He repeats the elven word quietly to himself, absently; they wouldn't credit it, he thinks, in Elenia. (Not 'at home'. Never that.) All of these good-hearted women - not gentle, truly, but good-hearted - hurrying to his side. To his rescue. That anyone would come to his rescue at all. That anyone, for that matter, would think of him as rescuer, either. If Sparhawk could see him now, brought low and undeservedly raised up again -

"You didn't need my seal in Orlais," he murmurs, dried blood and sweat on the hand that he puts to her arm, reluctant to give her small frame his weight and unable to do other than lean regardless. "I was terribly proud."