[ A light. For a moment, Iorveth looks－ bitter? Uncertain, uncharacteristically. He feels that his value as anything other than a sharp instrument to jab into someone else is debatable at best; he's trusted and loved and lost too many times to see things as just a them problem.

Iorveth, the Woodland Fox. Additionally: Iorveth, Thrice-Abandoned. First by his queen, then by his commander, then by his dragon. It's a miracle that Astarion wants him, but it would also be a miracle, he thinks, if Astarion wants to keep him.

A lot to lay on someone, especially when they're just trying to relax. Iorveth doesn't talk much about his past beyond practical dissection of his life in plain terms, and has only trusted Astarion and Astarion alone with personal details that aren't just diatribes about humans and their vices. A big departure from his norm.

He opens his mouth to say something, and then stops. Visibly changes course. His arm stays looped around Astarion. ]

Strange, that I believe that you believe that.

[ A roundabout way to say thank you. Iorveth really is the most annoying elf in the world. After a hum, he appends: ]

I've given myself to others before, to poor results. ...But none of them were you, I suppose.

[ He sifts a hand through Astarion's hair, slow and careful. ]