She looks away at the mention of Tevinter, and doesn't look up as she speaks. There's a history there... and he shouldn't have asked, really. Especially not when she talks about being a small girl, alone, in the war-torn world he'd had a hand in causing.

By the time she's looked up, Anders is looking down into his ale. She deserves that answer, really. He'd pried when he shouldn't have, especially as he's hiding most of his own story. After a sigh and a sip of what turns out to be actually palatable ale, for a change, he looks back up.

"I'm particular. Demanding. I feel that if someone is to be locked up in a place and kicked and hit and live under constant fear of worse, then they should have done something to earn that. Something other than being born. It's an unpopular opinion, I've discovered, one not shared by many, oddly enough, and I found myself at a need for a change of venue."

Anders gives her a smile that doesn't reach his eyes - his own poker face leaves a great deal to be desired too.

"Perhaps we should talk on slightly more cheerful topics. Decay, for instance. Downright merry, compared to what's going on out there and my past, at least. Or, maybe, we can risk something dangerously pleasant like the ale, or the tavern itself."