Chapter Text
Haven celebrated. The rift had been sealed and the sky no longer pulled apart at the seams. The anchor remained on Caroline’s hand, crackling with energy just often enough that she couldn’t forget its presence, but it didn’t hurt. Tingled some, but it had become a familiar sensation and blended into the background of her thoughts the way an old ache might. She sat on a stone wall overlooking the festivities, mug of mead in hand, ankles crossed. Her future with Inquisition was yet uncertain, but at least the rift was closed.
"I didn’t take you for the solemn, brooding type.”
She glanced up as Dorian hopped onto the wall with her, cradling his own tankard, mustache oiled and gleaming. They had not known each other long, but after the shit they went through, he might as well have been family, but perhaps that was just the time travel speaking.
“Oh, just you wait. I’m full of surprises. Contradictions. Secrets.”
“Secrets?” His eyes gleamed with interest. “And here I thought we were past that sort of nonsense. Come on now, fess up. Let there be nothing between you and I.”
She fought a grin. “What shall I start with? I suppose I’ll just come clean then. My heart is in fragments, shattered by the callous disregard from the most dashing man I’ve had the pleasure to lay my eyes on.”
He took a long drink. “Enthralling. Tell me about this rogue. Will it require me to defend your honor?”
“I doubt you’d be up to the task.”
“Me? Not up to the task! Parish the thought. I shall fetch my fisticuffs promptly and challenge the cad to a duel on sight! Is he here?”
“Oh yes.”
“Describe him to me. I will hunt him down and insist he pay for his crime of hurting my truest friend.”
She made a show of sighing. “If I must. He’s very tall, this man, with incredible skin. Such skin, I tell you. He’s the envy of Haven. None of these roughnecks could ever compare. And you should see how he dresses! If any of the men or women here knew true fashion, they would die of shame.”
“You’re having me on. I’m not sure he exists by that description,” Dorien complained.
She dashed him silent. “Oh, he is real as I live and breathe. His hair...perfect. Lush. Dark. Clean and shiny. Such hair, Dorian. And the handsomest mustache I have ever…”
“Caroline Trevelyan!” he interrupted sharply. “How dare you imply that I have treated you with anything less than absolute devotion and admiration.”
“But you can’t, dear Dorian.” She reached out and touched his cheek with mocking dramatism. “Because you and I fight under the same banner for the same resources.”
He scowled deeply. “You’ve figured me out, have you?”
She sipped her mead. “I have a sixth sense for these things, but come now, did you honestly think you were being subtle?” She heaved a longing sigh. “I will forever lament the absence of your affection.”
“You’re terrible.”
Her sigh turned into a quick grin. “I know. How else am I supposed to have my fun?”
“Had you been born with the proper equipment, I would fall to my knees to beg for your attention,” he assured her with a pat on the knee.
They clinked glasses and drank again.
“Speaking of matters of the heart, is there anyone you have your eye on? I might not be able to take care of your needs personally, but I can make one hell of a wingman,” he offered, eyebrows raised suggestively.
She grinned. “Varric banters the best, but his heart isn’t in it. I suspect a woman out there named Bianca has something to do with it. Blackwall is too serious. You get more flirting with a box of bread than you do him. I like the chap, but…” She shrugged. “Our Commander is by far the most fun. He gets terribly flustered and blushes and stutters most beautifully. I asked him if he took a vow of chastity as a templar and he about fell over in a fit. You should have seen it,” she sighed.
Dorian barked a laugh. “I would have liked to! He’s not un-dashing, in a rugged, blond sort of way,” he admitted.
“And who can deny the allure of that ruff he wears about his shoulders.”
“Did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Take that vow of chastity. I need to know for purely academic reasons,” he sniffed.
She snorted into her mug. “Between the stuttering and blushing and before he begged me to change the subject, I did discover that no, he never took such a vow. So any inexperience is unintentional and likely due to being a workaholic prude.”
“Well, that’s a bit harsh, but from what I’ve gathered, entirely probable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that soldier over yonder has been making puppy eyes at me this entire evening. I only came over here to put him in a frothing jealousy, and from the way he looks like he’s chewed on a sprig of rashvine, I expect it worked. Would you mind if I kissed you just a bit?”
She cocked her cheek toward him. “Fine, but you owe me for putting my poor, shattered heart aflutter.”
“Most certainly.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against her cheek. “If only you were a man, Carrie, love.”
“If only you were less particular,” she shot back.
He winked and hopped down from her wall, sauntering over to his jealous prize. Caroline sipped her mead and followed the developments for as long as she could. It really was a pity they were less compatible. Dorian seemed like he would make an excellent bedfellow. She lost track of them quickly, which she hoped meant good things for the Tevinter mage.
Also hopping down from the wall, she slipped through the crowd until she found the Chargers and their indomitable leader unpacking crates of bottles from a cart and passing them around to other celebrators amidst cheers. Caroline sidled up to the mountainous Qunari where he inspected a bottle.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” she accused, peeking over the Iron Bull’s muscular forearm to read the label on the bottle. “Hirol’s Lava Burst?”
“We like to save the good stuff for for when it really counts.” He passed her the bottle. “I hear this stuff will strip the lacquer off of a mage’s staff.”
“My kind of poison.”
“I knew a guy once who said he didn’t know of a single person who could make it to the bottom of a bottle by themselves.” He reached into the crate and pulled out another bottle. “I always thought he was a bit of a pansy. I’ve been itching to prove him wrong ever since.”
“Challenge accepted. Where shall we do this?”
“Krem!” he bellowed. “Where’d we stash the cups?”
“Up your ass, like always, chief.”
“Bah.” He rummaged around in the cart until he found a couple of dented, aluminum cups and motioned for her to follow.
They set up outside one of the bonfires on a couple of stools with a upended crate between them to serve as a table.
“If only you brought me flowers, this could be a real date,” she quipped with a wink.
They each poured themselves a cupful from their respective bottles.
“To you, Caroline, for closing up that bloody asshole in the sky.” He lofted his cup.
“And to you, Iron Bull, for keeping me adequately entertained along the way.”
They clinked their cups and threw back the first mouthful. It burned every inch of the way down. Caroline choked on it, her body revolting as the acid found its way to her belly and scorched its very surface. She was fairly certain it would burn its way entirely to her ass and dribble out on her stool. From the strained noise the Qunari made, he had similar difficulties, even if he held it together better than she did.
“What the fuck ?” she finally heaved, pounding her chest.
“Now that was different!” He reached for his bottle to splash a second shot in. “How are you holding up there? Not going to call it quits already, are you?”
Butt cheeks squeezed together, lest she be proven right about the whole burning and dribbling business, she grabbed her bottle and stubbornly poured herself a generous amount. “Not in your life.” She held the cup up. “To the Inquisition, for not letting them take me to be locked up in Orlais.”
He joined her. “To the Ben Hassrath, for making me spy on the Inquisition.”
The first cup had been rough. The second was pure, unfettered agony. Both of them tossed it back, swallowed the fire in their mouths, and slammed their cups back onto the crate, heaving, wheezing, and gasping. For a moment, she had to simply exist as pain. It finally ebbed away, leaving her dizzy and nauseous.
“This shit is great!” the Iron Bull roared, slamming his fist into his chest once and barking out something in Qunlat.
Not to be outdone, she poured herself a third cup. Her hand veered a little and each motion seemed a trifle exaggerated. Nothing extreme, but the Hirol’s Lava Burst appeared to hit her hard and fast. Laughing like a maniac, Bull poured himself a matching drink.
“To...your butt. For always being a delight to watch,” she crowed.
“To your freckles, for being on your face!”
By the time she finished swallowing, her body from her mouth to her gut was entirely numb. She couldn’t feel anything from the neck down and made a show of standing up and wobbling out a slow circle to make sure she still had use of it. Confident that she wasn’t paralyzed, she returned to her seat, nearly dumping off of it as it seemed to jump out from under her.
“How are you feeling, Carrie? Up for the next round?”
“Andraste’s tits as my witness, I will make it to the bottom of this fucking bottle,” she swore, focusing intently on pouring her next cup without spilling any.
He raised his cup. “To Dorian’s mustache! No context necessary!”
“To Varric’s chest hair! Fuck context!”
Her body seemed displeased that she put another shot of Hirol’s Lava Burst into her body. Her stomach rippled and heaved, threatening to expunge its contents. Holding a hand over her mouth, she breathed slowly through her nose until the sensation dissipated. Shaking it off, she squared herself up as best she could.
“That one was better than the others, I think,” he coughed, exhaling long and sharp and rolling his shoulders. “How are you holding up?”
She couldn’t manage a reply. Opening her mouth invited disaster. Possibly some minor fire breathing. Instead, she gestured that she was fine.
Leaning forward with a lecherous grin, he asked her, “I have to admit, I didn’t think you would get this far. I’m impressed. Perhaps after you would be up to riding the Bull.”
Caroline’s laugh sounded insane even to her own ears. “Oh, Maker, no!”
“No?” He fell back with a pout.
“No, because unless you’re woefully disproportionate--” She cut herself off with a sharp hiccup and was forced to start over. “Because unless you’re woefully disproportionate, your package is probably the size of a nug. Now, I know women push babies the size of nugs out their snatches every day, but that is something I have no intention of experiencing early.”
He fell back with a grumble.
She motioned to their cups. “We’re over halfway through with this. Now let’s prove your pansy-assed old friend wrong about this shitty drink.” She poured herself another and raised it in toast. “To...um...to…”
“To my nug sized package!”
“Cheers!”
Caroline had no feeling in her entire body. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the high alcoholic content or the liquid fire burning out every single nerve it touched. In any case, the drink slid down without much resistance. When she looked back up to the Iron Bull, two of him were doubled over laughing, swimming back and forth across her vision. She blinked to clear it, struggling to focus on his words.
“You know, it’s not often I’m turned down because I’m too big.”
“I’m sure it’s more often about your face,” she shot back.
“Hey, now that’s not nice!”
“You going to fight me for it?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Good.” She picked up her bottle, realizing that it was down to the bottom. “But after this last drink. I’ve only got a dribble left. Shall we toast to victory?”
“Aye. To victory!” he roared, smashing his bottle against hers with more force than he intended. Both bottles shattered, spraying them with glass and the remains of Hirol’s Lava Burst.
Their distraught cries joined the raucous of the celebration.
“We have to finish it! We can’t say we drank the whole thing! Maker damn it, Bull!” she swore, swaying dangerously on her stool as she squinted cross-eyed at the jagged bottom of her bottle.
He sat there in shock, mouth dangling open. “He was right. I couldn’t make it to the bottom. My life is a lie.”
Tossing the remains of her bottle down, she said, “I need some air.”
“We’re outside, boss.”
“I need more air.” She tried to stand. Failed. Sat back down.
“Need a hand?”
“I can do it myself!” she snapped. “I’m not even that drunk.”
Determined to prove herself, she braced her feet, clenched her stomach, and held her arms out to steady herself as she rose carefully off of the stool. Inch-by-inch, she made it to a full standing position, veered a full rotation at her hips, and finally steadied.
“Ha! See?”
“Oh yeah. No even slightly drunk,” he drawled sarcastically.
“You’re just jealous a human almost outdrank you. And you should be. Because…” She waggled her fingers at him. “...I’m m-m-magic. Gotta pee now. You just sit here and be ashamed you made us fail the drinking contest.”
She staggered away from the firelight toward a convenient clump of bushes not far off, hoping it was dark enough that she would be screened from the public. Each footfall seemed to take a hundred years, and her belt proved to be a formidable obstacle, but she managed not to urinate on herself or her clothes, which seemed like a solid win in her opinion.
After finishing her business, Caroline encountered a new encumbrance--her belt buckle. Her numb fingers couldn’t seem to manipulate it back into place. She stood at the fringe of the bushes, fighting with the clasp like her life depended on it. Furious tears sparked her eyes. Why did the belt buckle hate her so much? Why wouldn’t it just go back together? Why didn’t her hands work?
“Herald?”
She almost fell over whipping around. Cassandra approached, solemn, as always.
“Oh. Cass. Hello.” She folded her hands together over her belt to keep the seeker from noticing her struggle. How did people make small talk? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. “Um, big favor. No more ‘Herald’ stuff, please. It makes me really uncomfortable. I know, I know, I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now. So I said it. Really uncomfortable. Like, super uncomfortable. I’m Caroline. Not Herald. Got it? Got it. Good talk. I’m so glad we had this chat. Don’t you feel better now that we’ve talked this through? I feel like a weight has been lifted! The trees smell so nice tonight, don’t they.”
“Oh...I...yes.” Cassandra shifted awkwardly. “I didn’t realize...just Caroline then. Um...trees?”
“What about trees?”
"Something about how they smell?”
“Do they? I didn’t notice.”
The seeker opened her mouth. Shut it again. Looked around with a furrowed brow and then started again. “I wanted to tell you that Solas confirmed that the breach is sealed. We have reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory.”
She took a calming breath, hell bent on acting sober for the next minute. “Jolly good, then. I couldn’t have done it alone. I should send everyone gift baskets to thank them. Dorian says everybody loves a gift basket, and I’m inclined to think that there’s some wisdom to that.”
She was one hundred percent certain she was nailing acting sober.
“Indeed. Perhaps we should talk in the morning.”
“Hmm. Yes. Good plan. How are you so smart?”
Before they parted ways, they both turned toward the keep as one of the bells began ringing incessantly. The reverberations made Caroline’s eyes cross. So focused on keeping upright, she almost didn’t notice the call go up, rippling along the ranks.
“Forces approaching! To arms! To arms!”
“Oh shit.”
“We better go find out what’s going on. Let’s get to the gate,” Cassandra said.
In response, Caroline doubled over, and vomited heavily between them. She heaved for what seemed like an eternity, excommunicating every inch of stomach space her abdomen could wring out. Cassandra looked down at her in shock, fixed to the spot.
Wiping the back of her mouth, she stood back upright. “I better go get my armor and staff. I’ll meet you at the gate.”
“Herald…”
She jutted her index finger up between them to cut her off.
“Sorry. Caroline.”
“I’m fine. I’ll meet you down there. Good? Good.” Belching loudly, she turned and wobbled her way up toward her tent to find her armor and weapon, fairly certain that, even drunk, she was going to need it all before the night was through.
Thankfully, Cassandra let her go, which was just as well, because her pants dropped off her hips to her ankles after she took about four steps. It took her a moment to recall that she hadn’t gotten them belted. Snatching them back up, she scurried along even faster.
“Bull! Bull!” she shouted.
“Here, boss!” He shouldered his way through a wave of soldiers scrambling to arm themselves.
“My hands won’t work and I need to get my pants buckled and my armor on. Follow me.”
“I’ve got your back, boss.”
“Good, because it’s your fault I’m this drunk, so it’s your responsibility to keep me alive from here on out.”
“Sure thing.”
“And keep calling me ‘boss.’ I like that.”
Grinning, he grabbed her before she veered sideways into a ditch. “Oh, this fight is going to be fun .”