“Do you expect to hold the Inquisitor’s favor forever, darling, or just before the patience of world for your charming elven eccentricities run dry?” Vivienne inquires; not quite out of the blue – Solas has proven surprisingly adept at understanding the rhythm of her verbal sparring – but it is out of earshot: discretion is crucial in these muted power struggles, when Vivienne and Solas battle over influence over the Inquisition rather than over worldviews, and that, too, Solas understands.

“Do you mean her attention, because she is young and you hold out hope she will be easy to lead – or lead away, as the case would be,” Solas replies, wry fold to his lips, and Vivienne refrains from rolling her eyes too obviously – she rather suspects he is of an age with her, and he would not be the first man to fall for a younger woman, think their pairing different, unique, and not foresee its inevitable crumbling when the two parties realize how ill-matched they are; “and once she’s grown more at ease with her role in your Chantry, once she no longer needs reassurance in the form of a fellow elf, you intend on using her remarkable open-mindedness to carve yourself my place by her ear – or do you mean her heart?”

He pauses, chuckles; “or do you still resent her for being at the right time in the right place to find herself styled as the Herald, and are targeting me because you believe I wouldn’t understand the bitterness of your spurned ambitions?”