The set to Alistair's shoulders eases. He nods; looks up.

"I know." Quieter. "Thank you."

Those four little words -- I'm on your side -- calm the stewing, petulant child in his mind that's still grieving a decades-old loss, railing at the unfairness of the entire situation. It clears his head enough to turn Ivette's earlier question over in his thoughts: angry, still, but able to give it the objectivity it needs.

Slowly: "And she's...not awful. No. We had some conversations here and there before she told me who she was; she was downright kind when I decided to leave the Wardens for the Inquisition." Alistair drags a hand down his face. "But I don't know if that was just her trying to sweeten me up before she dropped that 'guess what, I'm your mother!' boulder on me."