[ Ciaran would be appalled if he saw the current goings-on: "are you making Iorveth hold your things???", coupled with "are you letting him do this to you, Iorveth???"

Yes, on both accounts. Iorveth holds out a hand, and takes the proffered book to carry. Astarion's lithe arms were made to stab, but not to carry hardcovers. ]

I don't mind reading about drow. [ Glancing down to read the title of the book he's holding, recognizing the name. ] But I'll leave the decision to you.

[ A beat, as he watches Astarion weave between ceiling-high bookshelves, a silver ghost in dim lighting. ] I've found that I enjoy receiving things from you, [ he finally appends, touching his free hand to the spot where his ring is hanging around his neck, under his borrowed shirt. ]