Fereldan ale was a curious brew. Earthy in flavour, strong yet sweet, just like its people. At first Dorian was loathe to try it, but once he had been convinced to sample the flavour, he had quickly developed a taste. The great advantage of this special beverage was its availability. His favourite wines were not quite as easily procured, yet he continually insisted on further deliveries. He was a Tevinter Lord after all, and had a reputation to keep. If word got around that he fancied the local ale... the mere thought made him shiver, which might be the main reason he had agreed to share a few bottles with his dear Inquisitor, after she so amicably exposed his darkest secret, threatening to tell the Iron Bull or even worse, Sera. The price she asked for her silence was paid in occasional companionship over a few mugs of the detestably delicious brew. They both knew she could have simply asked him for his company, and he would have happily obliged, but Inquisitor Trevelyan was as proud as she was powerful and could not bear to admit that she was lonely. Neither could Dorian.
However, after several shared bottles he wished the young woman had revealed her lacking tolerance for alcohol to him before draining half his secret stash. Though he had to admit, after having a few more mugs than strictly necessary himself, watching her decorate her room with ice crystals seemed hilariously funny to him. "At least the ale stays cold this way. It tastes like horse-piss when it's warm" she enlightened him cheerfully. Dorian snorted indignantly. "No one is forcing you to drink all of my secret supply, my dear" he reminded her. "Am I to stay sober while you drink yourself to the void and back?" she chuckled, her eyes not quite focused on his, cheeks pink and words slightly slurred. "I just don't get why you fancy this... this... stuff." She spat the last word, her distaste more than obvious, yet not keeping her from lifting the mug to her lips once again. The mark on her hand pulsated in green light, her control over her magic slightly shaken by her intoxicated state. "This stuff, my dear, as you so eloquently call it, embodies everything I admire about this land and its people" he slurred mysteriously. Evelyn looked at him for a second, trying to grasp his meaning, before her eyes widened and a wicked grin decorated her lips. "A blonde beer, slightly amber if you look closely. Strong and earthy, sweet in the after-taste. Easily enough available, but only if you don't mind it splitting your skull the next morning." She laughed about her own silly joke, and even Dorian chuckled in response. "Well, if you put it that way..." he shrugged. Lady Trevelyan however was not finished. "But why do you hide your taste for it? You are unreserved enough about every other aspect of your personality." Despite their drunken state, Dorian knew she referred to his sexuality. The fact that he was as open about it as he was baffled her, but she had been raised in a Circle, taught and guarded by hounds of the chantry. He really should not be surprised. "If word of my less-than-refined taste in drink were to spread, what would follow? Vivienne might dare to mock my choice of clothes next, and that would certainly break my heart." He rolled his eyes dramatically. Evelyn snorted in a very un-ladylike manner. If anyone were to see them like this, their reputations would be beyond redemption – of that Dorian was certain.
"The more you drink, the less disgusting it tastes" she finally admitted. "But the headaches the next day, are they really worth it?" Dorian raised an eyebrow as he watched her lift the tankard once again. "If we are lucky, we are eaten by a dragon before we sober up. No headaches for us," he shrugged. Evelyn just frowned at him. Apparently she didn't think his bad joke was funny. "So you're saying debauchery is worth the consequences, because we might not live to see those consequences anyway?" Dorian opened another bottle and re-filled their tankards. "Not living to see the consequences might just be the very consequence of our actions." The Inquisitor frowned, trying to make sense of his words. After a few seconds she gave up and rubbed her eyes with her palms. "Say that again when I'm sober." He chuckled. "Now don't blame your headache on me," he said with a stern look, a small half-smile gracing his lips.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of her chair. "What good is magic if it doesn't cure hangovers?" she asked rhetorically. Dorian frowned. "I am told it does, but the cure should probably be applied by someone more sober than you or I." Evelyn opened her eyes and looked at Dorian. "We are the best mages out here, drunk or not. Come on, let's try to sober up mage-style." Her eyes sparkled and she looked like a teenager. A very eager, very drunk teenager. His gut told him this was a bad idea, but he could not argue with her statement. "As you wish. Who goes first?" Evelyn had not even awaited his reply and readied a spell, directed at her closest friend with nothing but good intentions. He closed his eyes and let it happen.
This would be his last mistake for the night, for while Dorian was proficient with curative magic, he forgot for a crucial moment that she was not. Ignoring her lack of control over the mark on her hand in her current state despite his recognition of the alcohol's effects on her was only the icing on the cake. As her spell hit him, shining green instead of the calming shade of blue healing spells in his experience shed, his world turned black.