The winter wind has whipped and lashed at you and your traveling companions all day. The cold has seeped into your bones.

Astarion sits quietly across from you. He's not eating, but you're devouring a hot bowl of stew and stale bread. It doesn't even matter how it tastes. The warmth is good enough.

He watches as you eat. The others have already taken their portions back to the coziness of their tents, yet you still sit outside by the fire.

"Aren't you cold, darling?" Astarion asks.