Asatrion got hurt, like always, and he made it even more impossibly dramatic. He fell over and cut his chest. And even refused to let you help him. Prancing around like a priss, trying to get away from you.

It failed. And now you had him pinned to his bedroll beside the campfire, sitting on his stomach and using your knees to pin his arms down. He could easily push you off, but doesn't, proffering a more Flirty advance now.

"So darling, why help little old me?"