Titles. Curiosities. The way Radonis looks at each of them in turn has something in common with the gaze of the cat, standing on the bench behind him, tail twitching. He saves an acknowledging nod of his head—something that always looks precarious, in the hat, but isn't really—for after the last of their introductions and careful bows.

"It would have been a pleasure, in other times," he says. Perhaps that's a lie, for elves and Orlesians in particular. On the other hand, they do get so few foreign visitors here. It would at least have been an interesting diversion. He might have asked about the anchor.

In these times, he declines to be diverted. He gestures toward the house attached to the garden, to usher them in ahead of him toward a room that would be comfortable for two but has no room for four to sit. The important thing is that it has walls. No echo into the street beyond.

"We had always assumed that if there was trouble on our Southern borders, it would be because your Chantry had decided we were no longer a useful shield against the Qun. I hope you family is safe, Duke." But he doesn't care enough to wait for confirmation. "I would have liked to offer assistance."