( gwenaëlle rises when he arrives— her office has the freshness of a new appointment, and the woman in it, not an immediately obvious fit for her title. petite, long-haired, a sleekness to the cut of a summer-weight burgundy dress that still seems unlikely to be what she wears to guard duty. she regards him with one amber eye and one, though without scarring, blank gold, false and blind, and thinks,

they had seen each other after they separated. unavoidably. this isn't the first time she's seen him since they'd fought, and it isn't— it's something, to see him in person, without the weight of the history she's about to saddle him with. a pang of nostalgia, maybe. it feels, for a moment, like they're friends again.

conscious that she's about to puncture that, probably, she steps out from behind her desk and offers him to one of the seats between hers and the vice admiral's (the office clearly meant to be shared; equally obvious, it is not). )

You aren't in trouble, ( she says, mustering a smile that makes it look more, not less, like she's trying to be very brave about something. ) I would be, if I — neglected this. For too long.

( ordering her thoughts, then, her hands in her lap. )

The history that you have in Thedas is ... very known. You were something of a public figure, for Riftwatch. So there are people in Kirkwall, within our walls and without, who— I don't want you to feel, later, that you were left ignorant to be made a fool of. By people who expect you to know things you don't.

( maker, just fucking do it, you idiot— )

I think you deserve a clean beginning. But you should know that we were married.