Azalea recovers from the damage Caleb caused to her body and her soul, with some practical Qunari advice.
Cullen leaned on the stair railing and looked down over the Skyhold garden. Azalea was sitting in the grass there with her kitten in her lap and the other inhabitants were giving her a wide berth thankfully, seeming to understand that she needed the time alone.
"She needs to get moving to Halamshiral." Cullen turned to see Lelliana approaching to stand next to him.
"She needs more time," he countered.
"It's been a week already. And the ball will not wait for her."
Yes, it had been a week. But for four of those days Azalea hadn't gotten out of bed or even really seemed to respond to anything. She took food and water but otherwise did nothing, did not even seem to be aware when someone was speaking to her. Cullen was, perhaps, the exception. To him she would speak of the nightmares that plagued her, that had only increased in intensity since the betrayal of her brother but to all others she remained courteously silent, answering in monosyllables if at all. Privately Cullen worried that the red lyrium may have addled her brain somewhat, but that was something the Inquisition couldn't handle. It was something he wasn't even sure that he would be able to handle. As naive as Azalea was in many ways, she had grown and became someone Cullen could rely on to get things done. Without her, who would lead the Inquisition? Sure, Cassandra could probably step up into the role as Azalea had initially wanted, but Cullen knew that the Seeker was really too hot tempered for the role. No, they needed Azalea. And she needed them to somehow give her the time she needed to get over not only the damage done to her mind and body, but also to her soul.
As though reading his thoughts, Lelliana said quietly, "She won't be entirely alone. We'll be going with her, along with whoever else she wishes to come, though I suspect the only person she wants there would be you. We can continue supporting her from the Winter Palace, but unless she goes there in person the Inquisition will have no true authority. You know that."
"Yes. I know it," Cullen conceded. "That does not mean I think it right or fair." He was silent for a time then sighed. "I suppose I should try and get her ready to leave."
"Not just yet I think," Lelliana said, a queer smile on her face.
"What?" Cullen asked, confused. In answer Lelliana simply gestured over towards where the Inquisitor was sitting. Cullen turned to look and his eyes widened as he saw the Iron Bull approach her. He couldn't hear what was said from here of course, but instead of turning him away as she had done every other person who had tried to speak with her, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, displacing the kitten that was on her lap, and followed the Qunari out of the gardens.
"Maybe she is more ready than you think," Lelliana said.
"Maybe," Cullen allowed, though he doubted it.
"Remind me again how this is supposed to help me?" Azalea asked as she awkwardly held the heavy sword in front of her. It was only a one handed one, one of Cassandra's that Bull had 'borrowed' apparently, but how the woman managed to hold it in one hand and heft a shield while wearing heavy plate and mail armour was beyond the slightly built mage.
"Old Qunari technique," Bull said as he hefted a shield over his left arm. It looked pitifully small, a buckler she was told not a true shield, but he seemed comfortable enough using it. Far more comfortable than she was anyway. "I don't understand everything that went on while you were out cold, some fade and demon shit," Bull gave a shiver at that, though to Azalea it looked more like a rippling of muscle beneath the skin, "but whatever it was it scared you." Azalea looked away, uncomfortable that Bull was so openly speaking of her fears and that they were so obvious. A glint of metal by her chest caught her gaze and her eyes widened when she saw it was a sword aimed at her chest. Her eyes followed the length of the blade to the large hand holding it, then up the well muscled arm to the shoulder and familiar scared face. And kindly eyes. Eye really, though she had no doubt that had Bull not lost one of his eyes it would match the other with how it seemed to speak more than his words did about how he cared. No wonder Dorian had fallen for him. Azalea stepped back so that the blade at her chest wasn't so threatening.
"Wrong," Bull said. "Use your sword to knock it away." He stepped in and returned the sword point to where it was. "Go on, you won't hurt me," he encouraged.
Feeling completely uncoordinated, Azalea rose the sword and awkwardly knocked away Bull's.
"Good! Again!" he said.
"And again!" he said when she repeated the action. "Faster this time."
And she did. The sword was heavier than her staff and weighted differently. It used different muscles to what she was used to and those muscles were soon screaming. Still though, Bull gave her no time to rest and as she became more proficient at blocking and turning aside his blade, he started being more aggressive, so that if she didn't block in time she earned a bruising tap. It gave her even more reason to concentrate only on what she was doing and stopped her mind from wandering to all the why's and what if's. She had no time to think of those things if she wanted to keep the bruises to a minimum.
Soon enough she was panting heavily, her shirt stuck to her back with sweat, sweat that also tickled as it ran down between her breasts and stung her eyes as she blinked frantically to try to clear them. She realized suddenly that she could smell herself, that she could always smell herself and that the sweating and hard work only made it more obvious. She had not been taking care of herself, could not find the will to. Even that thought though, brief as it was, was driven out of her mind by the need to defend herself and concentrate on what she was doing. Sword work did not come naturally to her, it was not like her ice spells which seemed to have a mind of their own, that formed exactly as she thought them when she thought them. This she had to see what Bull was doing, think about how to react to it, and then make her muscles respond in just that way. Sometimes it worked, but more often it didn't and now that Bull was not stopping from letting her know when she made a mistake, it usually resulted in a bruising smack.
Darkness was spreading at the edge of her vision and she couldn't even act surprised when, with a flick of his wrist, Bull easily knocked the sword from Azalea's hand, sending it clattering to the ground. She stared stupidly at it until Bull's large hand came crashing down on her shoulder. "Come on, Boss. Time for phase two." The hand on her shoulder steered her to the well behind the Herald's Rest and Azalea watched as he took up a bucket and tipped it over himself. There was some cloth hanging on a line that Bull purloined and handed to her but he was too slow. As soon as he turned to get it, Azalea had already dropped the bucket into the well and was in the process of pulling it up for herself when he turned back. She ignored the offered cloth and instead lifted the bucket and upended it over her head much the same way bull had. Of course it didn't look nearly as sexy as it had with Bull - that man had a way of just oozing sex without stirring any desire within Azalea to be unfaithful to Cullen. With Azalea she looked more like a drowned cat than a newly refreshed warrior. But the water was cold and it made her gasp with the sharpness of it, shocking her into instant wakefulness. It felt good and, hearing the chuckle from Bull, the tiniest of smiles tugged at her own lips. This time she took the offered cloth and used it to wipe off her face.
"Come on," Bull said. "Normally I would recommend going on a dragon hunt about now, perhaps later. Instead I owe you a drink or three."
"You do? What for?" Azalea asked. She tried to remember any bet she may have won with Bull but could not think of any. Surely if she had won against a Ben-Hassrath she would remember.
"For getting the chance to see your uptight Commander lose his cool. And for giving me the excuse to be gentle and loving to Dorian," Bull replied, shooting Azalea a grin over his shoulder.
Azalea was able to imagine such a scene between the two of them and she blushed. "Oh," was all she said.
The two of them entered the dim tavern and ordered some drinks and, for a time, they just sat quietly and companionably and drank. One by one, others joined them, members of Bull's Chargers, and as the drink flowed, so did the stories. At first Azalea was content to sit silently and listen. And drink. No sooner did her drink get past the half way mark did either Bull or one of his men wave over a refill. And as the drink flowed, Azalea found herself starting to relax. It felt as though a tight coil within her chest or in the pit of her stomach was slowly unwinding with every mouthful she swallowed, a coil she wasn't even aware she had been carrying. Leaning forward on the table, Azalea rested her head on her folded arm. The room still rocked about her as though she were on a ship. The sensation made her feel mildly ill, but it didn't seem to bother her. Vaguely she wondered if it would be possible to tip her mug in such a way that could drink without lifting her head. Maybe she could magic it towards her. But then she dismissed that; Bull was uneasy with magic. She watched him as he laughed with his friends, retelling the story how Cullen had sent Dorian flying with a punch with much arm waving. Dorian had joined them at some point - when had that happened? - and even he was smiling a little as Bull told it. As Bull spoke, his head moved which made his horns swing around wildly, but he always seemed to know exactly where they were and was always sure that they wouldn't hit anything or anyone. Dragon horns, that's what Cole had called them. Azalea gave a snort of laughter. "The Iron Dragon," she muttered to herself with a smirk and she closed her eyes.
Cullen was writing at his desk when he heard the knock. "Who is it?" he called, not looking up. He had seen Azalea enter the tavern with Bull and hadn't seen her come out again. Even though he thought that maybe sharing some drinks would be good for her, he couldn't resist the twinge of worry tainted with jealousy that befell him at the sight. Nonetheless, he removed himself from the area and resolved that maybe it would help. It certainly couldn't do more harm.
"Special delivery for the Commander of the Inquisition."
That was Dorian's voice, Cullen realized with a frown. And he was drawling as though he were drunk, his Vint accent as thick as ever. Unsure what game he was playing but sure he would want none of it, Cullen nonetheless opened the door to find Dorian stepping aside to allow the huge form of the Qunari to step through and in his arms was an unconscious Azalea.
"What happened, is she alright?" Cullen demanded instantly, his brief animosity towards Dorian forgotten in his concern for the Inquisitor.
As though to prove his worry misguided, Azalea gave a rather un-ladylike burp in her sleep. Bull laughed at that and said, "She's fine. Just having a little nap. Though I'm curious to know how fine she'll be in the morning. Bar is closed so we figured we should probably let her sleep somewhere more comfortable than under a table."
"Well, thank you," Cullen said awkwardly. "I'll take her." He would have to take her to her own rooms, he realized; there was no way he would be able to get her up the ladder to his bed in this state.
"She's all yours," Bull said, handing her over. "Come on, Dorian. I've got a little something I want to try out with you. Well, actually it's a big something."
Cullen didn't miss the bright blush that spread over Dorian's face even as he followed Bull almost eagerly out of Cullen's room, leaving him to deal with their dearly drunk Inquisitor. Maker have mercy on them, he hoped she wasn't the kind to get hang overs.