[ Context and understanding have smoothed out some of the more contentious parts of Astarion's jagged personality: Astarion's caring might be variable, but it isn't nonexistent. There just isn't much of it to currently spare for people who aren't himself, which is, all things considered, pretty fair.
Which means that pity is a hell of a lot more than indifference, and which is why Iorveth doesn't mention that Astarion probably would have been furious if some other vampire lord's spawn had claimed to pity him, if their roles were reversed. (Maybe not, though. Maybe liberation would have been worth the humiliation. Iorveth would've seen it as more kindred for his ever-burning fire.)
One more gentle touch to Astarion's hair, and Iorveth relents. ]
If your pity earns them their freedom, then they've nothing to complain about.
[ And with that, down the street they go, bypassing a rosy-cheeked bard warbling about valiant sailors in love with bloodthirsty sirens. They've passed from the Bridge District to the Center District－ noticeably more tailored to the upper-class, with bigger and more elegant building facades and less haggard-looking drunks－ and are making their way to the opulent inn that Gale's contact has kindly reserved from them under the name of "Blackmane".
(There was a long history lesson here about a Blackmane who operated in Amn under Khelben Arunsun's tutelage, but Iorveth had to tune this portion out. Even he has his limits.) ]
no subject
Which means that pity is a hell of a lot more than indifference, and which is why Iorveth doesn't mention that Astarion probably would have been furious if some other vampire lord's spawn had claimed to pity him, if their roles were reversed. (Maybe not, though. Maybe liberation would have been worth the humiliation. Iorveth would've seen it as more kindred for his ever-burning fire.)
One more gentle touch to Astarion's hair, and Iorveth relents. ]
If your pity earns them their freedom, then they've nothing to complain about.
[ And with that, down the street they go, bypassing a rosy-cheeked bard warbling about valiant sailors in love with bloodthirsty sirens. They've passed from the Bridge District to the Center District－ noticeably more tailored to the upper-class, with bigger and more elegant building facades and less haggard-looking drunks－ and are making their way to the opulent inn that Gale's contact has kindly reserved from them under the name of "Blackmane".
(There was a long history lesson here about a Blackmane who operated in Amn under Khelben Arunsun's tutelage, but Iorveth had to tune this portion out. Even he has his limits.) ]