Maker. That's right. He's been in the north so long he's practically forgotten that there are places where his name actually holds some weight.

"Second son of a second son of a second son." That's hardly true, but easier to frame it that way than to explain the convoluted inheritances of the sprawling Rutyer clan. "No sort of lord."

(But of course there are other reasons why a person might go pale and breathless upon learning they were sharing company with a Rutyer. His family had produced more thrill killers and sadists than could be found at a full meeting of the Tevinter Imperial Senate. But he doesn't know how to address that fear without making a joke of it, and it doesn't not feel like a good time for a joke.)