Noah shrugged. The talk of origins had made him wonder about the way to go, and he wondered where to go because nobody wanted him here. What may have been understandable to him may not have been to the Ferelden people. Though he'd been educated in Orlais he had come to the understanding that life here was different than there as far as existence and elevation to the nobility was concerned.
It meant nothing to him. Loghain Mac Tir, the most famous example, had been a low-caste, but never a mage. He would like to run from all of this and climb one of the highest hills, and forget about his job. Would they even get to decide their own movements? It wasn't something he'd thought about before in his young age. He'd been more concerned with trying to learn and please. Now he was home and it made him consider freedom, what with his distance from Orlais. His phylactery wasn't something he could easily destroy, though. It was something he would be irresponsible to. Why should they have to? They were people.
"Darkspawn make us wrestle with our fears no matter where they dwell. They would always have come to Orlais, so I came here to fight the last Blight, but Kinlock was ruined, so I was remained." He shrugged again. "Apologies. The vastness of Denerim; it reminded me how different it is there to living in the wilderness. You have to admit the weather - it is different, no?"
It was impolite to ask where she had come from, he knew. If she had wanted to talk more she would have. So he was stuck discussing the weather. Marvellous.