The glass he'd set down was filled with a more than generous shot of whiskey and pushed across towards his brother. He could see that Arthur was well on the way to inebriation already, but so was he, and judgement suffered under such conditions. Not that he'd care even if he was sober. It was cruel to separate a man from his drink, even if said man wasn't as able to handle it as he used to be.

Not that Arthur had ever had much of a tolerance for alcohol to begin with.

"Aye," he responded, a small amount of tension dropping from his shoulders. He had to pull his mind away from wandering. It had been doing that a lot lately, and he was convinced it was linked to the headache he'd had several days earlier.

"Ah'm nae sae keen oan it either." Understatement of the century, but wasn't that the way for the British? "Drink up, lad."