[ There's strength in being a walking deterrent, even if it perpetuates certain cycles of violence. Iorveth, a nightmare elf that certain humans in the north speak about in hushed tones and through grit teeth, would know.

That said, he's very 'Iorveth NoLastname' right now, and not very 'Woodland Fox'. The burning inferno of his rage and indignation is a nice campfire in his chest, subsumed by cotton-soft affection that he wraps, unashamedly, around Astarion like an elf-shaped cloak. Water displaces around him as he closes the space between them, nothing polite or guarded about the gesture. ]

I doubt we'd be here now if I'd slept with you then.

[ Iorveth can't even imagine what that would have been like. Iorveth would have felt nothing about it, Astarion would have been disgusted by it, and they probably wouldn't have spoken to each other after. ]

You were irritatingly beautiful that night, though. I resented it.