[ Your cloak, Iorveth says, and Astarion feels all warm inside. Gods, it's unfair how ridiculously lovable this man is. He makes Astarion so soft and melty; it's disgusting. ]

Just call me your knight in shining armor.

[ The only person he'll ever be anything close to noble for. Astarion has always lived life with a motto: look out for number one. The motto hasn't changed. It's only that 'number one' has.

He relinquishes Iorveth's hand--regretfully--and hops up to go digging through their packs, pulling out an ensemble far too green for him to ever consider wearing. A mossy tunic and a pair of soft pants, Iorveth-sized and Iorveth-styled. Clothes draped over his arm, he returns to Iorveth, pushing the silky fabric of his robe down off of his shoulders. Repaying the favor, caring for Iorveth the way that he cares for Astarion. He wants to do small, menial tasks like this for Iorveth forever. (Again, gods, he's grown so soft.) ]

But you should dress first. I can't very well focus on protecting you if I'm filled with mad lust.