[ Funny. Astarion tells Iorveth that he has no more sanity left to lose, but he's also telling Iorveth that he looks handsome. A deranged observation, even when Iorveth doesn't look like he just came out of a boxing match with a minotaur.

He's a mess. Sweating lightly from the promise of a fever, mottled bruises obscuring some of the finer patterns of the tattoo snaking down his torso, cut and scraped and matted. He doesn't protest rest, even though he'd like to. ]

...We're farther from Waterdeep than I would've liked to be, [ is a soft murmur, single eye closing as he lists against the nearest flat surface. He curls his fingers where they're touching Astarion's, turning it into a proper handhold. ] It'll be a full night of travel. Less if we had a boat or a horse.

[ The boat option is out; the horse one too, unless they get really lucky. Of course Iorveth is trying to calculate routes even when he's told to rest, though－ terminally unable to keep his overactive mind from planning and plotting. His voice starts to slur. ]

I'll send the wizard a message, [ he murmurs, and it's the last thing he manages before he conks out, limp and unguarded with the rays of morning sunlight starting to warm his back. ]