Maybe she's like Fenris was, brought from a time before she knew him in Kirkwall. He sees no obvious recognition in the way she looks at him and debates whether he should prompt further or let it go. "Cullen," he says. If that doesn't do it, he'll leave it be. Kirkwall isn't a place he cares to recall more than he must.

"Something like that." His voice is a bit dry. "No, I commute to work. It's about the only time I care to take the train. It was a novelty the first few times." Not necessarily in a good way given the behavior of the natives in particular.

"I see you made it out of the paper gown. Good for you. My first ride I wasn't quite as lucky." They'd whisked him onto the train before he had the chance to change. If he's stilted and a bit awkward, he doubts he can be blamed. They were never close by any stretch, mostly just seeing one another in passing in the Gallows when she was traveling with Hawke. The last battle was so dark and fraught, he can't even recall if he saw her there that night or not, and her work with the Inquisition never had them in direct contact. He fights the urge to rub at the back of his neck.