[ The so-called tender ministrations continue, because it's the only thing Iorveth can do with his remaining bandwidth. Still simmering in his fury, he sets the washcloth aside to uncork a potion of healing and hold it to Astarion's lips to drink. It won't help at all in mending a broken leg, but he figures that it can alleviate some of the other aches. ]
It isn't just your leg, [ he finally says, sullen. He remembers the violent shove and the madcap scramble after Astarion woke up from being put to sleep, the state he'd found Astarion in when he'd come to from his minor concussion.
Unacceptable. He grits his teeth, still furious about it all. ]
I should go back and kill her, [ he hisses. How the fuck he'd manage that, he doesn't know, but it boils his blood to think of the hag persisting. ]
no subject
It isn't just your leg, [ he finally says, sullen. He remembers the violent shove and the madcap scramble after Astarion woke up from being put to sleep, the state he'd found Astarion in when he'd come to from his minor concussion.
Unacceptable. He grits his teeth, still furious about it all. ]
I should go back and kill her, [ he hisses. How the fuck he'd manage that, he doesn't know, but it boils his blood to think of the hag persisting. ]