[ Gods. No one should ever come to him for counsel. The look on his face says as much, from the curl of his lip to the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Astarion still barely knows what to do with himself, save for following Iorveth around like a stray puppy. All of his siblings will need to find their own Iorveths, because Astarion has no intention of sharing.

When they make it to Lucretious, Astarion resists the inclination to roll his eyes. Hard to breathe a good word about a dead, dismembered clown. ]

Our illustrious leader [ —said with the utmost of sarcasm— ] would like you to know we've been hard at work scraping up bits of Dribbles.

[ Lucretious opens her mouth to speak, but Astarion cuts her off, turning to Iorveth instead. ]

And we come bearing smelly, rotted gifts.