"Right you are. Of course, most of the elves of my acquaintance don't have your stature," Varric tips his drink in Maedhros' direction, a salute to the task of ass-kickings, deserved or otherwise, and to those who delivered them to their rightful owners. And to the fact that, by the standards of Thedas, Maedhros was a fucking tall elf, indeed, "Where was— oh, right! Rook!"

He'd really been hoping she was around here, somewhere, and that she'd come in and supply the line herself. Alas, he didn't often get lucky like that, not more than once.

"She headbutts the bartender and turns to me, she says Dumat Plaza. So off to Dumat Plaza we go."