I have heard few tales of the Dalish, and fewer still from them, unless one counts what happened in the Brecilian Forest. Though that was much more like living through a tale than being told.

[There's something tense and a little sad in his eyes, in his voice. He'd attempted to live among them once. A fantasy he'd had as a child, a chance to be free of the Crows and live as an elf should. It did not suit the Dalish he ran to, nor did it suit him well. There might be a bit of envy lingering still. He doesn't think about it.]

I am afraid so. You are not my Warden, and I am not your Zevran.

[His lips twist into something familiar and rakish.]

But...for you, my dear, I most certainly could be.