"Things," [he echoes, concern deepening. He's canny enough to know he's not being told everything, to guess at what that careful phrasing might hide. It isn't the first time he's heard as much from a templar either--nor the first time curiosity and worry have urged him to try for more information.] What sort of "things," exactly?

--Glad to hear you're sheltered and fed, though. I'll be a little less hasty about rousting out the rest of the Inquisition to rescue the lot of you if you're not in imminent danger of starving to death. [A joke, of course.] As much as I miss your company. [Not a joke.

But a grin creeps into his voice nevertheless at the next,] Are you teasing me, ser? You've got your pick of Grey Wardens and your fellow templars and Maker-knows-what-else and not a one of them is a worthwhile sparring partner?