I'm a very good shem. [There's a grin on his face before he leans down so he can pretend to whisper. It's an act, he's not gone this long without knowing how to do it but still.] Most shems don't even like me, the great unwashed, a reminder that once even the Orlesians lived up in the mountains tending goats.

[Look Movran has shitbag sons. Asher had the decency to get thrown out of his home so he could go make trouble elsewhere.]

A hold is a hold. It means something to you. You learn to survive there and most holds have been there a long, long time, some from back when we were all still Alamarri and no one gave a flying fuck about Andraste. If elves came stumbling into a hold they'd defend it, it's how it goes, and a hold can't take what a village can; things are done carefully, so you know you'll last through the winter. There's land some places though, I've been most everywhere that isn't Par Vollen or Seheron or Tevinter, places where it was me, the crew, and whatever we were being paid to deal with. You'll always find a place.

[Maybe only people like Asher can offer that sort of sentiment without it actually sounding sentimental, just with a shrug of broad shoulders and a grin. The world has never wanted Asher, in a different way to how it doesn't want elves and he's not going to pretend he knows what that's like but he does know thumbing your nose and doing what you want, and making sure you're the one still standing.]