[Their pups, not their children, Leto notes, and it ties into that glimmer of vulnerability that shines for just a few seconds before vanishing in a haze of flinty practicality. But whatever Leto might guess or suspect, this isn't the time to say so. Whether the children are alive or not isn't relevant; they'll see or they won't, and frankly, Leto knows better than to hope for anything good on that front.]

It will hurt either way, no matter what we find.

[He isn't talking about the Gur, not really.

For he saw that guilt, but what good will come of drawing too much attention to it? Do you feel bad, tell me how much, crucify yourself for my pleasure, and why should he ask Astarion that? Why should Astarion feel bad for the crime of forced obedience? There's sympathy in the way Leto speaks; there's also a wearied sort of knowledge there, forewarning Astarion to steel himself for what might be to come.

As if his mate needs that. Better, then, to rise up off the bed, crossing the room so he can rest one warm palm between Astarion's bare shoulderblades. I'm here, and he is, always.]

And it is not your fault.

[There. That's a little better. And he knows Astarion hates directness, especially when it comes to emotion— but sometimes he needs Leto to push, just as sometimes Leto needs his own bluntness softened.]

I know you are aware of that . . . but do you know it?

[In his heart, he means. In that place where guilt and grief and shame grow and fester and twist— and that's to say nothing of how vampirism amplifies such feelings.]