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The halls of Skyhold hummed above them with the distant din of voices—of training, of instructions shouted between masons and carpenters and servants and soldiers. In the dim candlelight that ricocheted off the walls of the wine cellar, Inquisitor Elinora Trevelyan sat laughing with her best friend Dorian, on a mission to ascertain the perfect bottle from the collection.
“Aqua Magus,” Dorian said as he pulled the bottle from the wall, its once-shining label weathered from the sand in which they had found it on their last expedition, “distilled with refined lyrium. Always makes me feel invincible. Until the hangover the next morning, if you’re not careful.”
“Can’t this stuff kill you?” Elinora arched an eyebrow at him.
“If you’re not careful,” he repeated, popping the cork and pouring the liquid into two tin cups they had smuggled down from the Herald’s Rest. “Which you are, else I’d be hard pressed to know how you’ve managed to keep yourself alive up to this point.” He closed his eyes as he drained the blue liquid into his mouth.
“Sheer dumb luck is always a possibility,” the Inquisitor murmured, lifting her cup to her lips.
“That’s true. Tell me, is our dear Cullen’s lucky coin rubbing off on you yet?”
“We’ll know when the fight is over, I suppose,” she smiled, reaching down to rub a thumb over the piece of silver in her pocket.
The two sat quietly a moment, drinking from their respective cups and relishing the warmth the liquor spread through their bodies. Elinora picked up the bottle, turning it over in her hands. As a warrior, she’d never had a need to ingest lyrium, whether in potion form or with a philter as the templars did. As the liquid descended her throat, a gentle tingling sensation crept down her spine and through her veins to the tips of her fingers and toes. She shivered.
“Does drinking this stuff supercharge your magic?” She glanced sideways at her friend.
“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve not extensively tested it. Something tells me that going into battle drunk might be a bit of a hindrance.” He lifted his cup once more, taking another swig. “Best keep it from the templars, though,” he murmured at last, a slight crease furrowing his brow.
“So, how are things with you and Cullen?” Dorian spoke up after a moment.
“Good. Very good,” she smiled into her cup before taking another sip. “Our duties keep us apart, but it just makes the return to Skyhold all the more...” she suppressed a blush. “Exciting.” She ran her fingers absently through a lock of hair that had strayed from her normally pristine bun. “This last mission to the Hissing Wastes was a long one. I’m glad to be back.”
“I’ll bet,” he grinned, tipping the cool liquid down his throat. “I, on the other hand,” he thrust his head back and clutched his hand to his chest, “seem destined to soldier on all by my lonesome.”
“Really? So everything going on between you and Bull these past weeks in the Wastes was what? Platonic sexual tension? A bit of good-natured flirting between friends?”
“If I meant every flirtatious remark I made,” he waved his hand dismissively, “you and I would be practically engaged.”
“That’s teasing. You and I tease each other. This was flirting.”
“Flirting?” he shook his head with a bit more force than was entirely necessary. “Hardly. Simply a verbal continuance of the everlasting conflict between our peoples, nothing more.” He stared intently into his cup as he took another swig.
“Whatever you say,” she teased, jabbing her friend lightly in the ribs.
“It’s true!” he insisted, but his reddening face told her that even he was beginning to doubt himself.
The din of upstairs conversation grew louder as a door swung open. The two locked widened eyes as the faint clunking of footsteps grew nearer. After a moment, Elinora exhaled a sigh of relief, her gaze landing on Cullen’s fur mantle brushing the floor. As he rounded the corner, he smiled, eyes falling upon the two figures crouched beneath the rows upon rows of liquor.
“There you are.” Cullen crossed his arms, a smirk beginning to form on his face as he stopped in front of the two.
“Looking for me?” Elinora smiled, a rosy glow illuminating her cheeks.
“It’s a bit chaotic up there. I figured I’d find you hiding in some dark corner somewhere,” Cullen’s face twisted into a crooked smile.
“I’m just glad it’s you, and not Mother Giselle or the cook—someone who’d chastise us for breaking into the good stuff,” she grinned. “Join us.”
Cullen sank to the ground, leaning against the wall opposite Dorian and the Inquisitor. The narrow hallway in which they sat made it so that he had to stretch his legs clear across to the opposite side to lay them gently beside Elinora’s. She reached her arm out to rest it on his shins, running her fingers absently across the metal of his greaves.
Cullen nodded at the bottle between them. “What are we drinking?”
Elinora let a sharp inhale pass her lip before she bit down hard. “Oh, it’s...”
“Aqua Magus,” Dorian offered, eyes darting to connect with Cullen’s before quickly returning to his cup. “So there’s some lyrium in it. A bit.”
“I’m familiar,” Cullen began after a pause. “Mages and templars alike used to smuggle this stuff into the Circle.”
“Kirkwall or Ferelden?” the Inquisitor asked softly, cocking her head.
“Both, actually.”
“Smuggled? Is alcohol illegal in southern Circles?” Dorian raised a brow.
“In the dormitories. We had some ale at mealtimes.” Cullen fixed his gaze on the stone wall opposite him.
“And once again I am eternally grateful not to hail from any of your backwards countries,” Dorian quipped, polishing off his drink and reaching for a refill from the bottle.
“Ostwick is not backwards,” Elinora elbowed her friend, causing a slosh of liquor to miss his cup and fall to the ground.
“Vishante kaffas,” he muttered under his breath.
“The Ostwick you know may not be, but you’ve never lived in a Circle,” Cullen pointed out.
“Fair enough,” she murmured. She chuckled to herself. “Look at the three of us. We’re like the setup to a horrible joke. A mage, a templar, and an Inquisitor walk into a tavern...”
“And they start a brawl so fierce it rips open the sky,” Dorian finished dryly.
“I’d’ve gone with ‘the Inquisition agrees to pay the damages,’” Cullen added, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. Elinora saw a hazy mist gloss over his eyes as he stared at the stone before him. She patted him lightly on the leg.
“What are you thinking about?”
Cullen turned his gaze toward her. “Kirkwall. Kinloch Hold.” His eyes fell to the ground. “Mages. Demons. Templars. Corypheus. The Inquisition. The rifts in the bloody veil.” He scratched at his furrowed brow.
“Sounds like you need a drink,” Dorian grinned wryly. “Luckily, you’re in the right place,” he added, gesturing to the shelves above them.
Cullen let out a soft chuckle. “Unlike you lot, I don't wish to suffer our ambassador’s wrath when she reviews the inventory reports from the quartermaster. Haven’t you been banned from the wine cellar already?” he raised a brow at Dorian, who made a dismissive gesture.
“Bans only work if you’ve the men to enforce them,” he replied, taking another swig of his drink.
“You’re starting to sound like Cullen,” Elinora smiled. “He’s all, ‘Skyhold is only as strong as the army that defends it,’ and ‘our fortress in Crestwood is useless without the numbers to make holding it worthwhile.’”
“I’m your military advisor. At times, I give military advice.”
“That explains a lot,” Elinora murmured through a coy smile, leaving him a lingering glance over the edge of her cup. “And here I was thinking you swing that sword around because you like how shiny it is.”
Cullen’s lips curved into a gentle smirk.
“Ah, I know these looks. It seems that the time has come,” Dorian paused to drain the last drops of liquor from his cup, “for me to make myself scarce. Considering your history with desks, Maker knows what you have planned for the furniture down here,” he murmured as he cast a cursory glance around the room.
Elinora sputtered, drops of Aqua Magus flying from her lips. “Does everyone know about that?!” she stammered indignantly.
“To be honest, it was only a rumor, but I’m glad to have it confirmed,” Dorian cast a glistening smile at his friends before turning to head up the stairs. “Don’t have too much fun without me,” he called behind him as he ascended to Skyhold’s main hall.
“You’ll be wise to keep that particular bit of gossip to yourself, Dorian!” the Inquisitor yelled as he disappeared behind the corner, but she laughed as she set her cup down, leaning back against the wall of the cellar and turning her focus to Cullen.
She squeezed his leg gently. “You all right?” She glanced back down at the cup beside her, her gaze circling the unpolished rim. “Does it bother you, me drinking this?”
His eyes drifted from her gaze. “No,” he said softly, but his pause gave her doubt.
She replaced the cork in the bottle, drained the last sip from her cup, and stood to set the now-half-empty bottle back on its shelf. She sat back down, looking into her lover’s distant eyes. Finally, he spoke up again.
“Would I rather you drink any of the other liquors here on these shelves? Yes,” he shifted his legs idly. “But I trust you.” He looked up at her now, meeting her gaze. For a moment, she caught herself wishing she could see what was going on behind his gentle brown eyes. “Besides,” he added after a moment, “it’s not like a little Aqua Magus turned anyone into a lyrium addict.”
Elinora’s hand crept up his leg to rest on his thigh. They sat quietly for a moment, her tracing patterns in the soft leather of his pants and him gazing into the wall across from him. He reached out to rest his hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“How has it been, these past few weeks? Still getting headaches?” She cocked her head as she looked into his clouded eyes. After nearly a month of trekking across the Hissing Wastes, the relief and joy of being reunited had pushed aside the burning questions that had kept her awake in her tent each night. Since her arrival that morning, they’d scarcely had a moment alone.
“Same as ever,” he murmured, scratching his head with his free hand. “I’m thirsty all the time. At times it feels like this...” he shook his head, frowning. “Weight is crushing my chest. But it goes away eventually.” He sighed. “The nightmares are the worst part.” He looked her in the eyes. He hesitated, smoothing his thumb in circles on her hand. “They’re better when I’m not waking up alone,” he admitted, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.
Her rosy cheeks echoed his smile, and she couldn’t resist the urge to lift her hand to his chin and lean in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. She withdrew after a moment, but kept her forehead pressed firmly against his. A tingle whispered through her fingers as she traced them over the stubble along his jawline. A sudden realization hit her, and she pulled sharply back, eyes widening.
“Wait, is that okay?” She panicked. “You didn’t taste any of the lyrium, like anything left in my mouth, or—”
“No,” he assured her. “I’m all right. But I appreciate your concern,” his gentle smile sent a wash of relief through her veins.
“Finally letting me worry about you?” she asked, an impish smile twisting the corners of her mouth.
“A little,” he admitted, reaching for her cheek and pulling her in for another kiss. She kissed him back, a tingling sensation surging through her body that had little to do with the alcohol in her system.
“I missed you,” she murmured against his lips. She brushed her tongue against the scar on his lip, teasing and innocent and sweet all at once.
“And I you,” he replied, caressing her jawline with his thumb.
Warmth spread through Cullen’s chest as they kissed, but unlike the singing rush of lyrium to which he had become so accustomed over the many years, this heat didn’t dissipate. As he pressed his lips to the Inquisitor’s and ran his fingers over her neck, her shoulders, her hips, his body burned with a fire that would last. A fire that wouldn’t leave him with nightmares and pain. A fire that warmed him to his very bones without searing his body and flaying his mind. A fire he wanted to kindle, to tend, to nurture.
“Do you want to go upstairs and get a head start on that waking up next to me thing?” Elinora tilted her head as she looked into her lover’s eyes.
Cullen smiled. “Lead the way.”