Maker, Zevran, don't put that on me. [ —is mostly a mutter, under his breath, not the sort of protest that demands an answer. He recovers from it—the spasmy rejection of responsibility for anyone else's wellbeing beyond the usual simple and straightforward promise to fight and die for them—well enough to go on to the next topic sounding a little amused. ] Whether or not she's thrilled might depend on why you tell her you did it, but I'm sure she'll be less displeased, at least.
You insisted, you must live with the consequences.
[ Not entirely fair but- he trusts Alistair and Alistair's judgement. He is stuck with this responsibility. WHether or not he's comfortable with it does not matter, it is what it is. ]
I feel I owe it to her. When we last spoke I may have belittled her concerns.
[ Alistair responds with another incoherent string of syllables; he'd thought he was doing a decent job butting out, all things considered. But he's still pleased with the end result, so, fine. ]
You might have. [ But, fairly (and loyally), ] and she might have picked a better time and place to shout at you.
I did not exactly give her any other opportunity to do so. Since she expressed her displeasure at the Soiree I have been avoiding her. She seemed to take it quite personally, the being with Michel.
[ But the good kind. The unmasked kind. The kind that's made living there for a decade and counting bearable for his poor Fereldan heart. ]
Are you afraid of her? [ Teasing. It would be paired well with chicken sounds, if he were 15 years younger and a little less sensitive to how genuinely difficult all of this is; as it is, it's mostly gentle. ] Do you want me to come hold your hand while you do it?
[ He agrees on hat- charming and impassioned and brightly angry- everything he found attractive about those that were not noble in this country. ]
I can brave her scorn on my own, Alistair. Just know that if you are to ever find an elf maiden worth your attentions she has my approval. She wouldn't be too nice to you.
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[ Not entirely fair but- he trusts Alistair and Alistair's judgement. He is stuck with this responsibility. WHether or not he's comfortable with it does not matter, it is what it is. ]
I feel I owe it to her. When we last spoke I may have belittled her concerns.
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You might have. [ But, fairly (and loyally), ] and she might have picked a better time and place to shout at you.
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[ But the good kind. The unmasked kind. The kind that's made living there for a decade and counting bearable for his poor Fereldan heart. ]
Are you afraid of her? [ Teasing. It would be paired well with chicken sounds, if he were 15 years younger and a little less sensitive to how genuinely difficult all of this is; as it is, it's mostly gentle. ] Do you want me to come hold your hand while you do it?
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[ He agrees on hat- charming and impassioned and brightly angry- everything he found attractive about those that were not noble in this country. ]
I can brave her scorn on my own, Alistair. Just know that if you are to ever find an elf maiden worth your attentions she has my approval. She wouldn't be too nice to you.
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[ And then he laughs. ]
I don't think I'd survive her. [ —but he sounds fond about it. ] There are enough things likely to kill me right now without adding any women.
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[ Well, not really, but it is fine enough to tease. ]