[ Astarion finds it sort of endearing that Gale genuinely seems to wish he could take part in this shitshow, which is how he knows he's grown far too soft. Finding Iorveth charming is one thing, but finding Gale charming is quite another. Gods, what's next? Is he going to stop making fun of Halsin? What would be the point in living anymore? ]

I'm sure there will be, [ he agrees. ] There will always be someone who needs to be set on fire, after all.

[ He glances down at Iorveth's hand, reaching out to take it in his own. The support is needed, although he'd never admit it (at least not in front of Gale, who is endearing, yes, but Astarion still can't bear to be vulnerable in front of him). All bluster, Astarion hikes his chin up. ]

Don't worry, darling. Just hold on to me.

[ He's never been through a portal himself, but surely it can't be that bad. Astarion takes a step toward the swirling darkness, reaching out and—

In an instant, he's sucked through the portal, Iorveth alongside him. He feels everywhere and nowhere at once, disoriented with no time or space to anchor him. Complete silence, complete darkness. Then, suddenly, it's all back: the light of streetlamps is glaring, the hustle and bustle of Athkatla in the evening deafening. His head is spinning, and he turns to retch up a little bile onto the street like a cat with a hairball. ]

Gods! Whoever came up with such a piss poor form of transportation?!