It had been a whirlwind of emotions and actions after being told she was the Herald of Andraste. It seemed all wrong seeing as Heralla was an elf. The glowing beacon in her hand said different though. Day after day, it was fighting demons, closing rifts, helping the people in the Hinterlands, acquiring horses for the Inquisition, Venatori, killing giant spiders on the Coast, it was endless! There were times that Herralla felt she needed to let go for a while, to just relax. She had started to find her solace in a dwarf named Varric. They were becoming close friends, and Heralla needed someone like him.
She had dropped off the things needed for the requisitions to the quartermaster and noticed Varric already getting settled in by the fire. The petite elf started to feel happiness bubble up inside of her. It was almost time for their campfire stories and drinks together. He looked too relaxed though, nothing a flying leap off the wall and over a tent wouldn't fix. She soared through the air and landed on her feet a few inches away from him. Varric jumped in surprise. There was Heralla, her auburn hair flowing wildly in waves from her surprise leap. A wicked smile upon her face.
"Maker, Wiggles! Could you stop doing that?" Varric clutched his chest with a leather glove, dramatically portraying a heart attack.
"Wiggles? I have a nickname now?" Heralla raised an eyebrow. She had been begging Varric for a nickname, but he always refused. He told her that it would come to him eventually but you couldn't rush these things.
"Yeah. Did you know that when you're about to set some poor bastard ablaze your nose wiggles?"
Heralla blushed. Oh Maker, take me now.
"Alright. Wiggles it is. So, what are we doing tonight?" Heralla strode across the short distance and sat down next to Varric with a plop.
"Please tell some more stories. I'll go get the drinks!"
Varric looked at her with a smirk, knowing how much Wiggles loved to hear tales of the Champion, his Hawke. Wiggles actually reminded him of her. Maybe that's why he took such a shining to her as quick as he did. Varric smiled and sighed.
"Ok. If you go get the drinks, I'll tell you about the time Blondie and Fenris almost got into a fist fight over Hawke."
"YES! Ok, I'll be right back!"
Heralla jumped up with amazing speed and took off to the tavern in the tiny village to grab a cask and a few glasses. She could barely contain her giddiness as she burst through the entrance. The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall and shook the furs adorning it, and everyone turned to look at the lithe elf that made such a commotion.
"A cask and three glasses, please!" Heralla said with a glowing smile across her face as she bounced up and down with excitement. Three glasses because it never failed, eventually someone showed up to sit with them and laugh for a while. Varric and Heralla knew to try and make the best of their downtime. They had to laugh. Heralla didn't think either of them would have made it this far without being able to joke with each other.
As she grabbed the glasses and liquor in it's rounded bottle, she started to think, 'Who will it be tonight? The Bull? He loves having drinks with us. Maybe Blackwall. As serious as he looks, the man has an amazing sense of humor. Maybe Sera. Probably Sera.' she was looking down at the ground when she finally snapped to and realized that she was almost back at the campfire. She looked up and almost dropped the glasses as her steps screeched to a halt.
Solas.
It was Solas.
What was he doing here? He never wanted to mingle with Varric, or Heralla normally. She eyed him suspiciously.
Heralla started to walk again, slowly over to the campfire where Varric was already sitting comfortably on a druffalo skin on the frozen ground. She didn't say a single word to Solas as she handed Varric the glasses, he was already talking about "Blondie's" history, something Heralla knew of. Whenever Varric spoke of Anders, she almost felt bad for him. Almost.
She folded her legs underneath her and sat next to the enigmatic dwarf as he looked up at her, "Look who we have here, Wiggles. Chuckles decided to join us tonight." Varric seemed almost pleased he was here.
"Are you sure he even knows how to laugh? I don't want him feeling left out." Heralla sarcastically made a worried expression play across her face.
Varric laughed a hearty guffaw, "Oh man, Chuckles. I don't know what you did to her… but she doesn't seem to like you too much."
Solas shifted his gaze to the deep blue eyed elf next to the dwarf, "I can't see why. I have been nothing but proper to her."
Heralla let out a gasp as her mouth fell open. "Are you KIDDING me, Solas? Are… are you… wh-what?"
How could he even say that? Heralla's frustration with the bald, fade walker started to push up her throat, making her thoughts come out in fragmented sentences. He was "proper"?! Oh for the love- he had looked down on her the moment he met her! Well, tonight, drinks or no, she was going to let her feelings be known to him. Like it didn't matter at all that she was an elf, and a mage.. he always seemed to speak to her in this condescending tone that just bled with pity. No. You know what? No. Heralla put her foot down in her mind. She was not letting fucking Solas ruin this for her. This was her time with Varric. If he had such a problem with her he could fucking go somewhere else.
It was about that time, after Heralla had fought this out with herself in her mind that she noticed both Varric and Solas not saying a word, but looking at her with confused expressions on their faces.
"You Ok, Wiggles?" Varric reached across with a gloved hand and rubbed her arm.
"Yes, thank you Varric. I'm fine. Let's drink." Heralla spanned the distance across Varric's lap and grabbed a glass and the bottle. She pulled a dagger from her belt and wrenched the cork out of the darkened flask, flicked it on to the hide beneath her and poured a glass for herself.
Varric stared at her as the elf threw back her head and pounded a glass of dark liquor. That's when he noticed the bottle and realized it's contents. 4:90 Black. Maker's balls, Wiggles was not messing around tonight.
Ever since bringing The Iron Bull into their band of misfits, Heralla had started to drink the stuff. It smelled like the underside of a nug, but had a sweet taste to it, and she started to like it more and more. Varric could remember a few occasions where he walked into the tavern to find the elf and the Qunari, bottles scattered about them, and her begging him to put her on his shoulders. She had actually gotten him drunk enough to do it a few times, and Varric almost choked to death watching the two of them, her diminutive figure perched upon the hulking Ben-Hasrath, giggling and shouting "Onward, my mighty steed!". If he didn't know any better, (which he did) he would think that the trash talking Qunari spy had a thing for the elf. But Varric decided to let it be.
"Ok, since you're alright then, Wiggles, what would you like to hear about?" Varric was doing his best to try and be the neutral party in this situation. Maybe if he could just get her focused on a story of his, she might settle down. Romance. She loved to hear about how Blondie and the Broody elf vyed for Hawke's affections.
"How about the time-"
"No."
Heralla spat out with a cough. She had already drank three more shots in the time he had been trying to think of what to say next. Varric started to feel antsy, he could tell the Black was already working it's way through her small body.
"I want Solas to tell US a story." Heralla had started to raise her voice and she pointed to the quiet elf with one finger while still holding her glass. Her body started to sway a bit under the spell of the liquor.
"Me? But I am not the self proclaimed story teller here, Varric is." Solas pulled his arms across his chest.
Heralla took a breath ready to lay into the elf about… about… something… when footsteps approached the tents.
"Is… is our dear Herald of Andraste drunk?" Dorian stepped forward, magister robes flowing and sparkling as the light from the campfire hit the buckles and rings that adorned them, hands facing the fire to warm them, a small smirk pulling up the corner of his fabulous mustache.
"She's getting there… and quick." Varric responded. He couldn't help it, he had to chuckle. She was so hilarious when she was drunk.
"But I think she has some pent up aggression towards Chuckles here."
"Oh, Solas. What have you done now?" Dorian put his hands on his hips and tilted his head towards the scowling elf like a mother ready to scold a child.
"I have done nothing. It is she who chooses to flood her body with alcohol… if that can be considered alcohol and not an element with which to create a grenade." He narrowed his ice blue eyes at the swaying mage. Her hair was a mess of waves, the fire flashed light upon her pale skin and vallaslin, highlighting the blue-green marks of Mythal. She looked beautiful in this light, but he would never tell her so.
"Listen here you pompous, arrogant, stuck up, know it all, sodding nughumper!" Heralla was standing now, although precariously as Dorian moved to her side, ready to catch her should gravity win. At least she was really starting to get the hang of using Dwarven language.
Solas stared up at her, expecting her to release the fury she had built up inside of her. She looked like a dragon, ready to spew fire forth, but the image was lessened when he noticed she was still holding her glass and pouring small amounts of liquid on the ground.
"Yes? Say what you must." Solas replied calmly. He was not going to let her inebriation get him riled up. She was such a child when she acted this way.
"You have the balls to call me Da'len to my face! I am not some child for you to shun! I'm doing the best with what I have, and you speak to me like I mean nothing! How dare you come over here and try to ruin my night with my friends!"
Varric and Dorian looked at each other, awkwardly trying to decide what the best course of action would be if she should decide to hit him.
"Herald, I have nothing but respect for you. Even if you are of the Dalish and hold on to your stories and fables like some desperate attempt to cling to a security blanket. It is not my fault your culture was lost to the ages, and your people would do well to remember that they are the cause of it all."
"MY PEOPLE?! You're a sodding ELF, Solas! Or do you have your head so far up your ass you can't remember what you look like, due to the fact that you commonly wear yourself as a hat?!"
Varric and Dorian attempted to both cough to cover the sound of their laughter, but failed miserably.
Solas' face started to turn red with anger, "Your people called me flat ear whenever I tried to help them, do not be so surprised that I do not consider myself to be a part of the people." he growled the last two words out like he was spitting on the grave of an enemy.
"Oh please, Solas, the first time I came out of my room here someone handed me a bucket and a mop and told 'the knife-ear' to clean the vomit off the tavern floor." Heralla grabbed on to Dorian's arm for support, her small hand not even large enough to encircle his forearm half way.
"Hey Dorian, love, who am I? 'Look at me! I'm all broody and I'm a complete outsider because no one loves me so I spend all my time in the fade with spirits! They're the only ones who understand me! The people around me are like children and I'm going to talk down to everyone because I'm a know it all mage who can't be bothered to even try to get along with people, let alone the other elven mage that I travel with! Let me talk about spirits and drone on and on about complete nugshit!'"
That was it, Dorian and Varric broke down into hysterical laughter as Heralla went on her tirade while waving her arms about and using Solas' gestures.
Solas stood and faced the drunken elf, "THIS is why I call you a child. If you want me to show you any respect, Herald, you must EARN IT!" Solas shouted at her.
It was then that a huge hulking figure appeared, looming over the elf who looked frail in comparison.