While Dorian does appreciate that Arran is completely sincere in his wish to 'heal the pain of the Lady of the Skies', and the man is much smarter than most give him credit for, brave in battle and decisive as a leader, on a more personal level he is driving Dorian mad.
The fact that their Inquisitor is an Avvar has lead to various difficulties (Dorian does not envy Josephine her job right now), chief among them the fact that he doesn't seem to care if anyone around him understands what he is saying or not. Dorian has read every single book the library has on Avvar culture, which has mostly taught him that scholars don't know a blighted thing about Avvar culture.
And then, there's Avvar flirting. Or what he presumes is flirting. Hopes is flirting. Arran refers to him having the tongue of Imhar once and even after figuring out the reference Dorian's not even sure if that's a compliment. And then, what is would you choose a long song to sing me and all the references to knots? Would you tell me of secret paths and wait for me in unguarded places? is much less subtle.
Unless it's some sort of bizarre metaphor, which with Arran is also possible. However, saying yes, of course made Arran smile at him in a way that is quite pleasing, particularly the memory of it late at night when Dorian is of a mind to think warm thoughts as a ward against these cold southern nights. So he presumes it's simply Avvar flirting is weird and hopes it will all be made clear in time.
The confusion over exactly what Arran's intent is, though, doesn't quite untangle until Arran comes to him holding a letter. While Dorian is still working through various levels of outrage at his father, Arran steps close to him, crowding him against a bookshelf. Dorian can feel his body heat; maybe it's an Avvar thing, but the man is like a furnace.
"This retainer." Arran says, the word sounding awkward in his mouth. "He is authorised to represent your clan?"
Dorian has found from experience that any attempt to explain this sort of thing to Arran in detail results in a headache on his side and Arran just more convinced that everything in Tevinter is foolish. Granted, sometimes he may have a point. "Yes, something like that."
"Excellent." Arran says, beaming broadly. "I will demand permission of him."
Only Arran would demand permission. "For what, precisely?"
"To kidnap you, of course." The giant man tilts his head, wearing an expression that puts Dorian in mind of some sort of large, confused dog. "We have discussed this."
Right. They have discussed the fact that Arran wants to demand permission to kidnap him. Putting aside all the inconsistancies of that statement aside for a moment, "I certainly wasn't aware we had discussed kidnapping. We have been flirting, yes."
"Yes. Flirting. And after that comes the kidnapping, and then the marriage." Arran looks stubborn now, not an uncommon expression on him. "You said you would wait for me in unguarded places, but I still must demand permission of your clan first. I would not dishonor you."
Marriage. Dorian waits for a moment for someone to jump out and go ha-ha, got you, it was all a joke. When it doesn't happen-- when he's still here pressed against a bookshelf by a very handsome but rather infuriating barbarian who thinks-- oh sweet Maker, he had gotten into the habit of just agreeing to some of Arran's more cryptic chat-up lines, hadn't he. He'd not thought for a minute that they were proposals. He imagines Arran face-to-face with one of his father's lackeys, that sour Liberati who does all his dirty work, perhaps, demanding 'permission' to kidnap and marry Dorian. That definitely needs to not happen. "Arran, I cut ties with my family for a reason. I am a member of the Inquisition, am I not? And my own man. You do not need to ask them for permission for anything to do with me."
Arran looks down at him for a moment. "I understand."
"Wonderful." And now all he needs is to have a talk with Arran about the marriage part, preferably in some place not so terribly public. Not that he is, as such, opposed to the concept. He definitely needs some time to think about it, though. And probably a good stiff drink.
What he gets is an Avvar barbarian picking him up and throwing him across a shoulder with a sort of war-whoop, then hurtling down the stairs at speed. "What-- Arran!" There's no response.
"Inquisitor?" he hears, as they head through a door, but Arran whoops again, side-steps as if dodging somebody, and continues on. Dorian catches a brief glimpse of a very confused looking Cassandra before Arran turns another corner. A short tour of Skyhold, as seen at dizzying speed thrown over Arran's shoulder follows, until Arran bursts through one last door and drops Dorian unceremoniously on his bed.
It isn't that hard to piece together. "Was that you kidnapping me?" And then running around half of Skyhold with Dorian flailing like an idiot over his shoulder, everyone will have seen, he is never going to live this down--
Arran answers him with a kiss. Dorian really needs to have a serious conversation Arran about this, starting with explaining why 'kidnapping' him from the library in the middle of the day is not on.
It is a very nice kiss, though.
Perhaps the talk can wait.
Bull: Figure he's going to play the Avvar card again?
Varric: *laughs* Oh yeah.
Dorian: What are you talking about?
Bull: What, you never noticed? He understands everything perfectly, until it becomes inconvenient for him.
Varric: And then? Goat blood! Metaphors about the sky! Portents! Convenient cultural misunderstandings!
Bull: It's a great trick. Wish I'd thought of it.
Dorian: Right. *glares holes in Arran's back*
Arran: Tricking your bride is an entirely legitimate tactic. Do you not like being married?
Dorian: I never said that.
Varric: Sparkler, nobody who was within about a mile of camp last night would say that.