A little. Tevinter. He called it a land of history and culture, but also one if dark magic and decadence. He lived in self- imposed exile, however, so I pressed him not. In his mirror he had returned there. For the time being, as I understood it, he belonged to that Inquisition -- as seem to all of these others from his Thedas.

[Henry looks down at his hand gripping his glass in brooding silence for a short moment, then abruptly says:]

In truth, we were newly friends. I knew Dorian not all that well. But. [He pauses, then in a low voice confesses:] I liked him. I liked him in a way that I do not usually like people. Easily, I suppose. I... wanted to know him better.