Bioware and GBBO (BBC) own everything. I cannot imagine they would ever permit this.
The Inquisitor could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen Josephine's desk unoccupied. The tireless diplomat was there with tea first thing in the morning and still scribbling letters by candlelight well into the night. She slept almost as little as Leliana, leading the Inquisitor to believe that sleep deprivation was a crucial part of mastering the Game. But the desk was definitely empty this afternoon, fresh wax seals testifying to a morning's hard work.
"Did she have to greet guests?" The Inquisitor looked over to Josephine's assistant, an elf with a knack for avoiding ink stains.
"No, Your Worship. Lady Josephine has grown distressed over disruptions for the planned celebrations tonight. Sister Nightingale sent her to lie down." The reply was quick but distracted, the elf endeavoring to sort out several pages of instructions that had been left on the desk.
"Disruptions? How bad?" Trevelyan braced herself, mind already spinning with possibilities.
Sera was never short of pranks, Bull and Dorian 'accidentally' set fire to part of the Herald's Rest last week, Varric had made a game out of seeing how far he could push Vivienne before she shoved one of her hennin points up his ass, the Chargers blew up a storeroom, Cole horrified a Marquise by pointing out that she was attracted to Krem and then he made it worse by asking Krem "how would that work?" Amidst the constant chaos that ebbed and flowed around Skyhold, it was a miracle they'd found time to defeat Corypheus.
"Thus far the table runners were accidentally washed with Inquisition ensigns and have been badly discolored, the centerpieces were made with Felandris before finding out that several of the dignitaries are allergic, Lord Gilbert has apologized for being unable to attend by sending his brutish son instead, two countesses refuse to attend if the other is invited and the elite bakers that were supposed to arrive this morning have been waylaid by bandits." The assistant rattled off the list catastrophes that threatened to utterly destroy Josephine's perfectly planned celebrations.
"Oh," The Inquisitor knew she should feel sympathy for the Ambassador's distress but her overwhelming reaction was purely relief, "Has anyone been sent to help the bakers?"
"Yes, Your Worship. Commander Cullen took a detachment as soon as word arrived." If the elf noticed Eve's shoulders sag in mild disappointment she gave no sign.
"Of course he did." Trevelyan sighed. Clever bastard. He'd probably figure out a way to not get back until well after the banquet was over. This was definitely revenge for the time she raced off to follow reports of a dragon and left him to entertain a dozen Orlesian dowagers. They had to come up with a better system for taking turns in formal attire. Or maybe they could just both plan to flee every time 'Inquisition Relations' was poised on Josephine's lips. Then it would be Cassandra that killed them.
The Seeker's name flashing through her mind was like a sign from the Maker himself, Trevelyan colliding with the woman as soon as she emerged into the main hall. Cassandra caught her, honed reflexes preventing either of them from stumbling but then the firm hand lingered at her waist by way of greeting.
"Inquisitor, I was just looking for you." The Nevarran's smile could be wonderfully expressive. With the barest hint of movement at the edge of her lips she summoned the memory of their sleepy parting this morning, Eve mournfully surrendering her Seeker to duties in the courtyard.
"Another flawless success then! Was there something in particular you wanted? Or just me?" Treveylan dropped her tone into a conspiratorial whisper, relishing the way her love's eyes were momentarily lost in a slow blink as she resisted temptation.
"There is something odd going on in Skyhold," Cassandra's tone refused to yield, militantly focused on a problem at hand, "Have you seen any of your companions?"
"Josephine is upset and resting but I haven't looked for anyone else." The Inquisitor glanced across the large room, realizing Varric wasn't in his usual spot cursing at paperwork.
"Dorian is absent as well, and Iron Bull wasn't in the training yard." The Seeker took a step back, folding her arms into a posture familiar to anyone who'd seen her confronting puzzles or people she didn't like.
"Not a lot of mystery there. Those two are usually missing at the same time and I'm certain even you can imagine why." Trevelyan's chuckle was low and wicked in her throat.
"Most amusing. Would your imagination include Sera's absence as well?" Cassandra arched one brow to emphasize her challenge.
"Maker's breath, not even I could imagine that." Eve shuddered, shutting down any thought of the three friends engaged in anything more illicit than a game of cards.
"There is also something amiss with the servants. I have seen more than a dozen of them fleeing the kitchens. One was utterly covered in flour." The Seeker's brow drew together ever so slightly, a suspicious prelude to deeper lines of consternation.
"I suppose we'd better have a look. Might be demons in the pantry or some other nuisance." The Inquisitor smiled with her sigh, resigned as ever to the unpredictable whims of her life.
Shrieks in the larder, red lyrium growing on the cheese, dead chickens deciding to come back to life a la Fallow Mire; the list of potential disturbances was both creative and endless. Trevelyan had learned to never think anything was impossible. Yet nothing in her time with the Inquisition could have prepared her for what she saw when she and Cassandra found a door that sounded like battle was waging on the other side.
The Inquisitor's first instinct was to wonder if she was still asleep. Certainly, dreams were supposed to have this surreal, hazy quality about them; details distorted by sleep. Except, in this case, the details were being blurred by the heat of a massive set of ovens and lingering particles of flour drifting through the air. Her second instinct was more of a surge of emotion, a wave of curiosity dragging her into the kitchen to stare in every direction at once.
There was too much to look at to process in any meaningful way. Vivienne dancing with chocolate. Iron Bull adorned in pastry. A fine net covering most of Blackwall's face. Sera with two perfect white handprints covering her breasts. Dagna kicking her in the shin to get the bowl she was holding out of reach. Cole making himself dizzy trying to watch Dorian whipping something white and frothy. Varric pouring water on himself because his chest hair caught fire.
"By the Maker." Cassandra's astonishment was barely even a whisper at her side.
"Here to help?" A face burst into sharp focus directly in front of them, blonde hair and bright eyes and an unnerving eagerness in her expression.
"Smashing! More hands! We could put them to work on the pudding." Another woman appeared like magic, so close that the two seemed like they were tethered. Trevelyan tried to process that she was seeing a dark haired woman her age or older but her mind kept stuttering and arguing that no, it was obviously a teenage boy. Who else would be wearing such attire, after all? Looked a bit like a page.
"Ooh, yes, we haven't got anything with a sauce yet." Eager agreed enthusiastically with her partner.
"We absolutely must have something saucy," Page's flash of smile savored the double meaning, "The saucier the better."
"I'm sorry, who are you?" Eve hadn't realized how close the women were until she took a step back and hit the door.
"Mel, your ladyship, and Sue," Eager explained easily, nodding to herself and her companion, "We're assistants to the bakers your Ambassador hired. We came up two days ago with the ingredients for the soiree."
"That sounds far too Orlesian," Dorian called from across the room, winking to the Inquisitor, "Just call it a party or our dashing leader will feel obligated to start dueling guests."
"Dorian, what is going on?" The Seeker turned to the familiar voice, hoping to find a tether of sanity amidst the confusion. The Tevinter mage was seldom a source of rational thought but right now he was the only one that seemed unsullied and sound. Eve couldn't take her eyes off Iron Bull. There was something on his horns.
"Didn't our dear spymaster tell you? There's been something of an upset in this evening's pastry plans. We volunteered to help." Dorian called back with his usual exuberant laughter, slapping Cole's hand with a spoon when he tried to reach into his bowl.
"Volunteered?" Trevelyan took a few more tentative steps into the room, eyes adjusting to the haze of flour and steam. She'd never heard of her friends volunteering for anything other than a fight or free drink.
"It was Dorian's idea, the clever darling. He found half a dozen recipe books for baking all sorts of delights." Vivienne supplied, fingers twisting in a complicated gesture that had spinning chocolate suddenly tie itself into a frilly bow.
"Oi, that's using magic! No cheating!" Sera shouted from the other side of the room.
"My dear, I can hardly be cheating when this isn't a competition." The dark skinned mage imperiously dismissed such charges. An ice glyph sprung to life on her table, instantly chilling the elaborate chocolate craft to perfection.
"Oh, it isn't?" The elf was momentarily surprised by the revelation, "Fine then. But Widdle and I are still going to win!"
The Inquisitor's eyes fell to Dagna, noting that the arcanist was carefully studying every step and ingredient of a recipe. And she had a floury handprint on her ass.
"Be fair, Iron Lady, it wasn't Dorian that got the bright idea. Tiny was the one that suggested us baking." Varric's chuckle lured Eve towards his side of the room. The dwarf was generously pouring brandy over a number of cloth-wrapped balls. There was the smell of dark fruit, cinnamon and burnt hair – which was probably something to do with the plate at his elbow, full of brown confusion and blue flame.
"I said Qunari are the best bakers. It's just a fact." Bull defended himself with the typical blasé pride and confidence that characterized everything he did. Unfortunately, the effect was rather spoiled as he plucked a roll of pastry off one of his horns before carefully wrapping it in another.
"Bull," Trevelyan watched her favorite mercenary's huge hands move with delicate care, "What are you making?"
"Qunari Horns." The massive warrior grinned, giving a small nod (so as not to disturb the cooling dough) to a platter of filled pastries before him. The Inquisitor vaguely recalled having once seen something similar. But it had been in a painting and the massive horns had been overflowing with fruit, not fluffy cream.
"Cream Horns, love." Mel helpfully appeared at the Qunari's side.
"Not the way these are made." Bull's chuckle sounded like grinding boulders as it bled across the room.
"You're all baking." Cassandra finally absorbed all the facts, eyes going from wide disbelief to narrow suspicion.
"Gold star for you, Seeker. I'm making," Varric paused and looked down at the alcohol soaked lumps, "Shit, I can't remember. Perky! What's this called again? Friggin' pudding?"
"Figgy. Figgy pudding, Shortbread. Figgy." Sue quickly corrected. She and the blonde had a disturbing ability to appear instantaneously at any baker's side. Then they vanished just as suddenly.
"It called for brandy and fire so I figured that was my kind of dessert. Like my name better, though." The dwarf shrugged.
"How in the Maker's good graces did this happen?" The Seeker wondered as Eve returned to her side, watching in fascination as Dorian began piping bits of white paste onto a tray. The meringues were nearly as stiff and shiny as his hair.
"Lady Josephine was crying." Blackwall supplied the answer, voice somewhat muffled by netting that had smashed his entire beard into a thick mass around his mouth.
Everyone paused for a heartbeat, eyes roving the room to meet in silent consensus. No one liked seeing Josephine cry. It was painful. Emotionally and literally because as soon as those huge green eyes began to shimmer, every member of the Inquisition started reaching for weapons and someone to blame. For all her gentle grace and fragile manner, Ambassador Montilyet was almost never moved to tears. It had to have taken a strain of epic proportions to make her lose control of her emotions. Eve met Cassandra's gaze, understanding flooding them both with relief. However bizarre the circumstance, their friends were still themselves.
"Sera! You can't keep adding things or the cookies won't bake right!" Dagna's irritated huff broke the respectful reverie and Trevelyan spied the dwarf trying to protect a bowl of batter from her girlfriend.
"Don't be daft, Widdle. Best part of cookies is all the fun bits you find inside!" The elf easily outmaneuvered the shorter woman and dumped two handfuls of varied fillings into the dough.
"But baking is like alchemy," Dagna groaned, reaching for sacks of flour and sugar, "If you have too much of one thing it throws the recipe off! Everything has to be balanced."
"Balance is boring," Sera rolled her eyes, propping her head up in a weary hand, "Falling over is better. Like when you can't stay standing 'cause I'm-."
Whatever salacious piece of bedroom knowledge the elf was going to use for comparison was cut off by Dagna shoving a spoonful of cookie batter in her mouth. Sera didn't look at all disappointed.
"So where's Leliana with all this?" The Inquisitor looked around, mentally counting the friends present, "I'm sure Sister Nightingale could make a pie sing."
"She's still with Ambassador Montilyet, making sure the poor thing doesn't accidently choke on a handkerchief." Dorian replied, smoothing the edge of a meringue before surrounding the tray in a dome of fire glyphs that glowed pale yellow. Apparently ovens were beneath a magister.
"She does not know this is going on?" Cassandra narrowly dodged as an errant string of chocolate whipped past her cheek. The complex scaffolding of confection taking shape beneath Vivienne's hands was nearly as extravagant as an Orlesian gown.
"Nah, thought it would be nice to surprise them." Iron Bull's good eye twinkled with merriment. It wasn't often anyone could plan to surprise Leliana but this certainly fit the bill.
"You will undoubtedly succeed." The Seeker couldn't control a faint smile tugging at the edge of her mouth.
"What's wrong with Cole?" Trevelyan had been watching the spirit-turned-human swipe blindly at the air for several minutes before gathering up a lump of butter and crying.
"Cold, creamy, soft and weak but strong, so strong, binding, building, rising, the elation of escaping steam . . ."
"Seriously, what happened?" Eve approached the blonde but couldn't get his eyes to focus on her. The ghostly blue was flecked in darker indigos and a heavy whorl of black in the middle.
"Someone," Blackwall cleared his throat, casting a scolding glance towards Sera, "Gave him a handful of nutmeg seeds and told him they'd connect him to his humanity."
"Cole –" Trevelyan struggled to process the multiple revelations and found herself fixated on the simplest, "Cole ate something? When did Cole start eating?!"
"I'd say he started in earnest about an hour ago when the nutmeg kicked in. He ate an entire bowl of jam with one finger and has been babbling about the feelings of kitchen ingredients ever since." Dorian supplied, slapping once more at the pale hand that tried to steal one of his meringues.
"Hey, Perky! I need another bottle of brandy!" Varric shouted as he tossed the empty over his shoulder.
"Perky?" The Inquisitor's attention barely followed in the confusion, spying Sue hand off another dust covered bottle to the dwarf.
"Yeah, you got a better name for her?" Varric challenged as he pulled out the cork and helped himself to drink so long it made Eve's lungs ache.
"He's right, Inky, it suits her. Look at those tits!" Sera agreed with a maniacal laugh that immediately fell into a pout when Dagna huffed and marched a few steps away with their cookie dough.
"How're the sweet biscuits then?" Mel swept in beside the arcanist, leaning close to get a good look at the speckled batter.
"The best! We've got chocolate bits and fruit and nuts and a handful of something, I don't what, that makes everything taste like purple for a second." The elf enthused, sneaking past her girlfriend's unguarded side to dip her finger in the dough. Dagna whirled, chastising at roughly three hundred rebukes per minute but suddenly struggling to make a sound as she watched the blonde deliberately lick her finger clean . . . and wink.
"Purple, eh? Well, that should be new for Pall." Mel was completely unperturbed by the lascivious display.
"Who?" The Inquisitor couldn't shake the feeling that she was at the mercy of a massive joke. Every time she turned around there was another strange fact or name shoved at her.
"Our bosses, Pall and Merry." Sue confirmed for her partner, once more sidling up so close they could've shared smalls.
"Just like they sound, in fact. He's a bit broody, frowns like an offended gorilla but great posture. Orlesians love him because he once beat an apprentice with his own burnt baguette." The blonde enjoyed sharing her bit of gossip so much that she didn't even notice Cassandra's horrified expression.
"Merry's sweet as sugar, though. Balances him out nicely. Older than the Maker, she is, but still whips eggs like the three sovereign special on fetish night." Sue attempted to mollify the shock, inadvertently compounding it instead.
"I see. Probably has a real way with tarts, doesn't she?" Trevelyan found herself falling into the irresistibly cheeky dance of their conversation. The Seeker darted her a quick glance of warning, trying to stem the inevitable collapse into genteel vulgarity but the quirk of her eyebrow was more amused than scolding.
"Oh! Then you have heard of her!" Sue beamed happily, a clever but wicked dart of laughter behind her eyes belying the innocent tone.
"Hey, Boss, you going to stand around talking all day or help out?" Iron Bull demanded as he put the finishing touch on another cream filled pastry the size of Eve's arm.
"Sorry, utterly useless in the kitchen, Bull. Only dessert I know my way around is whipped cream." The Inquisitor realized what she'd said half a second too late. If Cassandra didn't immediately understand the implication, the blush that crept mercilessly across her cheeks spelled it out in detail.
"Don't be ridiculous, darling. You can at least be a fresh palate. Here," Vivienne swiped the back of a spoon through something light brown and held it out to Eve, "Taste this and tell me how it is. I haven't been able to taste a thing since Varric set fire to his fur."
"Trust me, Lady, I'm more upset about it than you." The dwarf grumbled, dropping a forlorn glance to the still singed curls in his collar. Brandy, fire and fluffy chest hair weren't the best combination.
Treveylan took the proffered spoon, half convinced that if she didn't do as she was told the Enchantress would end up spanking her with it. Not in the nice way, either. A quick flick of her tongue and her mouth was full of hot sweetness laced with an edge of bitter fire, sugar with just a hint of smoke blended together, making a nutty taste that stuck to the back of her teeth.
"Caramel? It's very good." The Inquisitor praised honestly, thoughtfully exploring the flavor as it lingered on her tongue and offering the spoon to Cassandra after her. The Seeker suspiciously wiped the tip of her finger through the trickling sugar sauce and touched it to her lips. Eve tried not to watch too closely as the Nevarran brushed the edge of her finger against her lower lip, stifling a choke of breath when her tongue darted out to collect the taste.
"Of course it is but it's missing something, I'm quite sure." Vivienne remained utterly aloof, indifferent to the sensual characteristics of the Seeker's mouth and its effect on the Inquisitor.
"It is sugar. What more could it need?" Cassandra shrugged, setting the spoon down like a shoddy weapon. She had even less interest in desserts than Trevelyan.
"That's why I'm asking you, my dear. Come now, you must have tasted such things in the royal courts of Nevarra. What did they add to make it memorable? A spice? Alcohol? A trace of lyrium to dance on the tongue?" The Enchantress refused to accept their verdict. She was used to the elite society of Orlais, nothing less than perfection ever satisfied her.
"Salt." Trevelyan thought back to the last time she'd had this same lingering taste in her mouth. The sweet was indulgent but it was elevated to an entirely new level when a lick of salt on the tongue amplified its every nuance.
"I thought you were useless with anything other than whipped cream?" The Seeker gave her that unreadable scrutiny once more and Eve felt herself flushing again, trapped between a scandalous past and the tantalizing present.
"A trick I learned in Orlais. It was quite a few years ago though. I'm sure tastes have changed." The Inquisitor explained, fighting the urge to mumble and look away like a child.
"My dear Inquisitor, I had no idea you were so cultured. A connoisseur of La Belle Bouche, I take it? Lovely establishment. I believe their sweeter offerings are still some of the most popular in Val Royeaux." Vivienne's typical condescension could barely restrain the cracks of laughter beneath her haughty tone.
"I might have sampled a few delicacies over the years," Eve admitted, keeping her eyes trained on the Seeker, "Not really my preference, though. You can get tired of such things very quickly."
"Indeed? We will have to discuss the subject further sometime. Soon." Cassandra's face gave away nothing of her thoughts but her tone had dropped its militant sharpness, rolling with the softer cadences of her homeland and promising that her love was either in no trouble at all or far more than she might ever expect.
"Delightful idea, Cassandra. I'm certain to have some of this left over if you'd care to experiment." The dark enchantress' smile was a marvel of controlled amusement tinged with affection, the regal woman's equivalent of laughter in a hug.
"Cole! Unhand my eggs!" Dorian's offended alarm broke the sensually charged moment, yanking everyone's attention to his table. The magister was trying to grab hold of the blonde as he dodged and pivoted around any hands, clutching a pilfered bowl of fragile shells.
"I can't feel them. They're alive but they don't feel. Does it hurt? Are they scared?" Cole murmured, holding an egg to his ear as though begging it to whisper to him. Eve swiftly cut off his escape and between herself, Cassandra and Dorian they managed to get the bowl away without breaking the rest. Trevelyan wrapped an arm around Cole and soothingly guided him to a chair in the corner, near the warmth of the ovens so he could convene more intimately with his remaining egg.
"I give it three minutes before he tries to sit on it and hatch the bloody thing." Blackwall mumbled, fighting with a roll of cake smeared in jam that he'd clearly chosen to make only because the recipe called it a 'Dead Man's Arm.'
"Then the chick should be quite comfortable in your beard, don't you think?" Mel darted past, tugging at the captive mass of blackness.
"Cookies are done!" Dagna shouted excitedly as she pulled the first of her trays from the massive fire oven.
The doughy discs were a golden brown mottled with dark flecks and bright bits of color, including something that Trevelyan was certain she'd seen in the Undercroft materials bin. The arcanist fumbled one of the treats off hot metal, tossing it between her hands and blowing on it before shyly offering it to Sera. The elf couldn't have been more electrified if Vivienne shoved a lightning staff up her backside. She took a massive bite of the dessert, chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds before her eyes rolled back in her head and a ridiculously euphoric smile spread across her face. She gulped down the heavenly flavors and seized Dagna with both hands.
"Holy tits, I love you." Sera managed a single, breathless sigh before dragging the dwarf into a kiss, sharing the delight still tingling in her mouth.
"Guess Buttercup's found her favorite cookie." Varric's raspy chuckle blended perfectly with Bull's, the bass undertones to a roomful of melodic laughter.
"Right, so that gives us 150 Widdle Biscuits; Sera's name, not ours," Sue began tabulating the treats, "200 Magister's Meringues. 120 Cre- Qunari Horns. Figgy puddings for at least 50; Syllabub, do stop drinking all the brandy."
"Don't curb a man's enthusiasms, Perky." Varric held tightly onto the neck of the bottle when Sue tried to pull it away. A well-mannered wrestling match ensued, both parties refusing to yield hold of the contested spirit.
"Enough Dead Man's Arms to make a mortalitasi cry and this massive piece of chocolate chic, stunning work, Madame." Mel resumed her partner's catalogue without missing a beat, nodding respectfully to Vivienne and her multicolored tower of sweetness.
"Too much runs, too little crumbles, never just right, never just enough."
"And Cole is back with the butter again." Eve groaned, moving towards her drugged friend by way of jumping over Sera and Dagna – who'd dropped to the floor in their enthusiastic affections for baking. She'd barely managed to tackle the blonde and pin him against a table, fighting for control of the melting stick of butter, when the sound of a loud crash dragged her eyes back across the room; Dagna and Sera had rolled into the legs of a table and knocked off a sack of flour, bowls of sugar and nuts and a massive pitcher of milk. The cloud of exploding ingredients mercifully obscured their carnal preoccupations.
"What is going on here?" The demand that hit Trevelyan's ears was a voice she'd never heard before. Releasing Cole she scrambled back to the center of the kitchen, facing two newcomers who'd entered with an air of ownership. Glimpsing Cullen behind them, the Inquisitor had a sinking realization of who had just walked into this indulgent madhouse.
"Pall, Merry! You're going to be just delighted with this!" Mel rushed forward in greeting, ecstatic and relieved at the same time to be back under the scathing scrutiny of four piercing blue eyes.
"They all decided to bake. Isn't that lovely? They've done quite marvelously, I think." Sue agreed, also enveloping herself in the placid authority that encompassed the two bakers.
The room gradually went still as comprehension seeped across its occupants. Each member of the Inquisition set aside their work, stilling their hands and accepting that whatever they might have tried to accomplish was now done. The Inquisitor studied the two guest bakers, trying to get a feel for the dominance they so easily radiated across the room. Pall was dignified with silver in his hair and beard, sharp blue eyes darting like arrows to each person in the room. Merry was petite and almost fragile but for the vibrancy of her expression. Her eyes swept across the room, cool as ice and reminding Eve of Leliana's own calculating gaze. Then, without warning, the color spontaneously melted, turning into the soft colors of a summer dawn. Her smile was the warming brilliance of sunlight as she beamed affectionately at the amateur bakers.
"Well, doesn't this all look scrummy!" Merry grinned, praising each and every person in the room with a single, enthusiastic grin. Pall rolled his eyes slightly but it didn't dampen the excitement and relief of Eve's friends. The tiny woman with silvery/blonde hair had just made everything they tried to do worthwhile. They'd undoubtedly be boasting about it for weeks.
"Arse biscuits, Widdle," Sera surfaced long enough to realize they'd rolled into the puddle of milk, "You gave me a soggy bottom."