"Only if they wanted to be. But you wouldn't find a magister's son in the rank and file of course, oh no. And not a Pavus, either. My father's house is known for politics, not the military."

All of that seemed so far away from there, in Darrow, tucked against Bull on the sofa. Relievedly. Disturbingly.

Dorian gave a very long sigh, toes curling up in pleasure at Bull's ministrations, even as his face grew folded and uncertain.

"Qunari brainwashing, savage, roving packs of the Fog Warriors, generally a latrine filled with powderkegs. I've no doubt things were volatile ... but there must have been at least something worth staying for. Especially on the behalf of the Qunari."

Dorian might have been loath to admit it, a few years ago, but the Qun was nothing if not pragmatic.