“I move often.” The courier, he thinks, would be the problem. Few are willing to risk the journey to the small, hidden places where succor and safety might still be found. He spreads his hands; gestures to all of Orzammar with just that. “But I am here now.”

Here, and glad to see old friends. “No,” he agrees, clasping his hands back in his lap. “They are not.” But he is coping, and he is keeping silent about it.

“Well enough. What news do you have?” Like that isn’t the most interesting thing—what do the little things in his life matter? There’s been nothing extraordinary.