Approval
They didn't always agree. In fact, more often than not they disagreed—about how to deal with the mages and Templars, about how to handle political negotiations, about when and how to deploy the Inquisition's troops. In early days Aylwen responded to such disagreements by withdrawing. She'd laugh nervously, hunch in on herself, mutter something like, "Well, maybe you're right…" It wasn't that he wasn't willing to debate, it was more that she was afraid of appearing foolish in front of him. Afraid of him realizing that she was, after all, just a naive Dalish girl from the middle of nowhere.
The matter of the mages was the first time she put her foot down. Unlike him, she didn't raise her voice. She looked him squarely in the eye, held back the tears that had begun to build when he yelled and calmly explained her decision and why she stood by it. She saw his expression shift, flashes of understanding and shame and, she thought, respect. After that he never lashed out at her again.
Not that things didn't still sometimes get heated. A few months into their time at Skyhold they were having full blown debates at the war table with Josephine and Leliana as their fascinated audience. Voices raised, hands slammed into the table, and faces so close she could almost feel the heat coming off him. Such moments were thrilling, frustrating, but also satisfying—especially when she caught a flash of approval in his eyes, the slight curl of his lip into a smile, or, best of all, when he stepped back, crossed his arms, and said: "Well. Maybe you're right."