Alistair doesn't seem offended enough to -- to do anything untoward.

Slowly, carefully, Cullen starts to shed layers. The cave floor is clean enough; he stretches out his coat, so it can dry. Same with his jerkin. His linen shirt is -- damp. But it's not three wet layers. It's just one. Linen dries quickly.

"Should do the socks," he mumbles to himself, and starts with his boots.