Fiona, murmuring a wry excuse about needing tea before she's fit to converse, doesn't say much as they eat their breakfasts. Alistair has a feeling it's a white lie; he doesn't remember seeing Fiona among the more haggard-looking Skyhold residents who'd cluster around the tea carafes every morning as soon as it made its way to the great hall. Much like Ivette taking the lead on hospitality, however, he can't bring himself to be anything but grateful.

At some point, they'll have to stop walking on eggshells around each other. It can wait until Alistair knows whether or not he'll die in the near future, though.

One thing at a time.

When everyone's done, he gathers their plates with a mumbled excuse of his own: he'll do the washing up.