After a risky battle, your consciousness wavers. You sense being carried and hearing your cleric's familiar voice praying. Astarion, who'd always disdained the gods, mumbles a prayer to Ilmater, the Crying God, sworn to allieviate suffering, even it that means taking on that pain personally. You wonder if he’d deny it. Waking up you find Astarion, dampening a washcloth for your forehead. With a stern expression, he remarks, "I don't even need to say 'I told you so.' But I told you so.”