But I didn't know, Myr wants to say. I would've stayed away if I'd known; don't lay this all at my feet.

If this were his cousin, and not Anders, he would say it. He'd leap back into the verbal fray as gladly as he would any physical fight, assail the logical weaknesses of his enemy's position and make a riposte in turn. He hadn't known until it was too late that Anders was here; he'd made a point to keep to himself, to not provoke the fight a part of him so badly wanted.

And when it came looking for him, he demurred, he bridled his tongue, he did his damnedest to keep the peace--and still failed.

Blessed are the peacekeepers, well, perhaps not, right now. But perhaps he's only got himself to blame for that.

So he remains mute in the face of the other mage's even-voiced venom, trying--succeeding--to keep his own wounded gut-deep puzzlement off his face. To keep it out of his voice, when Anders at last makes an end of speaking and he can get a word in edge-wise:

"To you as well, serah."

And no more.