[ Even if she...? Told her family to spare him if he failed, perhaps. There's not a chance, he thinks: her family adore her far too much to risk her life to save an unpredictable elf with a history of bad behavior. He's simply shed too much blood for most to be comfortable with him.

But that's fine. She should take better care of herself, anyway. Margaery is soft, and sweet, and stupidly lionhearted; she'll be the death of herself, and Iorveth finds that her human life is worth something to him, despite all odds.

Troublesome. Intriguing. He offers a hand when she sits up, getting to his feet before she can beat him to it. Theatrical, in a way that only a man like him can be. ]

I'm the bane of your existence, [ he reminds her, as a counter to her very amusing claim that he's a good emissary. Maybe, but he knows he doesn't make her life easy. ] But yes, there are better places to dress me down than in this accursed tavern.

[ Bowing his head, and taking her hand to kiss the back of it. The barmaids by the corner titter behind their hands again; unlike the drunk mercenaries, they're more intrigued by a pointy-eared creature being chivalrous to a lovely lady. ]