He draws his hands back--cautious, careful lest that be the trigger for an avalanche--when he feels her removing the imperiled books from the pile. "Maker be thanked." His tone's wry and abashed alike; she didn't snap but he'll blame himself all the same for his inattentive clumsiness. "I was afraid I'd give the archivists the idea everyone from Hasmal's a book-destroying oaf."

Which isn't a fair characterization of his cousin--as Vandelin's quick to point out, he had help--but when it came to an elven mage and a templar jointly toppling a shelf, it's a safe bet who'd take the lion's share of the blame.

"Mostly memorized. And no, I'm glad to say not--" For all his love of his Circle and the Chantry there's no denying, no downplaying the horror of the Gallows; he won't pretend he'd be who he was if he'd been shackled and abused here. "--only I'm very good at learning places fast. Have to be."

He pauses a beat, face tilted toward her as he puzzles over her voice. "I've heard you before," he says at last, "but I don't know your name." And he's only tentative as that because what he did remember her speaking of left him with a faint feeling of dread.