[That's right. For centuries, he was never a person, just a slave. Never an ounce of freedom to his name, instead kept in all manner of cages, both literal and metaphorical. And to feel agency after so long is one thing; but to have it brought into the light by someone who was practically indignant for him...

It was dizzying, in a strange way.

Winter deserves his thanks. He's starting to think Winter deserves a lot more than that. A bit of the truth.]

Am I? You know, you'd be the first time I've heard those words uttered in... so, so long. At least, by someone who isn't...

[A mark.

Gods, are they really going to have this conversation like this, Astarion with a wet rag in hand and Winter hovering at the entrance to his tent? He waves him in.]

Come in, sit down, I have something I need to talk to you about. I'll even spare you some wine.