There is no judgment. His hand is held out, offering to take the cards back. Best not to push anything right now. He thinks if he was in a similar situation, he'd feel the same way. It'd be odd to not be able to so something so simple.

"I tried to teach him," Fate says wryly. "Suppose he got Ferelden locks just fine. Basic ones. Anything that wasn't a locked farmer's closet, though, he was out of luck. Everything else? Despite the size of his hands, he was good at what he did. Didn't like the weight of a sword, and he preferred his bow. I always said I'd feel bad for the man at the end of his arrow."

Gently, he tucks some hair over Zevran's ear. "Made a good team for awhile. Our best haul was an Orlesian noble; hell of a con, that one. I applied enough make up on my face to cover my vallaslin and pretended to be one of his servants. Didn't even notice the difference, but I started a rumor about someone coming to rob him of his vault. Eventually, he got so paranoid that he had his servants move his belongings -- myself included. My partner came in during the move and we ran off with his things. I had to get the vest refitted, but it's still one of my favorites to this day."