Brynn didn't realize Haven had a tavern initially, and once she had, she'd only poked her head in once or twice. The gawking of the villagers only grew worse the longer she was here, and she wasn't sure who to ask about 'buying' a drink. She didn't have any coin, and she didn't really have anything she could barter. So there had never been much of a point to linger.
This evening though, she was driven by a singular purpose. And the purpose was to get violently drunk. She'd even brought a few coppers that she'd scrounged from the dead on their Hinterlands tour. 'Affluent grave-robber' wasn't something she'd ever imagined adding to her resume, but here she was, living the dream.
Given she had no idea what things cost, she figured she might need to flirt a little to get properly sauced, or maybe just look incredibly pathetic- both techniques had worked in the past. But it turned out she couldn't have paid for a drink if she wanted.
The instant she'd walked through the doors, she'd been met with cheers. Good news traveled fast, and it appeared everyone in Haven was thrilled to find that there wasn't an open rift for at least sixty miles. Providing you weren't counting the one in the sky.
The evening passed in a delightfully blurry haze, but eventually the novelty of inebriation wore off and Brynn's misery came creeping back.
A parade of strangers continued to cheer her on, bringing drinks and espousing the glories of Andraste and her magnificent Herald who was going to save them all. At least that's the gist of what the first few had said, at this point in her evening, she'd long since given up attempts to actually listen to their words.
Their joy and exuberance were more salt in an already festering wound, and so she drank more to try and smother that feeling too.
Varric appeared at some point, raising his own glass in greeting as he sat at her table, watching the bard play some tune on the lute. She'd given him a polite enough nod and was relieved when he turned his attention elsewhere. But when Solas had showed up, her relief turned to irritation. They both had the look of men who thought they were being subtle about wanting to talk.
"Herald," Solas bowed as he approached their little table and sat down. He'd not bothered to buy an ale; a real buzz kill move. She shot him a dark look, but he seemed unaware of her recent distaste for the title.
"What brings you gentlemen to this corner of the world? I see it's not drinking." She raised an eyebrow at the both of them. She certainly wasn't sober, but she'd been clear enough to notice that Varric had been nursing the same ale the whole hour he'd been there, and it was only half gone.
"You've not reached out since you returned," Solas shrugged. "I was merely interested to see that you'd arrived in one piece."
"More or less," she said drinking again. "Got this cool shiner to prove I actually went somewhere," she touched the right side of her face where the swelling had certainly gone down, but dark purple bruises remained from her run in with the templar. "It's like a postcard but much worse."
"I'm glad to see your limbs accounted for. Though I thought you might reach out to me in the Fade before you returned," Solas said, the hint of a guilt trip in his tone.
"I was tired. Thought I'd take some time off from the studies," she rolled her eyes. She'd gotten very little sleep on the trip back to Haven. Between the general misery of traveling and the nightmares that followed her into the dark, her evenings hadn't been particularly restful.
"We needn't have studied; I would have been equally interested in hearing how your excursion went."
"Well, I'm sure the storyteller has filled you in on that already," she shot a look at Varric. He seemed the sort who had planned this whole little 'let's check on the deranged loony at the bar' scheme.
"He was worried," Solas offered, "As was I when I heard about the templars."
"Worried?" she scoffed. "I don't see why, haven't you heard? I'm a fucking hero," she gestured to the crowd around them. "Andraste's a real bitch whore of a shit!" she shouted to the crowd, and they'd all cheered with her. "Fuck Andraste!" understanding none of the meaning of her words, they all cheered in unison when they recognized the word 'Andraste'.
Solas did not look especially pleased, Varric too seemed to realize something was off.
"What?" Brynn snorted at the sour look on Solas' face. "It's not like she's your god, right?"
"It is not the veneration of Andraste that troubles me," Solas said with a frown. "It is your-" he was interrupted by another villager bringing a full flagon to Brynn. She accepted it gladly, barely registering it was the same man with the greasy mustache who had spit at her only months before. "Perhaps you've had enough."
"Oh, not nearly," Brynn chuckled. "Go on," she gestured for him to continue. "You had a whole thing you wanted to say."
Solas' pressed his lips in disapproval, but she knew that wasn't going to stop him.
"You needn't join these festivities if they do not please you. You are under no obligation to put in an appearance simply because the Ambassador thinks it may be beneficial to the Inquisition."
"Is that why you think I'm here?" Brynn laughed without mirth. No one on the council had even approached her since they returned from the Hinterlands the day before. Because they were smarter than the two idiots sitting across from her.
"Oh, no. I am very much not on parade duty. Fuck the Inquisition!" she shouted and while they hadn't understood any of her words this time, Brynn knew a drunken crowd well enough to know they'd cheer any outburst from a fellow lush. She had been correct. "I'm drinking to kill the brain cells in my memory center. I'm no neurologist, so just to be safe, I'm going to keep drinking until I kill them all-" she raised the glass to her mouth again, but this time Solas stopped her, his grip firm on her arm.
"I understand that parts of the journey were challenging-"
"Challenging? Is that what they put in the official report?" her fist clenched hard around the mug, and she considered throwing it at Solas for all the fury that suddenly burned through her veins. She could still see the boy's eyes, wet with tears as he'd begged for her help. And she'd left him to die in the woods. Alone.
"Brynn," Solas said gently, seeing the unbridled rage that simmered just beneath the slurred speech. "Please, let us help. There's no need for you to suffer this alone. We are your friends-"
"Really?" she snorted. "You're the friend that signed me up for this shit. I'm not sure I want friends like that," his gaze faltered, as though he did feel he was partly responsible for her trip through the Hinterlands. "And I don't even fuckin know this guy!" she gestured to Varric, finally pulling her arm free from Solas' grip.
"I believe you two have a great deal in common. If you'd prefer, I could simply translate, there is no need for me-"
"I don't want you to translate."
"Then perhaps Leliana-"
"No, I'm not worried about who translates. I don't want to talk about it at all," she snapped.
"You think this," he gestured to her drink. "Will accomplish anything beyond a tremendous headache tomorrow?" Solas clearly thought very little of her plan to self-care herself into a coma.
"I don't care what it accomplishes," she said darkly, drinking deep from the sour tasting ale. He'd ruined what little enjoyment she'd been getting out of her buzz. "Only that I don't have to think about it."
"There's nothing to be gained by wasting-" it was Varric's turn to cut Solas off now, speaking calmly to the elf while Solas listened thoughtfully.
"No," Brynn shook her head when it looked like Solas was going to speak again. "Don't bother. I don't want to hear his little cheerleader talk. I don't want to discuss it. I don't want to talk about my feelings. This place is already a nightmare. And you and that little council," she gestured to where she thought the Chantry was, spilling much of her ale. "Sent me out into it, and you know what? It's even worse out there. There's demons crawling out of every fucking corner of the place and instead of worrying about that, everyone out there is hellbent on killing everyone else. For fun? For potatoes? I don't even fucking know why. I'm not equipped for that, because you know what I do? I bake. I make little fancy overpriced pastries to sell to some yuppie hipsters for brunch because they sleep late. I make food Solas. I don't kill people," but she had. She'd felt justified in the moment and then she'd felt sick afterward. She had no idea how she felt about it now.
"This place is fucked." She stood up and was relieved to find she was capable, despite the world swimming around her. "I'm going for a piss. Thanks for the company." She elbowed her way out of the tavern, ignoring the rise of cheers as she passed through.