[ Astarion has never really liked the idea of being protected. It conjures up the image of a little bird in a gilded cage, something too weak to fend for itself. At the end of the day, its protector can choose whether to keep it safe or to crush it in his hand. It's just a nicer-sounding form of danger, still a sword hanging precariously above him.

But the way that Iorveth says it, he supposes it doesn't sound so bad. Only from Iorveth can he ever think that something good doesn't come with strings attached. ]

Then you know how I feel when I think of mortality snatching you away.

[ The same, but different. More selfish, probably. He can't help what he is. ]

—Ugly of me, I suppose.

[ His beauty is only skin-deep, after all. Everything underneath is rather hideous. ]

But you've given me a reason to live, rather than just survive. I admit, I struggle to think of the future without you beside me.