"A charming ballad written for one of the members of the Inquisition." Almost a love ballad at that, which is not at all odd in Zevran's mind. Not in the slightest. Not even a little. Such things were- no that was a lie, it was terribly odd and he was glad to not have to sit through another night of it and longing eyes up to where Sera used to sleep. This? was better.

Zevran lifted his mug in thanks and took a deep drink, pulling back with a faint wince. It was no brandy- but it was not Dwarven Ale either. "You should see them on the flying silks, then, if that is what you fancy. A great deal less fumbling, and more danger."