So...a lot of amateurs. Byerly sighs, caught between amusement and exasperation. So perhaps he was too harsh on Ferelden's intelligence apparatus. And a little too harsh on himself...Imagine - him, herding ducklings. Maker preserve them all.

"No identifying information," he says after a moment. "Nothing my superiors could use to ferret them out. But I shall need to report on missions and movements - I am assigned here to ensure that the Queen is not surprised by anything the Inquisition does, and if I am not allowed to ensure that, then there truly is no point in me being here. So if you're not comfortable with me knowing something - Well. I am but a drunken fool. I should think you, with all your experience and skill, will be able to keep it from my bleary eyes, no?"