[ Astarion still feels a little prickly at having been made to ask in such a way, but just as he couldn't deny Iorveth his words, he can't deny him his affection. He allows Iorveth to take a pale, spindly hand in his, although he gently rearranges their fingers so that Iorveth doesn't have to touch any enchanted-chest bite marks. It is a relief, of course, to be told that Iorveth will stay with him, but there's still a deep ache in his chest, unpleasant and shameful. He feels ashamed not only of what he said--although he does--but of what was said about him. Gods, Iorveth made him sound like Cazador, a monster who only cares for subjugating others.
Hesitantly, he ventures, ] Do you truly think that of me?
[ 'Tell me you don't,' he wishes he could demand, but that would be in direct opposition to what he hopes to accomplish. ]
no subject
Hesitantly, he ventures, ] Do you truly think that of me?
[ 'Tell me you don't,' he wishes he could demand, but that would be in direct opposition to what he hopes to accomplish. ]
That I believe your only virtue is in groveling?