"I did so," he protests; he'd improved, after enough chastising. He'd made Zevran help him. He's smiling now, and it's a sad, guilty, tentative smile, but not intentionally so. He's trying very hard. He even meets Zevran's good eye without attempting to sneak a glimpse of any signs of the wound around the edges of the bandage. "But I haven't fought much except darkspawn in a long time," he says. They can't sneak up on him. "I guess I got lazy."

And he's sorry. Miserably, viscerally sorry.

He still knows better than to say so.

"I'll work on it," he says instead, lying back again. His hand slips off Zevran's back but he keeps his arm held out in invitation.