[ It's sweet, he thinks, that Iorveth cares that it might bother Astarion to hearken back to his magistrate days. It's also irritating, because he doesn't want Iorveth to think of him as a delicate flower who needs to be treated with care lest he fall apart. ]

'Failed'? Please.

[ He wouldn't be a poet to begin with—the thought of spilling his feelings onto the page for the entire world to read makes him want to retch—but if he were, he certainly wouldn't be failed. ]

It's fine. I'm hardly going to fall to pieces over a hazy memory.

[ It isn't always pleasant to think about the past—in fact, it's almost never pleasant—but he doesn't want Iorveth to think he's in need of coddling, either. Iorveth is attracted to resilience, determination. Not damaged vampires who are resentful about the past. ]

Besides, [ he adds, leaning his head against Iorveth's fingers, ] your story is more true than false. I did heroically save you from enemies who sought to kill or enslave you.

[ Well, it didn't look heroic at the time. It mostly consisted of getting caught and ending up tied up like a sack of potatoes in Henselt's cellar, but by Astarion standards, it was downright gallant. ]