Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Drinking is a tried and true way of getting to know your subordinates, boss.”

"I don’t think I can lift that mug," Revas said, eying the tankards in his hand. They looked the size of her head.

"You’ve got two hands," he replied, plonking both down in front of her, then settling down on the bench.

"It's a ritual of ours, your worship," Krem added. "You bleed with us, you drink with us."

“Oh, strange human rituals." She reached for one of the mugs. "Do I get to make fun of them the way everyone makes fun of me for gathering plants while we walk? Because that at least serves a purpose.”

“Only if you get through it without throwing up,” Dalish said.

“This promises to be terrible.”

“It’ll be a blast,” Bull disagreed with a smile.

“Never have I ever,” Stitches drawled out, “fought a bear.”

Everyone at the table groaned and lifted their tankards.

“Stitches, you shit,” Skinner said, “you didn’t fight a bear because you’d already passed out from blood loss.”

“We weren’t hired to clean out the comte’s wildlife as well as his bandit problem, why shouldn’t I have?”

“Do I have to drink for each bear?” Revas asked, trying to remember how often she’d come across them in the Hinterlands.

“I heard bears have been a real problem for you,'" Dalish said. "Too late to rethink your dedication to Dirthamen now, First of Lavellan."

"Let's make it easy on you so you're not knocked out in the first round. Once for each country you’ve killed one in,” Krem said. “Chief’ll still be worse than you, yeah?”

“The Marches aren’t really a country, more a collection-”

“Three, boss, just take three drinks. Skinner, you’re up.”

The woman looked around the table then said in a flat voice, “I have never fucked a human.”

Everyone but Revas drank. Rocky finished off his tankard and signaled the waitress for more.

“Please don’t list them again, Rocky,” Dalish said as she set her mug down.

“Skinner, you’re supposed to wait until we’re more drunk to start getting in on the sexcapades,” Stitches complained. Skinner flipped him off.

Grim grumbled in agreement and made a couple quick hand motions towards Dalish.

“Never bathed naked?” Revas translated, confused. “How else do you-”

“Skinny dipping,” Dalish corrected, punching the man in the arm. “You promised never to bring that up.”

Grim grinned as she pulled back on her tankard.

“What is skinny dipping?” Revas asked Krem while Bull and Stitches, his cheeks flushing, drank.

“Swimming naked with people.”

She frowned. “How else would you swim?”

Grim chuckled and made two quick signs.

“Uncultured?” she squawked. “Just because crazy shem go jumping in lakes with their clothes on-”

“One for each country you were in, your worship,” Krem said with a grin.

“Oh, not each time? That’s good.” She finished off her drink and debated whether she ought to have more after the waitress returned. “Why would you wear clothes to swim? That’s silly. In the clan, everyone swims naked. Except for whoever draws the short straw in having to stand guard.”

"And there's never a problem?" Stitches asked.

"No? Unless you’re talking about the wildlife-"

“Skinny dipping usually ends in sex,” Bull said with a grin. “I think Stitches is interested in finding out if the stories about Dalish orgies are true.”

Revas blushed and squeaked out, “Orgies?”

Stitches coughed uncomfortably.

“My turn,” Dalish interrupted. Bull looked disappointed by the interruption. “Gossip about the clans some other time. Never have I ever owned a house.”

Bull drank.  Grim punched the woman in the arm before taking a drink.

“Hey, no singling people out,” Rocky complained.

“Our esteemed leader drank too,” Dalish said, gesturing grandly. “The game continues.”

"How does the game end?"

"Either everyone's had to get a refill or you come up with something the chief hasn't done and someone else has," Krem explained.

"Which doesn't happen much," Dalish said.

“I’ve been around the block a couple times,” Bull said modestly.

"And it’s always the weirdest things we catch him on," Stitches added. "He lives alone, why wouldn’t he know how to darn socks?"

“I’m a soldier, Stitches, I didn’t have to learn the soft arts. Just the ones that involved making people bleed.”

“Easy enough to kill someone with a knitting needle,” Skinner commented.

“Can I bring her along on fights instead of you, Bull? She’s subtler.”

“You couldn’t afford her,” Bull said. “Also, you’ve got ghost boy to do that for you.”

"Does our lord and master even wear socks?" Rocky asked, trying to peer around the table.

"I'm more interested in knowing who in this motley crew darns," Revas said with a giggle.

All eyes turned to Stitches, who lifted his tankard unconcerned.

"Is that how you got your nickname?"

"Story time over," Dalish said, thumping her tankard on the table. "Gossip later, more nosy statements now."

"You’re very intent on getting everyone drunk,” Revas commented.

“It is very important that someone get drunk enough to throw up on Stitches’ boots.”

“I apologized for that,” he said. “And I bought you new ones.”

“Never have I ever had to get someone replacement boots,” Krem said, grinning at Stitches.

Stitches drank. “I know where you sleep, Lieutenant.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Get or buy?” Skinner asked as Revas and Bull drank.

“No purchase necessary. But I don’t want to know how you got them either.”

Skinner smirked and drank.

“I think I'm up," Revas said and looked back around the table, eyes stopping on Skinner. She squinted up at Bull, who grinned. "Never have I ever recited a canticle of the Chant of Light."

Grim and Skinner both drank. Bull saluted her with his tankard, but didn’t drink from it.

"It's like I don't even know you," Stitches said to Grim in an affronted tone.

"Refills for everyone," Krem said. "Drinks are on the chief."

The Chargers cheered and Bull groaned and stood.

"What happens when Bull doesn't get skipped and the game ends the other way?"

Bull dropped a hand on her shoulder. "New guy picks up the tab.”

She looks around the table, everyone well into their second and third mugs. “Oh, well, thank goodness for Grim being so talkative then.”

“How did you know I had?” Skinner asked.

“My father could recite the Canticle of Trials forwards and backwards. Drove the other hunters wild, him murmuring prayers to Andraste while they said theirs to Andruil,” Revas said, spinning her mug around. “You quote pieces of it that only someone who knew all of it could do.”

“And you quote it when you fight,” Krem added. “You really never noticed?”

“No. Was your father-” Skinner stopped.

“My mother converted when they joined the clan, but my father stayed Andrastian to the day a shem farmer shot him for being too close to his house.”

The clan had needed to trade, but had met no traveling merchants in months. The village hahren had sent a terrified elf to tell them about the murder, in case they did not react well to the news. She wasn’t certain which angered the Keeper more- the senseless death of someone seeking only help or the town thinking the clan would kill the messenger and sending someone they wouldn’t miss. But at least they had sent someone. The trade they offered as repayment for the death did not make up for the loss- could never repay it- but she had done her best to release her anger. They couldn’t demand the man’s life in repayment, the humans would be just as angry with them as they were with the humans. The clans could not keep grudges if they wanted to survive. (If his house was struck by lightning and burned down in a rainstorm a week after they left, well, that was between her and her conscience.)

“People are shit,” Rocky said.

“I think we can all drink to that,” she agreed and finished off her mug.

 "Oh, oh, Dalish, Dalish," Revas chirped, tapping her fingers on the table noisily. "I keep forgetting to ask you. I know it’s a very nice boooow, but have you considered one made of maple instead? It makes a bigger boom, I heard."

"Skinner tore someone’s head off for this one, I could never trade it in."

Revas squinted at Skinner, who curled a lip at her, baring her teeth. “I don’t think that’s possible. But Skinner looks like a woman who would try very hard to do that, so I will accept it. Also-” she made several quick motions with her hands. “Yeah?”

"Can’t tell if you know a different cant or if you’re just too drunk to move your hands," Dalish said with a grin. "But if I’m reading you right, yeah." She fanned herself. Grim rolled his eyes.

"No fair wiggling your fingers at each other when you and Grim haven’t taught Dalish hand signs to us," Krem complained.

“Not my fault you ham-handed louts can’t make heads or tails of it when I try. Your fingers just aren’t built for it. Except Stitches,” she leered at the man.  “Her Worshipfulness was just commenting on how elegant yours are.”

Stitches opened and closed his mouth a couple times, but nothing came out. He lifted his mug to drink and hide his face.

“Did not! I’m going to have to teach them sign just so you won’t lie when translating so you can flirt.” She raised two fingers, palm inward, at Dalish. “This,” she tells the rest of the table, “means 'fuck you.'”

Bull laughed. “Think we all knew that one already, boss.”

Grim raised his hand near his mouth, fingers extended, thumb tucked into his palm, and scooped it downwards.

“That one,” she twisted to the side to look at Krem, almost falling onto the table. “That one is ‘just pretend I’m not here.’ You probably should remember that one, it basically means ‘why me?’ You probably need that one a lot, dealing with Bull.”

Grim snorted into his mug.

“I’m the best commander Krem de la Creme here has ever had.”

“What commands? I’m the one shouting them while you run ahead roaring, axe in hand. I’m the best commander you’ve ever had, chief.”

 Seven mugs hit the table in a clatter.

“Her worship seems to be running out of space in her stomach,” Krem commented as Revas continued to drink.

She finally thumped the mug down, empty, and started coughing.

“You can’t taste it if you drink it fast enough,” Skinner advised.

“That is vile,” she said between coughs.

“Fresh from Orzammar,” Rocky said. “I think they used too many mushrooms on this batch, but you’ll breathe fire for weeks just remembering it.”

“It’ll put chest on your chest,” Bull added.

“You would know, chief,” Krem quipped. “You’ll need a new brassiere soon, you keep drinking this stuff.”

“I keep telling you, it’s a harness.”

“It is a little asymmetrical for ladies’ wear,” Revas said. “Unless your Qunari ladies are lopsided. I’ve never met one, I wonder why that is. Do you keep them locked up like you do your mages?”

“The women run the show back home. Soldiering is for men.”

“And since there’s no reason for one of the Qun to be in the southlands except for conquering, we never see the women," she concluded. "Still odd.”

“They think it’s too cold here too,” Krem said with a grin.

“Is the room supposed to move like this?” Revas asked, sitting very still.

“That depends,” Stitches said, squinting at her. “Are there supposed to be two of you?”

“Definitely too many mushrooms,” Rocky said.

Bull shook the bottle. “Still some left. Who wants another round where that came from?”

Dalish and Skinner held out their mugs. Soft groans came from the rest of the table. “Wimps,” Skinner said.

“You’re making the People look bad,” Dalish scolded Revas.

“The People are going to die from drinking a bad batch of dwarven mushroom homebrew,” she groaned.

"Waitress, bring us some of that keg water you call ale for these delicate flowers," Bull called out.

 Revas thumped the empty mug down on the table and hiccuped. "You're Andrastian, Stitches, how have you never recited the Chant? In the clan, we all of us could tell at least three stories by heart, though we made certain to know different ones than everyone else, or else campfire tales would get boring quickly."

"You do realize it takes two weeks to recite the whole thing, yeah? There's no room in my head for all of that, let the Chanters worry about it being spoken continuously through Thedas."

"But how can you escape it? I've never even gone to a service and can recite all of Trials and Benedictions. I could probably wing Threnodies with all the research on Corypheus we’ve been doing. Oh, I bet I know one you haven't heard.” She cleared her throat, hiccuped, and cleared her throat again. “At Shartan's word, the sky Grew black with arrows. At Our Lady's, ten thousand swords Rang from their scabbards, A great hymn rose over Valarian Fields gladly proclaiming: Those who had been slaves-”

"There’s a canticle that has Shartan in it?" Skinner asked. Revas sighed.

"Mother Giselle is probably marching over here right now to wash your mouth out with soap," Stitches said. "Reciting dissonant verses to the drunk and impressionable.”

“I’m drunk and impressionable,” she muttered sullenly.

Bull snorted. “Definitely drunk, in any case.”

“Oh, the heresy, reminding people it was not just Andraste’s army that freed the south from the Imperium,” Dalish said, rolling her eyes.

"The absolute gall of them rewriting their own texts and then saying the Chant tells only the truth. History,” Revas said very seriously, unconsciously leaning to one side, “is a lie told to us by the victors.”

“Now we’re in for it,” Bull groaned. “Stitches, why did you get her started?”

“Have you been in Val Royeaux? All those statues of everyone in Andraste’s story, but no Shartan anywhere. There’s no elves at all, like we'll just cease to exist if they don’t keep track of us. I finally found him when I went to the university there to see this Frederic person about dragons. I was cooling my heels for ages, it took them hours to find out he wasn’t there. They had a mural with Shartan and they’d painted his ears round!” She made an incoherent noise of anger and signed quickly in wide, clumsy movements in Dalish’s direction. Grim reached across the table and closed his hands around hers, cutting her off.

“The mouth on you, Inquisitor,” Dalish scolded. Revas thumped her head against the table and Grim released her hands. She curled them around her empty mug and hiccuped mournfully.

“New addition to the no talking while drunk rule,” Krem said. “No talking about Tevinter, no talking about the Qun, no talking about family, no talking about who’s sneaking off to fuck who, and no talking about the Chantry.”

“Any more no’s added to that and you'll need to start keeping a physical list to read off,” Rocky commented. “Anyone else have some tender spots we forgot?”

“I wish that mage in Kirkwall had blown up the Grand Cathedral instead,” Revas mumbled into the table.

“Not so loud,” Stitches said. “Someone might take your drunken rambling seriously.”

There was a short silence.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Rocky asked.

Skinner rested her head on her hand, her elbow on the table. “Remind me, how many fortifications have you blown up?”

 “You’re very warm,” Revas mumbled as she listed into Bull’s side. “I should sleep on you instead of that awful bed Josephine dragged into my room. It’s too soft. She yelled at me for sleeping on the balcony. I don’t like sleeping inside walls. And it’s so cold up there.”

"You’re almost as bad as that hothouse flower in your library, boss. Crawl in any time you want,” he said with a grin. “Tiny as you are, you would probably fit, no problem."

"But no sex."

"Of course not, you’re three sheets to the wind."

"Maybe just sleep here," she said, closing her eyes and listing further.

"How many times has her mug been refilled?" Krem asked, poking her suspiciously. She didn’t react.

"Four. Plus that mushroom stuff of Rocky’s. Think that keeps Stitches our lightweight." He motioned to where the medic had his head resting on his folded arms. He was drooling. Skinner, a small smirk on her face, was drawing something on him.

"And she didn’t crawl under the table like Dalish did her first time doing this.”

"I crawled under there to vomit on your shoes, you little shit," the blonde snapped. "You were serving me poison."

"Peach brandy is a delicacy lost on you heathen southerners."

“Its name was Abyssal Peach, Krem,” Rocky said. “If it wasn’t poison, it was as close to it as you can get outside of Antiva.”

“Should we wake her?” Stitches asked sleepily, batting lazily at Skinner as she held his head still to finish drawing. Grim frowned at him.

“Do you remember the last time you startled a drunk sleeping mage?” Dalish responded.

Krem scooted further away from the sleeping woman.

Bull laughed. “His hair still hasn’t grown back.”

Stitches rubbed his hand over his shorn head. “I like the look.”

“Made you admit to being a mage, Dalish,” Krem said with a grin.

“I am not.”

“It’s a boooooow,” Stitches and Skinner said in unison.

“They’re not going to lock you up here, Dalish,” Bull said. “I think she’d have Cullen arrest anyone who tried it with any of our mages.”

“Bet he’d love that,” Krem muttered into his mug. “Being a former templar and all.”

“He’d be the one to suggest it,” Bull corrected. “He’s seen what mages can fall to, and he’s seen the worst templars have to offer. He’d be first in line to stop anyone from making a mage feel forced into a corner. Too many people get hurt when that happens.”

“I’ve spent too many years not being an apostate to be one now,” Dalish said.

Chapter Text

Revas rolled out of bed and slipped outside. The training fields outside the gate were suspiciously quiet, but perhaps the Commander had taken the forces for a brisk march around the lake. He had before.

"Ah, Haven," Solas said from beside her. "Of course. I should have expected."

"What do you mean, of course?"

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you. Changed your path."

She shrugged. “Not by much, I don’t think. Haven was my destination, after all. I hadn’t really thought of where I would go from there, after the Conclave.” She looked up at the green scar taking up the sky. “I don’t think they’ll like me leaving once that’s closed.”

He looked at her askance. “Once it’s closed? Do you- what were you just doing?”

"Sleeping?” she answered, confused. “The Chargers got together to get me drunk last night, some sort of bonding ritual Krem said. I’ve never gotten drunk before, I was expecting more of a hangover."

"Give it time," he said, an amused look on his face.

“So what was it like here right after it happened? Cassandra just makes that face at me when I ask. But Varric said you looked after me- the mark-” she trailed off, losing track of what it was she was trying to ask. She felt fuzzier than usual.

“Haven was troubled, to say the least. When I offered my services, Cassandra was not impressed, but as any mages that had been in attendance had died at the Conclave, she could not afford to be picky. She had you locked in a cell under the Chantry after they found you at the temple. She hoped I could provide answers.”

“Wasn’t I unconscious? Why bother with locks?”

“She plans for the worst. The anchor was something new, something nobody understood. You were a mystery. You still are.” He took her hand, ran his thumb across the glowing mark, the curls of light coming off of it shifting with the touch. She shivered, and he let go. “I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn’t produce results.”

She snorted, remembering Cassandra’s threat to shave her should she tell anyone who had fixed the mess Revas had made of her hair. The Seeker didn’t know how to speak without making a threat, and the mood she had to have been in directly after the explosion- “She’s like that with everyone.”

He laughed. “Yes. You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“But you stayed.” She wondered why. He had found no answers, only more questions and people ready to kill him at the slightest misstep.

“I did,” he agreed, looking up at the Breach in the sky. “I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…” He fell silent.

She looked down at the glowing mark. And then she had woken up. A hand grasping hers, forcing it skywards, chilly unfamiliar magic brushing alongside hers until she caught on and then everything went green and bright and just as suddenly snapped off. The sense of loss and weakness and coming down off of a rush that left her shakily staring at her aching hand while conversation began around her.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” He had said that then, too. “You had sealed the rift with a gesture… and right then, I felt the whole world change.”

She looked back up, tilted her head to one side. “Felt the whole world change?” she repeated. Chilly magic brushing alongside hers, and which of them had really opened the anchor that first time? She had thought the feeling had just been her, but here he was-

“It’s a figure of speech,” he backpedaled.

"Yes I’ve used it before myself.” She took a step forward and he mirrored the action, keeping the distance between them. “I was more interested in the you feeling it part." She took another step, and this time, he stayed still, held her gaze.

"You change- everything. I never thought that the Dalish could create something like you, so bright and curious, so open to people not of the clans."

"Sweet talker," she murmured, tilting up and pressing a kiss to his lips. He was rigid, unresponsive, and she ducked and turned away, embarrassed, already opening her mouth to apologize for the impulsive action.

Then suddenly his hands were on her arms, spinning her around, and his mouth crashed down onto hers, swallowing her words. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, but his hold on her arms kept her from having to decide. She felt her eyes close, stepped closer into the kiss. His grip eased up and he slid one hand up to cup her face, and the other to her back to pull her closer. His tongue dipped into her mouth and she moaned. She fisted her hands into his shirt, arching towards him.

He tore his mouth away and she opened her eyes dazedly. “No,” he said, releasing her and backing away, pupils blown. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It isn’t right.” She gaped. “Not even here.”

"Not even here?" She repeated, confused.

He tilted his head, amused, eyes lingering on her mouth. “Where do you think we are?”

She looked around. Haven looked perfectly normal, if quiet. Much quieter than the last time she stood here, Corypheus’ forces burning- “This isn’t real,” she said dumbly. Drinking with the Chargers last night- it was still last night. She must have dozed off.

She would have to remember that drinking before sleeping led to being confused about whether or not she was dreaming Beyond.

"Well that’s a matter of debate,” he said with a soft smile. “One we can discuss further after you wake up." There was a soft pushing sensation.

She fell off of the bench.

"Owww," she groaned, resting her head on someone’s booted foot. She swallowed, then wished she hadn’t. "Andraste’s flaming tits, what’s died in my mouth?"

Obnoxious laughter boomed.

"No noises, please," she said, punching weakly at the boot. "I want to die. How can you feel this terrible and not be dead?"

"Up you go, boss." Big hands lifted her up on the floor, setting her back in the seat she’d fallen out of.

The room spun and she clutched her head. “ This feels awful. Why does anyone do this to themselves willingly?”

"Easily fixed by having more," Bull said in a loud whisper. "That way the cottonmouth never sets in."

“That sounds insane.” They looked to be the only ones left in the tavern, barring the bartender glaring at her. Probably didn’t like patrons falling asleep. She wondered what Bull had said to him to keep him from waking her up and kicking her out. She stood and grabbed onto the table while the room shifted and resettled. “I am going to go drown myself in my bath,” she said, concentrating on speaking clearly. “Maybe eat dragon dung to get this taste out of my mouth. Anything would be better than this.”

“You sure you up to the walk, boss? Sera probably has a spare nest upstairs to drop you in.”

“I could use the fresh air. Clear my head.” Try and figure out if that had been a dream or... a dream. How confusing.

“Suit yourself,” he said, eying her doubtfully.

She staggered back towards the main building, thankful of the late- early?- hour so that no one could see her tripping up the miles of stairs some raging asshole had built just to spite her. There were probably guards on the battlements laughing at her, but that was all right, she couldn’t see them and could pretend they didn’t recognize her in the dark.

Finally managing to drag herself inside, she stopped and considered the closed door to Solas’ room. She didn’t even know if that dream was real or not, her mind too alcohol-befuddled to tell.

Face him now, five gallons of alcohol doing terrible things to her vocabulary and making her run off at the mouth, but with the kiss- the dream still fresh in her mind, or face him later, after the sun was up- as well as every nosy gossip who might browse the library above. Where did Dorian sleep, anyway?

Now, she decided. Better her foolishness have an audience of one. She cracked the door open. He was awake, painting, but set the brush aside when he saw her.

"Sleep well?" Solas asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. That answered the question of whether or not it had just been her dreaming or if he’d actually been there.

"Waking up was kind of a nightmare," she said hoarsely. He chuckled. "I- ah- have never done anything like that. On a number of levels." A night of many firsts. Firsts for the First. She giggled.

“I apologize.” He looked away, then back to her. The amusement had disappeared, the hermit crab retreating back into its shell now that it was awake instead of dreaming. “The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered and I should not have encouraged it. It won’t happen again."

She blinked. He had practically devoured- "You were the one who started in with the tongue."

"I did no such thing," he said primly, ears turning pink.

"Oh, does it not count if it’s Fade-tongue?" she cracked. Her head swam, she wanted to lie down again. She wanted to chew hardtack to get the awful taste of whatever it was the Chargers had been serving her out of her mouth. She made a face. “Sorry. I’m not certain if I’m still drunk or if I've reached the hangover. I’ll leave you be. Just remind me, next time Krem says something is an important bonding ritual, to run away.”

Some of the tension left his shoulders, obviously relieved she wasn’t pressing the matter further. “I shall endeavor to do so. Provided, of course, it isn’t actually an important ritual.”

"Good night. Morning. One of those." His lips twitched in amusement and she fled before she could trip over her words any worse than she already had and headed for the stairs up to her chambers.

“The Beyond is Beyond, and awake is awake. Just pretend it was all a dream, lethallan,” she told herself, mimicking her sister’s softer accent. Hers, she knew, had more of their parents’ Starkhaven burr to it, and no doubt her time with the humans had changed it further. “Oh wait. It was. Foolish First.”

If he wanted to ignore the push and pull between them, that was his choice. Better, in the long run. Right? She thought of Ghallia, the previous First, approaching the Keeper to join her wife’s clan, one with a far younger Keeper than Istimaethoriel, instead of folding Shaelris into Lavellan. More time to spend with the one she loved before duty dictated they separate. Firsts might find love, marry, but a Keeper could not. Which was she? The clan must come first.

A bruising hold like she might disappear if he let go, a hard kiss that demanded all of her, only to break away when she agreed.

She didn’t have time for romantic entanglements.

She didn’t.

She wanted that kiss again, anyway.