[ There is no friend: only a tall one-eyed elf with a glass of wine in each hand, striding towards them with straight-backed purpose. Iorveth traps the stranger between himself and Astarion, appraising him with the sharpness of a drawn blade as he passes Astarion his drink, a sharpness that gains in intensity when Iorveth notes the painting hanging on the wall. ]
I see I'm interrupting. [ A beat, and he adds, addressing the stranger directly: ] ―A friend of the Szarrs?
[ The man squeaks again, waving both of his hands in furious denial. "No, no... not at all, I was never important enough to be invited to his functions..."
Like a mouse caught between two snakes, Iorveth thinks. He pities the man a bit, but not enough not to append: ]
So you thought he was important.
[ The man flushes beet-red, embarrassed to be caught with his foot in his mouth. "No! Erm, well... yes, I did before, but... this gentleman here has made me realize how gullible I'd been..." ]
no subject
I see I'm interrupting. [ A beat, and he adds, addressing the stranger directly: ] ―A friend of the Szarrs?
[ The man squeaks again, waving both of his hands in furious denial. "No, no... not at all, I was never important enough to be invited to his functions..."
Like a mouse caught between two snakes, Iorveth thinks. He pities the man a bit, but not enough not to append: ]
So you thought he was important.
[ The man flushes beet-red, embarrassed to be caught with his foot in his mouth. "No! Erm, well... yes, I did before, but... this gentleman here has made me realize how gullible I'd been..." ]