Dorian doesn't fuss with standing fixed in place for long. He starts back down where he came at an authoritative clip, past Alistair and his entanglement of elf (maybe that's the term of venery he's been after), past or perhaps just around and aside of Adelaide. A wolfish glance follows, one that includes Sabriel and Kaidan both in acknowledgement, sharper on Sabriel as if taking note, before his focus settles properly on Felix.

He smiles, showing only a glimmer of white, symmetrical teeth. There is a stillness behind his eyes, guarding against optimism. "They flavour their food with pig fat and horseradish," he says, a jarring reversal of the sharper edge he'd taken with Scipio, or even the quiet reflection he'd muttered to Adelaide. "What's not to complain about?"

But all the exuberance can't quite disguise the hunting look Felix gets, trying to tell not only visually but with that innate sense of magic what's gone on here, but it's impossible.

Ellana is celebrating already, and the Wardens seem satisfied. Finished. Dorian glances to Alistair, not exactly brimming with gratitude -- more suspicious than anything else, even as he settles down near the bedside and cups his hand over Felix's wrist. Next, it's Adelaide that gets his attention, disinclined to ask Felix the ever repetitive 'how are you feeling?' in favour of listening to the healer's assessment.