Anders shakes his head. "You're the one who's restored honor to the Howe name. The things your father did during the Blight had tarnished it in the eyes of all Ferelden. Killed off the Couslands to claim Highever. Locked up the heir to Denerim so he could hold the arling. He didn't even try to pass it off as what was good for Ferelden, from what I hear."

With a shrug he sinks back into the couch cushions, though he's too tall really to rest his head there. Lazily, loosely, he crosses his legs, right ankle balanced atop left knee. (You can't sit that way when you're wearing a robe. He hasn't worn mage robes in years. Can't imagine going back to them now, the restriction of movement they enforce.) "Nor did he seem to have his sons' best interests in mind, nor his daughter's. Your sister's doing well, by the way. She lives in Kirkwall now. You have a nephew."