[ It's good that she said that; it eases some of the fury he's feeling. And so, reluctantly, he says: ]

Look. Alexandrie and I have - It has been a complicated love. A painful love. Much of what I loathe about myself grew out of the wounds we inflicted upon one another. And then, when after decades we've found some happiness, this man comes in, wearing her husband's face but with few of her husband's foibles, acting so virtuous and princely, and she swoons over him, and he clasps her in his arms, and it's such perfect bliss, and I have to watch. And then when I'm spiteful towards him, which should be my one solace in all this, he tears his hair about what a beast I am, about what a fool I am that I can't see the goodness in him, and that wretched woman Sylvie simpers about how we're all such idiots here in Thedas and he sighs over her and scolds me for being so cruel to her - And I feel half-mad with all of it. And am told, now, to stop being so wretched and horrid to this poor man.

It makes me feel like I'm being drowned while told to take deep breaths, it's all air, stop being so dramatic.

[ - That's more than he intended to say. ]