Not for the first time on this journey, Martel wonders why on earth he took it upon himself to undertake it - it was obvious at once that she wouldn't have asked him. Equally obvious that she wouldn't have accepted his offer, if not for the same reason that he made it: no one else was biting, and it had taken not long at all for him to become tired of hearing her make her demands.

Fool of him to solve such a problem by trapping himself in her company. He does not entertain pushing her into a snowdrift (or a canyon) for a variety of reasons including his peculiar fondness for elves as he has discovered them in Thedas and the fact that allegations of demonhood and misbehaviour will not go away if he leaves the hold with company and returns without. Possibly, in this precise moment, mostly the latter.

"I am not a demon," he agrees, not flat - matter of fact, as if he could repeat this endlessly boring piece of information a thousand times and never bother to inflect it. "Nor am I from the fade. Nor am I the walking dead, though I confess that one took me rather by surprise. I rather thought this hell, when I came to."

There are jokes to be made about the company, but they're too flattering.