Alistair's heart cracks. He lowers his head back to Cullen's chest; tightens his embrace.

He wants to argue the point: that it is true, that Cullen is one of the best men he's ever known, that he's not the only one who thinks it (just look at how the Inquisition held him in such high regard). But that's the exact opposite of what Cullen's asking of him, and to do it would be a terrible cruelty.

(If there were just some way to ease his words around Cullen's self-loathing without bungling everything up --

But if Alistair hasn't managed it in three years, he won't manage it now.)




"All right," he whispers.