"Well if you're going to be an ass about it." He rolls his eyes, propping his chin on a hand while sipping straight from the bottle, wincing only when Alistair calls it 'his' castle. "It is not mine. It is the Inquisition's."

Which he is a part of and apparently holds some manner of vital key to but he is trying very hard not to think about that. All he wishes to think about is the warm sands of Antiva, the fish chowder, the familiar and comforting call of whores at work, the smell of leather in the tanneries. Instead he is here. On top of a mountain in the middle of the maker forsaken south, trying to cobble an army together.

"I am not hiding from anyone." Well, no, that is a lie compounded by a call of his name from outside the barn that has him scrabbling back into shadow. Cassandra pokes her head in, peering about for a moment before slipping back outside to continue the search. "...everyone. I am hiding from everyone."