She watches him a moment as he disengages, then sweeps her gaze over the courtyard, blood and broken statues and all.

It's horrible in its familiarity, and he has to stay.

Sweet Andraste.

Her gaze meets his, then, just for a moment.

"Be well. Cullen."

With a sweep of her hand she pulls the hood of her cloak up, shielding her white hair from view, and follows the shadowy figures of Zevran, Nathaniel, and Sigrun into the crowd.

They really do have to leave with the tide.

And this is not a place to let anyone see her cry.