It's - satisfying, in a way - he knows vaguely that Alistair is of an age with him, and they had very similar training. It's nice to know he's still got an edge even after months spent effectively as a paper pusher, behind a desk. Well, excepting the battles at Haven and Adamant, he supposes.

He stops when the other man is down, breathing heavily, dropping his own sword and offering a hand to help him back to his feet. "Good fight," he says, a smug smile he can't quite keep down crossing his face.