“He was. He didn't—” Despite herself, there's something very like a smile tugging at the edges of the face she pulls, “Everyone thinks we're heroes, but I just didn't want to die, he said. He was worried how I'd see him, when I knew more about the adventure that saddled him with Ferelden baggage for the rest of his life. It just never entered my head not to trust that he'd done his best for the best reason.”

This is

a dangerous thing to be as true as it is, sometimes, because it's lovely as applied to Alistair, but Alistair is not the only person she's ever loved enough to trust this way. Don't worry about it.

(That wyvern scar had been healing, still, at the time he'd said it to her. Everything happens at once, so much.)

“Cullen Rutherford, I'm sure you've heard of, too,” after a moment. “Commander. Ex-Templar. We weren't so close as that, but we were friends. When I knew him best, Hardie was a puppy and I'd never worn trousers or held a blade, and he was kind to lend his time to me. To Hardie— he trained Hardie for me, I didn't have the first fucking idea about how and Asher was already gone, so I relied on him. And I didn't see much of his journey off of lyrium, but when Orlov was making a hundred fucking excuses about why he wasn't going to do the only thing that made any sense for all the other bullshit he talks,”

criticisms that had not lacked heat then, if they do now,

“it seemed very obvious to me. He did it while commanding Skyhold. Orlov could do it answering to Flint. He set an example.”