[ The crooning bard clutches his invisible pearls, obviously flustered by the callout. Comically, the next time he tries to sing the elven name in question, he fumbles it even more. The toxic power of second-guessing: Iorveth supposes that this is meant to be a lesson for himself, too.
It's well-learned. Iorveth sticks next to Astarion's side like a stray dog that's finally been plucked from the rain, a little scraggly and a lot loyal, extending a hand every so often to make sure that the contents of their packs are intact. Boots and brushes and bottles.
Once they're almost back to the tower, Iorveth finally cycles back to: ]
Am I permitted to be big-headed about the ring?
[ Yeah, yeah. He knows it's a stupid question. But it's worth knowing for certain, so he doesn't interpret it incorrectly in the future. (Again, overthinking it.) ]
no subject
It's well-learned. Iorveth sticks next to Astarion's side like a stray dog that's finally been plucked from the rain, a little scraggly and a lot loyal, extending a hand every so often to make sure that the contents of their packs are intact. Boots and brushes and bottles.
Once they're almost back to the tower, Iorveth finally cycles back to: ]
Am I permitted to be big-headed about the ring?
[ Yeah, yeah. He knows it's a stupid question. But it's worth knowing for certain, so he doesn't interpret it incorrectly in the future. (Again, overthinking it.) ]