A flick of his ears said his piece when Bethen looked at significant pause him; he shut his jaws and looked perfectly angelic, leaning hard into Bethen's hip again, not enough to bowl her over, but a physical show of how much he was enjoying her fingers on his skull nonetheless. Such an interesting array of scent coming from this scene, played out before his nose practically for his amusement. Sorrow and happiness in the same breath, twisting in his lungs from Bethen, where the Templar was... Lady's breath, was he nervous? Rather like someone who knew he could not fill another's pawprints in their stead, but was trying anyway. Very interesting indeed, especially given what little Garrett knew about Templars, aside from the fact that they stank of lyrium and burning.
Bethen turned and made for the entryway of the Chantry, for a moment closing the obviously painful topics her trek here had reopened; Garrett whuffed and shook the thick ruff around his massive head, and with a canine grin for Alderic, turned in place to fall into step with the little mage. She needed a protector, and if Alderic did not want to accept that role, well, Garrett was more than willing to step into it until the Templar had the stones to do it himself. That bannerlike tail was slowly wafting from side to side as he and Bethen left holy ground, which was just as well - he had discovered the innermost sanctum of the true-men priests not nearly as impressive as he had hoped. Not even an itching between his shoulderblades to indicate the displeasure of some higher power, at having a heretic tread those sacred boards.
Ah, well. Not all gods could be as real as the Lady, he supposed.