"And so we come to the heart of it. This is not about me at all, but your Inquisition and your pride." He spreads his hands wide, smile sharply crooked. "Keeper of secrets, assassin of malicious intent. The one that kills and lies to further only the most noble of causes. I should be grateful that all they wished was my head on a pike and not that they might turn their blades against you and your precious advisors in their beds. I shall add that to my daily prayers. 'Thank you, Maker, for sparing the throats of the Inquisition'. How gracious of you to remind me."

Humans and their pride. Orlesians and their bard. The Chantry and it's sordid intent wrapped up in the most well meaning of banners. He's not certain what he loathes more. That Justinia called upon Leliana- or that she allowed herself to be pulled into this and bought the lies so willingly.

"Yes, what has happened is unforgivable." He will not take this sitting down. With some scraps of the fluid grace he used to hold Zevran pushes himself to his feet, glowering at her. "What has happened is you have thrown yourself head first into the very life you professed to loathe with all the trappings and lip service you paid in Lothering. If you are to be a spy and an assassin be a spy and an assassin. Do not wrap it in pretty words and noble intent as though that makes this nation wide variation of the Game that nearly killed you any better than what Marjolaine bid done."