[ Lasulahn looks distinctly worried at the idea that Zevran has trouble sleeping, and he wavers for a few moments on whether to remark on it. Finally, he decides that might be prying unnecessarily, and accepts the cordial bottle. Zevran's hands feel warm, and the touch, brief though it is, is nice. He's not had much in the way of physical contact since this whole business started. ]

Thank you. [ He offers a little smile. ] Just get him talking about how bad the food in the south is, you'll be occupied for hours.

[ He lingers just a moment longer, watching the other. Once more, he considers asking after his sleep. Once more, he decides against it. ] Good night, Zevran.

[ The morning is somehow colder than the night before, the wind blowing in snow from the higher peaks. Lasulahn is not keen to move from in front of the fire, where he had eventually fallen asleep on the fur rug under a heavy quilt. (The Orlesians would have a field day with that, too, he imagines. The leader of the Inquisition, sleeping on a rug in front of the fire like a dog.)

The sight of the cordial on his desk brings a smile, though, and the thought of dancing lessons makes leaving the warmth of the fire a little more tolerable.

It takes a little time for Josephine to be free enough to attend to such a trivial matter. The new boots are decidedly uncomfortable, but Josephine assures him they'll 'break in' with time. The elf isn't quite as sure, but they're a necessity. Being an elf and a mage will make it difficult enough to be taken seriously at the Winter Palace. Showing up in any manner of Dalish dress will not help his matters.

He nearly trips on the stairs, and is thankful that there is no one but Solas to see it. He ascends the rest far more carefully, following the sound of Zevran's distinct voice to find him, and then waits patiently aside so as not to interrupt. ]