"I've tried keeping him at arm's length," she replies, her tone and her timing making it sound more like yes than the vague side-step it is while she decides how she feels about that sympathy and how far she trusts it. But the answer is she's already trusting it this far, and the effort of coming up with a way to continue with this half-lie without lapsing into all lies abruptly no longer feels quite worth it.

"He's here. He stumbled on me here and stayed." She keeps going, quick, before she has time to examine or think beyond the relief of spitting out the problem she's been gnawing on for half a year. "But he doesn't care about the Inquisition or its mission or its war. Corypheus could burn all Orlais tomorrow and it would make no difference to him."