[ "Defer to Astarion's judgment", Iorveth had said at the breakfast table. The sentiment still holds here, in this specific situation that has everything to do with how Astarion might navigate his future: in the sun, or in the darkness for a little while longer (because Iorveth is determined to find a way to fulfill the former, even if it kills him).

It's not a call that Iorveth can make. It isn't even a call that Iorveth should make. But he can provide counsel, which is the plea that he's seeing in those wide, red eyes. Some sort of direction. Foolish cat, asking an opinionated terrorist for advice. ]

Better to have tried and failed than to have done nothing at all.

[ The expected answer, from an elf who has spent the last century and change doing something that everyone told him was a mission doomed to failure. (Who will win? Forces of extinction, or one crazy asshole?)

He takes Astarion's uninjured hand again, bringing it up to his lips to kiss its knuckles. ]

There will be other options, if the cloak is a dud. And I'll not rest until we've exhausted all of them.