With a little twitch of unease, Benedict shuts up again, but nods his sympathetic understanding to the struggles of the city.

"There's at least one Dalish clan that comes around nearby sometimes," he says with a shrug of one shoulder-- "they're familiar with us and probably wouldn't mind a visit, if you felt so inclined. Clan Ashara."

He picks up his wine goblet to nurse from it, dropping his gaze.

"I was brought against my will, once upon a time," he explains, bracing himself for the inevitable conversation, "my perspective has shifted somewhat since then." A wry, quiet smile.