[ Hesitant to be relinquished, Astarion reaches out to rub a thumb across Iorveth's cheek. ] You are my sun. [ And because he's in a very romantic mood, he doesn't even make a quip about Iorveth being the only thing he wants to be in. He kisses Iorveth on the cheek, disgustingly affectionate. ]

—But I suppose I could stand to start working on that tan.

[ He's going to look soooo healthy and not at all dead, just you wait. Astarion sits up, gingerly swinging his injured leg off of the mattress and standing. He limps over to the wardrobe, plucking a pair of pants from within its depths. Gods forbid he traumatize poor Gale by gallivanting around the place pantsless, and besides, he'd rather not show off his ugly bruises. ]

And perhaps I might peruse Gale's exorbitant collection of dusty old tomes. If there's anywhere a secret cure to mortality might be found, it's there.