Alistair follows her gaze and nods as well, marking the man in his memory. He'll be covered in wine before the night is through, just wait. And the shift in the conversation is a deft one: at Duncan's name he brightens around the eyes, then cracks and smiles at the question. "My mentor," he confirms. "I suppose I didn't know him very long—six months—but he meant a lot to me."

That Maric wrote to him isn't a surprise, really; Alistair knows Duncan knew who his father was, knew from the inquiry into his parentage that he'd observed him now and then. For a few minutes he'd been upset by it—that he might have owed being a Warden to being a Theirin. But he's over it. His posture shifts toward Fiona, who has his full attention now.

"Did you know him very well?"