The sound of frustration in a templar's voice is sweet, sweet music to Anders' ears. This little bedroom rendezvous obviously isn't as good for Cullen as it is for him; if only one of them leaves the room satisfied this day, he's perfectly fine with that.

"With a simple answer," he retaliates with trademark irreverence. "It's the same year I left. Ferelden is still recovering, the Wardens are still chasing the last of the darkspawn, and the last I heard, you were still being shipped off to parts unknown on account of..."

A twiddle of a finger around his right ear. You know, nuttiness.

Friends of his who'd survived, and even some templars, had implied Cullen had walked away from Uldred's power play about as stable as a door off its hinges. Kind of surprising, really, that Cullen hasn't pounced on him screaming about accursed abominations yet, all things considered. He looks different, but that doesn't mean anything... or so he'd like to hope. What's worse, a freshly tortured and crazed templar, or a templar from his future who's had time to marinate in craziness?

Ignoring the crack, Anders takes in the plain little room with a long sweep of his eyes. It doesn't seem lived in, which leaves him unsure what to make of finding Cullen here in the first place. "Can you blame me for thinking this room looked unoccupied from the outside? Are you staying here?"