There's a faint lift to her eyebrows at that. Then she sinks back onto her heels and releases him.

"I'm never going to be a...little wife," she says, the last two words spoken almost like they're a foreign language. "I'm never going to pray to Andraste or the Maker, or be wooed with the right words or the right gifts. I'm never going to fit into a box. I won't act civilized because I'm not civilized. I won't give up my religion or my calling. I'm stubborn and independent to the point where it's a problem, a problem that won't just go away. I prefer to do things myself and that doesn't always work out. You would have to remind me I'm not alone anymore. You would have to do some things without me without feeling like I like you less because I just have to be by myself sometimes. But I would never make you go through grand overtures just to know how I feel about you. I would never make you work or perform just to know I care. You would never have to earn it or worry about losing it over something foolish. I would never make you something you're not. I would never make you choose between me and your faith or your calling."

Her gaze drops. She had the words after all, but she's made big speeches before being turned down. She steps back, feeling self-conscious, as though she has made a mistake and he thinks she's been completely inappropriate.

"I've...missed you. That's all."