"'Take a load off,' he says. As if this were as simple as a taking a break after one of our sparring sessions."

Dorian lets out an affronted breath at that poor excuse for a wink. While he has the urge to scrub at his eyes to rub away the exhaustion, he instead pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut against the dull throbbing of his head. The bruise at his temple is going to be unsightly – an ugly lump, then an uglier bruise, once it settles. Once they return to to Skyhold, he'll need several layers of makeup to hide it.

A quick, rallying breath, and Dorian looks the Bull over again. Dorian's more logical side reminds him that they're better off moving, that while they're safe for now, that may not remain true for very long. His more empathetic side reminds him that the Bull was heavily injured and nearly torn apart by darkspawn before Dorian arrived. There's little wonder why he might feel the need to take a moment to himself.

Reluctantly, Dorian approaches the desk before turning, taking a seat beside the Iron Bull. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest.

"Just for a few moments," he says. "After that, we ought to get moving, sooner rather than later."