[It's hard to be doom and gloom when a fellow is saying, without any evident hesitation, that he thinks you can do it. She has no natural protection against this sort of thing. It's not something she comes across in the wild, so to speak.]
[He knows by now she does not mock him, only the depth of his words. That is fine. Fair, even. She is free to make light of it, if it helps her endure.
And he will hold confidence enough for the both of them, in the interim.]
And what to do no less.
Make ready your belongings, revel in your personal success as you must— we depart once you are ready, for I shall bring no other in this journey.
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The concept I understand, if not the mythology and superstition it breeds.
[He does not ask why. She will say so.]
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[Please don't mean Andrastianism.]
The First Blight lasted two hundred years, y'know. Started by the same prick as this fight, if he's to be believed.
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The First Blight lacked our influence. Our strength.
[Someone might consider this a joke. It is not a joke.]
Let no doubt color you, Jone of Denerim. Let no written word speak to you of endless evil.
The future is not shaped from stone, and I have seen stranger horrors unmade by creatures more pitiful than us both.
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[Still, it's better played off as a joke.]
You always know just what to say.
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And he will hold confidence enough for the both of them, in the interim.]
And what to do no less.
Make ready your belongings, revel in your personal success as you must— we depart once you are ready, for I shall bring no other in this journey.
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Gimme an hour, and we'll be off.