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The Herald’s Rest was unusually busy tonight. Despite the large crowd and the discomfort he felt being amidst so many people, Cullen remained at the bar, nursing his fourth ale of the night. His day had been unusually trying and he wanted... needed something to take the edge off tonight. He was considering ordering another ale when the Inquisitor unexpectedly slid onto the barstool next to him, her smile wide. He nodded with polite deference, silently relieved for her presence. He was the first to admit that his own thoughts weren’t always the most entertaining company.
“Hey.” She offered, her eyes bright. “Drinking alone?”
Cullen grunted. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
She furrowed her brow, her green eyes watching him with curiosity.
“Was your day that bad?”
As she waited for a response, she held up two fingers to flag down an especially belligerent looking Cabot, who efficiently thudded a blue glass bottle down in front of her and shuffled off without actually taking her order. Unperturbed by the bartender’s lack of respect, Inquisitor Trevelyan poured herself several fingers of sweet smelling liquor and waited for his answer.
Cullen took a long pull of ale before replying.
“One of the newer scouts shot himself in the foot with a crossbow today.” The Inquisitor winced, but Cullen went on. “Shot a toe right off. His toe.” He shook his head, recalling how another soldier had to shake the boot out to find the damn thing.
“After that incident, Josephine stopped by to inform me that she needs me to personally escort a noble from Val Gamord around Skyhold tomorrow. Apparently, the man has a lot of money and a ‘deep personal interest’ in military strategy.” He ran his hair through his hair, sighing hard. “He is also notorious for talking at people, and for spouting antiquated military nonsense.”
Cullen pressed his lips together, distastefully imagining what his day would be like tomorrow.
“So, yes. It’s been a bad day.”
The Inquisitor picked up her shot of liquor and Cullen watched, fascinated, as she swallowed it down and set the small glass back down on the bar.
“So. How can I help?” She asked, then winced to herself as the alcohol burned down her throat.
Cullen sniffed, fighting a smile. Maker, of course she would ask that.
“Can you push a nobleman down a well and reattach toes to oblivious scouts?”
Trevelyan scratched her chin, pretending to think.
“Well, I can try.” She waggled her fingers to indicate that magic would be involved. “I’ll note that you didn’t specifically say where the toe needs to be reattached to…”
Cullen snorted a short laugh into his drink and shot her a wry smile.
“Fair enough, although that still doesn’t address my nobleman problem.”
“Yes, well. You’re on your own with that one. Josie has already informed me that pushing noblemen down wells is a ‘frowned upon’ activity.” She replied, making air quotes. “I already asked. Believe it or not, you aren’t the first to suggest that idea.”
“Damnit.” He groused, taking another swig of ale.
Trevelyan shot him a sympathetic look and awkwardly patted the fluff where his shoulder should be.
“I feel like I should give you a hug, but you’re encased in fifty pounds of silverite.”
Cullen wrapped both hands around his tankard of ale and squeezed, suddenly feeling a bit hot. When did it get so warm?
“You know it comes off.” He replied, surprised at the boldness of his own answer. The tone of his response could definitely be interpreted several ways.
“Does it?” Trevelyan asked, cocking her head.
“Sometimes.” He muttered, flustered at the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “I don’t sleep with it on. I sleep without… ah...” He exhaled an awkward breath. “... Clothes.” He trailed off, realizing that he was talking about nudity to the Inquisitor of Thedas. True, she was a good friend, but something about that line of conversation felt… odd.
Trevelyan laughed, her voice sunny and amused.
Cullen took a self-conscious sip of ale, trying to ignore the blush that had crept up his cheeks.
“Speaking of sleep, I should go.” He said begrudgingly, setting down the tankard. “Last thing I need is to be horrendously soused tomorrow morning when I meet up with that Duke.” He paused. “Or maybe that’s the best idea I’ve had all day.”
The Inquisitor raised an appraising eyebrow. “Trying out the Iron Bull’s approach to life, hm?”
“Whatever works.” Cullen replied, downing the last of his ale and standing up.
She smiled, her eyes soft. Her could see her amusement still bubbling just below the surface, but it was now tempered with something that resembled ... affection? Maker, as much as his heart thudded hard at the idea, he was too tipsy to dwell on that right now.
“I’ll walk you to your office.” She offered pleasantly.
Before Cullen could politely object, she slid off her stool and looped her arm through his, scooting herself up against his much larger frame. Uncertain what to make of this new development, Cullen simply let himself be led from the tavern, secretly glad that Sera wasn’t around. The last thing he needed was for the rowdy elf to fling lewd comments to him from across the packed room.
Together, they walked in comfortable silence up the stairs, neither of them speaking a word until they arrived at the heavy oak door to his office. He was grateful for Trevelyan's presence; it was easy to enjoy the nighttime peace with her now that they had left the din of the Herald’s Rest behind.
At the doorway, he gently released her arm and turned to face her, a half-smile on his face.
“Thank you. … For everything. I appreciated your company tonight.”
She gave him a warm smile.
“My pleasure. You shouldn’t have to drink alone.” She paused, mulling something over. “Also, now that no one’s around, I’m going to give you that hug.”
To Cullen’s delight, she stepped in towards him and ensnared him in a firm hug. Nevermind that he could barely feel it due to nearly fifty pounds of silverite armor, the gesture caused his gut to squirm in satisfied pleasure. Trying not to overthink the situation, he ducked his head low and returned the warm hug, pulling her smaller frame to his and enjoying the moment.
“This… this is good.” He muttered against the fine linen of her shirt.
“Mmm.” She mumbled back in agreement.
They stood there in the dark for several long moments, huddled together against the chilly mountain wind that nipped at their ears and fingertips, focused on nothing but the press of each others' bodies.
The moment was broken when the door to the tavern slammed in the courtyard below, the sound echoing loudly across the battlements.
“Well.” She said, pulling free and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a faint blush on her face. “Good luck tomorrow. I’m sure your brand of terse diplomacy will be exactly what your situation needs.”
“I’m making no promises.” He grumbled, turning to open the door to his office.
“Cullen.” She said sternly, and he turned back to look at her. “If you ruin Skyhold’s drinking supply by defiling our well with the corpse of a pompous, noble windbag, you and I will be having words.” She leveled a mock frown at him.
“Fair enough.” He remarked placidly. “If I do commit murder, you know where to find me.”
“Sleeping naked upstairs in your loft?”
Even in the darkness, he knew she could see his bright blush.
She smiled and turned to leave before he could think of a response.
“Goodnight, Cullen.” She said, and he swore there was almost a longing note to her words.
“Goodnight, Inquisitor.” He replied as he watched her leave, his expression soft yet unreadable.