Work Text:
“Ooh, how beautiful, Maryden!” The Iron Bull looked over as he heard the Inquisitor cooing over the tavern bard’s newest instrument. “Where in Thedas did you get this?” Mallie was crouched down in front of a strange-looking, curvy instrument. It was like a shrunken cello.
“Hugo said that he missed playing the viol, Inquisitor. I take it you don’t mind?” Maryden smiled, gesturing to another bard that had lately taken up residence in Skyhold for the month to play when Maryden wasn’t. Hugo flushed red as Mallie looked up and over at him and beamed. It was obvious he thought she was breathtakingly beautiful—and that she was the actual Herald of Andraste. “Hugo?”
“I- I used to- to play it in Orlais, madame,” Hugo stuttered, his thick Orlesian accent betraying a less than perfect fluency. “I am-” He bowed. “I am most honored that you think- that- that you find it beautiful.”
“Oh, of course I do,” Mallie cooed. “May I?” She held up a deceptively delicate hand in front of the viol. Hugo nodded, a little too eager to have her manicured fingers on his instrument. She touched the wood, feeling its curves, the grain, the strings. “They make the most beautiful sounds, don’t they?”
“They do, Inquisitor,” Hugo said, agreeing readily. Bull had a feeling he’d agree with anything the Boss said.
“I haven’t played one in such a long time,” she sighed, sounding both fond and deeply sad. Bull took in the way her shoulders lowered slightly, and was sure that, if it hadn’t been for the soft corset she wore beneath her clothing, that her posture would have slumped. Her bright blue eyes, rimmed in heavy makeup, seemed to get a faraway look. “Must be ten years, now, or… No, no, probably more like twelve.” She chuckled slightly.
“You are- you are more than welcome to- to practice, Inquisitor,” Hugo said. “If- if you would like.”
Mallie looked up at him through her lashes, giving him a soft smile. “I promise I won’t break it, ser,” she smiled. Bull was sure that Hugo’s pants just got a little tighter. Mallie stood up, her natural height and slightly heeled boots putting her a good half a foot taller than the short Orlesian man. He couldn’t have been more than five and a half feet tall. Hugo gestured to a chair, and Mallie sat down, making sure her skirt was appropriately laid beneath her cute little ass. Hugo handed her the bow. “Oh, Maker, I’m actually nervous,” she giggled, shivering a little. Bull could tell that she truly, genuinely was, and was just trying to play it off like a silly little joke. She did that often. Bull watched as her Adam’s apple bobbed slightly beneath her lacy white necklace that she tried to hide it with. “I really only know, like… depressing-sounding songs,” she smiled. “So… sorry about that.”
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, and started playing. The whole tavern, thankfully relatively empty at this time in the morning, stopped whatever they had been pretending to do and watched her shamelessly. Bull knew it was only making her more nervous, but she never faltered. Her hands hardly shook as the Herald’s Rest filled with a beautifully melancholy song. The instrument was low and smooth, much like the Inquisitor’s own voice.
Bull took his time studying her. She had broad, strong shoulders, and a sharp, defined jaw that she tried to soften using carefully placed makeup. When in Skyhold, she always tried to wear loose-fitting tops that disguised her musculature and modest but deeply flattering skirts that pinched in at her waist to show off a self-made feminine figure. He wondered about the truth of her. Often. Usually late at night. She clearly wasn’t born into the non-Qunari definition of a woman, and yet she seemed to shy away from Krem instead of finding any sort of camaraderie. Of course, he knew that, just because they were both walking around with what most humans considered mismatched toolsets, that wouldn’t automatically make them friends for life. It wasn’t even a guarantee that they’d swap spit, no matter how much Krem wanted to. He understood why she wouldn’t want to say anything to the rest of the Chargers—and certainly not the Inquisition—but her apprehension around those who were most likely to offer her understanding and safety baffled him.
It was as if her appearance of womanhood was truly only skin-deep.
She played the part of a refined, dignified lady perfectly well, but he’d seen her mask slip often. It didn’t take a ben-hassrath to know she was a heavy drinker. It didn’t take sight to know that. Whenever she drank—while she didn’t blab her secrets to just any passers-by—she tended to reveal more of her true nature than her sober self ever did. Bull was usually the one to help usher her back to her quarters, and she spent much of their journeys together whining about him cutting her off and letting her vocabulary slip from that of a refined and modest Marcher noblewoman to that of a foul-mouthed and pent-up Marcher man. He’d seen more than enough of the non-Qunari lands to know what the average crossdresser looked and acted like. A brilliant actor, one that glowed on stage and basked in all the attention that pretty women got, but also one that hid away as soon as the makeup started to melt. One whose persona loved it when every eye was on her, but lived in fear of the day when every eye would be turned onto him.
Bull had a sinking feeling that this was what was going on with the Boss, and it made him nervous. He watched as Mallie continued to move the instrument’s bow along the strings, the music slowly and sweetly fading. There was a reason he told her that he was a ben-hassrath right away. Secrets never stayed secrets forever.
The music faded to nothing, and there was a round of applause from the few patrons in the tavern. Sera, who had woken up halfway through the Inquisitor’s little recital, whooped and cheered from the stairs. Mallie groaned and leaned forward as dramatically as her corset allowed, her ears burning with embarrassment. It was as if she had, for a while, been somewhere else in her mind, and only now did she realize who and where she was—the leader of the Inquisition in a tavern named after the masses’ perception of her, playing an old instrument in front of people who saw her as something that she wasn’t. Whether that was a woman or the Herald of Andraste, he wasn’t yet sure. He was certain he’d find out eventually.
“Where’d you learn to play like that, Inky?” Sera asked, all but tugging at her skirt like an impatient child. “All fancy-like and stuff?”
Bull leaned back in his chair slightly, ears primed to pick up on any potential admissions. He was fully confident that she was a noble—an eldest child from some branch of the Trevelyan family, to be exact—who had dealt with some fall from grace. Now, thanks to her earlier conversation with the bards, he was certain that it had happened at least ten years ago. That narrowed things down. He’d bet good money that she, at some point, engaged in some form of the sex trade. He could spot a hooker from a mile off.
“I knew someone who used to play,” she said. She was a good liar, but Bull wasn’t convinced. “He gave me a few lessons when I was younger.”
“Really?”
“Mhmm.” She stood, and handed the viol back to Hugo. “Here, hon,” she smiled. The poor man looked moments away from collapsing to his knees. “I don’t think I warped anything.” She let out a light chuckle, modest blush making her little human ears red.
“I will treasure this,” Hugo said, nodding and bowing deeply. “My viol, blessed- blessed by the hands of the Herald.”
Mallie almost perfectly hid her involuntary cringe away from the title. She smiled at the bard and touched beneath his chin with her Anchor-bound hand, tilting it up. “Come, now, no need to grovel or anything. It was my honor to play again for a little while.” As much as she clearly resented the religious fanaticism that surrounded her, the bitch knew exactly how to use it to her advantage.
The Orlesian’s face was on fire. “Of- of course, dear Lady. If- if you ever- if you ever wish to play again…”
“I’ll come find you and ask,” she nodded, smiling. Hugo nodded rapidly. “Well, I’m off to grab a drink,” she laughed. “Cabot!” She cheerfully bounded over to the bar, where the dwarf was busy polishing glasses and pretending to not be fascinated by the sweet, mournful music—a welcome change from the more upbeat melodies usually requested of Maryden. Mallie had the man wrapped around her finger, even if he did his best not to act like it.
Sera pestered her about how she was going to tell Blackwall that she’d gotten to see Mallie play her fancy-pants instrument and not him, making some crude joke about Mallie giving the Warden a repeat performance. With hands. On his instrument. Mallie gave her a light swat on the arm, pretending to be offended at the suggestion of anything dirty, even if she giggled and said maybe to Sera’s suggestion. Eventually, after chattering with various patrons, claiming that she just picked up her skill on the viol when she was younger—no doubt giving many the impression that the Herald was a musical savant, doubtlessly proving her connection to the Prophet that supposedly made their absentee god take a second look at the world with her song—the Inquisitor came over to the Chargers’ table. Without a task from the Seeker or the War Table to occupy her time, she was in the tavern. Or, more recently, in the stables flirting with Blackwall. Ever since she refused to take his pathetic attempt at a breakup for an answer, the two had been more flirtatious than ever. Bull wondered how it would work out. Both of them were hiding things from each other. What, exactly, he couldn’t pin down. Yet.
Mallie’s upbeat voice broke into his thoughts as she and Sera started chatting idly about this and that, and Bull took up his usual position of playfully teasing the Boss. She was clearly still recovering from some sort of delayed stage fright, and Bull couldn’t resist the urge to poke and prod a little more. She quickly started to relax into her chair, groaning when Sera took up a spot on her lap but refusing to kick her off. She was a sweet thing, that Inquisitor. Regardless of what was beneath her skirt, she was a great viol player and a damn good Boss.