"Perhaps a bit of advice and a gift, then." He reaches into his pack and removes what seems to be a small vial of oil, colored much like honey. "On such days where I find myself tired or melancholy, I find the nearest hotspring to soak. There are, or so I have been told, such springs below the hold available for our use. It is no Antivan bathhouse but- I think it may do you some good, yes?"

He offers the vial.

"For your hair. A few drops on a comb in the morning and- well the scent is comforting to me. Something of my mother who was Dalish." He could not quite remember the elven name for the flower- but it had grown often in a window box in the brothel where he'd lived, brought over by his mother. Even here he'd managed to find them, small, bright blossoms among the moss.