"They listen to Cassandra." And Cassandra does not listen to him so much as humor him. "..."

He slumps backward, twisting and tucking himself against Alistair's ribs, face buried in his shoulder. He wishes to leave. Everything in him screams it-

But those cold stones and that familiar shield. That disbelieving, crackling smile and wry twist of humor even as his voice was warped by red lyrium. That is a world without him.

That is a future where he walks away. "...until we sort this business with the wardens. Then- then you help me remove this hand and we both go to Rivain."