[ That's better. With Iorveth forcibly cuddling him, he tilts his head to rest his temple against the crown of Iorveth's head, resuming his petting like a spoiled child forcing his new puppy to endure his love. This is the sort of display of affection he found entirely pathetic for two hundred years—and the sort he'd still be embarrassed to be caught doing—but now that he has someone to do it with, it has its appeal.

When he replies, his voice is airy, like discussing the mass murder of the Flaming Fists is just a sweet nothing to be mumbled into Iorveth's pointy ear. To him, it practically is. ]

Why not? That sounds like an excellent idea. Hells, I'll throw in the dwarves and tieflings, too.

[ He'd add the elves, too, if it weren't liable to upset Iorveth. They can live another day, but they're on thin ice. ]

The less people with swords who know about a one-eyed terrorist, the better.