[ Astarion had, perhaps, hoped for a different response. Something like I could never bear being apart from you or you're so much more important to me than some ingrate elves. Time has taught him, though, that 'what Astarion wants' and 'what Astarion gets' are usually two different things. At some point, he's going to have to learn to be all right with that.

No better time than the present, he supposes. Hand relinquished, he folds the both of them in his lap, looking down at them as if they're more interesting than the opera he just watched. ]

You aren't my kept elf. [ No matter how much Astarion would like him to be. ] And I'm not your master. [ Again, no matter how much he might like to be at times. The person who can hurt you most having free will is a little terrifying. ] There is no let.

[ He would be miserable. The forest is Iorveth's home, but Iorveth is his home. (Hard not to burn with jealousy.) Still, he straightens his back, hiking up his chin, trying very hard to be mature about all of this. ]

If it makes you at peace, I would... survive. One way or another.