"If I spent my days envying them their lack of scars I would have time for little else." Much like if he spent his days feeling guilty- he would do nothing but feel as such until he went mad from it. The dagger went back to the table, his hands free but resting against the worn wood. Unarmed as much as he ever is, shrugging, and smile somewhat self depreciating.

Alistair's trick, not his, but it works well enough.

"It is a poison we both took for different reasons, I should think. Something we have both survived. I do not begrudge them their bleeding hearts- merely their judgement of my scars. I do so weary of them seeing me and coming to conclusions- well. Conclusions that I have not quite yet deserved. Let me earn my scorn if I am to earn it." A strange way of living through the world, but the only one he knew. The only way he could keep what was himself safe and tucked away, what they saw ready and waiting for them. "I forgive you, though truly? There is nothing to forgive. You were behind honest."