"Think nothing of it. If people here knew of my generous disposition they'd be asking me for help with all manner of tasks. I cannot truly continue playing the mysterious scoundrel if they know I have a soft spot for green eyes, mm?" And he does, for so many reasons if not those that most might expect, none he feels ready to divulge.

He picks through a new tune, low and lazy and lilting, winding through the warmth of the room and the evening, idle, half-remembered snatches of songs from home that shift into something of the cadence and tempo of Dalish songs he'd heard during his travels. "It will make for a marvelous tale when it is done. And after you shall be able to walk away, knowing you bested the game."