It became like their secret after that; Dorian didn't tell anyone about the Inquisitor's hobby, and as such whenever they were back in Skyhold he would often make time to pull himself away from the library to go watch. Arcturus, for his part, more than enjoyed the attention and would often work up a narrative of his actions as though teaching an apprentice.

He would have made a good teacher, Dorian thought, watching the elf tease out the neck of a long bottle.

"The key is," He explained, "to have the right spin on it. Spin too slowly, and your glass becomes unbalanced, and lopsided. Spin too fast, and the same exact thing happens, albeit a little more dangerously."

"So it's a balancing act." Dorian offered wryly, elbows propped on his knees, and chin resting in his hands.

His lips tugged up in that private, teasing smile, pulling at a recent cut, Venatori that had gotten in past lightning and barriers. "As are most things in life, no?"

Arcturus gave a quiet sigh, free hand reaching up to push snowy white hair out of his face. "Living with the clan, most of the things I've made were practical. Beautiful, yes—because why create something if you're not going to make it beautiful—but form followed function." A thoughtful hum followed. "Now though, the Inquisition can afford to have glass imported in. Creators they don't even know that I can do this."

He let out a frustrated noise, looking down at the bottle even as he kept it from becoming warped. "There are so many things I want to try, without fear of making a mistake, and wasting resources."

"So try them." Dorian answered.

"What, like it's that simple?" Even as he said it, in that hopeless, self-deprecating way that meant he was trying to talk himself out of it, Dorian could see the hopeful, analytic look spark in his eyes.

Eyes that the human had admittedly spent a lot of time thinking about lately.

Dorian stood, repositioning himself as Arcturus moved closer to the gloryhole. "It is that simple. Raw materials can be shipped in, and deals made in Serault for tools or anything else you need."

"If you go looking for reasons it can't be done, you'll never accomplish anything, and your skills will stagnate." And he absolutely would not let that happen; not only did Arcturus create absolutely breathtaking works of art, but more than that it was one of the few methods of stress relief the Inquisitor had. "You're far too skilled for that to happen, it would be a crime."

That earned him a surprised look, eyebrows pulling up and Dorian could almost feel the flush that came to his cheeks. He hadn't meant for that to come out so impassioned, could hear the voice in his head telling him to pull back and cover the emotion with some snide comment. Just as soon as the thought came, it was dashed by the shy, pleasantly surprised look on Arcturus' face.

Maker, he was oh so handsome.

"I… you're right of course." His gaze slid down to the side, though the smile remained, soft and sweet and doing terrible things to Dorian's stomach. "Thank you."

"Well," It was a flighty core to the flippant remark. "Of course I'm right. Now, don't forget when you finish that up, you do still have several meetings."

"The Inquisitor's work is never done." Arcturus sighed.

A month long push into the Emprise du Lion followed almost immediately afterwards, cold and haunting, and full of enough red lyrium to leave all of them somber. They were due for a little time in Skyhold to recuperate, waiting as the Inquisition's troops were organized to make the march on Adamant fortress.

That was when the gifts started appearing.

A new pen appeared on Varric's writing desk, twisted glass marbled in warm gold and red pigments. It drove the dwarf mad when he tried to figure out where it had come from, with no results, but Dorian noticed that it had quickly become his favorite.

An elaborate paperweight for Josephine, what looked like a small sunflower trapped inside a bubble of completely clear glass. She made a habit of showing it off to anyone who came to visit, lamenting that she could thank the giver properly.

Sera returned to her room to find a glass jar, with a number of glass bees trapped inside, designed to look like they were all in flight. A lidded jar of homemade horn balm for the Iron Bull, and a set of wind chimes for Blackwall to hang up in his own area.

Vivienne was delighted to find a bottle of her favorite perfume waiting in her quarters, and though Cassandra would act gruff about it, the highly detailed bookends—not dragons, bears of all things an inside joke—were proudly displayed on her own writing desk.

If Solas noticed the addition of the terrarium on his desk, he didn't mention it, though occasionally the glass would catch his eye and a fond smile would curl his lips.

Figurines for Cullen and Lelianna, Cole of course knew that the glass rabbit was from Arcturus, though he didn't mention it save for a soft, awed, 'thank you', and even Yllwyn was surprised to find a long hair pin among her things when she'd returned to Skyhold, the Warden Hawke in tow.

Dorian laughed as he watched all of them trying to figure it out, arguing amongst themselves as to who it could possibly be. There came a moment when attention turned to him—he had offered input on what Arcturus should make—but he brushed them off with a laugh. After all he argued, should he give a gift, he would certainly want recognition for it.

It came as a surprise, though he supposed it really shouldn't have, when he returned to his quarters to find not only an elaborate goblet, but a vase filled with glass flowers waiting for him. Dorian focused on the goblet, etched in gold leaf with a serpent for a stem. It was easier to marvel at the detailing, at the attention, than to contemplate the meaning behind the flowers.

It wasn't that he was unused to receiving gifts, he had been showered with them back home, but this was different. This was undeniably different, because it was more than just a play for his favor; it was handmade, something that Arcturus had put not only effort into, but deep thought as well. Something that he wanted to surprise Dorian with, because the human hadn't seen any of this being made, or even waiting in the kiln.

A gift of appreciation, he told himself, nothing more. He certainly refused to read into it; Arcturus liked giving gifts, that much had been made abundantly clear already. A show of gratitude, for Dorian's company in the Undercroft, and his encouragement in pursuing more experimental techniques. Anything else would be…

No. It was just a gift among friends, he told himself.

The flowers themselves—because he couldn't just pretend they weren't there—were gorgeous, and Dorian could see that care was taken to make them seem as realistic as possible. His fingers trembled ever so slightly as he sorted through them, stems of bright yellow acacia, peppered with white and pink bunches of jasmine, colorful spreads of dawn lotus, and daffodils, with a single rose, the petals painted in a blush of peach, darkening to red at the tips.

Dorian pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to smother smile that threatened to form.

There was a promise in those flowers, in the meaning behind them, and there was no reason to believe that they weren't selected for their symbolic significance. A promise that he'd seen before, in almost smiles and shared stories. In time spent together, lessons given and lighthearted, teasing banter—or, not simple banter apparently, but actual flirting.

Genuine flirting.

Dorian wasn't entirely sure what to do with that information, this indirect expression of intention that could be taken however he wanted to.

In spite of his best efforts that smile broke out around the press of his fingers, and he made a show of putting the vase of flowers by the window to catch the light and send it skittering across his chair.