Chapter Text
Kara finds him pacing on the ramparts, sleeves unbuckled from shirt, with the letter in his hand. It’s a beautiful day, though still cold, but Dorian has grown disgustingly pale all winter and he will not be denied his natural glow a moment longer than he must. His reward for his suffering will take the form of a warm bath and hot wine. Perhaps more than one; it’s been that kind of day. And still the sun has the gall to shine down upon him.
“Dorian,” Kara says in greeting, but frowning. Sometimes she comes suspiciously close to reading his mind, and in anyone else he might suspect blood magic. But no, Kara simply knows him too damnably well. “Is that a letter?”
“It was, until I destroyed it,” Dorian replies.
“You crumpled it up.” Kara, delight that she is notwithstanding, finds far too much pleasure in prodding him with technicalities. “It’s still completely readable.” Her frown deepens into concern. Bad sign. “Is this another letter from your father?”
Dorian sighs. Of all the beautiful days to ruin, it had to be today, mild enough by the southern standards that he has somehow become accustomed to, clear enough to see for miles. The snow has begun to melt. The dull brown birds aresinging. “He has given up on his letter campaign. He now wishes to do so directly, under pretense of giving the Inquisition his official support. Extremely resourceful, of course. How could we decline?”
“Dorian…”
The worst part of the matter is that Kara would refuse his father if Dorian requested it. After all, she had thrown away an alliance with Par Vollen for the sake of the Bull and his chargers, and one magister’s official support could not hold a candle to that scale of sacrifice. “It’s all right,” he says, and he means it. “I can stomach my father’s presence for a week if it means another voice swaying Tevinter toward a formal statement on the matter.”