[It's not often he gets angry, or remotely close. She can count on one hand the number of times it's happened. So when he glares - even if only a little - it's enough to suck her own anger right out of her. It's a sobering moment, though her mind is still muddled from the alcohol.]

I didn't mean...

[Mean what? It's so hard to think; it's why she got this smashed to begin with. It was supposed to help numb the pain, but now it's doing the opposite.

What a mess she's made of herself.

She looks at the table - Coward, you can't even look at him - and clenches her hands in her lap. She fights through the fog of alcohol, so desperately trying to think and pull her foot out of her mouth.]

I ... shit. Blighted alcohol. [Never pulling an Oghren again. Ever.] I hate seeing you miserable, okay? Or, no, not what- I mean, seeing you not as happy as you could be. You and other you. Any of you. I didn't make you, well, you. But I did contribute to other you. I did make that decision and yes, he could have said no, but Alistairs like to... to swallow their burdens. You don't stand up for yourselves as often as you should, though he's gotten better, and you seem more willing to.

That's what I'm afraid of. I guess. That you both made your choices because you felt you had to, because you didn't want to let anyone down. I'm afraid that he'll resent me one day for it, even if he's happy now. I'm afraid you'll be miserable. And I know I need to just accept these things but I can't. And that's what makes me selfish.