Dorian chuckled a little, a smooth sound, tucking Lavellan against his side - he really was so warm, and for someone who couldn't stand the cold and would grumble and groan about summoning ice, this mage rather relished in the heat seeping in. "Well, you got me to listen - I'm sure in your timeline, the me there bats his lashes at you a little too. But after the likes of me, a god should be simple, no?"
It was a lighthearted remark but also accurate. They had all come to the Inquisition, to the War Table, set in their ways and the ways they had thought to be the only - but it did not remain as such, not with the influences of those they came to care about.
He settled back in the mess of blankets, so he was actually lying down (he lacked the armor, hadn't worn it out - and it was more than a scarf, unlike what some implied), reaching up toward his brooding elf. "Mahanon," Dorian tried it out - flowed nicely, off the tongue. "Ar lath ma, vhenan...how'd I do?"