[ Two delusional elves cuddling in the back of a tavern-turned-field-of-flowers. Iorveth bats away a piece of ribbon that's dislodged itself from the ceiling rafters to float down onto his head, and takes another bite of cheese dipped in honey.

He snorts at the mention of Astarion being turned into a toad. It's not funny, because the kind of sorceresses he knows would actually do things like that (and worse), but. Gods. He imagines a slimy little creature with Astarion's red eyes, and has the gall to laugh. ]

You'd still be beautiful. Warts and all.

[ A half-orc on his way to the restroom groans loudly as he passes their table; Iorveth drawls "stuff it up your ass" in his native tongue. ]

We can speak to Jaheira, then. I'll find a different opportunity to see you as a toad.