[It's going... somewhere. Somewhere hopefully good, though he hasn't enough faith in himself to assume that's the final destination of where this conversation is leading. For all he knows, Winter could reject the very point he's going to make — and there is a part of Astarion, for all his flash and apparent confidence, that would not blame him for it, either.

He seems to sense growing anxiety in the man, though, and he clears his throat. Where Winter sets aside his glass, Astarion holds his firmly by the stem and takes a long pull before speaking again.]

Precisely that. Two centuries. Everything since has only ever been an act, a ploy. A bit of trickery to get the other person to do whatever I wanted, whenever I liked. I have it down to an art, you know. It’s easy. You were easy.

[To befriend, to seduce. To guarantee his own protection by worming his way into another’s affections. The same song and dance for baleful centuries, the steps utterly rote to him now.]

Remain close to you, and I would be protected. Remain close to you, and I’d have a chance at figuring out just what’s happening to us, and maybe, in time, find a way to tear myself from Cazador's hold once and for all. Stay close to you and I'm free, at least for a little while. And so I did — and here we are.

Until it all backfired.