It's one of the things she likes best about him. He doesn’t hold his tongue, and doesn’t expect it of her, either. Which is good, because it wouldn’t happen. For a moment, despite herself, there’s no hiding just how exhausted she is, how little she’s been sleeping and just how much of a toll has been taken. “I do,” she tells him. “And I hate myself for the asking. But I’ve seen exactly what the future holds if Corypheus succeeds in this. Lived in it, even for a short while.” Her lilac eyes are haunted, as she gazes up at him.

“There’s no way for me to avoid the condescension, the derision, on top of having every bloody eye on me. Of playing a game I don’t have the time for.” She hates this. She hates all of it. Hates the politics and the Game and the fact that she’s even considering using Loghain. Not without his permission, without his agreeing to it. But it’s still using him. No matter how tactically advantageous it might be. She owes him so much more than maps. “So if I can do something to even the footing a little, to irritate and distract the Orlesians a bit so I can do what it is I have to… I will ask.”

She’s not bothering trying to pretend, to pretty up her tone or sugarcoat things. Not with him. She’s exhausted, and angry, and frustrated. She closes her eyes for a moment, exhaling raggedly. “It’s your choice. I would sooner cut off my own hand than force you to parade yourself in front of your enemies.” And she means every bloody word. Although she hadn’t intended to voice her unspoken thoughts aloud to him.