[Fortunately, it's easy to make Astarion sit. He's not resisting Gale, his mind is just in too many places at once. He gives a pained gasp when he moves, the wound at his hip jostling with it. The sharp spike of pain forces him to relent in his protests. He reaches for the bandages and cloth, finally tending to what he can reach of his own injuries.]
You have to—promise me you're all right. That there was nothing else she did to you.
no subject
You have to—promise me you're all right. That there was nothing else she did to you.