I'm starting to think you're using our courtship as an excuse to dress me better.

[Not that Gale minds that, nor the touch to the cut on his throat; it stings beneath Astarion's cold fingers, barely healed over, not yet even scabbing. His own eyes flick over Astarion, much more worried about this still-bleeding wounds.]

Your injuries are far worse than mine, Astarion. I am grateful you came for me so quickly, though. I cannot say what I'd have looked like had Orin had to wait for too long.