"The Skyhold wine cellar, eh?"
"It's my only hope of finding a decent bottle in this Southern backwater. I know Josephine keeps better stock hidden down here," Dorian said.
"Uh-huh," The Iron Bull replied. "And you asked me to come with you because …?"
"Because you're the tallest person here, which means you can reach the bottles at the top, which is likely where they've hidden the wine that's actually drinkable." Dorian tried to keep his voice light. Damn the man. He's actually going to make me say it, isn't he? He's actually expecting me to ask him.
Soft, feminine giggles floated out of the wine cellar as they approached. Dorian paused, wondering if they'd happened upon someone else's private moment.
"Oh! Be careful!" said an Orlesian-accented voice.
"Is that Sister Leliana?" Dorian said, delightfully scandalized.
"You said the best bottles were at the top. So I'm getting them," another voice answered.
"They sound clothed," The Iron Bull said, pushing the door open.
Leliana was standing at the bottom of the wine rack, laughing, her hood down around her shoulders and her red hair glinting in the light from the torch on the wall. It took Dorian a moment to recognize her; the merry expression on her face was that different from her usual mysterious smirk. Above her was an elf who had climbed to the top of the rack, her toes perched carefully between the bottles and her fingers curled around the top rung.
"Here, take this," the elf said, handing down a bottle. "It's Orlesian. Good?"
"Just pick something you will enjoy," Leliana said.
"It all tastes the same to me. Sort of … purple," the elf said.
Leliana tipped her head back and sighed. "You are impossible. Yes, this is a very fine … oh!" She jumped when she spotted Dorian and Bull. "Good evening, gentlemen."
"Hello!" said the elf. She pulled a second bottle from the top rack and hopped down, landing lightly on her feet, the bottle cradled in her left hand. The woman was older than she'd first appeared, probably in her mid-thirties. She had red hair that she wore loose over her shoulders and a jagged scar that ran down the right side of her face from her temple to her jaw. Something about that seemed familiar to Dorian.
The elf looked up at The Iron Bull. "Can I ask you something? Are you considered tall, for a Qunari?"
The Iron Bull grinned down at her. "Actually, yeah." Dorian stamped down a flash of irritation when he saw how Bull's eyes skipped up and down the elf's frame.
"I have a friend who's a Qunari. He's quite tall by elf standards, or even shem standards, but you'd almost make him look tiny. He also doesn't have horns. Does that mean anything in the Qun? I've always wondered."
"We usually think it means someone is marked out for a special destiny," Bull said. "Our new Arishok doesn't have them."
"Right!" said the elf. "That's Sten! Our Sten, I mean. I know there are other Stens. And I suppose he's not Sten anymore. I still can't get my head around calling him 'the Arishok,' can you, Leliana?"
The Iron Bull looked over at Leliana. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"
"Dorian, Iron Bull, this is Naia Tabris—as I suspect you have guessed," Leliana said wryly. "Naia, meet Dorian of house Pavus and The Iron Bull, also known as Hissrad of the Ben-Hassrath. So do not tell him anything you don't want in a Qunari intelligence report."
"Thank you for the warning," Naia said. "It's nice to meet you both." She gave them a little salute with the wine bottle.
"Are both of those for you two? That's quite an evening you have planned," Dorian said.
"Oh, no, they're for me. I'm not sure what Leliana's drinking," the elf said cheerfully.
"She's not entirely joking. Grey Wardens have a terrifying tolerance for alcohol," Leliana said.
"Well then. You'll have to drop by and share a drink with me and my Chargers while you're here," The Iron Bull rumbled. "It's been a long time since anyone could drink us under the table. Come find us in the tavern any time."
Dorian did not clench his teeth.
"I may take you up on that," Naia said. "By the way, since you're here in the wine cellar, Leliana says the good bottles are at the top."
"Good by Southern standards, or actually good?" Dorian asked.
"Import your own wines if ours are not to your taste, Dorian," Leliana said archly. "Good night, gentlemen. Naia and I have some catching up to do."
Dorian managed a slight bow as the two women swept past them and up the stairs.
The Iron Bull watched them go, then looked at him, almost bouncing with excitement. "Do you know who that was? The Hero of Ferelden! Shit, I can't believe it!"
"Quite pretty for a Grey Warden, isn't she?" Dorian asked, hiding most—but not all—of his irritation.
"She is," The Iron Bull agreed. He looked down at Dorian and arched his eyebrow. "You think I'm not paying attention, don't you?"
"Paying attention? To what?" Dorian said, deliberately obtuse.
"To you." The Iron Bull smiled at him, slowly—a very different smile than the one he usually wore. "Don't worry. I am paying you very close attention."
Cecily knew that it would not be long before all of Skyhold knew that she and Cullen were courting. But for now, it felt like just the two of them knew—a pleasant, warm little secret. She wanted to keep it that way just a little bit longer, and she also knew how much Cullen hated the idea of becoming an object of gossip.
So she made sure to have an excuse to stop by his office that evening—an update from Dagna on her efforts to find a weakness in Samson's armor. As it turned out, she didn't need it; Cullen was alone at his bookshelf when she knocked at his office door.
He smiled at her. "I hoped you'd stop by."
"Do you have some time? I thought we might play chess," Cecily suggested.
"For you? Of course I have time. Give me a moment, I'll retrieve my board from my room."
"You know, I've never thought to ask where your room is," Cecily said with some surprise. Then again, I wouldn't have asked, because that would have put me one step closer to taking The Iron Bull's advice.
Cullen made a vague gesture skyward. "I put a bed in my loft."
Cecily's mouth dropped open. "You sleep upstairs? Cullen, no wonder you're overworked, you literally live in your office!"
Cullen looked startled by the suggestion that this was not a splendid idea. "It's actually worked quite nicely. It has stopped me from falling asleep at my desk. Most nights," he amended when she gave him a questioning look. "Besides, the repairs at Skyhold have gone well, but we welcome more and more visitors every day. We must make use of the space we have."
Cecily decided not to press the point. "If you're sure," she said, trying and failing to keep the skepticism from her voice.
"Why, where would you have me sleep?" Cullen asked, his eyes crinkling in amusement. Then he went a bit pink. "Um."
Cecily felt her own face heat in response. "Well. Chess?" she asked, flustered.
He nodded. "I'll … be right back."
"Vivienne and Blackwall absolutely hate each other, did you know that?" Cecily asked about halfway through the game.
Cullen frowned. "I don't think I did, in fact. But it doesn't surprise me. I can't think of two people who have less in common. Blackwall is more subtle about it than Sera, but he doesn't think much of the aristocracy, or the Game."
"That's only because he's never had to play it. If he had, he'd outright despise it," Cecily said with a sigh. "I don't think we ever talked about that ball, but I felt as if I spoke in nothing but riddles for the entire evening. It was exhausting."
"You seemed to handle it quite well," Cullen said. In fact, the ease with which she'd played the Game had been slightly disconcerting at the time.
Cecily shrugged. "I missed out on the more advanced training because I was in the Circle, I'm sure, and the Marcher nobility isn't quite as proficient in the Game, but our protocol tutors drilled the basic principles into us young. Hint at everything, reveal nothing, hope the other person slips and shows their hand, and always, always do everything with a polite smile on your face."
Cullen wasn't sure what possessed him to ask this next question, but somehow he found himself asking it anyway. "I have no title outside the Inquisition, you know. I hope that doesn't—I mean, does it bother you?"
Cecily blinked at him. "Why would that bother me?"
"Because your family—I mean, I doubt a farmer's son from Honnleath was the suitor your parents envisioned for you before you went to the Circle." A thought occurred to him. "Your parents … have they ever expressed a wish to find you a husband?"
Cecily's mouth dropped open in obvious horror. "Maker's breath, that never occurred to me. I doubt it occurred to them either. Circle mages can't marry, after all."
"I suspect change will be coming to Thedas on that front," Cullen said. "Not that we need to discuss that right now," he added hurriedly.
She laughed and shook her head. "Cullen, I couldn't care less about whether or not you have a title, inside or outside the Inquisition. And I never will care, whatever the future might hold for us." She bit her lip, then. "Do you care about my family? I know you don't have much patience for nobility either."
Cullen reached out and took her hand. "No. I don't care at all," he said sincerely. "Just … please don't make me attend any more Orlesian balls unless it's absolutely necessary."
"Agreed, so long as you make me the same promise," she said with a grin. "Now, was it your move or mine?"
"I can't remember," Cullen said. He looked over at her, watching the way her mouth curved when she smiled. "I suppose that means we'll have to think of something else to do."
He tugged gently at her hand. With a light laugh, Cecily rose and stepped close to him. His heart pounding, Cullen reached for her and pulled her down to sit in his lap.
"So you forfeit, then?" she asked as he leaned in to kiss her.
"Yes. Absolutely," he murmured.
It was late in the evening when Naia and Leliana abandoned the rest of their wine and set out on a slightly tipsy tour of Skyhold. Leliana was singing a scandalous ballad about a baker's son when a figure across the courtyard caught Naia's eye—a slim woman in a ragged leather skirt, walking the gardens at Skyhold.
No. You've got to be fucking kidding me.
"Um. Leliana?" Naia said, pulling her friend to a halt. "How drunk am I? Because I think I just saw Morrigan."