[He'd begun pacing sometime during the telling of her story, arms folded across his chest as he moves back and forth in front of the fireplace, his own glass of wine set aside and forgotten as he mulls over each and every detail to the last, his white brows knitted together as a scowl slowly settled into place. It was a sign of his being thoughtful more than angry, but there's some of that, too, as there always was-- anger simmering just beneath the skin and prepared to bare its teeth and escape at the slightest provocation, but this, this--

It was more complicated than that. He never had much trouble sharing his feelings with Hawke, blunt and untempered, but she had come to him for a reason this time, for something more than simply unburdening herself. She could have gone to anyone for that, to those she was much closer to who would support her in whatever she did.

But no. That wasn't what she wanted.

He slows to a stop finally, exhaling as he turns his back to the fire, his gaze hard and shrewd as he levels it on her.]

I can't decide if you simply expect me to lecture you, or you actually want me to.

[The former, he'd expect.]

You look at me as a child would while waiting to be reprimanded.