[Someday, Fenris will notice that echoing behavior. He is no stranger to it, after all— but it's so much harder to spot when Astarion eternally seems more developed to Fenris' eyes. He is no stumbling fawn, wide-eyed and bewildered to the shape of the world; he does not wait for a master's instruction, not to Fenris' eyes. He is so much more than Fenris ever was in his first days and weeks and years out of enslavement— and so how can he help but be a little blind to it?

His power, though . . . Fenris cocks his head.]

I will not say I do not know the feeling. Though I think, if you had asked me when I was younger, I would have said his wealth.

[There's no judgement in his gaze nor his voice. He watches the flicker of firelight slowly grow over Astarion's face, casting him in ever-shifting reds and yellows that highlight the glimmer of his skin and the shadows around his eyes.]

What aspect of his power?