[ Iorveth is aware of eyes on them as they meander past the first line of guards stopping refugees from entering the city proper: bitter glares from asylum-seekers who clearly don't love seeing two well-dressed elves, and the hungry glint of merchants who see an opportunity in the shape of two well-dressed elves. A few scantly-covered individuals milling near Sharess' Caress smile at them meaningfully, but Iorveth pays them no mind. ]

She won't. But I've already given her my word.

[ He may be a monster, a terrorist, a criminal, but let no one ever say that he doesn't keep his promises. A sideways glance at Astarion (who is tucked against his left, on his good side, where he can look at him with impunity), and he curls his lips upwards just a fraction of a centimeter. ]

Color me curious, though. What other mischief were you planning on getting us into?

[ Conspiratorial, against Astarion's ear. ]