[Significant. Unimportant. In that hypothetical context it sounds so simple: was he important? Gods, no. Every exchange ever to happen inside those walls for centuries was a testament to just how worthless he truly was in the eyes of his master, replaceable by any sense. And yet—

Was he insignificant?

Apparently not, if his failed flight had anything to say about it. His first and only attempt at defiance being a short trip into a long, long punishment, where the principle of insult only holds so much weight when it comes to balanced scales.

Astarion's scoff is a bitter run. Thin.]

I'll have to ask him myself when he inevitably tries to drag me back. [Your guess is as good as mine seems to be the implication, which is, for the record, precisely what's running through Astarion's own head.

But it's a thematic thing by now.]

Did—

[It's a slow pause, a flash of red beneath black lashes and the cinching of his palm around that rag. No, that's not the question he wants to ask. Gesture aimed back at Fenris by the curled edge of his knuckles.

Start again.]

Because you were so insignificant to him, or so important?