Hawke tips his head back and considers that from under lowered lashes. It sounds like the kind of thing he ought to be pleased by, if there's some kind of silver lining to be found here, and because sometimes - often - his mouth has far less sense than his brain, "You're exactly the same."

Almost instantly: "Or near enough to fool most people."

As two sentences go, that pair rings ...fairly complicated. Even if he wanted to he wouldn't be able to staunch the tidal wave of fondness that crashes over the first four words; whatever Anders is, or is to Hawke, it's something that matters, beyond measure or price. The kind of value most people can't put words to.

Then there's the tacit implication that Hawke isn't, in this scenario, 'most people.' He makes some move with a hand over his mouth and tries to put that aside for the moment. "It's funny, I always thought I was inimitable myself."

....truly. Probably all the worlds at large should be horrified by the idea that there is more than one Hawke. "But I shouldn't have been surprised. It can entail that. It can entail--anything you can dream up, Anders. Everyone I've met, everyone you can see--the places they come from, some of them we don't even have in stories."

A part of him that can be heard now, or seen in the expansive gesture he makes, is fascinated by that. He wasn't pleased to be plucked away from home on the cusp of what was almost certain to be war, but someone with Hawke's life either develops an adventurer's spirit or dies trying.