“Nice to meet you.” Strange rolls with it. Hesitates for only a second at that limp outstretched hand — is he supposed to kiss the other man’s knuckles, or what? — but in the end he simply reaches out and shakes that proferred palm, his own grip solid and perfunctory.

“Tevinter,” he echoes. “Apart from the fact that we’re at war with it, I keep finding myself wishing I could visit. That place sounds like a marvel.” A marvel amongst horrors, but still, you can’t dangle the prospect of a city humming with magic in its lifeblood and not have the former Sorcerer Supreme want to see it.

There’s a beat, then, indelicately: “Does that mean you’re a mage as well?”