It was curiosity, Dorian told himself, that had him navigating the twisting halls of Skyhold to enter the Undercroft.

Curiosity, and an innocent desire to get to know their fearless leader better.

The Inquisitor was an enigma, the famed Herald of Andraste who was glaringly, unapologetically Dalish and yet more than willing to fix every human problem he came across. A man capable of charming even the most hopeless miser out of his last coin, of playing a crowd like a fiddle, yet most comfortable barefoot and knee deep in a river chasing bugs out from under rocks.

The duality of man, he supposed.

Dorian supposed it was perhaps not the best idea to disturb Arcturus while he was in the Undercroft. A certain sense of privacy was expected when the elf disappeared through the door, though he had never explicitly told his inner circle not to disturb him. Dorian suspected it was more an unspoken rule, designed to give him some semblance of privacy from whatever messenger or noble wanted him to solve their problems. Nobody really knew what he was doing down there besides Harritt or Dagna, but the two were closed lipped about it.

Rumors spread through Skyhold like wildfire—as they were known to do—and there was a betting pool running on what exactly it was. Options ranged from the mundane; mixing potions, or overseeing enchantments of weapons, to the outlandish—Dorian was absolutely certain that Arcturus was not creating a golem down there.

Hearing all of the rumors had not prepared Dorian for the truth, however.

"Glassblowing?" He hadn't meant to just blurt the word out—really he was much more poised than this—but it had come as a shock.

Arcturus didn't respond, crouched in front of a long metal table as he pressed his lips to the end of the blowpipe. Dorian watched the elf work, his hands working to keep the blowpipe in a constant state of motion as the glob of glass was formed and started expanding.

"Hullo Dorian." He moved quickly back to the furnace, collecting more clear glass and repeating the process.

He was certain that his mouth was hanging open, though thankfully Arcturus couldn't see, his attention completely invested in his work. Dorian gave himself a shake, approaching the workbench. At least he intended to, making a few steps towards the Inquisitor only to be stopped by a noise from Dagna.

Turning to face the Arcanist, he found that she was holding out a pair of goggles. "Safety first." She warned, "Don't want something to shatter and lose an eye because of it."

He wanted to protest—because really? Goggles? He would look ridiculous—but he recognized the stubborn look on the dwarf's face.

With a sigh Dorian put the goggles on, making a face as he adjusted the strap.

"You know," He offered conversationally as he approached Arcturus, "You're going to disappoint everyone who thought you were coming down here to secretly smoke elfroot."

"Please." He scoffed, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a smirk. "That's never been much of a secret."

Which, he supposed, was very true. Dorian watched in interest as the glass was shaped, and really there was something utterly fascinating about the quick, confident way Arcturus worked. Not to say that the elf was in any way timid or bashful at any other time, but here in the Undercroft his wide eyed wonder and natural curiosity was tempered with a more serene aura. The kind that could be found in the reassurance of repetitive tasks.

There was something soothing, mesmerizing, about the easy system that he had; form, heat, repeat. It was all rather cyclic in his opinion, the blowpipe kept near constantly spinning to prevent the glass from becoming unbalanced. All very routine to Arcturus, and if Dorian was honest with himself he had to admit that the way he bit his lip, fully focused on his work, was quite fetching.

Arcturus reached for a strange looking tool, a metal cone attached to a thin, curved pipe, and pressed it to the mouthpiece of the blowpipe. An extender that would allow him to expand the bubble, doubling it in size between sessions of reheating the glass.

"Is there something you needed?" He asked suddenly, and Dorian realized with a start that he'd been staring. "Somebody looking for me I assume?"

"Nothing quite so demanding I assure you." He was grateful for the heat of the furnaces, in that he could use it as an excuse for why his face was so red. "I just decided to brave the Undercroft to discover the truth behind your slipping away."

"Brave the—nobody is forbidden from coming down here." Arcturus huffed a laugh. "What did you all think would happen if you did? I'd breathe fire on you, or toss you over the cliff?"

"It was a concern." He admitted, an answering grin on his face. "Kaffas, how can you stand the heat so close?"

"Warmth balm. Also, you get used to it after a few years."

"You've been doing this for years? My dear Inquisitor, you are a man full of surprises."

"Ha, well, what can I say I aim to astound. Dagna, would you…?" He gestured absently to the other, solid rods that were heating.

"Right, of course!" She flipped her own eye protection down, a more elaborate set of multi-lensed goggles that were no doubt used mainly in her own work as she took one of the smaller rods and gathered a bit of glass on it.

Arcturus followed her back to the bench, brow furrowed and lower lip caught between his teeth in concentration. He was silent as they worked, and Dorian could see the tension of anticipation, the squint of his eyes and twitch of his ears that indicated he was prepared for everything to suddenly go south. It was over and done with in less than a minute, glassblowing being a craft that couldn't afford for hesitation, and as soon as the item was transferred to the other rod Arcturus moved to stick it back in the heating furnace.

The goggles were, perhaps, a necessary tool Dorian realized, attention shifting to the crackle and pop of glass that broke off the now cooled blowpipe.

"I met a master at the first Arlathavan I was allowed to attend." It took him a moment—watching Arcturus widen the mouth of what Dorian assumed would be a glass or vase—to realize that the Inquisitor was speaking to him. "When I was maybe thirteen, I spent a few years apprenticed to her."

"So," Dorian dragged a stool over, sitting beside him and watching him work. "Your Keeper just let you go join another clan? Is that common practice with the First? Though I suppose she did send you to the Conclave."

"I'm not—" Arcturus coughed slightly on his laugh. "I'm not the First of Clan Lavellan, I'm the Second. And my m—Keeper Istimaethoriel didn't send me, I volunteered."

He let out a small sigh, reaching up to rub at his eyes beneath his own eye protection. "My clan has always been respectful to the humans we share a border with. And have always had open trade with them so glass working was an expensive skill the clan could utilize, enough to pay for the equipment necessary. And I had to split my time studying with the craftswoman, as well as with the Keeper of the other clan."

Dorian let out a surprised noise when Dagna approached again, with a dollop of molten glass on a rod. Without missing a beat, Arcturus grabbed the dripping end with his tweezers, anchoring it to the piece he was working on to create a swirl of color.

"The Keeper wanted to send a spy to the Conclave, and had asked for volunteers among the hunters. It came as a bit of a surprise, and a bit of an argument, when I told her I wanted to go." A cloud of steam, and a few sparks as he used a wad of water soaked parchment to smooth the sides again. "This business between the mages and Templars, what the Conclave represented, was beyond mere human mages. It was precedent setting, and more than that, it was a chance for me to go out and see the world."

"Of course, you see how that ended up." It was impossible to miss the slight note of bitterness in his voice, the subdued little shrug, and Dorian wondered if he ever regretted volunteering.

It was gone an instant later, and Arcturus perked up again. "My older sister is the First of Clan Lavellan." He let out a soft, private laugh. "There was talk about sending her, but I think it's for the best that they didn't."

"Not the friendly sort, your sister?" Dorian offered curiously.

Arcturus didn't talk much about his private life. He would answer any questions, would be happy to discuss life in the clan, but they were always general, broad answers. Never anything truly specific. Sitting here with him, watching him work and hearing him speak so openly of his past, it felt like a look into a very private window of his life. Dorian couldn't help but feel a little awed by the trust being placed in him, in that moment.

"Ah… Ishka is very. Hm. I think she would get along well with Cassandra." He offered. "She's very no-nonsense, and stern. I feel sorry for anyone who gets in her way and… should she have been in my position? Well, she would have reacted to being called the Herald of Andraste much more violently than I."

"She sounds delightful." The human laughed. "That looks amazing, by the way."

What had started as merely a bubble of clear glass had quickly, and effortlessly, been transformed into a wide bowl, with a swirl of glittering green color in it. Dorian followed the Inquisitor to a large kiln, peering in curiously to see it filled with other, matching pieces, a few glasses and even a set of plates. With a bit of water and a firm tap to the rod he broke the bowl off, letting it rest in the kiln to be safely brought down to room temperature.

Arcturus grinned, flashing pointed canines as his ears drooped slightly at the praise. "Ma serannas, Dorian. I still have a few more pieces I would like to try before I finish for the day, would you…" A flare of color, chocolate ringed emerald eyes dropping to the side, an unexpected—appreciated—show of bashfulness. "Would you like to stay and watch?"

Dorian brightened at the invitation, returning to his seat. "I would love to see the master at work. Would you tell me more of your Clan?"

"Will you tell me of Tevinter?"

He ignored the warmth that coiled in his chest at that, chalked it up to the heat from the furnace, and gave the Inquisitor his best, most dazzling smile. "A story for a story? Why if Varric were here he would eat this up."

He had been worried, their initial conversations, when they'd first returned to Haven, had been tense and stressful. But now it seemed, not only had Arcturus warmed up to him, but the mage even seemed to enjoy his presence after all.