[ Foolish. Astarion really doesn't have a clue what kind of swamp he's stuck his foot into. Iorveth is a man with clear-cut lines, who likes to make decisions based on his convictions; anything less is unacceptable. He's already gone through the phase of weighing his options, of trying to understand who exactly he's going to open his heart to, and now it's Astarion's teeth hovering over his jugular, and his own knife hovering over Astarion's chest.

Do or die. Astarion is never not going to be loved by Iorveth, and that is entirely his problem now. ]

Never have you inspired pity in me, [ he corrects. Iorveth has always wanted to know the shape of Astarion's pain, but only so he could see Astarion more clearly; not to see him as some sort of shivering creature in need of protection. ] Interest, yes. Annoyance, yes. Love, most of all.

[ A brief smile, and he cups Astarion's chin, gently forcing eye contact. Two eyes on one, more accurately. ]

Even when you accuse me of not caring, [ he laugh-sighs. ] ―If we'd still been in possession of our tadpoles, I would have made you feel how wrong you were.