The smile grows. "An elf after my own heart." If Cyril had looked any more in pain, Anders wouldn't have given the option, he would have lead them straight to the Infirmary. As it is, he leads the elf up a couple of flights of stairs and to the room he makes sure stays warm.

There are some blankets on the couch, so Anders gestures to the chairs at the table, one of the four of which is occupied by a tuxedo cat. The fluffy orange lump on the bed looks up and mews as Anders enters.