[ Ah yes, the universal threat of a mother's wrath. Iorveth smiles despite himself as he follows the still-chattering Gale and Tara into what he assumes is one of the tower's many sitting rooms, allowing himself, in increments, to relinquish some of the tension he's been holding in his shoulders. All of his hemming and hawwing about Gale and his idiosyncracies doesn't take away from the simple fact that he does, in fact, feel safe around the people he'd spent the past few months journeying with. ]

A bath and a bed will suffice. [ And, because he realizes that Gale was under no obligation to entertain a rude visit, even if they are what Iorveth would categorize as friends: ] ...Thank you.

[ A subtle touch to the small of Astarion's back, and Iorveth moves away from him to shove a few books off of a plush reading chair (more pained half-sounds from Gale following the flutter of pages falling onto the floor); he sinks onto its velvet cushions, letting tired limbs go limp. ]

...We ran afoul of some bigots on our way to the northern forests. We would be grateful if you were to lend us temporary shelter while the dust settles.

[ A moment here, as Iorveth considers the wisdom of saying something to the extent of "and letting Astarion stay here for longer if necessary," but he also doesn't want to make Astarion angry right now. He leaves it at that, and valiantly tries not to pass out where he's ragdolled on the armchair. ]