Alistair's laugh is neither flat nor wry. His horse's ears swivel back toward him until he pats her neck reassuringly. "Actually, yes. I didn't have a lot of friends at the abbey. They hated me so much they moved past wanting to get rid of me and into wanting to keep me. Thought I would embarrass the Order." He sounds more nostalgic than offended. "They weren't wrong. But they--" A nod toward the two men ahead of them, as representatives of the Grey Wardens on the whole. "--like me all right. I think. And they're sort of charming, aren't they?"

Rhetorical. Of course they are.

"I'm assuming that's why you've come South," he says. "The company, not those two specifically, since they're not Southerners."