[ Not for him - not entirely. His stumbling and awkward attempt at pronouncing an old Elvish declaration of love to him, yes. The effort overall, though, was unmistakably for the girl they had between them.

Or so Godfrey thinks. He had never asked him when he had the chance, and nor did he ever feel the need to. The marked maps he had found spoke plainly for themselves, regardless of what Vladimir could tell him. He had wanted to be ready if the day came that Iltha wanted to find her mother.

But even in this rare moment of happy reverie, he can see that something he said has pulled taut through Astarion. The petty correction is hardly worth upsetting the tenuous balance they've begun to strike - and nor is rising to that veiled unkindness he pays. Godfrey spent too long serving the underserved from his church to rise to every provocation he finds, and besides, he can't expect Astarion to have all respect for a man he never knew.

So instead, he smiles, and he nods along. ]

He certainly had his way.

[ Which is to say: charming or completely impossible, and you can't pick your poison because he chooses for you. ]

But-- surely it's no wont for stories of domesticity that has busied your thoughts. Perhaps you could share something of what has, and we can hope that I'll have thought of something better to share before we've talked it through.