[ A stretch of silence, again, to contemplate this. It's important enough that he'll give it the thought it deserves instead of dismissing it outright as something he'd never need to ask Astarion to do: in fact, he'd already considered it once before, when he'd mentioned sending Astarion to Waterdeep while he went north and braved the racists alone along the way.

Growth, he supposes. He combs through silver hair, watching it sift between his callused fingers. ]

I know that you would. [ Acknowledging, first. ] As would I, if you told me you needed to be elsewhere.

[ Freedom looks beautiful on Astarion; far be it for Iorveth to clip his wings in any way. ]

But I doubt I would be happy without you. Nothing I've felt in my past has ever felt like you.