His head snaps to look towards Varré, world spinning with the movement and forcing him to place a hand against the wall for support. The brief thought of how much of a relief death might have been crosses his mind but is just as quickly brushed aside.

"I do not care for your tone." His own voice fills with ice and he scowls at the man. "Nothing roused me but mine own self. And the realization that I was no longer in Anor Londo."

He's exhausted but he grips the wall tightly. He can't show how frail he's become, can't collapse here.