[ Iorveth has little to apologize for when much of their spat had been caused by Astarion's issues and sensitivities and general emotional immaturity. All the same, it feels good to be apologized to. Over two centuries, not a soul ever said they were sorry. He relishes the sound of the words now, turning them over in his mind before tucking it away in a special box inside his mind.

He laughs, squeezing Iorveth's hand. ]

I read more than smut, you know. I'm really rather lettered. [ Magistrates do plenty of reading — but he found solace in other worlds during his time at the palace, too. Along with embroidery, reading was one of the few hobbies he was ever able to indulge in. Unsurprisingly, he favors escapist stories. ] ...But I guess I am curious what dirty, depraved thing they'll do next.

[ And maybe he's a little invested in the romance! Sue him!!

The bookshop is quaint by Waterdhavian standards, but still glamorous compared to nearly everywhere else in the world. What seems like an endless supply of books line shelf upon shelf: To Kill a Firebird, reads one title. Of Weremice and Men, reads another. ]

Do wood elves fancy reading? [ he asks idly, thumbing over the embossed spine of a nearby book. A bit rude, perhaps, to paint them as such a monolith. At the same time, Iorveth has done little to dissuade him from that, considering how much he talks about wood elf communalism. ] Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I ever saw Halsin pick up a book.

[ He'd probably complain that a tree was killed to create it. ]