[ If Astarion is always living with an undercurrent of anxiety, Iorveth is living with the same brand of paranoia sitting right under his skin: that rage-fueled sentiment of never again. Prepared to the point of parody, because trauma dies hard.

Case in point. Astarion rolls over, obscuring his face while he speaks, Iorveth presumes, from experience. The horrible reality of having a blood pact with a monstrous creature of vice and cruelty is that one doesn't even have the freedom to rebel.

Iorveth smooths a hand over the jut of a shapely shoulderblade, and breathes. ]

Then I defer to your judgment. [ Even though Iorveth thinks that they could probably just kill the spawn if they try to betray them, it isn't worth Astarion's peace of mind. He seems to have so little of it when they have to do something "hard". ] We'll use whatever resources we can find, but we'll not trust anyone aside from each other.

[ A soft kiss to the crest of Astarion's shoulder again, and Iorveth falls back onto purple sheets. ]