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"We can't let the Darkspawn win. We can't let the Archdemon win," Natia said to him, voice low, eyes worried.
"Definitely not. The Darkspawn can't make any decent cheeses," Alistair replied, smiling lightly. Natia chuckled, as he'd intended.
"What about Ogre cheese? Churned by only the most pastoral of Hurlock Emissaries," Natia replied.
Alistair shuddered theatrically. "Ferelden will fall, all human, elven, dwarven life on Thedas will fall to the blight sickness or be made into Broodmothers, but worst of all, the only cheese will be made by Ogres? Unthinkable!"
Natia hugged him. "Promise you'll never surrender."
"Cross my heart."