"I'll take it if I feel like I need it. Trust me," he said. For all that he blushed sometimes, he wasn't shy in speaking out about what he wanted or needed.

"Perhaps not, but they do say He has a sense of humor." He washed out what remained inside that didn't belong and broke the crab open with a decisive crack. He had three left in his little pile. His mouth was already starting to water.

"Luck isn't to be trusted. It seems the moment you seek to rely on it is the moment it runs out." Most people whom he knew who trusted to luck either wound up dead or in some other sort of trouble. It was a lazy man's substitute for ambition.

He didn't hesitate in his answer, his expression surprisingly open for it. "Yes, it is. I know what can happen first-hand when something goes badly wrong, and I've seen the damage leverage on Templars can do, how much it can compromise them. I'd sooner die badly than subject my parents to danger, and my father would disown me if I ever allowed sentiment over him or Mother to dictate my actions. Wherever they are, outside of Denerim or at the Maker's side, it's better than anything I have to offer them from Kirkwall."