....and not a drop of it is your own bloody fault.
[A beat, slow in the throat and even smaller:]
I'm a ruined wretch of a thing, done in by lifetimes without praise or warmth or love. It should hardly shock either of us that I happen to prove eternally incapable of taking a joke. [I can't be like you, unspoken. Half-held.]
So there. There you go, without a drop of fanfare: that's why. And it'll always be why.
[That's not true. The bit about it being not his fault— that's not true, Leto thinks. He doesn't know how to say it, not at first; his tongue feels too thick in his mouth, clumsy and inelegant in a way he normally isn't. But it's a little bit his fault, if only for the foolishness of pursuing this.
But he did. And now it's on him to rectify it as best he can. His first inclination is to move past it, blunt but not uncaring: it is what it is, accepting the fault instead of attempting to soothe it. Gods know that worked for both of them in the past. And yet . . . mmph, no, that isn't the right move here, some small part of him senses. They are not what they were— and while he runs the risk of Astarion lashing out for what might be perceived as pity . . . it's worth the risk.]
You are not ruined. Not in any sense of the word.
[Soft. Adoring, though he does not say it as opinion, but fact.]
You bear scars, and they run deep. Three years of love and praise and warmth are not enough to eradicate those centuries of grief and pain. And perhaps it will always be why, each time we compete, it matters.
But that does not make you ruined. It most certainly does not make you done in. It makes you a sore loser, and a pain in the ass to compete against at times— but there are far worse flaws to bear.
[It's toothless nipping, the verbal equivalent of one of the pups nosing and gnawing at her sister. He says it not to rub it in, but because he does not want to lean too far into soothing and fall into coddling— and Astarion will not appreciate a lie.
More seriously, then:]
You are my amatus, and I have never used that term lightly. You know that. But beyond me . . . you are so much more than you once were. You have grown in ways that I don't think you are capable of seeing, not the way I do. You have learned how to let your guard down. You have learned empathy, and how to form friendships that cherish you based on your own merit— and there is a great deal to cherish. You're clever in ways I will never be, and you flourish in circumstances that others would rot in. And you have mastered three different forms of existence— as a spawn, a Theodosian elf, and a vampire lord— within the span of three years. Not only that, but you have learned to temper the lattermost one, fighting against instinct on a daily basis, keeping yourself in check with willpower I can only imagine.
I never doubt you. Not in anything. And it isn't because I am blind to your flaws, but because I do know you, your shortcomings and your numerous merits both. There is never a day that goes by that I do not trust in you fully— and there is no one else in any world that I can say that about.
[Another pause, and then, with less surety:]
And I meant what I said, Astarion. You have never seen me at my worst, only at my best. You have not heard the things I told Merrill, or Anders— or even Hawke. But I will tell you them someday, if you wish. I will tell you all about how flawed I am— and how viciously spiteful a creature I can be, if I'm so inclined.
[Now or later. They're not talking about him, but he cannot let that go fully unchallenged.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
2/2
[A beat, slow in the throat and even smaller:]
I'm a ruined wretch of a thing, done in by lifetimes without praise or warmth or love. It should hardly shock either of us that I happen to prove eternally incapable of taking a joke. [I can't be like you, unspoken. Half-held.]
So there. There you go, without a drop of fanfare: that's why. And it'll always be why.
no subject
But he did. And now it's on him to rectify it as best he can. His first inclination is to move past it, blunt but not uncaring: it is what it is, accepting the fault instead of attempting to soothe it. Gods know that worked for both of them in the past. And yet . . . mmph, no, that isn't the right move here, some small part of him senses. They are not what they were— and while he runs the risk of Astarion lashing out for what might be perceived as pity . . . it's worth the risk.]
You are not ruined. Not in any sense of the word.
[Soft. Adoring, though he does not say it as opinion, but fact.]
You bear scars, and they run deep. Three years of love and praise and warmth are not enough to eradicate those centuries of grief and pain. And perhaps it will always be why, each time we compete, it matters.
But that does not make you ruined. It most certainly does not make you done in. It makes you a sore loser, and a pain in the ass to compete against at times— but there are far worse flaws to bear.
[It's toothless nipping, the verbal equivalent of one of the pups nosing and gnawing at her sister. He says it not to rub it in, but because he does not want to lean too far into soothing and fall into coddling— and Astarion will not appreciate a lie.
More seriously, then:]
You are my amatus, and I have never used that term lightly. You know that. But beyond me . . . you are so much more than you once were. You have grown in ways that I don't think you are capable of seeing, not the way I do. You have learned how to let your guard down. You have learned empathy, and how to form friendships that cherish you based on your own merit— and there is a great deal to cherish. You're clever in ways I will never be, and you flourish in circumstances that others would rot in. And you have mastered three different forms of existence— as a spawn, a Theodosian elf, and a vampire lord— within the span of three years. Not only that, but you have learned to temper the lattermost one, fighting against instinct on a daily basis, keeping yourself in check with willpower I can only imagine.
I never doubt you. Not in anything. And it isn't because I am blind to your flaws, but because I do know you, your shortcomings and your numerous merits both. There is never a day that goes by that I do not trust in you fully— and there is no one else in any world that I can say that about.
[Another pause, and then, with less surety:]
And I meant what I said, Astarion. You have never seen me at my worst, only at my best. You have not heard the things I told Merrill, or Anders— or even Hawke. But I will tell you them someday, if you wish. I will tell you all about how flawed I am— and how viciously spiteful a creature I can be, if I'm so inclined.
[Now or later. They're not talking about him, but he cannot let that go fully unchallenged.]