[ It's a good thing for Astarion, which is all that matters. He sits up alongside Iorveth, immediately missing the points of contact. How spoiled he's grown by Iorveth's touch; he still remembers the first time he'd held Iorveth's hand, how utterly scandalous it had felt to feel the bare skin of Iorveth's palm against his, heat flowing from one hand to another. It still feels a little scandalous now just thinking about it, but he's grown accustomed to that scandal.

He slides a hand into Iorveth's now, privately pleased that Iorveth cares enough about him to seethe like this. Although he always knows, rationally, that he has Iorveth's love, it's eternally surprising when he shows it by doing something that no one else would ever do for him. Gods, he had tried to sleep with the entire camp in the hopes that he could manipulate someone, anyone, into protecting him. He would never have imagined that he could have it for free. ]

You're breathtaking when you're planning murder.

[ He rests his chin on Iorveth's shoulder, breathing him in. Yesterday's bath has left the sweet remnants of lavender on his skin, in his hair. ]

—But I don't know. Cazador would never have allowed a spawn to have that much power, even if it benefitted him.

[ Leon had boasted about what a powerful sorcerer he was, but Astarion can barely remember him casting more than a cantrip. Power is dangerous to allow one's subordinates, after all. It gives them too much hope. ]

If we were interested in torturing him for information, though, now would be the time.

[ A cant of his head toward the sliver of daylight peeking through the window. ]