[Darling boy, and in any other time, in any other circumstance, he would ask after that. Probe at it cautiously, carefully, intent not on shutting it down (how odd that he knows he wouldn't, but never mind that), but simply understanding what Astarion means by it.

But not now. Not when there's that terribly fragile note in Astarion's voice, so terrified and vulnerable that Fenris could shatter it with a word. A breath.

He catches the elf's eye with unwavering confidence, and says with heavy deliberation:]

I never do.

[Sturdy and steady, so that Astarion might build his confidence from that alone.]

Tomorrow night. Or the next day, if it suits you better. Next week, or next year . . . you have my word, Astarion. And I will not break it, not by choice.