[ Astarion can't help but be annoyed at Iorveth's lack of confidence in him. Henrik had been bleeding heavily. For all Astarion knows, he's already left this mortal plane. But the Fists aren't usually unprepared, and the chances of him being whisked away to some on-call cleric are high.

Still, Iorveth doesn't have to act as if it's a foregone conclusion. It isn't like it's Astarion's fault; he did all of the stabbing the way he was supposed to. ]

I've been called worse.

[ It couldn't be more wrong, though. 'Terrorist' implies he has some sort of cause. The only things in this world that he cares about are himself and Iorveth, and he supposes he has a smidgen of fondness for the rest of their motley crew.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, brow furrowed. ]

Although I'm not particularly excited about 'wanted' signs with my face on them.

[ There's significantly less trepidation about it than there would have been before. No more Cazador and his cronies to worry about seeing his face on a poster. The Flaming Fists and any meddling citizens are a problem, but one he plans to handle the same way he handles nearly everything: with the sharp end of his dagger. ]

Don't worry your pretty little head. I'll stab however many Fists I have to.