At first he is as stunned as anyone might hope, at the rage in her. She is a reserved person, private by nature and only made moreso by her time as the Inquisitor. And yet, this, the truth of it that she surely knew, at least its meaning, is what rouses her to rage.

"Vhen—" His hands catch at hers, pull them away from her face, pull her closer— but her ire is too strong, her wrath beyond controlling, and he lets her go. He had not known.

He had not known, of the torture the Dalish inflicted on their own children, their children, in reverence for the gods. For Elgar'nan, ultimately, or for his vanity and posessiveness. He can blame her not at all. And he, hating that younger self, that fool who had barely objected... Could he have stopped it?

No. Even if he cannot resist worrying at the idea, they had decided it. They had already begun to—

"Vhenan," He says, when she seems to have paused for breath, struggling to find the words to say it. To apologize, for what can never be forgiven. To somehow free her from the outrage and pain of it, "I was once marked as well."

He shuts his mouth abruptly, appalled. That had not been what he had meant to say.