<strong>Mathius Vairo<br/>The Imperial Highway<br/>North of the Woodlands</strong><br/><br/><strong>"I assume there are, but I do not know of them."</strong>Mathius responded to Eluv'yan with nonchalant delivery.<strong>"Or maybe there aren't  anymore and I am the last of the line as it  was. Either way, it doesn't matter. Antiva and her beauty are leagues away and the darkspawn are not so far away." </strong>He continued in a way trying to dodge the intended answer. Why, in such a time of desperation, would his family history be of any importance, Mathius pondered. Perhaps it was a Ferelden way of lightening the mood. Following his evasive responce there was a pause and scilence that was uneasy and ackward. And Mathius could feel the palpable tension and despair. Perhaps during the course of only three days he'd offered the wrong impression on what was left of his Grey Warden brethen. Not that he cared about impressing his new owners, but this one was particularly cute compared to the normal Warden, so nice treatment was warrented he felt.<br/><br/><strong>"My mother gave me over to the Chantry when I was small. I barely remember her, most of it being what the Templars told me when I would ask them about her. They said her name was Amilia and worked in a tavern. She wanted me to "Follow Andraste and walk by the Maker's side" by serving in the Chantry, according to the Templars."</strong>Mathius told his Warden sister to break the silence and ease the tension in the foul smelling air.<strong> "They were lying of course, like the Chantry does in many things. In all likelihood she was a tavern wench or whore who either didn't want me or couldn't afford to feed me. Like I said, either way it doesn't matter." </strong><br/><br/>The blonde haired former Templar let out a heavy sigh of a mixture of exhaustion and something of relief. Rarely did he ever speak of his mother, partly because he usually felt there was no point and partly because such tales were not easy ways to lure women into the bed chamber. They continued to trek on as they dragged Bor's limp body along, the toes of his boots clicking against every crack and rise in the road making a very annoying sound over the course of a long distance.<strong>"I suppose it's your turn then, if you'd like. From Denerim correct? I would hope you have a more charming tale of your family to share."</strong>Mathius asked Eluv'yan as he readjusted Bor's arm across his shoulders for a better grip.