It looks like Harrowheart's fascination is an easy thing to forgive. Mislav's chest rises and his chin lifts in pride with Harrowheart's whispered awe. Although he shifts his weight so that he looks as majestic as a lean, sickly looking gaunt fellow can look, he'd deny any accusations of posing.

"My father, and my grandfather were both firm believers that a man should be independent and strong. We were expected to go our own ways, paired as scholar and patron, of course." After the anecdote he pauses to breathe. It's hard to tell if it's to give him a moment to think, or because he forgets how to breathe properly. "By the time I was born Nandhuglynd had gone. I only know what I was told, and what I saw. His influence was considerable. I often think that if I had not been as close to him I would not be as welcome as I am in this place."

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug and takes a sip of wine. "Your curiosity is well placed. I have known men to wonder over far more foolish things." Placing his glass down again he raises a finger. "But! These are family secrets. If others knew the great dragon was dead, they would not fear his wrath if they should murder his line. If others knew he was living, they would hunt him down. For sport, or weaponry, for his heart or his soul."