"Vintage will probably forgive you, goodness knows you drink enough of it." Harry countered, topping up the man's glass again. "You'll be pickled by the time you're thirty."
"I thought you might want it, as the only sword you have is blunt and bent." Harry countered quickly, eyes darting to the bedsheets and then back to Eward's smirking face. "Or so I'm told." He adds, somewhat knowingly, taking a smug sip from his wine glass.
"As an English man? And English lord, more importantly? They couldn't charge you." Harry says, waving the notion away. "But tell me what you wrote, Eward. I'm intrigued as to what your devious little mind came up with."
Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Just the same as any other politician then?" He asked innocently, "Although I'd hardly call the man pompous."