"It's empty." Mahariel frowned as she shook the bottle of whiskey. They could still hear the muffled sounds of battle coming from the ballroom.

"A moment of silence for another soldier down!" Hawke intoned in an outrageous Starkhaven accent. "Alright, that's long enough. Are we completely out?" The Champion asked curiously.

"Nope!" Mahariel reached into the cupboard and pulled out another full bottle. Hawke whooped and opened it up, refilling both her's and the Hero's glasses.

"You know what, elf?"

"What, shemlen?"

"I feel like we learned something today."

"Don't crash other people's parties?"

"No."

"Don't bring weapons to a social gathering?"

"No."

"Don't pit your friends against each other for your own amusement?"

"No."

"What then?"

"If you're going to stage a tournament, do it outside."

"You're so right, Hawke. I'm going to have to rebuild the ballroom entirely."

"Yeah, did you see those cracks in the floor?"

"Yes."

"Sucks to be you, Mahariel."

"Who do you think's going to win? I mean eventually?"

"Seriously? Probably Varric. He's taken a cut of all the betting."

"How'd you make out?"

"Lost twenty gold so far. You?"

"Won ten. I figure that's not bad."

"Not bad at all. Certainly was an interesting party. Sorry about trying to kill you earlier, by the way."

"Yeah, sorry I tried to turn your dog against you." The two sat in silence, listening to the screams and shouts and clanging below. Mahariel sipped her drink, Hawke downed hers and poured herself another glass. Suddenly all of the background noise stopped. Mahariel and Hawke felt the floor under their feet get very cold.

"What in Andraste's name caused that?"

"Oh, Morrigan probably froze everybody."

"Huh."

"Good thing to," Mahariel said, swirling her tumbler, "I'm almost out of ice."