Upright: Authority, father-figure, structure, solid foundation;
Reversed: Domination, excessive control, rigidity, inflexibility.
Viscount Dumar has an argument with his son Saemus.
Sighing, Viscount Dumar slumped heavily into his chair, mopping his brow.
'Saemus,' he said to his son, 'you must understand. You cannot carry on as you do, traipsing about the Wounded Coast, spending time at the Qunari Compound. The former makes you a target for those who would seek to undermine me; the latter gives them a reason to do so.'
'No, Father,' Saemus's voice was firm. 'People need to see. The Qunari are not beasts to be feared, nor are they the enemy. Ashaad taught me –'
'I don't want to know what they taught you,' Dumar snapped, finally losing patience. 'You seem to forget you are not some idle nobleman's boy; you are the Viscount's son. I have enough trouble to contend with in this city without piling suspicions of Qunari influence in my own family on top. You are embarrassing this office.'
Saemus snorted. 'No more than this office already embarrasses itself.'
'Don't you talk back at me, boy,' the viscount thundered, glaring at him; Saemus stared back, resolute. 'I'll see to it that Bran has you confined to the Keep for a week.'
'But Father, the Arishok is not your enemy,' Saemus pressed, determined to make his father see. 'The Qunari –'
'– are not of Kirkwall, and therefore I am under no obligation to entertain them,' his father interrupted. 'I have enough demands and desires I have to try to appease, not least those of the Templar Order and the Chantry. I do not wish to share Perrin Threnhold's fate.'
'You will share his fate anyway if you refuse to acknowledge what is really going on in the city you claim to rule,' Saemus retorted.
'Enough!' Dumar seethed. 'Enough of your insolence! I don't want to hear any more on this subject, and I will not have you bringing up the Qunari again, do you hear me?'
'But Father –'
'And I will not hear of you running around with your – your Qunari friend again, do you hear me?'
'His name is Ashaad, Father.'
'I don't care,' Viscount Dumar spat. 'What is he to me that I should care for what he is called?'
'He is someone who made me see that things cannot stay as they are,' Saemus cried passionately, taking a step towards his father, who remained seated behind the intricately-carved desk. 'He has a certainty and will that I admire; and he is wise, strong, brave and – and beautiful,' Saemus blurted out, blushing, 'and I –'
Now he had his father's attention; the viscount stood up. 'What – what did you say?'
Saemus bowed his head. 'I love him, Father. We're together.'
'You –' Dumar stepped towards him, raising his hand as if to strike him; Saemus did not flinch, readying himself for the blow. To his surprise, the viscount lowered his hand, seeming to think better of it. His eyes, however, still blazed.
'Get out.'
'But Father –'
'Get out!' Dumar roared. 'Now!'
Saemus did as he was told; but as he was about to leave, he turned in the open doorway, and met his father eye to eye.
'If I want to go with Ashaad to the Qunari,' he said coldly, 'then neither you, nor anyone in your office, will stop me.'
He turned on his heel, and marched out.
