"Keep walking," he answered tersely. The magic had worn off--and worse, it had waited to do so until they were right alongside his fellows. All the anger inside had nearly caused him to call out, to warn them that she was a blood mage, that he had been spelled to do her bidding--all lies, but the Chantry wouldn't care. How absurd, he thought, that the faith that preached love and acceptance would save them all could be so hypocritical as to condemn mages for a twist of birth. But then, Ellion had never been the most faithful Templar. Always just enough to get by.<br/><br/>He thought briefly of his elven foster parents, unseen now for nearly twelve years. They had never understood his decision to enter the Order. In truth, he barely had himself. He was quick to banish those doubts, though, and glanced at her briefly. "I don't," he began, then swore and looked away, picking his words as they walked. "I'm not going to be offended if you touch me or anything... for any reason." He frowned. That wasn't entirely right, either, but he didn't have the words he needed to be clear enough. Without the spell to keep him calm he was having a hard time thinking straight, at least right away. He reached up to peel away the makeshift patch he'd made, then emptied his pocket, throwing tufts of his own shorn hair down into the river below.<br/><br/>"I want you to understand that I'm in this until the end," he said once he'd parsed his thoughts more completely. "This confusion, the... wild thoughts? I prefer wondering at the truth as opposed to being kept complacent with a lie. And I think that eventually I will find the truth with you. I have already, even, I just... need time to accept it." He looked at her and after a moment took her hand, pulling her back in closer to his side. "For now, Lana... just be content I am here. As much as you can be. I will try, too."