[Water. Darras pours out, once he's confirmed it--not quite as good as rum, maybe, but better than Kirkwall ale. He leaves out the ice and crosses over to the couch. By the time she looks up, he's come around to stand behind her, looking at the letters over her shoulder. Thin grayish writing, as obscure as runes.

He meets her eye as she looks around at him, and gestures with the cup.]

Oh, aye. Fascinating, this. The agent's name is 'One Thirty-Seven'? Didn't know Tevinter was so ruthless to their children.

[He comes around whether or not she picks up reading again, puts himself on the couch beside her, and slips his feet into her lap. Probably crushes some reports while he's at it, unless she rescues them in time.]