It was late, and everyone had already begun settling down for the night.

Almost everyone.

An unfamiliar scent tickles Astarion’s nose, and his curiosity leads him to emerge from his tent… only to find you crouched near the fire, a pile of miscellaneous objects sat beside you.

He approaches, and realizes what’s being thrown into the fire. Paintings, clothes, books… all stolen from Cazador’s palace, presumably after his death. And… you were burning them. Astarion drew nearer, silent.