[ Astarion should have gone to Waterdeep to drink tea with Gale. He could have been sitting in a nice room in a nice tower drinking nice wine out of Gale's nice cellar with a nice (?) tressym who would have sat nicely (?) on Astarion's lap. He would have changed into a nice set of comfortable robes and spent a nice night in a nice city with nice (?) people and a nice wizard who isn't at all deranged (citation needed). Instead, he's here, his favorite shoes muddy, huddled under elven ruins with an unhinged, gore-slicked elf.

It guts Iorveth to think that he took niceness away from Astarion. Of all the things that have made him furious tonight, that ranks at the top of list. The only thing keeping Iorveth from suggesting that the Teatime with Gale option still exists is the impossible notion that perhaps... just perhaps, maybe, Astarion doesn't regret staying here, with him. That this is actually an active choice that Astarion is still making, because that's more sacred than what Iorveth feels.

So. He tilts his head, near-uncomprehending. He doesn't want to touch Astarion because he is, quite frankly, incredibly disgusting in his current state, but he does edge closer. ]

You wouldn't thank me for breathing. [ To the tune of "in what world would I have done anything else???" ] I would burn the world for you－ how many times do you need me to say it?

[ A huff, mock-annoyed. His lips curl upwards, betraying his exasperated amusement. ] Blindsided by the pretty women, were you?

[ Affectionate. Another way to say "I'm not mad". ]