[ Wryly: ] Provide some small salve to my pride, dear man. Pretend that I'm not so frail that you could take my life as easily as just thinking about it. Rutyer men are supposed to be warriors.

[ Then, hoping that little joke has put Astarion a bit at ease, Byerly says: ]

I did give you collateral. You could do quite a lot of damage to me with the secret I told you. So in the moments when your trust in my intentions falters, you can find your footing again by reminding yourself that you also are protected by my self-interest.

[ Was that the reason that Byerly shared that most sensitive of secrets? Probably. In the moment, the choice was rather surprising to him - probably even more surprising than it had been to Astarion - but upon reflection, he thinks that's why he did it.

There'd been a dog who'd skulked around the manor when he was young, a half-feral thing with a permanent limp from having been hurt by thrown stones. While he never exactly bonded with it, it had come to trust him and take small tidbits from his hand - and he'd gotten to that place first by sitting down, laying his open hands palm-up, not guarding any of his vulnerable spots. Sometimes a hurt thing needs to know that it can hurt you back, hurt you worse. Sometimes that's how it feels safe. ]