He's made some progress as the night wore on, gone from nursing his ale in weary silence to doodling on the tabletop with the condensation from the mug. It's an activity he doesn't raise his head from as Anders approaches and speaks; instead, he gestures mutely to the seat across from him.

Anything he'd say in this situation would be wrong for both of them and I don't mind would be a lie. He's just enough left in him to manage a simulacrum of decency without words.