Liv trudged up the stairs to her chambers, unsure if she felt like collapsing into bed or heading over to the tavern in an attempt to be social. It was long past dinner and her stomach rumbled spitefully. She'd spent the last few hours reviewing Nevarran treaties with Josephine—not that she'd added anything meaningful to the conversation. She knew Josephine had been consulting her more frequently on matters like these—probably hoping she would start getting better at it (not likely)—but it was so dull that she'd been seriously contemplating how many ways she could potentially kill a man with nothing more than a quill.

Her stomach growled again, and she rubbed her belly fitfully. Maybe she could sneak down to the kitchens without being seen. She stood in the middle of the room, trying to decide if food was worth the risk of being cornered by one or more of the nobles that seemed to perpetually linger about the Great Hall, hoping for a chance to natter at her about their petty grievances.

Not worth it, she decided. She'd had more than enough of that for one day. With a grumbling sigh that echoed her stomach's unhappy gurgles, she removed her boots and sat down on the bed, flopping backwards onto the mattress with her arms outstretched.

Something… crinkled?

She sat up, peering behind her. There was a folded scrap of parchment lying on top of her bed covers. Intrigued, she smoothed it out, amused as she read the contents:

Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath graciously requests the company of Lady Livenya Trevelyan of Ostwick for a midnight picnic in Skyhold's lower larder.

Casual dress.

Discussion of any and all Inquisition business shall be strictly prohibited.

Arriving famished is recommended.

Liv couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. She definitely had the famished part down.

After whiling away the last few (hungry) hours, Liv made her way down to the lower larder. The only dicey bit had been crossing through the Great Hall, but the hour was finally late enough that she'd been able to slip through into the side passages unnoticed. She'd thrown her favourite dark blue cloak over her shoulders, the one that was so tattered and worn that no one would have expected to find the Inquisitor beneath its thread-bare remnants.

The air grew colder, the hewn walls rougher, as the sloped tunnels led her downward, deeper into Skyhold's depths. She couldn't quite see her breath—not yet, anyway—but the chill, along with the grumbly ache in her belly, was enough to make her hasten her steps.

When she reached the door to the larder, she very nearly pushed it open before stopping herself. The faint strip of light from beneath the door's edge indicated Cullen's presence, which made her think of his "formal invitation" with a smile. No, simply pushing open the door wouldn't do at all.

She knocked three times in succession, allowing a slight pause between each thud of her knuckles against the wood.

Cullen's voice sounded from within. "I'm terribly sorry, but this event is by invitation only. I believe the wine cellar and the upper larder are still unoccupied though, if you wish to try your luck there."

"I suppose it's fortunate that I happen to have an invitation then."

"Well, a thousand pardons then, my dear lady. One moment please." There was a shuffling noise and then the door opened a crack, just wide enough for Cullen to peer through. "I'll have to verify your identity first, of course. Can't be too careful. Name?"

Liv performed a flourishing curtsy, the one Josephine had taught her before the ball at Halamshiral—and forced her to practice over and over again until she'd threatened to show up in nothing but her underthings and Cole's hat. "I am Lady Livenya Trevelyan of Ostwick, good ser, and I was invited here by the Commander of the Inquisition himself."

"Let me check…" His brows crinkled in mock puzzlement. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry to say you're not on the list."

"I'm not on the list?"

"No, I'm afraid this is a rather exclusive affair. You see, there's only one name on my list." The side of his mouth quirked upward. "Myself excluded, of course. "

"Oh? And who would that be?"

"Hmm? I don't know if I'm at liberty to share that information with you. The Inquisitor is a harsh mistress, as you know, and her wrath is fierce and terrible." He paused, tapping one finger against his lips. "Plus, I've heard she eats babies. And she can suck your spirit out through your nose while you sleep. "

"She sounds frightening."

Cullen nodded sagely. "She is."

"Well, I do happen to have my invitation. Perhaps that would satisfy you, ser?" She produced the piece of parchment from her pocket and passed it to him through the gap.

He looked it over, clicking his tongue lightly against his teeth. "This seems to be in order. I suppose my list must be in error. Apologies again, Lady Trevelyan. Please, come in."

Cullen opened the door wide and bowed to usher her in. He was dressed comfortably as well, in a loose white linen shirt and trousers, although his customary cloak was still draped over his shoulders to ward off the damp chill in the air.

Liv was, as it happened all too rarely, speechless.

A red checkered blanket covered most of open space on the floor, and the sconces that ran around lower larder's walls were lit with torches, giving the enclosed room a warm and merry glow. On the blanket, a variety of dishes and baskets were arranged in the center, and the array of smells that greeted her made her stomach rumble loudly.

"So, what do you think, my lady?" Cullen gave her a slightly nervous shrug of his shoulders. "Is this suitable?"

"It's bloody fantastic!" She enveloped him in a quick hug before circling the blanket and its contents eagerly. "This is amazing." She stopped to give him a genuine smile, her eyes crinkling up around the edges. "Thank you so much for this."

"It was the least I could do to cheer you up. Now," he gestured at the floor, "If you would like to be seated, I do believe a feast awaits us."

Thanks to Josie Lange for her awesome beta work, as always!