[ Astarion isn't one to fetch food for someone, but he settles beside Iorveth on the bed and reaches for a bowl of soup regardless. It smells nice enough, but it doesn't whet his vampiric appetite in the slightest. He scoops up a piece of broth-soaked bread on the spoon and holds it to Iorveth's mouth, less like a caretaker feeding someone and more like a little girl playing at feeding her dolls. There's nothing deferential in it, and in fact he knows Iorveth would probably rather feed himself, but there's something almost fun about doing something so ridiculously soppy. He was telling the truth: he does enjoy caring for Iorveth. He's never had anyone he wanted to tend to before. ]

Don't worry about Heinrich. [ Is that his name? Whatever. ] I plan to tie up that loose end as soon as possible.

[ His tone couldn't be more casual, as if he's talking about the weather and not murdering a member of the Flaming Fists. Underscoring his complete lack of gravitas, he adds, ] —Oh, by the by, you've a fitting for a new soiree outfit next tenday.