[ Everything in the Scepter District is magnificent and expensive, estates stretching out over blocks of the city and reaching up toward the skies. They pass a manor with ornate stained glass windows that practically glitter in the firelight; a servant out front gives them a puzzled look as they hobble by, clearly unused to such unpleasant sights in the district. Astarion should love it here, but all he can think about is how, if Iorveth dies right now, he'll just have to lie down outside and wait for the sun to rise.
Iorveth would hate hearing him say something like that, so he doesn't say it, but he's in no position of emotional stability to be reasonable and think about living on for Iorveth's sake. In fact, before he offs himself, he thinks he'll take Damris with him, too.
All hypothetical, of course, because Iorveth cannot die. ]
What was that you said? That if I pretended to be well when I wasn't, you'd hit me upside the head?
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Iorveth would hate hearing him say something like that, so he doesn't say it, but he's in no position of emotional stability to be reasonable and think about living on for Iorveth's sake. In fact, before he offs himself, he thinks he'll take Damris with him, too.
All hypothetical, of course, because Iorveth cannot die. ]
What was that you said? That if I pretended to be well when I wasn't, you'd hit me upside the head?
[ Not exactly Iorveth's words, but. ]