[Astarion looks over to him, tracking the crease in his brow, the worry in the slant of his lips. They've just begun whatever it is that's between them but already he's burdening Gale with the ghosts of his past. He gives a sigh of his own, reaching up to cup Gale's cheek in his hand, turning his gaze away from the after images of his illusion.]
Dear, I do appreciate the thought. But don't feel as though you must worry yourself sick over my protection.
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Dear, I do appreciate the thought. But don't feel as though you must worry yourself sick over my protection.