Considering all she'd been through before even arriving in Thedas, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though she was being something of a crybaby, or at least an overly emotional wreck. She'd stood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, watching as more and more of her friends, professors, and classmates were brought in, dead or close to it. One child really shouldn't make her feel so....

But of course it should. Because it shouldn't matter if it were one child or a score of adults or a village filled with the elderly. What had happened had been horrible, and the day that she could witness that sort of thing and not acknowledge that much would be the day that she lost whatever part of herself that Kirk was claiming was some sort of virtue.

"I don't feel like I'm needed for much of anything," she whispers. "I couldn't do anything then - couldn't do it fast enough, at any rate - and now.... Thedas doesn't need more people like me. It needs more people like you. You don't rely on your magic to be useful."