He would very much like to skip to the brandy and bathing portion of his night, but no. There is a crowd. There are the Wardens to consider. There are speeches that need to be had and he has to be the one that gives them. For a moment he considers playing dead. Staying on the ground and pretending he passed out...but he rolls to his feet and dusts himself off.

Paints on a winning smile.

He honestly cannot remember the bullshit he spins, or the excuse for recruiting the wardens into the Inquisition. 'Conscripting' he called it. Cassandra will have a fit, he can feel her disapproval on the back of his neck. But if she makes him a leader? She must abide by his choices. For. However long he has left to make them. Whatever he says, it works. Varric is reunited with Hawke, smiles are all around, and he starts in the direction of the nearest kitchen. A fortress must have a kitchen, it must keep its people fed-

Getting side tracked by Cullen is aggrivating, but fine. Tell the tale, so he tells it. 'Well what now' 'well I'd like to rest if it is all the same to you'.

It takes half an hour to get away, by then the cleanup has begun, the Wardens helping the Inquisition, and no one is looking for him. He has time enough to find a cleaver (does not take long at all) some rope (Hanging about everywhere) and a coal brazier still blazing to seal the wound. It is only the half bottle of brandy he is beginning to swallow down with this set up that has stalled him-

Losing a hand will hurt. He'd rather not be entirely sober for it.