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Ren left Cullen's office with promises to check in on him again later. Poor sod; she wasn't familiar with the details of lyrium withdrawal, but she couldn't imagine it felt good, and here he was pushing himself harder than any three people in Skyhold on a regular basis. She'd have to have a chat with Cassandra, see what they could do to get Cullen some assistants to take on some of his work-load, make sure that they were keeping an eye on his progress. Not only was his work with the soldiers of the Inquisition absolutely essential, he was a genuinely good man, who cared about the people who worked for him. Courageous as his battle was, he didn't need to fight it alone, not when he had friends who could support him.
Moving along the battlements, she found herself in the wrecked room at the top of the tavern, wondering if the Iron Bull was around. He and Krem had taken up residence in the tavern—or so she'd heard. The Iron Bull had been avoiding her ever since they came to Skyhold, but it had been much worse since she'd left her underwear in his tent. Even when they'd been on expedition in the Forbidden Oasis, just the two of them and Cole and Dorian, he wouldn't talk to her. If she'd known the effect they were going to have on him, she'd have kept her panties on, she thought. Now not only had she not made any progress on getting him to admit he was attracted to her, she seemed to have lost her best friend in the process.
Downstairs she found Krem buying a case of wine from Cabot, the new bartender. Krem smiled when he saw her. "Inquisitor! You're just in time. Come have some drinks with the boys."
Ren smiled back. "Sounds like a plan. Can I help carry?"
"You think I need help?" Krem bristled just a little, and Ren hastened to shake her head.
"No ... just habit, I guess."
"You're the Inquisitor, Your Worship. You're going to have to get over that habit."
"I suppose so. Hard to do, though." Ren held the tavern door open for him. "Oh, hey, I talked to Cullen and he agreed that it's a good idea for the Chargers to go check out Haven, see what can be salvaged. Anything you need in the way of supplies or extra men, talk to Ser Morris the quartermaster, tell him to see Cullen or me if he has any questions."
"Will do. Glad we can help."
"Also, I wondered if you could do me a favor while you're at it."
"Can't imagine why not." Krem smiled at her.
"My assistant Flissa—"
"Cute little redhead, used to tend the bar in Haven?"
"That's the one." Ren didn't miss the adjective, and she wondered. Flissa was a lovely girl, inside and out, and Krem a good guy. She might have been tempted herself ... under other circumstances. "She's got some errands to run for me in Redcliffe. I wondered if she could ride with the Chargers as far as Haven, maybe someone could see her the rest of the way?"
"I think we can arrange something."
"Good. Glad to hear it." Ren could hear the Chargers singing already, and she grinned. "You all do liven up the place."
"That's the idea."
They gave Krem a rousing cheer as he approached with the case of wine. Most of them were already deep into a barrel of ale, but Ren had only ever seen Krem with wine, and she wondered if the whole case was for him.
The Iron Bull looked up as they came near, his eye sliding over Ren unresponsively. It hurt, she couldn't lie, but she tried to keep that reaction from being too noticeable. Fortunately for her, the Iron Bull was having enough difficulty ignoring her that his usual powers of perception were significantly impaired. "How ya doin', Krem de la Creme?" he said instead. Needling Krem was always a good outlet for his feelings.
Unfortunately, his second-in-command knew him well enough to be aware of the tensions. The Iron Bull would have bet a fair amount of coin that Krem had invited the Inquisitor to the party tonight for just that reason, too.
"So glad he has someone new to hit with that joke," Krem said to Ren. "Maybe if he gets the whole Inquisition with it, I won't have to hear it again."
Ren looked at the Iron Bull straight on; let him ignore her if he wanted to. "Is that his best attempt?"
"I'm afraid so. The Chief loves his nicknames; he's just not very good at them." Krem grinned.
The Iron Bull shrugged. "When I was growing up, my name was just this series of numbers. We all give each other nicknames under the Qun. Doesn't mean they're too original."
"They ever wear shirts under the Qun, Chief? Or do they just run around binding their breasts like that?" Krem took a bottle out of the case and opened it, offering it to Ren, then snagged another one for himself. He settled down on an upended log near the Iron Bull, gesturing for Ren to take the slightly more comfortable-looking stool.
"It's a harness," the Iron Bull growled.
"Yes, for your pillowy man-bosoms." The two of them looked at each other, the battle for who would look away first obvious. "Let me know if you need help binding. You could really chisel something out of that overstuffed look." Krem looked at Ren. "Don't you think so, Inquisitor?"
She nearly choked on her swallow of wine, and hoped the coughing covered the sudden redness she could feel rising in her cheeks. "Don't look at me. Fashion advice isn't my strong suit. You should ask Josephine, maybe she can design something in a nice satin." She shot the Iron Bull a wicked grin.
He avoided her eyes, trying to stick to the decision he'd made, that they were coworkers and nothing else. "What do you think, Krem? Your father was a tailor. Might have been one yourself if things were different."
"Things would have had to be a lot different." Krem chuckled.
The Iron Bull toasted his lieutenant. "To you, Krem de la Creme, for knowing who you are and refusing to be who you weren't."
Krem smiled affectionately at his chief, acknowledging the compliment.
Ren looked at the second-in-command with curiosity. She rarely thought about his gender; had, in fact, just assumed he was male through and through for a long time, but now that she knew he wasn't, at least not physically, she had to admit to some curiosity. "Did you always know?" she asked him quietly.
"Yes. It's not the most fortunate thing to know about yourself, growing up in Tevinter one rung above slavery," Krem said.
The bravado in his voice was well-hidden, but it was there, and Ren nodded. "I'd imagine it's still better than not knowing."
Krem nodded back. "Probably."
"In Qunandar, Krem would be aqun-athlok," the Iron Bull said. "That's what we call someone born one gender and living like another."
"You have a word for that?" Ren asked. "You're doing better than we are, then."
"And Qunari don't treat those ... aqun people differently from real men?" Krem asked.
"They are real men. Just like you are."
Just when she thought she couldn't like him any better. Ren took another cooling, fortifying swallow of her wine. She was going to have to start cataloging things she didn't like about him, if he was going to keep ignoring her.
"Hm. Maybe your people aren't so bad after all," Krem said softly.
The Iron Bull chuckled. "Don't get your hopes up, Krem. We still come down pretty hard on the back talk."
The two men looked at each other with respect and undeniable affection, and Ren glanced away to avoid appearing to stare at the moment. "This can't be all the Chargers," she said.
"Nah, the rest of 'em went looking for stronger drinks," the Iron Bull said. "These are some of the best, though. Let's see, there's Rocky, and Skinner over there." Ren had met the mustached dwarf before, but she'd never seen the sour-faced elf who sat with him. "And over there is Stitches, Dalish, and Grim." The dark-skinned healer, Stitches, was a familiar and well-loved figure in the Inquisition—he'd helped out a lot in the infirmary. The slender tattooed elf Ren had seen around a few times, and the big blond Grim as well, but never to speak to. The Iron Bull chuckled, looking around at them. "Crazy bunch of assholes, but they're mine." He was proud of his motley crew of misfits and how well they fought together.
"What are your criteria for adding new members to the Chargers?" Ren asked him.
"Anyone who can hold up their weight in a fight, anyone who's got everyone else's back ..."
"Anyone who can put up with the Chief's bullshit," Krem added. "What about it, Inquisitor, want to be an honorary Charger?"
She kept her eyes off the Iron Bull. "I wouldn't say no."
"Then welcome aboard. Say, Chief, Inquisitor says Cullen approved the trip to Haven. Looks like we'll be heading down the mountain tomorrow. Where are the two of you off to?" Krem asked, looking between them.
They both jumped at that, each coming to the conclusion that the phrasing had been deliberate. But neither of them looked at each other.
"Western Approach," the Iron Bull said.
Ren hastily added, "With Dorian and Cassandra. I'm sure everyone will be arguing with each other long before we reach the Orlesian border." She stood up. "Speaking of ... with an early morning tomorrow, I should get some sleep. Thanks for having me." She saluted them with her half-empty wine bottle.
"Chief, if you're heading back to the tavern, you might as well walk the Inquisitor back to her quarters."
The Iron Bull was halfway out of his seat with an automatic eagerness before he realized what a bad idea that would be. Quickly he pretended to be stretching. "I'm pretty comfortable here. Why don't you walk her back, Krem?" It was an order, and they all knew it.
"Got it."
"I'm fine, really," Ren protested, but Krem ambled along next to her anyway.
"Never seen him like this before," Krem said. "You piss him off?"
"Not that I know of." She wasn't about to tell Krem about her underwear.
"Didn't think so." He glanced at her. "He's funny, the Chief. He'll go months drinking and whoring with the best of 'em, and then he gets these fits where he thinks he's forgetting how to be a real Qunari and he sits around and broods for a while. It always passes."
"Must be hard to be so far from everything he grew up with." Ren hadn't thought of it that way before, but that might explain at least some of the change in him. It didn't cover why most of that change had been directed at her, but she was fairly sure the smallclothes were responsible for that. She had clearly pushed too hard.
"Mm-hm. Southern life's got a lot of temptations for someone raised in the Qun, lot of different ideas that he has to pay lip service to in order to keep his cover. I think he questions sometimes whether he's paying lip service or coming to believe what he's saying. He overthinks everything, anyway. Never quite gets drunk enough to shut down his brain."
"Some people would say that's a good thing." Ren chuckled. "I've shut my brain down a few times; always regretted it later."
"Same here. Not the Chief, though. At any rate, give him some time, he'll get over whatever this is. If not, I'll keep poking at him until I get it out of him."
"Thanks, Krem."
"Anytime, Your Worship."
"For the Maker's sake, my name is Ren."
He grinned at her. "I know."
"Good-night, then, Krem de la Creme." She returned the grin as he groaned.
"I'll have to get the chief for spreading that one around." Krem saluted her with his wine bottle before heading back to the Chargers' camp.
