Fenris is not actually anticipating that Astarion will sweep him into his arms until he ends up there. He rolls his eyes, but he also doesn't make the effort any more difficult as he's carried to the sad-looking but clean mattress they have to share. Between them, they manage to settle. He moves over as Astarion joins him in bed and he finds himself between the other man and the wall. All at once he's tempted to put his back to the wall and to climb over Astarion to put himself between the pale elf and the rest of the room. Clearly his companion is capable of caring for himself... but that isn't the point.

Fenris settles, and soon enough the pale elf is cuddled up against him in a way that he is starting to get used to. And welcome.

The question isn't unexpected. He's actually surprised it has taken as long as it has to circle back to him. Fenris is grateful for that, content to never speak of some things again. But Astarion has shared things with him that deserve some kind of return.

While the pale elf looks at him, Fenris stares at the ceiling. The way gentle fingers brush against bare skin remind him of the care Astarion has taken with him; it also reminds him that the man next to him bears scars from someone he once called Master. Perhaps that is what makes it easier to speak.

"Yes," he says after a moment. "Or his legacy. He's been dead for three years, but hat doesn't seem to have stopped the drive to recover me. Perhaps more so now that I am responsible for his murder."