There are some kernels of truth in these possibilities. His family would be ashamed of the man he'd become, perhaps. Or the many he had been in that stretch of space between refugee and Warden.

And he had let his name turn to ash, scattered across Blight-struck Ferelden lands as he'd boarded the ship that would carry him into the Free Marches.

Ellis' gaze is tipped downward, watching Bastien's hand on his, the flex of his fingers before they lift away. Ellis runs his own thumb over the vacated space as Ruadh's head tips lazily into Bastien's hand.

"It was," Ellis agrees. Bastien's curiosity is not dissimilar to Wysteria's. Ellis is aware of the way it prickles at him, all this unspoken scrutiny. "I'd like it if you kept it to yourself."