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"So which is it?"
Emeline looked up from her bowl - the kitchen's end of the week special, a thick brown stew made from whatever they hadn't used up the week before and wouldn't hold, dished out at the tavern for dinner. It was usually good enough, and Cabot's deadpan stare when she'd once asked what type of soup it was had curbed any further questions about specifics. Currently she thought she might have been chewing on some pork fat. Maybe. The evening bustle had died down and Iron Bull had seated himself on the stool next to her, where he was working through his own portion.
"Pardon?"
"The mage thing." He grimaced at his bowl, nodding past her. "Pass that salt, will you? You should tell Josephine to hire some Antivans, maybe some Rivainis. Might actually get a little flavor in here."
"Yes, Fereldan food is an absolute horror, says the man that apparently drinks his poultices and doesn't think a thing of it. I'll be sure to pass that on." She pushed the salt towards him anyway. "There's pepper paste in the pantry, you know. Free Marches style, though, so it's mostly savory, not much spice. I saw Cabot using it on his toast. I didn't realize he was a Marcher, did you? Well, I'm sure you did. But the dwarf thing - the accent doesn't vary much, does it? I wonder if that's intentional, like if they make sure their children keep the old accent, no matter where they grow up.”
Bull’s mouth was full of subpar Southern stew, so he only lifted a shoulder in a ‘beats me’ gesture. Emeline stirred her soup, looking like she was considering some extra salt herself. “There aren't any dwarves in the Circle, of course, so I don't really know. Varric's the same, but then he's one of those merchant princes or something, isn't he? He definitely wouldn't have been allowed to sound like any old Kirkie, I don't think - even the human nobles all sound like they're talking through their noses. Especially the nobles, actually, if I remember right. I bet that's not considered very attractive on the dwarven marriage market. Bit awkward to ask, though." She paused, taking another bite before squinting at Bull. He was salting his stew again, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Do you think he's ever been engaged? I was thinking - he must have, right? With chest hair like that and everything."
"Probably run away from a few, that's usually how it works." He shoveled in a bite, grunting. "Generally more about the money than the chest hair, though some people really go for that. Not really a Qunari thing." He chewed slowly, glancing sidelong at her. "Nug?"
"I was thinking pork?" She frowned down at her spoon, a little piece of carrot floating sadly next to the mystery meat. "Oh, I hope it's not nug. How depressing."
"Probably better not to think too hard about it. Anyway," he gestured with his spoon, "you're changing the subject."
"Oh? I don't think I know what the subject is, I'm sorry."
"The mages. What's your angle?"
"My...angle? Like -" and she held her thumb and forefinger in an L shape, one brow raised. Bull snorted.
"Uh-huh. It's just funny. You don't seem too excited about the mages being here, at least when you talk about it. Viv - er, ma'am - thinks you actually have a good head on your shoulders, even though she doesn't like them being full allies. Said something about it being a probationary period, before the Circle gets set back up. And Cassandra says she thinks you made the right choice, which is interesting, because she was hitting those practice dummies like they were hitting her back right after Redcliffe."
"Well, maybe they just have a renewed enthusiasm for my top notch on the spot decision making skills, which I personally think is entirely justified. Did you look up at the sky recently? It's not nearly as pretty - I really did like that minty green color, didn't you? But I admit I do like not worrying about being sucked up into it. So d'you want that pepper paste? Cabot's off, I think I'm going to sneak it."
Bull looked from her back to his stew, eyeing a depressingly mealy piece of potato. "Eh, why not. Anyway, Dorian seems to think you're using this as a step towards full mage freedom in the South. Longterm. He acts like it worries him but he's a Vint -," he said the word like it was a synonym for 'rat' or 'heathen' or 'burnt eggs', "- he'll mostly support it, maybe a little protest here and there about precedent, that kind of shit. And Solas...well, he plays it pretty close to the vest but he's nicer to you than he is to anyone else, so my guess is he's on the same page as Dorian. Or maybe you two..." He trailed off, Emeline glancing over her shoulder at him as she slid off her stool, looking half delighted and half on the verge of laughter. "Right, I guess that's a no. And we both know Vivienne wouldn't let butter melt in her mouth if she thought you were walking down that road. And Cassandra'd be glaring daggers until she resigned herself to it, and then she'd just sigh a lot. Pretty sure all the practice dummies would be toast, too."
Emeline poked her head up from where she'd slid behind the counter.
"Well, I think that does sound awfully accurate, Bull. Except the Solas bit, which was very diverting if not at all true. I'm very impressed."
"Thanks." He watched her duck back down beneath the counter, could hear her rummaging around.
"Oh, found it!" Her hand peeked up over the counter, a little tub in hand, and she shoved it towards him along with a clean spoon. "Don't use too much at first, I think people who didn't grow up with it find it a little overwhelming, even you vaunted northerners and your steel tongues." Her head poked up, followed by the rest of her, and she smiled winsomely. "Or iron, I suppose. So, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I still don't understand what exactly it is you want to know. Is your supposition that I'm, what, lying to people? About...I don't know, my devious motivations?" She gasped, leaning forward. "Bull, do you think I'm some sort of revolutionary in hiding? Because that would be terribly exciting, wouldn't it? I'd be flattered if you did." She paused, leaning on her elbow and thinking, presumably, about leading some sort of mage army to freedom and justice for all. "Andraste's tits. A thing like that."
"Ah, no, you don't seem much like the revolutionary type." He spooned some of the paste into his soup, giving her a little conciliatory smile at the downturn of her lips. "No offense, Boss." He shrugged. "Guess I'm just curious where you actually stand on the whole thing, seeing as you're the one that made the call. You've got a stake in it." He'd have guessed she was a Loyalist - that was what they were called, if he remembered right - through and through, when he'd first met her. Now he figured that was exactly what she'd wanted him - and Vivienne, and Cassandra, and Cullen - to think. But no, she didn't seem like much of a rebel either, or even an upstart, noble cause or not.
"Put a scoop in mine, please, then I'll put it back." He did, and handed the paste over - she rolled her eyes at him, taking the spoon and smoothing it over save for one dip that Cabot would likely assume was his own. She shrugged when she saw Bull watching, bemused. "You can take the girl out of the Circle... D'you know all the food is inventoried? Well, no, you probably didn't. It is, though. Anyway, I'll make sure he gets more, and order an extra for me besides. No harm done." Emeline wrapped the jar back up and slipped it back in it's spot, looking about like Cabot was going to jump out and scold her at any moment before moving back around to take her seat.
"You know all he's gonna do is glare at you, maybe say something kinda rude. You're the Inquisitor."
"Maybe I don't like to be glared at." But she was smiling, sipping peppery broth from her spoon. "I suppose I know where you stand on it all, don't I? The mage thing. Which I think is awfully funny, given you employ one apostate - excuse me, an archer - flirt madly with another, and are currently dining with the worst one of all. Of course that's all so terribly different, isn't it? I understand, though. It's always different with people you know." She paused, considering. "You know, I think at least a few of the Chantry mothers probably fantasize like schoolgirls about making me Tranquil. What's left of them, anyway. Which I rather resent because I spent a lot of time helping the sisters at the Ostwick Chantry get their gardens into top shape, you know. They hired me out and everything." She chewed a piece of meat, looking despondent. "No one ever thanks a mage, and that's the truth."
"Yeah, well, I don't know much about gardens, but I don't think anyone here's going to let you get made Tranquil, Boss. You've got a pretty good failsafe there." He nodded down at her hand, currently quiet and sensibly flesh colored under her ever present glove. Though she was concentrating on her soup, Emeline flexed her fingers absently, like she could feel the weight of his gaze on it. Bull had the brief urge to take her hand and peel the glove off, see what it looked like up close, but he just pulled his eye away and back up to her. He thought about letting himself linger where the laces of her shirt had been loosened to show an appealing flash of skin, just the barest hint of cleavage, likely flushed from conversation and the heat of the tavern, but decided against it.
"Oh, I don't know. Things are always so much more fragile than you think they are, aren't they? Of course, if they didn't know whether it would stop my hand working, they wouldn't, that's a certainty. And they don't. I take some small comfort in that, don't you worry." She glanced over and started to laugh at the look on his face, veering dangerously towards unamused, or worse, pity. "Oh, honestly, you have to have a bit of humor about the whole thing. I know where I stand. What, would you protect me? Fight to make sure I could escape into the wilds with Solas and start our dreadfully romantic adventures as oddball apostates at large?"
"Yeah, maybe I would." He grinned. "I like a good fight."
Emeline cocked her head at that, her eyes moving over his face and a brow raised. A beat passed before she shook her head, a wry smile on her face. In a voice a little bit lower, a little bit more serious than he was used to from her, she said,
"No you wouldn't. But I do appreciate the sentiment."
Bull felt himself tense a bit, an odd little something niggling in the back of his mind. Annoyance, maybe. He frowned, more at himself than her. He didn't have much to say to that, anyway, and they sat in silence for a few moments before Emeline spoke again.
"So you want to know what I think? Really?"
He gave her a long look up and down, nodded.
"Yeah. I do."
"I'm a mage. Obviously, I want what's best for mages, whatever that ends up being. But I just chose the way I did because it popped out of my mouth. Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn't. And I don't think my opinion on the matter is very important at all, once the new Divine gets chosen anyway, so I might as well not have one, hadn't I? If they want to shove us all back into Circles, they'll find a way to do it. If the mages want to fight back, they'll find a way to do that. I just made sure they were out of Tevinter control and the rebellion is effectively done until I can ride off into the sunset with my darling Pepper and a bag full of elfroot. There's no use fighting against the tide and all that." She lifted a shoulder, lazy, as though to say "and that's that."
Bull studied her face for a moment, frustration evident on his brow but a faint smile playing on his lips.
"And I guess you don't like to be glared at."
Emeline paused, twirling her spoon in her soup and glancing sideways from under her lashes. A small smile spread across her face.
"I suppose I don't."
Bull huffed, scratching his nose then started scraping the last of his soup from his bowl. "Can't fight against the tide, huh? You been doing some reading, Boss?"
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. I did read a dreadful good Orlesian caper novel last week, if that's what you mean." She shot him an arch look. "Took place by the seaside. Very atmospheric. Pirates and spies and all that sort of pish posh."
"Right." Bull shook his head. "You know, you'd have made a half-decent spy with some training." When he glanced back over at her, Emeline was staring at him with wide eyes.
"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." She paused. "Oh, except maybe when Ser Elowyn told me I had the nicest arse she'd ever seen. And she got around. I still think of that when I'm feeling down. So, second best, but it's a very good second."
"Ser Elowyn, huh? See, you already know how to distract me. Like I said - a decent spy."
"Well, flattering as it is, I'm sure I can't imagine why you'd ascribe such underhanded motivations to me." She tilted her head. "In the books they're called honeypots, aren't they? Femme fatales, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, that's a way of putting it, if you want to get all flowery." The wrinkling of his nose betrayed what exactly he thought of excessive floweriness for serious spy work. "You've definitely got the enthusiasm for it."
"Huh. Well, I'll keep it in mind for a career backup when this all goes tits up, then." She smiled brightly then, nodding down at his empty bowl. "Come on, give me your bowl, I'll take it down to the kitchens. Unless you want to come with - I heard the cooks made ginger cake this morning, I'm going to go verify. Very important Inquisition business, you know."
"Nah, thanks - I should turn in. We're running drills with some of Cullen's troops tomorrow, my leg could probably use the rest. I've got some paperwork for the Chargers to get to anyway." He waved her off when Emeline's brow started to crinkle and she glanced down at said leg. "It's nothing, Boss, just the cold. Makes it a little sore around the back." Bull slid around on his stool as Emeline gathered their bowls and hopped off of hers, scratching the back of his neck. "Actually..."
"Oh, d'you want some ginger cake after all? If they don't have that I know they have some of those little vanilla cookies with the cinnamon, the kind Josie likes? She requested them. Or, actually, I think Leliana did, but anyway, it was really for Josephine, so..." she trailed off. "Oh, that's not what you were going to say, is it?"
"Yeah, no, it's actually - I got a letter today, it's a Qunari thing. But we can deal with it tomorrow, nothing to do about it tonight."
"Oh. Is it serious? You look like it might be serious - you know we can go find Leliana, she's stuck up with her ravens practically til dawn, and honestly I don't think Cullen or Josephine actually sleep, come to think of it -"
"No, it's not bad. It's good, I think. Good enough to hold for one night, at least."
"Well, alright. If you're absolutely sure." Bull nodded, and Emeline eyed him for a moment. "Alright then." She started to turn away then stopped, turning back. "Are you really going to be alone?" She rolled her eyes at Bull's growing smirk. "Oh, not like that, honestly. I just mean, 'my leg needs rest' isn't code for, I don't know, 'I don't want to brag but I'm going to be shagging someone silly so don't bother me' or something."
He stared at her, amused. "Do you really think I'd use a code for that?"
Emeline appeared to give it a moment's thought before she shrugged. "Oh, no, I suppose not, but I figured I might as well check. I don't want to give anyone some sort of complex, being walked in on by Andraste's Chosen and all that, completely starkers and everything. How horrible." She gestured at his leg with her bowls. "Anyway, it's just that I was thinking, if you want I'll bring up some elfroot tea. But only if you want. Oh!" She rocked on her feet, face lit up like a lantern. "And I can bring up some cookies to go with it. Or cake, whichever." She paused. "If Sera hasn't switched the salt, which, really now that I think of it, she might have."
"You don't have to fuss -"
"It's not any trouble at all and it’s not fussing. Fussing involves making little clucking noises and making you drink broth. I used to do rounds in the Circle infirmary - I am acutely aware of the definition, believe me." She shrugged. “I'm just going to wander around anyway, avoiding my own paperwork and notes, that sort of rubbish. I might as well do something, and if it's helpful, then that's all the better isn't it? Idle hands, idle minds and all that."
Bull regarded her for a moment before nodding slowly, a wry smile on his face.
"...alright, yeah. That sounds good. Thanks, Boss."
As Emeline made turned and made her way to the door trailing bootsteps and the clink of dishes behind her, Bull rose from his stool to head back up to his own room. When she was just about to head out to the courtyard, she heard Bull call out from across the tavern.
"Hey, uh, Em?"
She turned to look over her shoulder at where he was standing by the stairs.
"Yes?"
"Cake. If they've got it." He paused. "Please."
A little smile curled her lips, eyes alight with victory, but she nodded soberly.
"Of course. See you soon, Bull."