In the city, Pel is only a child. Years don't matter. This is a world entirely foreign to her. Here, she has no power. Oh, she could hang these nobles by their ankles from the trees at a gesture, but it would only cause problems. Her word means nothing here. If the soldier who beat her all those weeks ago had been a citizen of Val Royeaux and he'd caught her here instead of there, nobody would have stopped him. That same attack would have left her dead at worst, arrested at best. Arrested and Tranquil, no doubt.

The gin arrives. Pel stares straight through it for a moment. She looks from it to Araceli.

"I...I gave up being a Keeper. But I never gave up my oath to protect the People, and the People need my protection. I can't sit in some ivory tower and hope somebody else gives them shelter. The Dalish won't. The humans certainly won't. The qunari do, but at what cost? Why don't they have a better alternative? Why do the Dalish think it's more important to repeatedly resuscitate the old ways than to help people who are living here and now, and have nowhere to turn?"

She's growing somewhat angry. A fist curls over the tabletop. Her gin is left untouched.