"A part of my charm, or so I have been told." The bottle is set on the table along with the glasses, though he makes no move to uncork it until she gives him leave to do so- even if he does take a chair across from her. Some boundaries are to be pushed, others to be minded- though his eyes do flick from her to the boy and back again, something in his eyes going warm and soft.

Alistair's boy. Even if Alistair has never met him. Hardly the horned, creeping thing he had thought the night's coupling to create, but then Morrigan and Alistair both were lovely people.

"Quite dire. The breach is large, the Herald of Andraste dead and laid to rest and with her the hope of closing it- except for those that are not from here falling through the rifts. They are strange, but not demons. Or.we are fairly certain they are not demons. Templars seem to be growing red lyrium in bodies, refugees wander about trying to find refuge and- well." Now his customary smile twists into something faintly bitter and he pitches his voice low, eyes once again drifting to the sleeping child. "And the Grey Wardens hear their Calling."