[ The titles are meaningless to Armand, but the flood of pain-devotion-love that floods through the wizard's mind is interesting enough to draw the vampire's full attention. To a creature who has spent much of his life searching for meaning in the incorporeal, longing for a form of worship that will finally answer the unasked questions of his body and damned soul, it's both familiar and uncomfortable, too close to his own secret longing.

Armand draws to a stop in the middle of the path to turn and look at Gale, unconsciously directing the mortals moving past to both ignore and step around them. ]

The goddess of magic. [ He says it carefully, his powers probing gently through Gale's thoughts, quiet and natural enough to be overlooked if Gale isn't paying too much attention. Read the blood, not the mind. There it is, the signature he noticed in Astarion. Another question answered.

He reaches up with one sharp-tipped hand, wondering, thoughtful, to touch his fingertips to Gale's cheek. ]

You miss her. With every cell in your body, you call to her. You long for her touch. An addict with no way back to his drug.