After leaving her room, Dorian wandered off across their landing, leaning against the banister overlooking the floor below, but his gaze wasn't focused on the great hall beneath him, but rather over the time he'd spent in the ecclectic company of the Inquisition. The years he'd spent fighting at the side of this woman he realized he knew so little about.

Because he'd never stopped to ask. He'd been so wrapped up in vanquishing the Venetori, in stopping Corypheus from destroying the world, and in Tevinter's name no less, in his...petty little complaints, and...this. She'd never complained, not once.

He looked over when the door to her room opened and forced a tentative smile.

"Ready for your stylist, my dear?"