"Hey," Alistair protests, laughing, and whacks Cullen on the arm. (Lightly.)

If no one's around to buy them a drink -- so far -- then Alistair's going to buy something nice. Aside from ale, most of what the barman's got are fancy Orlesian wines and Tevinter liquors, but tucked away on a dusty shelf corner is the jackpot: a nearly full bottle of West Hill brandy.

Two glasses, the entire bottle (they can savor it in the privacy of their quarters later in the likely event they don't finish it now), an empty table. Alistair fills both glasses and takes a seat.