[ For a moment Aedan is struck by the pure confidence and warmth that the Inquisitor seems to bear for her people - it's the kind of impassioned optimism that Aedan hasn't seen (or felt) in a long while. Too many years of roving the western wilds, divorced of company and civilisation and left to dwell on the bitterer sides of his experience, has robbed Aedan of that idealism.

Give it time, he wants to say. The bastards in your ranks will surface eventually. Then the real war will begin.

That's how it had felt when Morrigan left with his child. That's how it had been at Ostagar. Anora too, later (because treachery must run in the blood, or something poetic like that). His smile is wry and a little bit amused as he observes: ]

Yeah. They look pretty... shiny.

[ The shine will come off, eventually. The Inquisition army might be mostly decent but he doesn't believe for a second that all of Lavellan's people are he best of humanity. Wars make bastards out of good people, nine times out of ten. But shattering that illusion is a bit like kicking a puppy, so Aedan at least tries to rain in the worst of his cynicism. ]

Look - I know you haven't asked me for any advice yet but would you like to hear some anyway?