Alistair finally, finally trails into a series of wheezing giggles, then tiny little hiccups of laughter as he wipes his eyes.

"All right," he manages. "Don't say or do anything funny for the next five minutes or I'll start laughing again. Maker." He fumbles for his glass, holds it up in a toast. "To Cabot and whatever in Andraste's name was in that cup."

He tosses back another mouthful of brandy.