It hasn't been uncommon for Astarion to spend the night in her room, ever since they took up rooms at the inn to begin with, though perhaps for all their teasing it would surprise some of her companions to know what they have done while in her room together. Planning the assault on Cazador's palace, hypothesizing about what each of their companions' blood would taste like, bandaging up wounds from the day's adventuring. On occasion, she's subjected him to listening to her playing the lute. On some beautifully tender occasions, they've just slept - or the elven equivalent - legs tangled together, her arms around his waist.
So why is she suddenly nervous when they step into the room, and close the door to quieten the world outside - Baldur's Gate merely waking up to the day, where they all have just arrived, tired and worn.
It might have something to do with the emotional turmoil that the night has left her in. To start it realising that she loves this elf - petty, dry-witted, sharp-tongued asshole that he is, she feels as though she's seen the diamond hiding beneath the hard rock, waiting for the right hand to draw it out - and to end it helping him free himself of his master's reigns. To be left to wonder, in the small, petty, dry-witted, sharp-tongued asshole part of her own mind, if he will find himself having no more use for her, now that she knows she loves him.
Ah, wouldn't that be something?
Stop that chain of thoughts now. You ridiculous girl - he deserves better, and so do you. Start with the bath.
"Oh - they've set out oils, that's nice," she finally says, gesturing the the fancy little bottles set up on a stool by the tub. And the tub, good gods, it's a luxurious thing on its own. Claw footed, set up behind a privacy screen that looks upon first glance to be hand painted, and steaming from the hot water already filling it.
She feels out of place in the face of this much luxury, just like she feels tongue-tied for the time being. Since she's likely to say the wrong thing, she decides to not speak until he's ready. There is a bath, there is a tub, so Hermione begins to undress. Her robes are not a complicated affair to take off, only a few buckles and she can slip them over her head and let them drop to the floor, toeing off her boots quickly, and shedding her gloves.
/plays I Want to Live on repeat
So why is she suddenly nervous when they step into the room, and close the door to quieten the world outside - Baldur's Gate merely waking up to the day, where they all have just arrived, tired and worn.
It might have something to do with the emotional turmoil that the night has left her in. To start it realising that she loves this elf - petty, dry-witted, sharp-tongued asshole that he is, she feels as though she's seen the diamond hiding beneath the hard rock, waiting for the right hand to draw it out - and to end it helping him free himself of his master's reigns. To be left to wonder, in the small, petty, dry-witted, sharp-tongued asshole part of her own mind, if he will find himself having no more use for her, now that she knows she loves him.
Ah, wouldn't that be something?
Stop that chain of thoughts now. You ridiculous girl - he deserves better, and so do you. Start with the bath.
"Oh - they've set out oils, that's nice," she finally says, gesturing the the fancy little bottles set up on a stool by the tub. And the tub, good gods, it's a luxurious thing on its own. Claw footed, set up behind a privacy screen that looks upon first glance to be hand painted, and steaming from the hot water already filling it.
She feels out of place in the face of this much luxury, just like she feels tongue-tied for the time being. Since she's likely to say the wrong thing, she decides to not speak until he's ready. There is a bath, there is a tub, so Hermione begins to undress. Her robes are not a complicated affair to take off, only a few buckles and she can slip them over her head and let them drop to the floor, toeing off her boots quickly, and shedding her gloves.