Of Inquisitors and Stewing
Summary
Originally this fanfiction was intended to be lighthearted smut to showcase Iron Bull's and Dorian's relationship and eventual threesome with a Dwarven, female Inquisitor. However my imagination has insisted that this become a long, drawn out, character history driven, emotionally potent, sometimes comical multi-chapter showcase of my talents. Good news, my skills as a writer have vastly improved and I found a love of editing other's stories. The GREAT news is it's still smutty and funny, when you are not wrapped up in fluffy feels or sobbing uncontrollably.
Thanks to Ultrachicory and her angst and lore filled Solavellan mystery fic! s/10923206/1/Wolf-Dreams-Halla-Wakes Thank you for pushing me out onto the web and teaching me to never give up even if the end is never in sight.
For those interested in seeing my editing wrath that is for rent via , please read and enjoy her 100k fanfiction.
Then visit me on Tumblr, AO3 Archive Of Our Own, under the pennames Llynnyia and/or Elystaa to check for availability.
Chapter1 Warnings of sausage abuse and biscuit-cide.
The sausage speared on the end of Iron Bull's knife swayed side to side as it was bit into. Juices burst against the Qunari mercenary's large, overly white teeth. His dark pink tongue darted out and licked the savory oils from his lips. His tantalizing mouth leisurely covered the thick outer skin of the sausage before taking another bite. He made a guttural sound of appreciation deep in his throat as he chewed. Bull's throat bobbed with vexing sensuality as he swallowed and again as he washed the bite down with a long drawn-out swig of watery-wine. Iron Bull took another slow, sensual bite, repeating the same visually arousing, innuendo laden display.
Dorian wiggled minutely in his seat, discretely adjusting his own visibly growing enjoyment of the breakfast link spectacle. He would swear that Bull requested the same meal, every morning at Skyhold just to make him squirm and stare openly in public. Then again, Bull did genuinely seem to enjoy the head cook's blood sausage, as he himself used to. Perhaps initially it was coincidence. However, once Bull had noticed Dorian's perpetual state of distraction during those early hours of wakefulness, he most assuredly took full advantage from that day on. But, if it was his goal to embarrass Dorian they should break their fast much earlier, alongside the rest of the fortress' citizens. As it was, the show was only regularly attended by the few citizens that slept late, either by indulgence or because their duties or studies kept them awake long into the night.
The suave, immaculately dressed Tevinter was so engrossed in the brazenly erotic show before him, and the few ideas his mind provided, that he almost failed to realize Bull had stopped eating the sausages. Instead he was gesturing widely with the link's mostly-eaten body still embedded on the sharp blade.
"I am sorry; I seemed to have missed that. What did you say?" Dorian quickly glanced up at his partner, his eyes were finally unlocked and freed from the absurdly stimulating abused little end of the succulent breakfast meat.
"No problem, I know how distracting breakfast can be for you. I said, how about inviting Vivienne up to our loft for a really good time." Iron Bull smirked, self-assured once more of Dorian's attraction to him.
Dorian had taken advantage of the momentary lull in the meaty link induced teasing to bring a spoonful of well honeyed oatmeal up to his mouth. He'd started to swallow the sweet mouthful while Iron Bull spoke, only to choke and sputter on it by the end of Bull's little speech. He coughed and wheezed; the larger male began to worry as his lover began to gasp, drawing far too little air into his lungs. Iron Bull quickly dropped his knife, not caring that the sausage bearing utensil fell to the floor. He was almost absolutely certain that humans should not turn colors, at least not like that. Bull rapidly poured a large goblet full of watery-wine. He handing it to the quickly reddening Tevinter, making sure to wrap his partner's shaking fingers around the cup.
Dorian instantly and gratefully downed the contents in one long, shuddering gulp. He closed his stinging eyes and set the empty goblet on the table before producing a monogrammed handkerchief from an interior chest pocket on his elaborate outfit. He used it to wipe away the detestable involuntary tears that had formed on his cheeks. Dorian took deep breath to fortify himself before looking back at the smiling Qunari next to him.
"Vishante Kaffas! Do we have to have this conversation here? You know I am not ashamed of our associations, but I can tell you this is the type of conversation normally held in seclusion. Not in the great hall!" Dorian said as he shook his head in disbelief, his whispered words muffled on one side of his mouth by the small white square of fabric.
"Why not?" Iron Bull asked. "We might as well be alone; Varric is deep into writing the next edition of Swords and Shields for his warrior-princess muse, Cassandra. If how quick that feather in his hand is moving is any indication. Besides, he is too far away to hear anyways. That just leaves that egg-headed dreamer there who is just as liable to fall asleep into his weird, herby oatmeal as to care about what we say. "Bull stabbed another sausage onto the end of his knife, having fetched the blade from the floor, leaving the originally impaled and much abused sausage end where it lay. He then motioned with the fresh morsel to the far end of the long table where the aforementioned elf sat, before the horned man took a large bite. Wiggling the savory link, Iron Bull deliberately continued his toying from earlier.
After Iron Bull mentioned the brewing attraction on the dwarf's part, Dorian couldn't help but notice how the famous writer would pause occasionally. How Varric would look up from his carefully chosen seat and glimpse out through the hall's open doors that just happened to overlook the practice ring. There, one could most often find the beautiful but deadly Seeker, regardless of what daylight hour it happened to be.
Ever since Haven's destruction Cassandra seemed to have made it her personal mission that everyone, down to the boys who mucked out horse stalls, had some one-on-one training in self-defense. At first, when she made it clear she was going to teach everyone including the hirelings, Dorian had joked with her about how bruised her 'students' were going to come out of the sparing ring. She shook her head, eyes trained on the floor and told him how when Haven was attacked it was the laborers who ran to meet the front line, how bravely they fought and died. Cassandra's masterful, calm facade had cracked slightly as she visually changed, gaining resolve. She stared at her sword as if it held all the answers for her aching soul, 'Better bruises now then dead later.' She told Dorian finally. Thus it was a required task, you could almost always find her circling around an oddly equipped and unarmored opponent.
These flummoxed students often had the comical, but entirely understandable expression of terror on their faces as they held whatever unusual 'weapon' she handed them. The Seeker wanted them to learn that anything could be used as a weapon or at least a shield. Cassandra would have them come at her with mops, horseshoes, wet rags, feather dusters, and once, raw fish. Anything that they might have close at hand if there was to be fighting inside the walls of Skyhold. These 'weapons' further scared and bewildered the poor drudges, especially when faced with Cassandra as an opponent. Her reputation as an exemplary warrior was already legend far before the terrifying events at Haven. In an attempt to alleviate the student's well placed fear the Seeker had replaced her fine long blade and imposing shield for much smaller, lighter wooden practice ones. Even so it was still a most grueling hour for the 'victims' both physically and mentally.
The clever woman who was in charge of the laundry had actually begun sending her helpers to the Seeker as a form of punishment for being late, or ruining something. There was one unfortunate fool who had mistakenly left a red scarf in the basket of white underclothes that belonged to Cullen's officers, much to the amusement of the guardsmen under their command. While investigating, The Commander had at first suspected Sera of this dastardly, pink prank. When the real culprit was eventually found he received an hour in the wooden circle for each item that was turned pink. Which meant he would likely serve every day for the next year under Seeker Cassandra's tutelage. This unique form of punishment was soon copied by the rest of Skyhold's domestic staff. She was never short of miscreants; they had even begun lining up against the armory wall, waiting with trepidation for their turn.
Varric suddenly winced, and shook his head. Whatever belabored hire-ling out in the circle likely just received one of Cassandra's signature, flat bladed 'teaching' slaps to whatever limb that had been vulnerable.
"Now there is a miracle." Dorian said as he smirked knowingly at the dwarf by the fireplace. "Who would have ever thought the Seeker would find Varric's novels diverting. You know, I tried to read them once and had to wash out my mind with as much soap as I could find." His mustache twitched as he smiled.
"I know, right? I am not normally that far off about people, but who would have ever thought that she has the hots for Varric?" Iron Bull asked as he moved on from the link based teasing and began to eat his scrambled eggs.
"No, no, my large friend, I do not believe that's quite it. She likes the romance, the danger of losing herself to passion. To be swept away with it all. Not necessarily with Varric." Dorian shot back as he poured himself another sip or two of the watery wine that was served alongside of every meal.
"I have to disagree with you, Ben-Hassrath training and all. She wants him and he her. Why else would he bring his worst selling story out of retirement? At just a word of her interest carried over by our dear Inquisitor? I bet you a bottle of Antivan brandy that by the time we kill Corypheus they will have been seen kissing in some dark corner by one of Cullen's men." Bull grinned.
"That is a very specific bet, I find myself intrigued," Dorian said as he genteelly dabbed his lips with a one of his many monogrammed handkerchiefs. "So, I have no choice but to take that rather interesting bet."
Bull finished his sausages and eggs in accepting silence. Dorian followed suit before his oatmeal congealed into a solid mass. There were few things Dorian hated worse than cold oatmeal, but he had to watch his figure. Without the option of a bowl of fresh fruit like he would normally eat back in Tevinter, he had initially eaten the heavy meals of eggs, sausage and gravy that most people here ate. He had thought all the traveling and staff work during fights would counteract the fattening foods like it had during the time they'd traipsed about in the Hinterlands.
However, after getting a few towers established to garner the support of the cantankerous Master Dennet the inner circle of the Inquisition had all been gifted fine Ferelden mounts. Dorian quickly found his belts needed to be let out a notch or two. He had tried just eating less of the meat hardy meal but it seemed as if he even looked at gravy he would gain weight.
He watched in envy as Bull plated two biscuits and then all but drowned them in heaping spoonfuls of his favorite jam. The jam was special in only that Dorian had tracked a Qunari trader down outside Val Royeaux. He'd paid him handsomely to send back a few jars of this very specific jam, which in solitary hailed from the town Iron Bull grew up in. Jam was one of only two sweeteners allowed in the Qun; it was of course made and eaten only by locals. Each town used what natural resources that were available to them, so each community could have vastly different flavored jam. Bull had once mentioned how he missed the flavor of a certain small, red berry that only grew in his homeland. He would gripe about the jams in Ferelden being the only thing worth eating there, even if they were far too sweet, and perish the thought of the mountain of sugar used in the making of Orlesian jellies and jams.
Iron Bull had told his lover the story of how the Tamasrans discovered that he could lie quite convincingly, as well as being sneaky as cat and strong as an ox. It had involved stealing a very large jar of the jam and hoisting it up into hiding on the roof. Bull had even convinced another child of the Qun to come forward to the Tamasrans and claim responsibility. As far as Iron Bull knew the other Qunari child grew up still believing he'd stolen it in his sleep! That day the Tamasrans enrolled Bull into the classes that had prepared him to join the Ben-Hassrath. They had also allowed him to keep the jam; a reward for being so clever.
Bull's mirth at his youthful misadventures made Dorian's heart skip a beat. It was then that Dorian knew he was in love with The Iron Bull. The Jam became a symbol his love for the Qunari mercenary. Dorian had presented the special treat as a sign of that affection to mark the one year anniversary of their relationship. Ever since receiving it, Bull would bring down a jar for breakfast and afterwards return it to their loft for safe keeping, not trusting the kitchen staff with its care. Bull's eyes had misted over when Dorian unexplained where the jam was from. They made love that night, sweet, soft and perfect. A week later, Bull gave him a full length standing mirror that now held a place of honor in the loft. It was worth a fortune. The only other person in Skyhold that had one comparable in size was Vivienne but Dorian was not inclined in the least to share it with anyone but Bull. That eventful evening had truly been a night of note, the mirror reflecting a dozen candle's shimmering, flickering light and two moving shadows embracing each other in the silvery sheen.
One of the kitchen staff walked by with a kettle of hot water, her upper lip curled into a sneer jerked Dorian out of his fond recollection. She had silently set the steaming pot down on the table between the lovers and then retreated downstairs without a word, her shoes clacking loud against the stone floor. Dorian had made sure to get a good look at the woman as she rushed through her duties, saving her identity for a later discussion with Josephine. Dorian and Bull were used to some of the staff's rudeness, after their relationship became common knowledge.
By the next dawn after their very public outing, Mother Giselle denounced them both as unworthy of the Maker's sight, unworthy of Andraste's forgiveness. She had lost a large portion of her congregation after that, many of whom came and apologized in her name, but she never did approach them herself. Instead she had toned down her openly decisive -rhetoric, but those who continued to follow her sermons were rabid in their faith, in how they believed the Chant of Light to be interpreted.
Eventually it took the Inquisitor's direct edict that any person, high or low, that she or her advisers found guilty of making hateful, discriminatory speech of any kind would be expelled from Skyhold and the Inquisition at large. With the sole exception of words against slavers, violent criminals, Corypheus or those virulent few that conspired with him, and other official enemies. The small, commanding Dwarven woman had gone even further, having Josephine issue a divine epiphany and send it all over Thedas. It stated that the Maker loves all those that love another be them of any race or inclination, with the understood exception of abusers including pedophiles. Dorian was sure that Josephine made it much more grand sounding than the simplified version he remembered the Inquisitor saying. Now only the most hidebound approached them without kindness and a smile, even Mother Giselle. They had slowly gotten rid of the most obvious of the animosity-blinded hirelings, but as Skyhold and the Inquisition grew they needed more and more people making it an ongoing endeavor.
Solas had silently moved closer when he realized that the serving wench was not going to return with another pot for the other end of the long table. Seated on the other side of Dorian, he pulled out a small square of white cloth and a tiny brown pouch. From the pouch he poured out several shriveled dry looking brown beans; he shook the pouch to ensure every crumb made it onto the white square. Both Dorian and Iron Bull watched, fascinated as Solas continued. The elf had folded the beans into the center of the cloth and then proceeded to use the round pommel of his eating knife to crush the encased beans. Bull had seen him do this ritual only once before, at that time the thin apostate looked as haggard as he did now, eyes drooped with weariness and a grim line set on his mouth. Once no more sounds of crunching could be heard from inside the white cloth, Solas bound it closed with string and placed it inside the large wooden mug from his belt.
"What are you doing?" Dorian finally asked, no longer able to keep the curiosity at bay. His eyes glimmered darkly at the thought of learning something new about the mysterious, pointed eared Fade specialist.
Solas sighed before he replied, reaching for the kettle containing the hot water. "I am making a cup of Coffee"
"I have never heard of this coughfee." Dorian quipped, as he looked at the elf out of the corner of his eyes.
"And you would not have, it is an ancient Elvhen medicinal drink for stamina that I picked up in my studies in the Fade." Solas calmly lectured as he poured hot water into the mug, causing a rich acidic aroma to rise into the air.
"That smells good, Chuckles, and I could sure use the stamina" Bull had picked up Varric's nickname for Solas. He used it as he leaned forward, stealing the mug out from under the elf's nose and took a small sip. No expression crossed his face as he swallowed and handing it to his lover.
Dorian received the cup under the nearly lethal glares from the apostate next to him. Shrugging he inhaled a deep breath of the lovely aroma and took a small mouthful of the piping hot liquid.
"Maker!" he exclaimed, his face twisted into disgust. He more than willingly relinquished the steaming mug to its owner. "How can anything smell so good and taste so very bad? Bull, I thought you loved me! Yet you handed me the vile poison! I am hurt!" Dorian grinned as he said it, taking the sting off the halfhearted accusation away.
"I did say it was medicinal." Solas said as he wiped the lip of the mug before he took a sip and sat back. He pulled a slim book from inside his vest and began to read, deliberately ignoring the coffee thieves.
From the platter in front of the couple Dorian selected two tiny metal tea diffusers stuffed with the rich, sweet black tea most in the fortress drank with breakfast. Iron Bull requisitioned the hot water kettle and poured each of them a mug that he had already placed on the corner of the table between them. The Qunari slid the mug toward his lover exchanging it for the small metal ball and chain that Dorian held out. Both men picked up the steaming cup in front of them one after the other and plunked the tea catches into the awaiting mugs. Bull sighed deep and long, the luxury of a slow, warm breakfast was one that they did not get to enjoy often. The wooden seats creaked as they leaned back. All three at the table sipped the warm beverages slowly. Each in their own way enjoying the lazy uneventful morning lost in thought, safe and pampered inside Skyhold instead of on the hard ground at one of the forward scout camps. It had become rare for them to sleep in the feather-down beds. The Inquisitor's hand was needed to close so many rifts all across Thedas and where she went her inner circle followed.
The Inquisitor trusted Dorian as her best friend. She often spoke to him about the puzzling dynamics of her companions. Her newest quandary was that she had quickly noticed some combinations of people were not wise, and had asked him to think about it. The small Dwarven woman was sometimes easily overwhelmed by so many powerful personalities, lost in how to create balance in this ragtag company.
The conclusion he had reached was complex. For a start, Sera and Vivienne were to be restricted from each other's company under strong orders to never come closer to each other than thirty feet. If Dorian could keep them so, he would. Cole was never to be allowed near either woman for his own good.
Most of the others of her inner circle worked in perfect unison no matter the combination, and some even offered the added benefit of comedic conversation. Varric had taken Cole under his wing, helping the spirit in his quest to become more human. Which surprisingly, Cassandra not only approved of, but often helped when the three of them were along with the Inquisitor for fast, mainly straightforward excisions. Solas and Cole's friendship seemed to have deepened even more when in the field together, nearly having entire conversations no one but the two could follow. Dorian had scoffed and snorted when the Inquisitor had told him their soothing, half-understood conversations provided her a peaceful experience.
Iron Bull, Dorian and Solas were her power team and with them she bragged openly that they could defeat anything. She even repeated it sober to Dorian and Solas, just before she ran headlong into a dragon's lair back in the Hinterlands only two weeks prior. She was right, Bull kept the beast occupied on the ground, Dorian rained down damage, Solas casting barriers, and lastly the Inquisitor shooting its hide full of arrows, eventually the beast had fallen under their combined might. She had let Bull keep one of the teeth as a memento. He had Dagna split it in twain and cap it with Silverite so he could present it to Dorian. They kept it on the shelf in their loft right beside the jars of Jam, which was a scant hand span away from the luxurious Mirror.