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Summary
The silence settled between them, Gale’s expression softening, the realization of Astarion’s torment dawning in his eyes. “Astarion…” he murmured, thoughtful, his voice dropping to something close to reverence. “This… urge—it isn’t your own?
It’s… involuntary? It’s like in the cave, right? With the pollen?” Gale’s voice was steady, but there was a certain knowing edge to it, a familiarity that made Astarion’s shoulders tense.
He straightened, caught off-guard. “How would you know?”