Ellion's instinct told him to headbutt the dapper bastard and be on with it, but he knew better than to think that would fly. He did let his hand rest loose on the grip of his sword, though, fingers hanging loose around the leather grip. Nothing about the scented, groomed, distant man appealed to him. A mage, an<i>Imperium</i>mage no less. He knew better than to assume that all mages lacked scruples, but those of Tevinter were notorious for their flights of whim and bouts of cruelty. No, Thane didn't seem cruel, not at a glance, but then you couldn't always tell when a dog would bite or not.<br/><br/>He told himself it had absolutely nothing to do with how blatantly fond he was of Lana. Nothing at all.<br/><br/>"Winter illness, indeed," he muttered under his breath, but didn't question the mage directly. He glanced at Lana. "Your call. I'm all for taking the horses and pressing on to the coast. The sooner we reach the Marches the sooner we can actually begin to<i>find</i>this madman--who, I'll remind you both, has at least a week's lead on us." He shrugged. "At the same time if we catch up to them while tired, I suppose it won't matter, will it? So the choice is yours."