"We can hardly find common spices to the Free Marches in Kirkwall right now. I imagine you might have better luck in Starkhaven, or perhaps Wycome. The port trade is brisk there." It's also a touch warmer from what he has heard. He spoons a generous dollop of honey into his tea and takes a bite of his cookie while he stirs it.

"It must be strange to look everywhere and see echoes and shadows. Familiar bones beneath foreign construction. The Gallows...well, before the battle at least, were little changed. Less so than most of Kirkwall. There was no real need or desire. It lay empty for a long time."

He takes a small sip of his tea and finds it doctored to his liking. "I feel that way a bit sometimes when I hear Fereldan accents in the street. My eyes see a Marcher city. If I close them for a short time I'm there." Some days he indulges that feeling and others distances himself. He still has mixed feelings about Ferelden and what he endured there.

"What reminds you most of home here?"