Very sneaky, talking to him and walking like there was no point to the conversation. Asking when they've a whole production set up already. Waiting with a sword as long as he is tall and more symbolic than anything else and staring for the few seconds Zevran deeply and seriously considers leaping from the stairs to the nearest merchant's stall to break his landing and sprint for the gate.

It is only his mumbled promise of the night before, of tending to the wardens first and then running, that has him take up the sword. His smile is terribly sweet and he plays the part as given-

But he doesn't talk to Cassandra or his advisors for the better part of a week unless he must, and even then? Not directly. Ravens shouldn't be used to send word across the room and runners have better things to do but if they are going to give him this authority they can deal with what it means.

At least he doesn't need to speak to them in the Approach. Vivienne had come to him all sweetness and suggestions that he graciously ignored, Dorian made comforting commiserating noises- The Bull Watched. Now he is a player in this game- no. A pawn. At least the itching on his skin has a direct cause, now. Sun and sand and irritation. It all chafes.

He doesn't turn to look at Alistair, waterskin or no, for a solid minute. The low ember of anger is palpable even in this heat. Finally- "I told you so."