"We are not staying here," Leliana says, slipping back. She takes the cleaver. The rope. She doesn't believe this is settled or that Zevran is under control, only that this is not the time or place. "The Veil is too thin from the sacrifices. It is not safe. The others are beginning to make the march back to camp. If you hurry you may be able to ride in a supply cart."

Alistair nods. It's a dismissive gesture, acknowledgement but barely a glance in her direction, preoccupied with reaching around Zevran to coax the knife out of his hand.

"That sounds like it could be all right," he says when the door creaks and closes. He isn't actually very good at optimism or at cheer, only at jokes, but he's giving it a shot. "If they let off the hook for everything else and we can just ride around the countryside closing rifts? That could be fun."