"There is that," Alistair says, eyebrows maintaining their slant. Now that she and her claws are off his lap, he's more inclined to being friendly, offering a hand for her to examine and daring to look away from her long enough to smile at Anders. It isn't a bright smile; it's smirky, tired, a little wary. Genuine, though. "But on the other hand: Orlesians."