[Yes, there is a part of him driven to call it foolish. Pointless. Reckless. It was Leto's memory that'd been lost, yes, but it was Astarion who lost him— in the snap-turn rush of his rabbiting mind (predictive from two hundred years of mind games and manipulation of the cruelest caliber), all he can think of is what if.
What if she lies.
What if they meet, and she survives, and in knowing where Leto is, devises the sharpest trap imaginable.
What if she's planned for this inevitability; what if her allies run thicker than their collective caution. Smart and resourceful in Leto's retelling, there is such a danger to her having the upper hand when they already hold so little.]
▇▇▇
[He tries again. Scribbles on the page all too quickly scratched out.]
If she swears she isn't responsible. If you let her go
it'll be your choice.
[The pen nib hangs there, clinging to the end of that sentence. Choice. How can he possibly take away something so indescribably important to both of them?
How can he sit idle and watch the man he loves skirt along the edge of ruin?
Neither option satisfies.]
▇▇▇▇▇▇
I can't lose you again.
So when we find her, be damned well certain she tells you the truth, this time.
no subject
[Yes, there is a part of him driven to call it foolish. Pointless. Reckless. It was Leto's memory that'd been lost, yes, but it was Astarion who lost him— in the snap-turn rush of his rabbiting mind (predictive from two hundred years of mind games and manipulation of the cruelest caliber), all he can think of is what if.
What if she lies.
What if they meet, and she survives, and in knowing where Leto is, devises the sharpest trap imaginable.
What if she's planned for this inevitability; what if her allies run thicker than their collective caution. Smart and resourceful in Leto's retelling, there is such a danger to her having the upper hand when they already hold so little.]
▇▇▇
[He tries again. Scribbles on the page all too quickly scratched out.]
If she swears she isn't responsible. If you let her go
it'll be your choice.
[The pen nib hangs there, clinging to the end of that sentence. Choice. How can he possibly take away something so indescribably important to both of them?
How can he sit idle and watch the man he loves skirt along the edge of ruin?
Neither option satisfies.]
▇▇▇▇▇▇
I can't lose you again.
So when we find her, be damned well certain she tells you the truth, this time.