"I'm sure he'd love to tell the tale." At least, relatively sure. Was the thought of a Paragon who had been exiled to the surface before being so elevated inspire her traveling companion, or only make things worse? Bring into contrast the difference, reminding him of the separation from home, and the unlikelihood that as a Grey Warden, that the same would ever happen to him? Signy couldn't tell; Rhocanth, Lord Rhocanth, was very little like the majority of the dwarves that Signy had grown up with. He was so cultured, after all, and even if Smiths were a high and privileged caste, the differences between her family and true nobles? Could fill a volcano. He seemed mostly indisposed to yelling, or throwing flagons around, or improvising lewd drinking songs. (To be fair, she hadn't been in a tavern with him yet, but he just seemed too gentlemanly for that.)
She realized she was drifting off again—thoughts of Rhocanth and how unlike her family and friends and most of her (old) caste he was, and from there she'd been hit with a memory of her cousin standing on a table in Tapster's, and toppling over while in the middle of a toast to all the beautiful women in the world to whom he was not directly related. (It had nothing, nothing in the slightest to do with Signy pulling on a tablecloth. Not a thing.) She smiled, though, looking back up at Imenry. "It does seem like it's getting easier. But then, I have a lot of help that I don't really think that most in my position would have." She paused, wanting to say the rest, but hesitant, scared for no good reason at all, everyone here, the wardens and the humans and cormac and the legionnaires, but absolutely most of all, you.