[ In this warm light, Astarion seems less like a vampire spawn and more like a stray cat. Tension coiled at the base of his spine, teeth bared if someone comes too near. Gale jolts back a smidge, at the proverbial bite, hand jerking to his side (where it belongs). He locks instinctive hypotheses behind his teeth. A spell, a deed, a pact, a ritual. Speculation will only serve to frighten, when certainty is required.

Two hundred years without answers. Gale would go mad. What sort of creature could condemn another to this? Astarion’s elegant profile hardly looks monstrous, trepidation in the shuddering line of his jaw. ]

Yes, I would. [ He doesn’t say of course because it hardly makes sense, does it? To offer something freely to the man who robbed him and led him on a merry chase for days. Then why? Because it’s the only thing to do. Firmer, now — ] I will.

[ Already, he can visualise what tomes he’ll need to consult from his collection. There are others in the city, too, that he’ll ask Tara to fetch. More pressingly, there’s the matter of how he might tease each word apart, when they’re bound in skin.

Though Gale tries for professionalism, his eyes have gone soft, controlled neutrality lost in face of his expressive humanity. ]

I could copy it down now. [ Quickly, ] So you needn’t disrobe for me to review the text. [ His next words come after a pause, chosen with care. ] And then you might see it, too.

[ If he wished. ]