"As much as anyone can be, I think." Within or without the Circles, the world is full of sorrows; happiness is no guarantee. Truly, there were griefs unique to the Chantry's kept mages--but was losing a childhood friend to a Harrowing any worse than losing one to an illness or starvation or slavers? Yet-- "Hasmal is--was," Myr catches himself; someday, he'll place it properly in the past, "kinder than most Circles. We weren't allowed as much freedom as some would've liked, but we were never abused."

It made for a very different perspective on the value of the things, to have been rescued from alienage life and given to a place he could call home, with people he could call family--though they'd never erase his love for his own flesh and blood.

He's tempted to tease, to ask her if pranks ran in the family and what she got up to in her spare time, but it feels somehow wrong with someone who wears her sobriety like a cloak the way Herian does. Instead, kindly: "It's not much likely with the state of the world and how adamant she was about being let go, but our knight-commander might be able to send a message on. If you'd like to let her know she's got family here in the Inquisition." It's what he'd want to do.