"I don't think she gives a damn whether I meant to or not," he admits openly, convinced of every last word: Gwenaëlle is a force unto herself, and the way she sees the world doesn't exactly align with the world as Astarion knows it. And maybe, in truth, they're both a little skewed.

The product of their respective anguish. All splinters and sharp edges.

"But if she knew she wasn't nothing to me, that I was still willing to help, it might at least ease off some of the sting."

His shoulders shrug. His voice a vexed, throaty mutter.

"Instead she threatened to have me thrown out into the street. And given that it was her estate, she certainly could have."