[ It's kind of Gale to be fetching them a cleric, despite the fact that whatever's going on with Astarion's leg won't be an easy fix: it'll mend, but it'll probably be tender and fragile for a few days at least. Unpleasant to think about, but it might help keep Astarion in bed to get the rest he sorely needs.

He'll consider that when Gale inevitably interrupts them again in a few. Now, he shifts his attention back towards the more pressing matter at hand, which is the (occasionally) herculean task of convincing Astarion that the only way he could ever lose Iorveth's esteem is if he slaughters the rest of the Aen Seidhe, which seems like such an impossibility that he doesn't even think to entertain it.

So: ] My esteem for you isn't so easily diminished. [ This would have sounded more haughty before; that "how dare you underestimate me" that kept him from kissing Astarion way back when he still wasn't certain that he wouldn't be mocked for it. Now, it's a gentler statement of fact, pressed against the back of Astarion's hand. ] Who am I to tell you that you were wrong for surviving?

[ He closes his eye, considering. ] I'm grateful that you did. We may never have met, otherwise.