[Whiskey is fine-- quite literally anything is fine, and he waves a hand, silently bidding the bartender to make it a double. And then, reconsidering:]

Leave the bottle, I think.

[Because hey! If ever a situation called for alcohol, it sure is this. He doesn't press just yet, sensing Hawke isn't done yet. Instead, Fenris leans against the bar, glancing up at the other man just once before facing front again.]

I have fought not to be dragged back into slavery. Into the tortures that such a state would inflict upon me. But here I am anyway.

[He tosses back the first glass that comes his way, and hopes to god it will work quickly.]