[ Rewriting of history or not, it's a revision Astarion is all-too-happy to accept. ]

True, [ he muses, feigning consideration. ] Then let's say that I'm allowing you to stay just because I like you. Much simpler that way.

[ He twists the cap off of the second blood bag and brings it to his lips, as casually as if it were a wineskin. He still can't quite believe that this is something he can just do here, especially in the company of another living person. No wonder Cazador is incensed; all those centuries of brutal discipline and subjugation, poured down the drain in a matter of weeks.

At Nikolai's offer, Astarion almost laughs, and his face does something strange, twisting into a hard half-grimace, half-smile. Oh yes, he likes Nikolai—likes his charm and his constancy and his broad-mindedness—but he can already tell, too, that that heroic streak will get him killed. ]

It is brazen. Not that I don't appreciate the thought, but I'm fairly sure a decent portion of Cazador's diet consisted of would-be heroes who felt similarly. And those he merely killed were the lucky ones.

[ The facade of a smile slips from Astarion's face. ]

And if he's here physically, then he can't die, anyway. None of us can.