Michel climbed to his feet, leaving the Chevalier to tend to his shoulder, plucking his jacket off the floor as he went. He examined it casually, and the hole that had been ripped through it. What a waste, really, but he shrugged it off and draped it over his shoulder before approaching Zevran and the final Chevalier.

True enough he'd been tempted to sever the man's hand from his body, it might be different if it was Michel, Zevran was different in the eyes of the Chevalier. Naturally. He had no wish to see any sort of retribution fall on his companion, but he had no wish to truly stop him either. At least a small part of him thought that this was justice given the dishonorable things they had said to Zevran.

Brushing hair away from Zevran's neck he dropped a light kiss just behind his ear so as to leave the Chevalier with no confusion as to what Zevran meant to him. It was complicated, but clearly the elf was more important to him that the beaten Chevalier, "it is your call...but I doubt his blood on your clothing would be worth the trouble. If he has a shred of honor, he'll throw himself from the walls of Shyhold."

Death before dishonor.