[ Iorveth lets go of Astarion's hand once they pause within the servants' quarters to take stock of the room's layout, gravitating towards one of the thin rectangular windows lining the wall. Too narrow for either of them to fit through, let alone the bulky bag full of pilfered goods. ]

And yet they always seem to want to populate their mansions with these so-called "lessers".

[ A snort. Obviously, Iorveth sees nothing practical or appealing about living in a palace with staff at his beck and call; it would only breed contempt, he thinks. One of the biggest reasons he'd cited for not wanting to be a kept elf in a gilded manor.

Running his hand over the wall, he makes his way to one of the two doors on the opposite end of the room. He opens it a crack, and is disappointed to find that it only leads into a tiny closet packed full of rumpled jackets. ]

―Do you still aspire to live a life like this, in your future?

[ An honest question, as they try to find a way out of here. Yes, Astarion has agreed to stay with him and endure whatever that entails, but that doesn't mean that Astarion isn't allowed to also aspire to a vague future where he lives in a big house and has people to listen to his whims. ]