The question echoes Teren's the night of the abbey's utter collapse, recalls the rain and the cold and the pain of fingers scraped raw by digging. Why ask me that, Myr wonders anew, as if his own judgment on the worth of what he'd experienced redeemed it. As if it could somehow balance one small part of Thedas' ledger of suffering and injustice before Andraste's returning to do away with it all.

As if seeing Simon's face outweighed Alvar's lost sanity; as if Van's tentative return to the Chantry was just payment for the lives lost to it.

As if. As if--

He'd equivocated last time, too stunned for certainty. This time he's a better idea of what to say, when at length he looks up at Anders: "I've got to live as if it was. They did."