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[rowancrowned]

 

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[illithidnapped]

[He doesn’t need to imagine how that sentence might end; the fact that it doesn’t says more than anything else ever could.

Still, rather than press, he opts to deflect from that pained flicker on Thranduil’s behalf. A rare, beneficial gesture.

His tone is easy. Light when he asks:]

You're not worried about me, are you?

[rowancrowned]

Trouble seems to find you.

( himself included. )

[illithidnapped]

Well that—

[A scoff, cut short when he opens his mouth to argue— and then shuts it again.]

Might be a little true. Somewhat.

[If being mauled to near-death, enslaved, kidnapped, infected, thrown into an entirely different world and swept up in its war counts for anything at all.]

But while we’re still on the subject of untold truths...there’s something you should know. About me, I mean.

[rowancrowned]

( laughter, bright as bells. shocked, briefly, by honesty, the flash of soft and vulnerable underbelly. it leaves his voice warm when he follows up: )

Some hidden nobility to confess, my friend?

[illithidnapped]

Ahah. Not quite....

[Well. No more than what Thranduil knows already, anyway: the pettier details of being a Magistrate, what little Astarion can remember.

So it’s chased by a milder sound. A thin puff of air let out through his nose.]

I’m not—

[Cut off, the start of his intended confession: eclipsed owing to a nearby peal of high-voiced laughter, spilling as surely as the wine that passing attendee is presently splashing all over the lip of their glass.

Right. Public soirée. The mission itself. There’s a better time and place to have this conversation.]

We’ll talk later, darling. Promise.

[And with that, he’s gone.]