[ look bud you can take the lathanderite out of the church but you wont take the church out of the lathanderite
And, really, that's something he ought to open up with Astarion too, at some point. Much noise had been made about Godfrey's trusting him - and even Godfrey himself could see why the decision might be perplexing. But Astarion had managed his thirst safely until his lapse; had he wanted, he's more aware than the others just how easily he could have drained them all as they slept, and he hadn't. That was enough for Godfrey to extend some clemency.
But on the neglected other half of this exchange sits Astarion, no doubt knowing exactly what the Morninglord had to say about vampires and undead. Eradication was to be the salvation of those like Astarion - stakes, holy water, smiting. His scripture was unavoidably clear; the only way Astarion's new ally could make the God to whom he had so openly devoted his life happy was to reduce him to ash, and now he knew it.
Surely holding his head under the riverwater as he prayed at dawn would have been safer for him than Godfrey with the full knowledge of who and what he is - but he had also extended his trust. It deserved just as much recognition, if not more.
He might have begun forming these important words, had Astarion not asked something unexpected - to hear stories of Godfrey's life. He supposes it's expected, and he's entitled to as much - Godfrey had taken enough of the stories of his companions and given little of his own. ]
I surely could. [ He nods amiably - and really, figures that he should have guessed that someone would be curious enough to probe him back after he had pried so much at them. ] Although I'm not sure that anything I could give you of my home would be terribly entertaining. My life until recent events has been wonderfully mundane.
[ ... the bits he's willing to share have been wonderfully mundane. Godfrey turns to lay on his side, his weight on one elbow instead of two, facing Astarion fully as he starts reaching through his memory. ]
I'm Baldurian, just as you are... and I was a priest.
[ If the tadpole hadn't given their companions that much, then they had surely smelled the cloth on him despite him giving it up - it had forever been the first guess of countryside farmers selling their wares in street markets.
So, as Astarion had trusted him with so much, Godfrey would in turn trust him with something new; ]
I was married, too, once.
[ Of the two people who had taken over his life, he thinks, Vladimir has a better chance of amusing than Iltha - delightful as she is to Godfrey, he can't be sure yet that Astarion will feel the same about tales of her young wildness and proclivity to say just what she shouldn't. By contrast, his husband with all of his stoicism and seriousness seemed as though he would have inherent comedy to Astarion.
So he glances down the edge of himself, thoughtful contours of his face caught by the glow of the campfire at his back, trying to call back his ghost.
Abruptly, he catches on to something, and he smiles, and he recounts his memory in a low and soft voice. ]
You know-- for a time, he had been trying very hard to learn Elvish. I had helped him find all of these books, and he spent so many weeks reading from them. Reciting syllables. Only - my Vladimir, he was... he grew up in the countryside, came to the city to learn a trade. He just had that very dour, rough way of speaking - the kind of man you couldn't imagine speaking in any other way. And I don't need to tell you, Elvish is such a musical language, light on the tongue.
[ Godfrey himself knows precious little Elvish beyond the basics, but has heard enough of it to know how the language sat in his husband's mouth - awkward, broad, deadly serious. All of the things about him that Godfrey had always been inescapably fond of. ]
'He drops the words like stones,' is what I heard an Elven neighbour of ours tell her brother after she heard him practicing.
no subject
And, really, that's something he ought to open up with Astarion too, at some point. Much noise had been made about Godfrey's trusting him - and even Godfrey himself could see why the decision might be perplexing. But Astarion had managed his thirst safely until his lapse; had he wanted, he's more aware than the others just how easily he could have drained them all as they slept, and he hadn't. That was enough for Godfrey to extend some clemency.
But on the neglected other half of this exchange sits Astarion, no doubt knowing exactly what the Morninglord had to say about vampires and undead. Eradication was to be the salvation of those like Astarion - stakes, holy water, smiting. His scripture was unavoidably clear; the only way Astarion's new ally could make the God to whom he had so openly devoted his life happy was to reduce him to ash, and now he knew it.
Surely holding his head under the riverwater as he prayed at dawn would have been safer for him than Godfrey with the full knowledge of who and what he is - but he had also extended his trust. It deserved just as much recognition, if not more.
He might have begun forming these important words, had Astarion not asked something unexpected - to hear stories of Godfrey's life. He supposes it's expected, and he's entitled to as much - Godfrey had taken enough of the stories of his companions and given little of his own. ]
I surely could. [ He nods amiably - and really, figures that he should have guessed that someone would be curious enough to probe him back after he had pried so much at them. ] Although I'm not sure that anything I could give you of my home would be terribly entertaining. My life until recent events has been wonderfully mundane.
[ ... the bits he's willing to share have been wonderfully mundane. Godfrey turns to lay on his side, his weight on one elbow instead of two, facing Astarion fully as he starts reaching through his memory. ]
I'm Baldurian, just as you are... and I was a priest.
[ If the tadpole hadn't given their companions that much, then they had surely smelled the cloth on him despite him giving it up - it had forever been the first guess of countryside farmers selling their wares in street markets.
So, as Astarion had trusted him with so much, Godfrey would in turn trust him with something new; ]
I was married, too, once.
[ Of the two people who had taken over his life, he thinks, Vladimir has a better chance of amusing than Iltha - delightful as she is to Godfrey, he can't be sure yet that Astarion will feel the same about tales of her young wildness and proclivity to say just what she shouldn't. By contrast, his husband with all of his stoicism and seriousness seemed as though he would have inherent comedy to Astarion.
So he glances down the edge of himself, thoughtful contours of his face caught by the glow of the campfire at his back, trying to call back his ghost.
Abruptly, he catches on to something, and he smiles, and he recounts his memory in a low and soft voice. ]
You know-- for a time, he had been trying very hard to learn Elvish. I had helped him find all of these books, and he spent so many weeks reading from them. Reciting syllables. Only - my Vladimir, he was... he grew up in the countryside, came to the city to learn a trade. He just had that very dour, rough way of speaking - the kind of man you couldn't imagine speaking in any other way. And I don't need to tell you, Elvish is such a musical language, light on the tongue.
[ Godfrey himself knows precious little Elvish beyond the basics, but has heard enough of it to know how the language sat in his husband's mouth - awkward, broad, deadly serious. All of the things about him that Godfrey had always been inescapably fond of. ]
'He drops the words like stones,' is what I heard an Elven neighbour of ours tell her brother after she heard him practicing.