Work Text:
"'Carnal'?" Inquisitor Avrinne Lavellan murmured, turning the bottle over in her hands to read the label better. "Who on Thedas calls a bottle of alcohol "Carnal"?"
Varric glanced over, an eyebrow tilting upward. "Orlesians, of course. Lemme see that." He inspected the label with a critical eye. "Huh. Good year. Don't drink it."
"I wasn't going to--" the Inquisitor paused. "Wait. Why shouldn't I drink it?"
"They only serve that stuff at the special masquerades," Varric told her, fighting back a grin. "The ones where masks are still mandatory, but the clothes are optional."
"...Oh." A pinkish blush was rising on her pale cheeks, filling in her Dalish tattoos with color. "You mean, it's very strong?"
"Strong is one word for it. There's more than alcohol in the mix. Fruits, herbs... Supposed to be an aphrodesiac." Varric shrugged. "'Enhances sensation', or so people claim."
She blushed harder. "Sensation? Oh, you mean... Oh."
"Yeah. I wouldn't exactly recommend handing it around the campfire. I mean, unless you're into that sort of thing."
"Varric!"
"I'm kidding." Varric leaned back in his chair and made a point of looking around the small, dusty room. "So, what's the collection for? Since as far as I can tell you never drink any of the bottles you steal."
"I don't steal all of them," the Inquisitor protested mildly. She put the bottle of Carnal back on the shelf and then shrugged. "I just like the shape of the glass. Sometimes the labels are interesting." Her blush had made it all the way up to her pointed ears now, as if they were still talking about kinky Orlesian sex parties and not just a quirky bottle collection. Varric found it strangely endearing.
Silly me. It's almost like she's a real person, and not just the semi-divine figurehead of a massive armed religious movement. He shook his head at his own thoughts.
Lavellan was looking at him suspiciously now, pale green eyes narrowed. "It's never a good sign when I catch you disagreeing with your own internal monologue, Varric."
He gave her a guilty grin. "Just thinking that it's cute that you have a hobby. You know, when you're not cutting demons and red Templars and Venatori into large, bloody chunks."
"Everyone needs something," she said, voice deliberately bland.
"Good point. So, who're you planning to share that Carnal with?"
"Varric!" She gave his shoulder a mock-offended shove, face red. "Go finish your terrible romance novel if you can't keep your mind out of the gutter."
He laughed at her blushing discomfort. "Whatever you say, your Inquisitorialness."
***
It was his own damn fault. Days later, he was still thinking about it, wondering.
Chuckles? He'd seen the way Solas looked at the Inquisitor, all intense eyes and measuring stares, and thought there was maybe probably something there, but he just couldn't picture the man getting drunk on peachy Orlesian liqueur and then ravishing anybody.
Curly? Okay, that he could almost picture. Maybe it'd loosen the man up enough to get him to make a move finally. Varric was on the losing end of a bet with several of the scouts; he'd been sure the Commander would break by now and at least confess something to Inquisitor Lavellan. Anything to end the months of awkward stammering and ridiculous puppy-dog eyes. Maybe I should get 'em both drunk and 'accidentally' lock them in a room together. Varric sighed. As if that would even work.
Okay, so who else. Iron Bull?
Andraste's ass, I don't even know how that would work. I don't even know if I want to know. He tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. Okay, so maybe I do, but only out of professional curiousity. He shook his head, sighing over his woefully blank page. How can I write scandalously salacious tales of the Inquisitor's steamy sex life if she doesn't even have one?
Not that he was seriously considering it-- Inquisitor Lavellan didn't exactly need that particular kind of gossip going around. Even if anyone believed it (and who would? She just looked too damn innocent, all big eyes and serene expressions and buttoned-to-the-chin clothes), it just didn't seem right.
But that couldn't stop Varric from wondering, dammit.
Maybe it was because she was so buttoned-up, so modest and careful and polite, like some Chantry sister with really big knives. It was hard to imagine her getting down-and-dirty with anyone. Sure, she'd gut a man like a fish and never complain about all the blood in her hair, but taking someone to her bed? Too earthy. Too intimate. Too carnal.
Varric scowled down at his paper. Why the hell am I even thinking about this? Do I really want to imagine someone fucking the Herald of Andraste?
He got a sudden vision then, a mental image of the Inquisitor, naked, sprawled in front of a roaring fireplace that swept warm light and dark shadow over her willowy, delicate form, back arching helplessly as some phantom lover trailed pleasure across her milk-pale skin...
Maker's balls. Varric reached for his wine cup, blinking away the thought. I really can't get my mind out of the gutter. This horrible romance serial is going to kill me. He swallowed his own laugh. That is, if the Seeker doesn't get too impatient for the next chapter and kill me first. He raised his pen again. C'mon, write something. Write anything. It doesn't even have to be good. I can always edit it later.
But the page stayed resolutely blank. Varric scowled down at his pen, as if it were at fault. "It figures. I finally get a break from killing demons long enough to write something, and I can't squeeze a damn word out."
It was probably a bad sign that he was now talking to himself aloud. A walk, he told himself. Take a walk. Stop at the tavern, maybe. Anything's better than sitting around getting nothing done.
It was an icy, blustery night; the watchfires in the courtyard of Skyhold flickered and flamed in the snow-scented wind. It was a night for inspiration, Varric thought; a brisk, black night full of stars and a few thin, scudding clouds. The moon hung low and ponderous, a little more than half-full, like an expectant mother. The trees creaked and groaned, shutters flapped fitfully, and guards huddled close to share stories and warmth and a few sips of whatever spirit they could keep in a flask.
The battlements were mostly empty; it was really too late for casual walks. Varric glanced upward at Skyhold's main tower. As expected, the light in the Inquisitor's quarters still burned.
Probably reading up on Orlesian court manners, Varric thought, or battle plans on the Exalted Plains, or reports on Rift activity in the Dales. He spared a few moments of pity, looking up at her balcony where the firelight flickered and danced. I wonder if she ever really gets any sleep.
And there he was, thinking of her like a person again. Damn it all, how was he supposed to maintain his distance if he couldn't seat her on a throne in his mind? She was supposed to be invincible. Invincible people didn't need sleep, and they certainly didn't need a silly bottle collection kept in meticulous order in a dusty little room in an ancient keep.
Varric sighed. "Okay. I give up. You win, your Inquisitorialness."
"What do I win?" Her smooth voice cut through the dark, and Varric jerked, startled.
"Son of a bitch. How long have you been standing there?"
The Inquisitor (he couldn't call her 'Avrinne', he just couldn't) looked puzzled. "Er, the whole time? I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I was just taking a walk. I thought you'd already seen me."
"You're quiet as a cat," Varric grumbled, but her grin made him lose his edge. It was impossible to stay unreasonably mad at her, he concluded. She was just too damn cute.
"I was a hunter," she said, leaning against the battlement wall. "I had to stalk all kinds of prey in the forests and on the plains as my clan traveled. I can be quiet pretty much anywhere."
"Yeah?" Varric mirrored her posture, leaning against the cold stone. "You also learn to pick locks in the forest?"
She smiled, but it was rueful now. "The Lavellan clan traded with humans, but sometimes humans weren't willing to trade. When talking failed, I was the one who went into the villages to pilfer flour and sugar and salt."
"You stole salt?" Varric clucked his tongue. "You impudent rogue, you. What would the Orlesians think?"
"The Orlesians have drunken debauched parties without their clothes on," the Inquisitor sniffed. "I can't seem to care what they'd think."
Varric had to laugh at that. "Fair enough. So, find any more naughty bottles lately?"
"Not a one." She sighed, turning her pale face up towards the sky. In the moonlight, her white-blond hair was silver and her eyes looked like glass. She seemed fairylike, unreal. Then she made an undignified raspberry sound and the illusion crashed to the ground. "I found a shop selling bottles, though. I was tempted to buy some."
"They're called 'taverns', Inquisitor. They sell all sorts of bottles. Usually they come with alcohol included."
She made a face at him. "This was a shop for decor, not drinking. The bottles were ornamental. There was a bright green one with a purplish glaze that I quite fancied..."
Varric started to laugh and then couldn't stop. "I can't," he said. "You're killing me. Bottles. At least I know what to get for your birthday."
She gave him a halfhearted kick to the shins. "Ass."
"Now you're starting to sound like Sera."
"If I sounded like Sera, I'd be suggesting we set something on fire or cover it in bees."
"Or that we cover something on fire in bees. On fire." Varric tipped his head back and sighed. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, finally.
"I... Well, I was reading reports from Leliana. It's looking like things are going very wrong in Emprise du Lion." She snorted. "And to think, a year ago I couldn't even have told you where Emprise du Lion was. All I knew were the wild places of the Free Marches."
"Another place full of ice and snow. Wonderful. I don't think I've been able to feel my toes since I joined up with you people."
"Tell me about it. I'm used to going barefoot. Now I go numb without two layers of wool socks on, even in bed. I don't know how Solas manages it without frostbite."
"Ah, to be a mage," Varric mused.
A long moment of silence passed between them, easy and unstrained. I like her, Varric thought. I like her enough that I want Hawke to like her. It said a lot that he wanted his dearest friend to approve of who he spent his time with. It said more that he thought he'd still be here even if Hawke didn't approve anyway. She needed him, this tiny Elven Inquisitor. She needed someone to have her back, someone sneaky and ready to put an arrow between the eyes of anyone who threatened her mission or her life. She needed them all, and Varric had to admit that on some level, it felt good to be needed.
"So," he broke the quiet finally, "tavern? I could use something to warm up. I hear they've got a new drink with cider in it that's hot..."
The Inquisitor perked up at that. "Is it sweet? I like sweet things."
"Sweet enough to rot your teeth right out of your head. Sera was saying it tastes like caramel apples and drunk."
She grinned at him again, and it made her look imperfectly pretty and terribly real. "Just what I've been craving. I'll buy you one if you buy me one."
They took the stairs down to the lower courtyard, chatting, laughing, letting the wind snatch away every other word as they scurried for the shelter of the tavern. The lights glowed merrily from within; bits of song and laughter escaped from the cracks around the door and windows.
It wasn't exactly a bustling night at the Herald's Rest, but it was busy enough to be companionable as they slid up to the bar to order their ciders. They came in mugs with little cinnamon sticks, which the Inquisitor cooed over delightedly. Varric rolled his eyes good-naturedly and followed her to a corner near the fire.
Iron Bull slumped nearby, a battered tin mug in hand as he watched people go by with his one sharp eye. He nodded when the Inquisitor sat down; when he lifted an eyebrow at them Varric waved him over.
"Slumming tonight?" Bull said, grinning as he pulled up a chair.
"I'm not sure if you're asking Varric or me," the Inquisitor demured, smiling.
"Oh, definitely you, Boss."
"I think I'm insulted," Varric teased. "Everyone knows I'm the best company in this damn keep."
"You do tell the best stories," Lavellan admitted. "However, I'm fairly certain you cheat at Wicked Grace."
"Cheat? Me?" Varric put a melodramatic hand over his heart. "I don't have to take this abuse. I can drink my alcoholic apple juice alone, thank you very much."
"Is that what that is?" Bull eyed their cinnamon-adorned mugs. "I should've guessed you'd love the sweet stuff, Boss, but I thought Varric was more of a hair-on-your-chest kind of guy."
"Yeah, well, I've got plenty of hair on my chest already. Maybe I thought it was time for a change."
The Inquisitor laughed, and it was a good sound, a happy sound. She needed friends tonight, Varric realized.
The look on Iron Bull's face said that he'd realized it too. Sharp bastard. He was good at that, though-- knowing what other people needed. Maybe it was all that Ben-Hassrath training. He raised his tin mug full of liquor so strong the fumes made Varric's eyes water. "To drinking, then! Have what you want and don't stop til dawn!"
They all clinked mugs. The tavern around them murmured warmly. The fire crackled, Maryden sang a song about heroics and left out all the bad bloody bits, and everything was right for just a few moments.
"So," Bull said, "I hear you got your hands on a bottle of Carnal."
Lavellan choked on her ridiculously sweet drink. Her ear tips went pink as kitten toes. "Does everyone know about my silly bottle collection?"
"It's not like you keep the door locked, Boss," Bull pointed out. "Besides, Varric talks a lot."
"Don't pin this one on me! I didn't tell him, Inquisitorialness, I swear." He may have mentioned it somewhere, but it surely wasn't to Bull. Leave it to the spy to ferret out everything.
The Inquisitor hid her face in her hands, groaning dramatically. "I just like bottles, all right? It's satisfying when I find a new one."
"Yeah, but you got a bottle of Carnal. And I hear it's still full." Iron Bull didn't quite leer, but it was close. "Got anybody in mind to share it with?"
"I am never going to live this down, am I." Lavellan reached for her mug and took a hard swig, like it was whiskey instead of apple juice with a little cinnamon stick in it. "You're all going to tease me about having a naughty Orlesian drink until I die."
"Or until you tell us who you've got a secret crush on," Varric said, grinning. "Come on, I've got money riding on this."
"You don't!" She looked absolutely horrified. "Varric!"
"What? I need to know if I should change my bet."
"Insider info? No fair," Bull protested mildly.
"And I'm sure you're curious for purely academic reasons?"
Bull's grin suddenly got toothier, more wolfish. "I wouldn't call it purely academic."
Ah-ha, Varric thought. That's one. Then again, the Iron Bull was interested in anything with a pulse. Still, it was something to ponder. He looked over at Lavellan, who seemed to be trying to slowly sink under the table to hide.
"I'll just be under here, then," she said. Her face burned crimson. "Let me know when you're done discussing my imaginary sex life."
"With a bottle of Carnal? It doesn't have to be imaginary," Bull said. Lavellan groaned theatrically, but then the curiosity awoke in her eyes. "Wait, have you tried it, Bull?"
"Once or twice, sure," he said, like it wasn't a notorious Orlesian drink they were talking about.
Lavellan goggled. "Does it really work?"
Varric waited for the predictable 'You could try it' line and was actually surprised when it didn't come. "It makes everything feel... a little stronger, if that makes sense," Bull said. He took a long pull of his drink. "It also knocks you right on your ass. I had a hangover the next day like you wouldn't believe. You'd think I'd fought a dragon, not had a threesome."
She gasped a little; Varric filed the noise away under "things to think about later when I'm feeling really damn perverse". "You had a what?"
"A threesome. Oh, what, you're surprised? Please. You're not that naive, Boss."
"I think I'll take that as a compliment," she snapped. Her cheeks were still rosy; Varric had begun to decide that it was a good look on her. Or maybe there was more alcohol in his cider than he'd thought. It was definitely starting to feel warm in here.
Bull laughed heartily. "See? You'll get the hang of it one day."
"The hang of what? Sex talk?"
"Hanging out with perverts like me and Varric."
She laughed out loud, head thrown back in honest humor. "Oh, so you admit it!"
"Admit it? He wears it like a badge," Varric said.
"Imagine that on my chest. Engraved in silver, maybe. PERVERT in big capital letters."
"I can imagine a lot of things on your chest," Lavellan said, and Bull made a huge production over being shocked.
"Did the Boss just... flirt?" He elbowed Varric conspiritorially. "You saw that, right? It's not the drink, is it?"
"I saw it. I think we're rubbing off on her."
"I wouldn't mind that," Bull said, and this time he did leer.
Oh my, Varric thought dizzily.
But the Inquisitor seemed to be getting into the spirit now-- or the spirit was getting into her as she downed more of her drink. Like caramel apples and drunk, he remembered Sera telling him. Should've listened.
"You two are awful. The only way this could sound worse is if Dorian was here," she said, still laughing. "I think he can turn anything into a double entendre."
She thinks we're just bullshitting, Varric realized. She has no idea Iron Bull would probably do her on the table right now if she asked. He took a bewildered swig of his drink and found himself draining the mug. Or that I'd probably watch if he did. Andraste's tits. When had the night spiralled so far out of control? He'd only gone out for a walk.
At least I'll have plenty to write about when I turn in for the night, Varric thought a little desperately. Right, because that's the important part here.
"Dorian has a lot of talents, I'll give him that," Bull allowed generously. "For a Vint, anyway."
The Inquisitor peered into her mug. "I do believe I'm empty over here. Would one of you chivalrous gentlemen care to buy a lady a drink?"
Iron Bull snickered. "Oh, now we're chivalrous."
"Get me another drink and you will be." She tipped her mug over dramatically to show its terrible emptiness; a few sticky caramel drops plopped onto the scarred tabletop.
"Maybe we should call it a night," Varric said. More drinks at this point seemed like a questionable plan.
"Nonsense! The lady wants a drink, she gets a drink." Bull eyed him almost challengingly, and Varric almost swallowed his own tongue. "You can call it quits now if you want, though."
Varric bristled. He felt an almost bizarre urge to stay, now, as if... As if he'd be protecting the Inquisitor's honor or something. Obviously she needed someone to protect her from drunken revels, lest she have a good time while trying to save the fucking world.
With a heavy sigh, Varric tipped his mug over too. "Fine. I'm in. Might as well get another round."
Bull clapped him on the shoulder. "Good! That's what I like to hear!" He swaggered over to the bartender, all confidence and good cheer.
"Do you think he really has tried it?" Lavellan whispered.
"What, Carnal? He probably finished off the whole bottle himself," Varric said. "That, Inquisitor, is a man without fear."
She gave him a wide-eyed look that reminded him so sharply of Merrill that for a second Varric wanted to call it all off. Go back to your quarters he wanted to order. Go to bed and stay there and don't come out until the wolves have stopped circling. But of course, he couldn't say that to the Herald of Andraste. And she was a grown woman, after all. It was just the elfyness that made her look too delicate, too innocent to be touched.
But did Varric truly want to be the one touching?
***
"A toast!" Bull roared, hours later.
"To what?" The Inquisitor swayed a little in her seat. There had been a lot of toasts already; they were running out of things to toast to. "We already did the Inquisition, and me, and fighting dragons, and... I don't remember all the others." She squinted at her mug. "How many've I had now?"
"I lost count at five," Varric admitted. "Also, I can't remember if that was five for you or five for me."
"Lightweights," Iron Bull complained. "I've had half a barrel at this point, and you're both ready to nod off? You need better alcohol than this candy shit."
"Where are we going to find better alcohol than a tavern?" Lavellan demanded, laughing.
"I can think of one place..."
"Oh, no. No! We are not drinking my bottles. They're Creators-only-know how old. I found one buried, Bull! Buried in the dirt."
"A little dirt never hurt anyone." The chair scraped loudly against the wood floor as the Iron Bull rose from the table. "Besides, I want to see this collection of yours. We spend enough time wandering around the ass-end of nowhere to find them all, right? I feel like I'm due."
Lavellan made a frowny face. "Well, all right. But we're not drinking anything too strong. I'm a little think, I drunk. I mean, drunk, I think."
Varric coughed into his sleeve to cover up a snicker. "You? Never."
"Fine! Fine, we'll go look at my silly bottles, and you can both get it out of your systems," Lavellan said. "I don't know why my collection interests you so much, but if it'll shut you up..."
"I promise, I won't say another word about it," Bull said. He smiled generously and offered his arm, like an Orlesian noble at a Court ball. "If the lady pleases?"
Lavellan snickered and let Bull help her to her feet. She swayed a little as she walked.
They made their way out of the tavern and into the cold night. The Inquisitor's breath steamed white as they walked to the little room where she kept all her bottles on their little shelves.
"Nice," Bull said, once they'd arrived and lit the lamps. "Cozy. Your own little nook, full of things just for you."
"I never thought of it quite that way," Lavellan said. "I just liked, well, having a room of my own. Other than a bedroom, I mean."
"Skyhold is pretty much yours," Varric pointed out. "You own all the rooms."
"That's not the same. Everything else is set aside for proper use. But I have this little room just for... for my own indulgence." She smiled. "It's something I've never had before, not even with my clan."
Bull's smile gentled somehow, became less hungry and far more indulgent. "It's good to have your own thing, Boss."
Her smile widened. "I have an army, and a Mark, and some of the best companions a person could ask for. But this is just for me. Not anyone else."
Varric's heart broke just a little. Suddenly he felt bad for teasing her over her collection; who would've guessed the rows of dusty bottles could come to mean so much?
"I'll get you a bottle of something fancy from Orzammar for your birthday," Varric told her. "I know a guy who exports some of the best mushroom wine outside of the Deep Roads."
"Mushrooms? Ugh, that must taste... er, divine."
"It tastes like nug shit, but the bottle is all round and black and-- Well, you'll like it. Trust me."
Lavellan smiled at him. "Now you're getting it."
Iron Bull lifted a hand to pat her head. "We're all getting it. And while we're getting things, I think we should get you to bed. It's off to Emprise du Lion soon, isn't it? It's no fun trudging through snow drifts with a hangover, trust me."
"But I thought we were just getting started? You're the one who wanted to come down here..."
"There's time," Iron Bull said, and it sounded to Varric like he was talking about something else entirely. "There's plenty of time. For now, get some rest. We'll have another night out soon, hey? And maybe you won't get all sloppy on me over a few little candy-drinks."
"Ass. Those candy drinks were stronger than they tasted." Lavellan tried to frown up at him, ducking out from under his hand. "Next time we'll drink something more palatable to your refined tastes, though."
Bull laughed. "Next time, we'll kick a dragon's ass and drink something that's worth it. Something really good. Promise."
"Deal." She yawned into her sleeve. "I do seem to be winding down for the night... I'll see you tomorrow. Plan for Emprise by end of week at the latest."
"Will do," Varric assured her. "'Night, Inquisitor."
After she left, he and Bull sat in the tiny room in silence for a few long minutes.
"Did we almost do something terrible?" Varric asked, finally. He felt a little green around the edges, now that the happy warmth of drunkenness was beginning to fade.
"You mean, did we almost have sex with the Inquisitor? Maybe."
Varric choked. "Do you have to put it like that?"
"Sorry, sorry. I mean, did I almost have sex with the Inquisitor while you watched from the sidelines and jerked off?"
Varric gritted his teeth. "Not helping, Tiny."
"The answer's still maybe. Maybe if she'd signalled it. Maybe if she hadn't gotten quite so drunk. Maybe if you hadn't played knight-protector to her virtue all night long."
A headache was already starting to form behind Varric's eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Mm-hmm." Bull sounded supremely unconvinced. "Just remember this night, would you? Remember that under all the armor and magic and blood, she's still a person with needs."
"And you know what they are?" Varric snapped, more sharply than he intended.
Bull made a considering noise. "I know one or two things. But she's got to be the one who asks for them. Until then..." He shrugged. "We'll see what she decides, won't we?"
"I guess we will." Varric felt suddenly exhausted; he longed for his own room and his empty pages. Too much had gone through his head in too short a time; too many of his foundations had been rocked for one night.
Bull clapped him on the shoulder, all hail-fellow again now that the issue had apparently been concluded. "Sleep it off. Things won't seem so bad in the morning."
"I've been picturing her naked all day. I really don't think a night of sleep is going to clear that up."
Iron Bull laughed. "You'd be surprised. If that doesn't do it, then being up to your balls in snow should help once we get to Emprise du Lion."
"Maker, don't remind me. This place and its damned cold." Varric shook his head. "I'm going to go pass out now. If I don't get up by the end of the week, send someone to poke me with a stick and see if I'm still breathing."
"Sure." Bull paused, one hand on the door. "It's up to her, Varric. Remember."
"Fuck, fine, I will. Just... Let me hold on to my hangups another night, will you? I'll miss them when they're gone."
The Iron Bull grinned and pulled the door open. "I'll see you in Emprise. Oh, and Varric?"
Varric sighed wearily. "Yeah?"
"Bring the Carnal. Just in case."