"No, no. Nothing I didn't earn," he says, which might not actually inspire much confidence about the safety of his critical appendages. Alistair's mouth is capable of earning him quite a lot. But look, he's fine, arms spread in a quick display. Even his black eye is already so faint now that it could just be slightly uneven evidence of sleeplessness.

She was probably in more danger than he was, all told, even hiding here in the dark. But she's fine, too—subject to more thorough inspection later, of course, but there aren't any holes in her that he can see. No dampening of spirits, beyond the general dampening that's become the new normal. Still the brightest spot in the Thaig. Ask him, he's not biased.

He should go. He doesn't want to. One foot slides back an inch toward the increasingly distant pack of new arrivals, but at the same time he dips to catch her hand. He's pulled it all the way to his mouth before a thought occurs and he stops short, looking down at her over her knuckles.

"You haven't moved on, have you?" He can't manage to sound worried. "Do I need to duel anyone?"