Ah, yes, the burn of the witch's irritation, taken physical form. It is good to know he can still get a reaction from her. Caution would indicate that he back away from her, her anger, and her flame, but since when has he been the cautious sort? He merely sidesteps, although it does little good.

"I see you aimed straight for my heart, as always, my friend." He inspects his armor for singes and burns. "The next time, perhaps I will keep my fantasy to myself."

Of course he will not. It's a never-ending game of cat and mouse, but he likes the spark that rises in her eyes at his inane suggestions. He is quite certain that if he and Morrigan had ever become intimate, it is something he would most definitely remember... and never joke about.

But they have not, so she is fair game. "Belately, though, congratulations are in order. Might I ask how old he is?" Only too well, he knows what it is to grow up fatherless, which is an assumption here that is perhaps unfair to make. Still, though, he sees no son with her now and she has made no mention of the boy's father. "And might I also ask if the two of you are faring well?"

His armor is still heated from her flame, but that is his just reward for flippancy and the sort of punishment he can well handle.