The floor jumps beneath her as dozens of feet stomp to the jaunty music flowing from the skilled fingers of Maryden and other musicians. A few months after Corypheus' defeat, the fortress is still abuzz with jubilation and tonight all of Skyhold seems pressed into the tavern as the Inquisition celebrates the new year.
Ionneira gazes down into the frothing amber of her ale rippling with every heavy beat of the melody. Her image wavers, distorts, and it is not unlike the feelings still swarming within. She wonders if she will ever settle, if she can ever be the same after all that has happened. It has gotten better, easier, for time heals all things, but the sudden memories that surface cut all the harder in the forgetting.
"Hey, Inquisitor!" At the other end of the bar Varric lifts his own mug in the air. Cassandra and Dorian stand behind him and all three wear expectant faces layered with worry, smiles on the edge of faltering the longer she remains quiet. She doesn't feel much like celebrating, but she is tired of feeling like a burden to her friends. Tired of holding on to things that only slip through fingers.
She lifts the ale in salute before bringing it to her lips and doesn't stop until it starts to roll down her pale throat.
"You up for a game of Wicked Grace?" Varric asks once she's had her fill. "I couldn't convince Curly this time, but most of the gang is ready."
"I can't imagine why. Sure, I'm in."
Her friends seem to pay more attention to her than their hands for the first few rounds, so she encourages sip after sip with them until their eyes soften and drift, but there is one whose gaze does not waver as the night goes on. Bull tips his mug back with the rest of them but instead of taking long swigs he holds it close to his mouth and watches the others, watches her the most. Once she only saw an observant calculation from him. There is more now, a warm concern that no spy should possess for their charge. But he is no Ben Hassrath any longer.
He sits close to her side, so close he could merely lean over and glimpse her cards with little problem, but she knows he won't without invitation. "What do you think?" she whispers to him and shows her meager hand.
"Well the way I see it, you have two options. Bluff it, but not too much. You want to make it look good. You never do it, so it could work. Second option is to fold and take the safe route."
By the gleam in his gaze she knows he's speaking about more than just this game. They have been playing something else for a few weeks, pieces moving on a board readying for a final move, and it is her turn.
"Inquisitor, your bet?" Josephine asks across the table.
Innoeira keeps her attention on Bull for a moment, sipping at her drink, before she answers. "Raise."
The alcohol doesn't dim her senses as much as she would like, but she can pretend and maybe it will be true. Bluff and chase after the big payout. She lets her smiles become looser, her bets just that much bolder and somewhere between the sixteenth round, Varric almost losing his head for spilling his drink across Cassandra's lap, Bull's gentle touch rubbing against her knee, and Sera appearing to slip someone's frilly things on the antler chandelier above, even Innoeira cannot hear the false trill of her own laughter.
"That's it, I'm out," she announces after a particularly bad run. Despite the protests from the around the table, she rises and heads towards the blazing fireplace. A group dances in the open space before it and her brows lift to see Krem cutting a skilled line through them all. He spots her staring, the tips of cheeks turning red, and saunters over to her side.
"I didn't know you could dance."
"We all had a life before the Chargers if you can believe it. Would…would you care to dance, Your Worship?"
Her feet want to hesitate, but she cannot fight against the open sincerity in his expression. She holds out her hand and curtsies. "I'd love to."
They sweep across the floor in broad quick steps. He is an easy partner to fall into rhythm with, leading and never leaving her behind.
"You're not so bad yourself," he says as he twirls her outward.
"Josephine would not let me go to the Winter Palace without proper training," she replies as she comes back into his arms. Ionneira adds laughter to the melody as she moves, her loose skirt flutters out like flower petals blooming, and her worries drift away with every dance. She spins and spins until the world is just a blur, lines of color and sound melding together.
After a few lively, heart pounding tunes, Maryden begins a slower song to let the dancers catch their breath. Now that she has stopped moving, Innoeira feels the heat rush in and color her skin from the exertion. Krem looks at her, with a little shyness she thinks, mouth opening to say something, but she never gets to hear it.
"Care if I cut in?" Bull asks as his shadows falls over them.
For a moment they stand in silent corners of this three sided equation before Krem steps back and bows with a smile. "Will I still have a job if I do? Don't step on her toes, you big oaf."
Bull takes her hand when they are alone but doesn't pull her onto the dance floor again. "Want to get out of here?"
She nods even when butterflies beat inside the cage of her ribs. "Sounds perfect."
The battlements above the tavern are mostly deserted at this time of night besides the passing patrol and Innoeira breathes in the cool mountain air and enjoys the illusion of privacy. Bull's hand is still wrapped around hers, warm and supportive, as she jumps up on the lower wall and walks the perilous edge. But she hasn't felt this safe and free in a long time and raises an arm and a smile up into the shimmering sky.
"Seem like you had a good night."
She turns to face him and the wavering moonlight gives her the strength to show him a daring smirk. "Who said it was over?"
"Have something in mind?" His hands move to her hips, hard enough to matter yet soft enough to let her slip away if she wanted. There are echoes of hurt still bouncing off the walls inside, but they are muted by this growing symphony of new possibilities before her.
She steps closer, toes and heart dangling off the edge. Hands come to rest atop his broad chest and she feels every steady breath below. There is just a moment when she hesitates, eyes flicking to his for reassurance. Her image reflect back, his intent so clear, so open. There are no secrets between them and it is the easiest, simplest thing to lean forward and press her mouth into his.
Bull's lips are rough, split open from battles and battered from the sun, but they taste of red wine and feel impossibly real. Everything about him seems to soften as she wraps her arms around his neck. Hands that hunt dragons are gentle and he shifts his body so none of the buckles and latches of his clothing dig into her skin, but she is not made of brittle things.
She tugs on the leather strap across his shoulder and pulls his lip between her teeth. Bull follows her lead, fingers gripping tighter, pulling on silvered strands to tilt her head and dive deeper. They move together on instinct like birds in flight, so attuned to one another it seems a magic of its own. The kiss does not leave her breathless, but instead fills her up until it seems like she can hold no more. He breaks away to drag lips down her neck, tasting and biting until his arms are the only thing keeping her afloat.
When they part there is no doubt in his expression and none within her breast yet there is still a question in his gaze. Innoeira doesn't have to say what she wants, but she knows they both need to hear it. "Take me home."
But he does better than that. Bull lifts her from the wall with ease and carries her towards his bedroom. Innoeira is burning up with every step, breaking into pieces, but there is no sorrow in this feeling of falling apart. She lets it all wash over her, this promise of something new and a chance to rebuild, and holds on.