[ While Asterion speaks, Loki remains very still, eyes narrowed, one arm still folded across his chest. His free hand moves to rest just beneath his chin, like he's calmly contemplating what Asterion is telling him.

He isn't. He's seething, a hair's breadth away from losing whatever ounce of cool he might have. Considering the fact that he's a frost giant one might even inaccurately presume he has plenty of cool.

Of course the blond's sentiments aren't exactly unfamiliar. Hadn't Loki himself said something similarly to Thor when he became besotted with Dr. Jane Foster?

He does not enjoy the ways in which this feels like having those words tossed back in his face. Karmically appropriate, perhaps, but displeasing nonetheless.

Loki's words come out precise. Calm. He will not strangle his new friend. He will do better than that, at least. ]

I'm well aware that mortals die.

I'm well aware that the loss will hurt.

[ Were this Midgard, Loki would find some way of offering Lexie a longer lifespan. Were his own magic not limited in strange and uncomfortable ways he might simply pursue the idea on his own, here in Thedas. ]

You know nothing of what I've suffered; nothing of what pain I've held. You presume a god to know nothing of death, of loss, and you are wrong.

It is worth it, to me. What I gain is greater than what I will lose.