Alain has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something he'll regret. Like, perhaps, how childish it would be to care if he was fucking Roland, up the ass or otherwise, and how anyone with half a brain can see he's not the type for a love triangle. If that means what he thinks it does.

But he swallows that back, his shock and frustration shown only by the minute clenching of his jaw. A test. Take it as a test. One Bert would be able to pass with flying colours, come up easily with an insouciant, colourful lie so unbelievable that people couldn't help but be sucked in by it. Alain, though, has made a life in fading into the background, being the silent presence at Roland's side, often underestimated and overlooked. Holding people's interest has never been a priority to him; only holding their common sense.

"Why not my own?" he says at last, his voice low and the hardness behind it well-hidden. "You have troubles with rebellion here. I've lost friends and kin to rebels in my own world, not least the men I spoke of when we first met. I've a good deal to atone for. There's your story. Atonement and revenge. Serves well enough for most novels." His weariness with this whole conversation is starting to tell in his voice.