[ Astarion laughs. Oh, Iorveth must really love him if he's choosing Astarion's affection over indiscriminate murder of humans. Astarion is a little bit deranged, too—or maybe a lot—so he finds this incredibly endearing. Grinning, he stands and pulls Iorveth to his feet, grabbing Iorveth's pack to carry with his free hand. Like a gentleman. He loathes carrying just about anything, weak as his arms are, but Iorveth needs to be pampered until it finally makes it through his thick head that Astarion is obsessed with him.
As they pass the playing bards, he says to the crooning one, with great offense, ] You're mispronouncing the elven names, you know!
[ Again, this is very hypocritical of him, considering he has little respect for names himself. It's all theater for Iorveth's sake.
Tugging him along as the bards try to play through the rude interruption: ]
no subject
As they pass the playing bards, he says to the crooning one, with great offense, ] You're mispronouncing the elven names, you know!
[ Again, this is very hypocritical of him, considering he has little respect for names himself. It's all theater for Iorveth's sake.
Tugging him along as the bards try to play through the rude interruption: ]
Come along, darling.