving a ring of evaporating smoke about the camp. The tell-tale signature of blood magic: self-mutilation. ]
N-no need to trade shifts... Gro-goroth will protect us.
[ Samarie sits on an incline and stares pointedly into the heart of the fire. The blood on her arm has yet to clot and slithers from the cut. It's not fatal, but there. The worked up sorcerer pays no heed to the wound. ]
Godfrey is cutting carrots when, apropos of nothing, Samarie suddenly explodes: ]
Kaa! Do you think I'm some feckless rube? I studied sorcery at Fiend Petr's Basilica!
[ Before he can so much as part his lips, the young woman whips out a blade and opens her outstretched forearm with the end of the knife. Blood runs hot from the gash and speckles the grass and soil at her feet. A burst of flame casts shadows upon the their faces as fire travels the circumference of their camp like the lit fuse of a dynamite before vanishing into the darkness from which it came, leaving a ring of evaporating smoke about the camp. The tell-tale signature of blood magic: self-mutilation. ]
N-no need to trade shifts... Gro-goroth will protect us.
[ Samarie sits on an incline and stares pointedly into the heart of the fire. The blood on her arm has yet to clot and slithers from the cut. It's not fatal, but there. The worked up sorcerer pays no heed to the wound. ]
I mean, if you interrupted, wouldn't you also be furious? I don't think even the most silver-tongued bard would be able to talk their way out of that.
Well. Maybe a really good bard might be able to.
Why were they interrupted to begin with?
Well. Maybe a really good bard might be able to.
Why were they interrupted to begin with?
Just so. Precisely why I cautioned against it. Needless in that it need not have happened, not in that they need not have started it.
But all the same, certain present company insisted, and threw the doors open whilst I had turned my back to leave.
Because they thought it would be funny.
But all the same, certain present company insisted, and threw the doors open whilst I had turned my back to leave.
Because they thought it would be funny.
Ah, yes. All things in the name of comedy. I guess we benefit a little from some levity, though...
Not like that.
[Even Nepione has standards for comic relief.]
Maybe you should have a little talk with this certain company of yours. Use honey in your words. With the right delivery, you could even move mountains.
Not like that.
[Even Nepione has standards for comic relief.]
Maybe you should have a little talk with this certain company of yours. Use honey in your words. With the right delivery, you could even move mountains.
[ A high elf cannot help but put on airs, Godfrey. Why do you think they are called such?
Julien doesn't bother with reading the message, their ears already pricked to the sound of gentle knocking at their door.
The latch clicks, the door swings open partway, and Julien peers around the frame, blue eyes squinting through their lashes against the brightness streaming through the windows. Their fiery hair hangs loose about their face, unkempt and bristling with unruly curls. Their face bears no hint of powder, nor makeup, though their eyes are shadowed from poor sleep. An old blanket is draped over their shoulders, giving them the unfortunate appearance of a vagrant begging for alms.
They catch sight of Godfrey's broad shoulder turning from them, his blond hair catching the light, turning it to burnished gold.
He's a saint, truly, for aiding them in their hour of need. ]
A moment, friend. [ Julien's gaze drops to the offerings laid by the door, then quickly shifts toward the interior of their room. ] ...would you like some tea?
Julien doesn't bother with reading the message, their ears already pricked to the sound of gentle knocking at their door.
The latch clicks, the door swings open partway, and Julien peers around the frame, blue eyes squinting through their lashes against the brightness streaming through the windows. Their fiery hair hangs loose about their face, unkempt and bristling with unruly curls. Their face bears no hint of powder, nor makeup, though their eyes are shadowed from poor sleep. An old blanket is draped over their shoulders, giving them the unfortunate appearance of a vagrant begging for alms.
They catch sight of Godfrey's broad shoulder turning from them, his blond hair catching the light, turning it to burnished gold.
He's a saint, truly, for aiding them in their hour of need. ]
A moment, friend. [ Julien's gaze drops to the offerings laid by the door, then quickly shifts toward the interior of their room. ] ...would you like some tea?
[ If Godfrey thinks she ought contribute to the making of their camp, he doesn't let it on.
Just as he doesn't let on if he knew to expect this sudden eruption from her. His knife stops, mid-rasp, on its way through this most recent round.
Godfrey witnesses it all in silence - the blade driving into her arm, the flash of fire carving through the grass, penning them in with a sharp, bright burning. The brief, black deafness that falls across them, as though the air grew too full for sound for a slim moment. The deathly exhalation. The overbearing heat.
The campfire stirs. Godfrey remains seated, and his knife travels no further through the vegetable in his hand.
The moment eases. The arcing fire dies to cinders, forming around them a black perimeter. The air smells hot, as Godfrey suspects it will for the night's remainder - beyond, perhaps. He is no expert on these teachings, but he knows enough to recognize what he's seen here; and though he can appreciate her effort, the livid pain she still appears blind to, he would have happily stood vigil instead of invited His presence to their campfire.
He lets the knife pass the rest of the way. The orange round drops into the pot. Godfrey thinks on her - her teachings, her age. She's young - no child, Gods willing. But she is no older than he, or so Godfrey feels assured. What must her life be comprised by, to come into such knowledge; worse, to take not even a moment to resort to it?
He cuts to the carrot's stem and drops it to the soil. Godfrey climbs to his feet and steps away in silence. He cleans his hands.
Shoulders a bag from his tent and walks toward Samarie's incline, lowering himself on one knee next to her, her wounded arm between them. ]
I don't know that you'll wish me to close the wound - though you need only ask if you do. But we ought at least see it cleaned and covered.
Just as he doesn't let on if he knew to expect this sudden eruption from her. His knife stops, mid-rasp, on its way through this most recent round.
Godfrey witnesses it all in silence - the blade driving into her arm, the flash of fire carving through the grass, penning them in with a sharp, bright burning. The brief, black deafness that falls across them, as though the air grew too full for sound for a slim moment. The deathly exhalation. The overbearing heat.
The campfire stirs. Godfrey remains seated, and his knife travels no further through the vegetable in his hand.
The moment eases. The arcing fire dies to cinders, forming around them a black perimeter. The air smells hot, as Godfrey suspects it will for the night's remainder - beyond, perhaps. He is no expert on these teachings, but he knows enough to recognize what he's seen here; and though he can appreciate her effort, the livid pain she still appears blind to, he would have happily stood vigil instead of invited His presence to their campfire.
He lets the knife pass the rest of the way. The orange round drops into the pot. Godfrey thinks on her - her teachings, her age. She's young - no child, Gods willing. But she is no older than he, or so Godfrey feels assured. What must her life be comprised by, to come into such knowledge; worse, to take not even a moment to resort to it?
He cuts to the carrot's stem and drops it to the soil. Godfrey climbs to his feet and steps away in silence. He cleans his hands.
Shoulders a bag from his tent and walks toward Samarie's incline, lowering himself on one knee next to her, her wounded arm between them. ]
I don't know that you'll wish me to close the wound - though you need only ask if you do. But we ought at least see it cleaned and covered.
[Oh, Astarion can see that yearning. And he doesn't want to acknowledge how it stirs something in his chest. But more to the point, that look, the touch of Godfrey's lips to his hand means everything. He wanted to worm his way into this man's heart for his own protection, and surely this sort of pure and unadulterated adoration means he's well on his way.
Astarion lets his fingers trace against Godfrey's skin as his hand is held still, softening his own gaze with a warm smile of his own.]
You are a lovely man. I'm sure you know that. I can't imagine how anyone could look at you and not be enraptured.
Astarion lets his fingers trace against Godfrey's skin as his hand is held still, softening his own gaze with a warm smile of his own.]
You are a lovely man. I'm sure you know that. I can't imagine how anyone could look at you and not be enraptured.
( previously )
I'm sure that I fret over our separation more than she does, for she is yet small.
[ He hopes, anyway.
But... he's not holding his breath. She's quickly becoming not so little at all. Her advancing age is the exact thing that keeps him determined to return home; to Godfrey's assessment, she had been too young to truly and meaningfully register the last loss she had.
Not necessarily so now. ]
What you say is true, of course. I have you, Gale, and all the others, just as you have me. I hope that my moment's lamenting does not give the impression that I've forgotten. We have been so rarely apart that I've no choice but to fuss to myself, I suppose.
I'm sure that I fret over our separation more than she does, for she is yet small.
[ He hopes, anyway.
But... he's not holding his breath. She's quickly becoming not so little at all. Her advancing age is the exact thing that keeps him determined to return home; to Godfrey's assessment, she had been too young to truly and meaningfully register the last loss she had.
Not necessarily so now. ]
What you say is true, of course. I have you, Gale, and all the others, just as you have me. I hope that my moment's lamenting does not give the impression that I've forgotten. We have been so rarely apart that I've no choice but to fuss to myself, I suppose.
Edited 2023-12-18 15:20 (UTC)
I hope that does indeed lessen the ache for her. Tara has made sure to let me know several times over that my mother is sick over my absence, and I don't care for the thought of her wringing her hands and worrying herself so.
You're allowed far more than a moment's lamenting, if you ask me. I'll gladly remind you as many times as you need.
You're allowed far more than a moment's lamenting, if you ask me. I'll gladly remind you as many times as you need.
I am heartened to hear of your closeness to her. You are lucky to have a parent so loving, and she a son like you.
In fact, it has just inspired me to think of something - perhaps instead of lamentations, we ought share stories of more peaceful times :) A happier journey into the past, no? I could tell to you a story of my daughter, and if it would not intrude, I could ask of you a story in turn.
In fact, it has just inspired me to think of something - perhaps instead of lamentations, we ought share stories of more peaceful times :) A happier journey into the past, no? I could tell to you a story of my daughter, and if it would not intrude, I could ask of you a story in turn.
I do consider myself fortunate. I likely don't tell her enough— I'll be certain to rectify that when I'm able to see her again without putting her in danger.
Stories from our past, hm? I'd quite enjoy that, though perhaps not through enchanted text. The telling of the story is just as important as the tale itself, and I've no doubt you have quite the knack for rhetoric!
Stories from our past, hm? I'd quite enjoy that, though perhaps not through enchanted text. The telling of the story is just as important as the tale itself, and I've no doubt you have quite the knack for rhetoric!
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