[ Gale, well, gawks at Astarion. Disbelief in his wide, slack features, mouthing three months. He thinks to question it aloud, lifts a finger — recalibrates. Astarion isn’t like to lie, at least about this. It’s too vulnerable a thing to admit, isn’t it? Captivity just the same as their wriggling affliction or his subjugation. ]

I, well — you wouldn’t like my dedication, I’m sure. [ self-flagellating a little, as always. ] I suppose the bracelet is a start? Are you — [ Hungry? on the tip of his tongue, curling around the half-uttered word. ] Well, I should think cake a little dry for your tastes. [ What with blood being inherently wet and all… ] I hadn’t noticed you were gone — [ Okay, even he knows this is going badly. ]

Perhaps a favour? [ voice ticking up at the end, hopeful of saying the right thing and garnering approval as a result. His weight shifts from leg to the other. ] Having a former archmage in your debt’s nothing to sniff at.