Cyril's hand instinctively went to his broken arm, as if shielding the truth of it. "Woman?" he asked. "No woman carried the anchor. No woman lost their arm when Solas took it from them." It's the first time he's said that name since he came here and there's something in the corner of his heart that aches.

His eyes narrowed a bit, as he look in Dorian's face - one that he knew so well and yet has only been this irritated at him when he had refused to be honest about the man they left behind in the Fade.

"Not to say I think a woman couldn't. It was really bad luck that I was the one who walked in on Corypheus attempting to sacrifice the Divine, but I am Inquisitor Lavellan, or I was, before a man I thought was my friend took my arm and left me in a field surrounded by petrified quanri. Don't you remember? You were there. He barred you from entering the mirror until he was finished with me."