[ Astarion tosses the cloth onto the floor and places the vial of oil on the nightstand. (Telling, where his priorities lie.) Afterward, he settles onto his back beside Iorveth again, staring up at the ceiling. It might be the only thing in this damned inn that isn't purple, but he's sure that they'll change that soon enough. ]

I don't worry.

[ A lie. For someone who rarely thinks ahead beyond the present moment, he's surprisingly anxious. A constant feeling of nervousness, like the day-to-day of a small prey animal. He doesn't know what he's worried about most of the time, just that it feels like something bad could happen very soon.

As for Alkam— ]

I'm just... strategizing. [ Another word for worrying. ] We only managed to best Cazador because sunlight didn't affect me.

[ An exasperated huff. The whole point of all of this was to stop the turning gears in Iorveth's head, not give them a reason to speed up. ]

Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'm sure it will all work out, one way or another.