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“And- and, she does this, like–” Cullen had a look of deep concentration on his face as he regaled the Chargers of just how talented their Inquisitor was.
It would have been fine if he was just gossiping to the Chargers and Bull – they knew what discretion was. Sure, if one Charger knew something the rest would know within the hour, but nothing escaped their circle. Of course, Bull meant Dorian. And Dorian meant unending teasing and prodding – no matter who heard – until he found something more embarrassing to devour.
“Wait, wait, let me guess,” the said mage slammed his mug down on the table, slopping cheap wine everywhere. Behaviour most unbefitting of a Tevinter noble, that was certain. “She does this thing with her tongue?”
“Yes…” The word was more groan than actual language, but he seemed to have gotten his point across. Around him, the table roared with laughter. “She’s incredible,” he moaned again, eyes falling shut at what were no doubt very pleasant memories.
“You’d best be talking about me,” a voice suddenly echoed through the tavern, somehow slicing through the noise straight to Cullen’s ears. He blanched.
“No!” He cried, standing clumsily and falling towards Petriniana Lavellan as she pulled up a chair from nowhere and sat next to her lover.
“So I’m not incredible?” Petrin cocked her head to the side and just looked at Cullen, who completely wilted.
Across the table Dalish stage whispered something about the Inquisitor having the Commander by the balls.
“No! I mean- yes! Yes, Pet you know- you know you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met!”
Petrin finally let a smile curl her lips up. Cullen relaxed slightly, but still looked nervous, unsure of exactly what was going on in his intoxicated state. Petrin’s next words were softer, quieter; for Cullen’s benefit only.
“In what capacity am I incredible this time, my love?” Her eyes were fond, and in that tiny moment, her hand resting on his thigh, it was more apparent than ever the love they shared.
The table was near silent, everyone either caught up in their own thoughts of romance, or showing respect for the Inquisitor. There was a certain mage, of course, who felt no need to show respect.
“Apparently, you’re the Queen of Cock-sucking,” Dorian supplied helpfully, shrugging. His moustache twitched as he tried desperately to hold in his laughter.
Despite being so fair and slight, Petrin commanded respect of all those around her merely in the way she held herself. She walked tall despite her true stature, and held such purpose in the tautness of her posture that she could never be ignored. Truly, she was a balanced person – she drank, she swore, she fought with the best of them – but even those who had been privy to that side of her forgot it’s existence in the face of her ‘important-lady-in-charge-of-everything’ facade. The Chargers were those kind.
Bull and Dorian were not.
While the Chargers looked at each other, unsure of what this strange, marble creature would do, Dorian and The Iron Bull proceeded to laugh themselves stupid.
“Ah, yes,” Petrin sighed, patting a babbling Cullen (‘I’m sorry, maker, oh maker Petrin I’m so sorry I-I, please, I’m sorry…’) on the leg.
To the surprise of even Dorian and Bull, who knew her well, Petrin fixed them all with an incredibly smug look and looked to the side demurely.
“My talent is a thing of legend, darling.” When she looked back up at Dorian, her eyes were aflame with filthy promises.
“Fasta Vass,” the mage swore, not unaffected by those promises. “I don’t even like women and I’d probably go there.”
At an indignant noise from Cullen, he amended his statement.
“Not without your permission, of course, dear Commander.”
“Damn right,” Cullen slurred.
The Chargers were thawing as the Inquisitor continued joking and Dorian threw his head back in beautiful, raucous laughter.
“Shit, if your skills are that good, I can’t wait to hear the songs they'll sing,” Krem laughed. “Just imagine it –”
Within half an hour, Krem and the Chargers had created a true masterpiece:
Oh, Inquisitor, that fearless elf
Of heroes she’s my pick
But if you dare to slight her
She’ll suck your brains out through your dick!
-
A glass – not a wooden mug or metal tankard but a real glass – had been placed before the Inquisitor by a keen-eyed barmaid, and the Inquisitor had downed half of the foul wine in one go. She had a lot of catching up to do, after all, and it had been an awful enough day that she needed an evening of alcohol and friends to wipe her memories.
At her side, Cullen was nodding his head in time to Maryden’s new rendition of the Chargers’ song and turning his fuzzy gaze to her as often as not. She didn’t have enough experience dealing with drunk Cullen to know if she should gently put him to bed, but she was sure he could handle another hour.
Enough time for her to get thoroughly pissed. She tangled their fingers under the table in thanks, though he didn’t know her purpose.
Of course, eventually the conversation returned to Petrin and her ‘abilities’.
“No, no, I’m sure I know a man who could challenge your title, Pet,” Bull roared to her. He slung an arm around Dorian as he spoke, leaving no mystery as to who he referred to.
“Oh Bull, you flatter me,” Dorian fairly purred.
“Oh Bull, you don’t know how wrong you are,” mocked Petrin, feeling the warm buzz of the wine finally reaching her.
“It’s not possible,” Cullen was shaking his head emphatically. “It’s honestly- honestly, just not possible.”
“You heard the man,” Petrin gave Dorian a sympathetic look. “He knows what he’s talking about.”
They continued arguing in a similar vein, with Dalish weighing in too, proudly exclaiming that she knew some tricks of her own.
“What, magic tricks?” The dwarf Rocky laughed.
“No,” she said quickly. “Bow tricks. Arrow tricks.”
“In bed? Sounds painful,” Petrin laughed.
They teased Dalish for a while, and then Stitches, for stumbling over his words in his drunkenness. The conversation didn’t return to Petrin and Cullen. Every so often Dorian looked over to Petrin with an indecipherable expression on his face, and she caught Bull throwing her and Cullen a few curious looks, too. She couldn’t help but wonder what in the name of the fade she’d gotten herself into.