[Gale lets Astarion swipe at the water, but refuses to let go of his other hand, desperate to keep him there, to help him. He wants to understand. He tries for levity first, as usual.]

If you think this is the only thing you've ever been good at, you are sorely mistaken.

[He gives his wrist - and therefore Astarion's hand - the slightest tug, then draws himself closer. His tone is more sincere, solemn.]

Astarion, you're not who he made you to be. He will not define you anymore, no more than Mystra does me. It's not the same, I know, but...

[The rest goes unspoken: it's a similar sort of hurt.]