Chapter Text
It had been an exhausting day. Cullen had been ordering around and helping to train so many allies and soldiers that he felt like his vocal chords would drop into his stomach and explode like the Chantry did a few years back.
He was completely spent. He wanted to run back to his chambers and collapse into his bed, but he knew sleep wouldn't come for him. He would probably worry about what he would have to do tomorrow, which scouts he should send to which areas to gain the most resources, allies or information. No, he needed a break.
A well-earned drink, too.
It was well past evening and a faint sunset was tinting the Skyhold's beautiful view. He stared up at the pink clouds for a split second to calm down and he made his way to the Herald's Rest, the local tavern.
On the way, he spotted Cassandra violently beating up a training dummy with her sharpened sword, beheading the poor sack of sand with one swipe of the wrist. Cullen was always glad to have her by the Inquisition’s side, because he would’ve hated to actually battle her. Even when they had ‘light’ sparrings (as Cassandra put it), Cullen was left with bruises all over for weeks and Cassandra didn't even break a sweat. Frankly, he was partially terrified and impressed by her and respected her deeply because of that.
She spotted him staring and offered a dry wave before she kindly took the burden of limbs off of the dummy’s mind (and body).
Cullen tried his best to not smile proudly at her progress.
Opening the door to the tavern, the cozy song of the bard and the cheering of drunkards hit him in the face like the avalanche that brought the Inquisition here in the first place. The strong scent of wine and whiskey wafted boldly in the air above the other various alcoholic drinks.
Cullen promised himself that he would just buy a bottle of their strongest wine and go back to his chambers to escape this overstimulating place, but he was stopped when everyone in the building quieted down for a long moment. Curious, Cullen turned in his seat facing the bar and felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the newcomer enter the tavern. Everyone around him suddenly resumed their chatter amongst a few cheerful jokes to greet the welcome visitor.
“Greetings, your worship! Don’t worry, this one’s on the house.” Called out the bartender as they poured some beer into a big cup. “Your favorite.” They winked at the Inquisitor as she made her way to the counter.
Whenever Cullen saw Adaar, he was always struck by how tall she was. She towered over everyone in the room and her twisting horns were just inches away from touching the low ceiling. Her gray skin looked like stone in the faint firelight of the candles and her eyes glowed like twin moons. Her pointed ears were laced in earrings of all sizes. Cullen couldn’t help but admire her. And her muscles, and her constantly relaxed expression, and her calm aura that gently eased Cullen whenever she was around, and-
He was snapped out of his trance when she sat down next to him and reached for the large cup of beer.
“Thanks.” She hummed to the bartender, who simply nodded with a smile. Adaar's sharp gaze finally acknowledged Cullen beside her.
“Cullen. Fancy seeing you here.” She greeted him smoothly. A weak tilt of the lips shifted her face into something soft despite it being barely noticeable.
“Inquisitor.” Cullen cleared his throat, nodding respectfully. She stared at him for a long few seconds before passing him her cup of undrunken beer.
“Take it. Looks like you need it more than me.” She offered, sliding the cup on the counter. “Long day?”
Cullen hesitated visibly before gingerly taking the beer in one hand, taking a cautious but relieving sip. “Yes. And thank you.” He sighed. “I’m glad that more people are coming to aid our cause, but that only means more people to teach how to fight. Some of them have never had any training at all! That means worrying about their preferred weapons, wasting time on the wrong talents and the wrong sparring partners, and-” He took in a breath to make himself stop.
“Maker, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” He muttered. “My apologies.”
Adaar chuckled shortly with her rumbly, deep voice and patted Cullen’s shoulder, nearly pushing his forehead into the counter with how firmly she was reassuring him.
“Ah, I don’t mind. That just shows that you trust me, and that's what a good Inquisitor needs. A loyal ally.” She replied. Cullen thought that he could always be more than a loyal ally, but he pushed those impossible thoughts aside.
They stared at each other for a while, Adaar’s gaze shifting to curiosity.
“You aren’t drinking much. Don’t you like the beer?” She asked. Cullen felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment.
“...I do. I was just expecting something stronger.” He admitted shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. Adaar’s face lit up with one of her rare smirks.
“Oh, yeah?” She challenged slyly. Raising her hand, she called to the bartender. “Two shots, please.”
Cullen’s eyes widened in surprise, his nerves freezing. “What? No, let me pay, you’ve already done enough for me and the Inquisition and-”
Adaar shushed him and Cullen instantly shut up. Maker, she didn’t even have to try and Cullen was practically already at her feet!
She put the filled shot glass into Cullen’s hand and lightly hit their glasses together.
“Drink up. Inquisitor’s orders.” She downed the drink in one go and let out a relieved breath, glaring at Cullen expectantly. Following her lead, he chugged down the alcohol. It burned down his throat and made his insides spin. It didn’t help that Adaar was smirking at him like that, making his stomach twist even more despite the alcohol.
“I don’t see how this will help me in my duties.” Cullen objected, lazily watching the beer in the mug swirl in a circle.
“It’ll help you by letting yourself calm down and maybe finally have a good night’s sleep.” She watched him before continuing. “Are you gonna drink that?” She pointed her chin to the beer. Cullen shook his head and she took a few bold drinks from it, loudly hitting it on the counter when she had finished it in a shocking amount of seconds.
“Aren’t you anxious about getting drunk too quickly?” He worried as Adaar ordered another drink. She snickered.
“It takes a bit more than a few drinks to unravel me, Cullen.” She teased. “Plus, the beer isn't that strong. Barely hits the spot.”
“Why are you trying to get drunk in the first place? We have a few political meetings tomorrow.” Cullen continued.
“Cassandra and Leliana will be too busy staring at each other's lips and arguing to notice me being a hungover mess.” She huffed. “We barely even do anything. Last time, we accidentally side-tracked into Josephine educating us about Orlesian history because you mispronounced the name of a random dish that they served there.”
Cullen was left speechless as Adaar downed ANOTHER drink.
“Wait, do Cassandra and Leliana seriously do… that? I've never noticed.” He mumbled.
“That's because you're always trying your best to keep the meeting on track.” She pointed out. “Of course, Cassandra tries too. It's just that she gets a bit caught up in the arguments and proving her point.”
Cullen scoffed, surprised that he never realized those things.
“So you're just going to drink your boredom away.” He observed as Adaar smirked at him. “Exactly.”
Cullen sighed. Then, he raised his hand to the bartender.
But before he could order anything, Adaar shoved his raised hand onto the counter and raised her own hand instead, glaring daggers at him.
“I'm paying. Don't you dare even try to pay me back tomorrow, Cullen.” She snapped. “What do you want?” She demanded.
You, Cullen wanted to say, but he choked those words down his throat. His hand was frozen under hers and he felt sweat trickle down his neck.
“...just another shot.” He managed to utter. Adaar nodded at the bartender, who heard and saw everything.
Adaar poked Cullen's hand before releasing her firm grip on him. “Remember, I'm…” She suddenly paused for a moment, searching for a word. “Agh, fuck. What was it again? The.. thing.” She groaned in frustration, snapping her fingers to try and jog her memory. “The ‘paying or being welcoming to someone’ word. Is that even a word in your language?” She wondered, tapping angrily on the counter with her fingers.
“I've no idea.” Cullen answered lamely. “Perhaps you'll remember later.”
“I better remember it soon.” She grumbled.
Maker, she was beautiful when she was annoyed. Her eyes glowed with a fierce determination that he always saw in her eyes when she was angry or training her battle moves. He could only imagine how intense it was when she was actually fighting someone.
The bartender handed Cullen his drink and he drank it appreciatively.