[ No, no, no. This is all going so terribly wrong. Astarion is standing in an instant, pack hanging precariously over one shoulder. Guilt and shame flood him as he watches Iorveth being dragged away, face scratched and bloodied. Visions of strangers being dragged down to Cazador's dungeon in similar fashion burst behind his eyes, and he squeezes them shut only to find that they're still there. ]
Give him back, [ he demands as he follows her, voice wobbling only a little. ]
You can take the damned cloaks—
[ Iorveth would be so angry with him right now, if he were conscious to hear it. How quickly Astarion gives up. He extends a hand, although he's not quite sure what he plans to do with it. Fire Bolt had only made her angry. Gods, where's a Gale when you need one? ]
no subject
Give him back, [ he demands as he follows her, voice wobbling only a little. ]
You can take the damned cloaks—
[ Iorveth would be so angry with him right now, if he were conscious to hear it. How quickly Astarion gives up. He extends a hand, although he's not quite sure what he plans to do with it. Fire Bolt had only made her angry. Gods, where's a Gale when you need one? ]
Just let go of him, or I'll...
[ He trails off. ]