"Let go of my zan--" he paused for a moment, seemingly unbothered by the fact that his own sword was at his throat; he was far too angry to even consider being worried. He had to mentally start over, though, because things were rearranging themselves in his mind. "Let go of my sword, asshole," he said. He'd been through a lot of shit to get the thing made; he wasn't about to just let Daemon's brother take it. He might as well get his damn head cut off if he were that weak.

Besides, he was pretty sure he could manage a flashstep and do something before he blacked out again. That made the sword at his throat much less worrying.