herorecipe:

             If he’s trying to lay down a sick Kirkwall burn, he’ll need to try harder than that. Hawke’s been laying abuse on the city since she first saw it. In fact, both of the Warden’s complaints — spoken or otherwise — have already been mentally debated to death by Hawke. She doesn’t see much laudability in the act of stabbing a big Qunari bastard a lot.

           ”As with most places, yes. This isn’t a mystical wonder-land where you get puppies and bread gratis for the achievement of being alive. Would you like me to point out the bits of the city with the plague? Point out the escorts without rashes? All I charge is for you to drop trou and bend over so that I can finally dislodge that stick.”

      “I would offer some amount of respect for Ferelden’s Prince-Consort if I were you.”

The words leave in what can only be described as an exasperated sigh, and already is Balfour tempted to give up on what he’s just said. Never mind that– forget I ever said it. The last thing he wants is to have Hawke wind him up even further. Oh, no, all he wants are answers. Answers to questions that feel almost impossible.

But perhaps they only feel that way because he’s been asking them for so long.

      "A man like me has a lot of money,“ he says. "If there is anything you want in exchange for your cooperation, I can get it for you. Just name it. Then maybe I will manage that stick out of my arse."