AN: So as to clear up any lingering confusion, we're jumping ahead six months to move things along - we've now gained Iron Bull, Sera, and Vivienne, been to the Storm Coast, Val Royeaux and the initial meeting with the mages at Redcliffe, but haven't made the mage/templar decision yet.

This chapter contains drunken sex talk. I'm also bumping the rating up to M to be safe. You've been warned.

Thank you to everyone who favorited and followed!

Chapter 8: An Elf, a Dwarf, a Qunari, and an Earthling Walk Into a Bar…

"Another drink!"

The barman crossed his arms and glared at their table, the last one of the night, still rowdy and keeping him running for drinks. "Are you sure about that?"

"Aw, for shit's sake, the girl's had a tough couple'a months, give her another drink!" Iron Bull said, slapping him hard enough on the back to buckle his knees. The barman scowled and stomped away.

"I'm amazed she's put down this many already," Varric said, sounding grudgingly impressed. "What kind of alcohol do you drink in this 'Seattle' of yours?"

"My Dad," Errol said, drawing herself up proudly, "is a Scot. It was nothin' but fine whiskey from the Isles. Beer is like water to me, my tiny friend."

"Hey, who you callin' tiny?"

"You call me Tiny all the time," Iron Bull said.

"Yeah, but that's different, I'm being ironic," Varric said, and Iron Bull sniffed.

"It still hurts."

"What I'm hearin' is, we need to move on to the hard stuff," Sera said, grinning wickedly. "'S okay, this tastes like piss anyway. Who's with me? I've got this round, but Varric's gotta spot me 'cause I left my money back at my room."

"Of course you did, Buttercup," Varric said dryly as Sera hopped off her side of the bench and tottered unsteadily down the stairs.

"Wait, did we agree to this?" Errol asked hazily. "Is she actually bringing up shots?"

"Is that what you call them?" Iron Bull asked, taking a swig of beer. "Here we just call them really really strong drinks in really really tiny glasses."

Errol giggled and snorted and leaned back against Blackwall, who was sound asleep. She suspected he had been sent there to watch over her in this less than savory company, but he'd been exhausted from the weeks of hard riding and had fallen asleep after the first two drinks. Sera had amused them for a solid half an hour by balling up bits of paper and tossing them into his beard.

Errol was tired too, but she needed this. It had been a bad six months. From nothing but rain and death and giant spiders on the Storm Coast, to the shitshow that was Val Royeaux and Redcliffe, everything seemed to be going wrong. The templars hated her, the Chantry disowned her, the mages had sold themselves to the Magisters, and with the exception of a few others outside of the ragtag crew getting drunk with her in this cold tavern in the mountains of a world not her own, she had no one.

Still, she had to smile a little. They were a good ragtag crew. She had been startled when she first met Iron Bull bashing in heads on the Storm Coast, but his horns, blue skin and eye-patch soon became less important than the fact that he made her laugh and feel safe. And really, he wasn't any weirder than anyone else around here. Varric was a dwarf novelist with scary good aim and a silver tongue, and his storytelling soothed her when the voices inside became hard to quell. And Sera was like Puck, maybe more trouble than she was worth, but she had a freedom about her that Errol craved, and once she learned never to play practical jokes on a twitchy mage with a penchant for burning things, they got along fine.

Errol closed her eyes. Despite, or maybe because of the people around her, she had killed a lot more. It was getting harder to fall asleep. If it wasn't for Solas…

"Who's got driiiiiiiiinks," Sera's singsong voice floated merrily through the tavern. "Oy, all magical Herald lady, don't fall asleep on us, I brought you whiskey, see? Or at least, something brown in a glass."

Errol cracked open an eye and took the cup from her, sniffing it. She grimaced. "It's not whiskey."

"Well, whatever it is, drink up!" she chirped. "You said earlier you could drink Varric under the table. I bet Iron Bull some of Varric's money and I don't want to lose."

"Hey!" Varric said with indignation.

"I," Errol finally said with great dignity, sipping at the swill in her cup, "wasn't sleeping."

"Oh yeah, Sunshine, then what were you doing?" Varric asked.

"Thinking about Val Royeaux and all of this… shit." She waved her hand vaguely, still relaxing on Blackwall like he was a hairy couch.

"Eloquent as always, Boss," Iron Bull said, tossing his drink back, not even phased.

"Vivienne's a bitch," Errol said suddenly, aggressively, and Sera almost snorted alcohol out of her nose.

"Oooo, looky, we're at the 'tell the truth' level of drunkenness!" she squealed.

"Don't, uh, maybe don't say things like that so loudly," Iron Bull said, a little nervously.

"Iron Bull, are you scared of Vivienne?" Varric asked, laughing. Iron Bull growled at him.

"No." Then, again: "No, no, okay. Not at all. Is it time for another drink yet?"

"Another!" Sera proclaimed, sliding a glass over, and Errol found herself drinking something clear that burned terribly down her throat. Even Iron Bull grimaced at that one.

"So, lovely lady Herald," Sera said, grinning wickedly. "Who do you think would be better at it: Me, or Iron Bull?"

Errol was using her teeth to try and scrape the taste of the last drink off of her tongue. She looked at Sera blankly. "It?"

"It, you know. Sex! Wait, you're not a virgin, are you?"

Errol shook her head and reached for her now-lukewarm beer. "No. I've had boyfriends. I went to college. Honestly? The whole thing was usually pretty meh."

"Boys always are." She bounced in her seat. "So, come on, me or Iron Bull, who would bang better?"

Errol made a show of thinking about it, her face scrunched up as she evaluated them. Iron Bull puffed out his chest and Sera fluttered her eyelashes and puckered her lips. "I'd have to say you, simply for the fact that I think if anyone but a Qunari fucked Iron Bull they'd puncture some internal organs and sex usually isn't supposed to end with horribly painful internal bleeding."

Iron Bull scoffed and crossed his arms. "You know you stretch down there, right? You push babies out of it. Trust me, there's room."

Errol giggled. It had been a long time since she'd had this much to drink. "So what are we talking about, like, width? Coke can?"

"Boss, you're speaking your gibberish again, but whatever you're talking about, it's probably bigger."

"Then, yeah, I'll stick with Sera. In this hypothetical that will never happen."

Sera pumped her fist in the air. "Yes!"

Iron Bull leaned across the table and leered at her. "You're making a pretty big mistake, Boss. With enough time and effort, it could be the best you've ever had."

Errol flushed.

Varric brought his beer stein down on the table with a loud thunk. "Okay, A: why am I being left out of this conversation, and B: why are we all of a sudden talking about sex with Sunshine? It's weird."

Errol laughed. "What, getting drunk doesn't make everything revolve around sex for you? What do you talk about when you're drunk?"

Bull settled back into his normal position, looking pleased with himself. "It's just harmless conversation, Varric. Plus, anything I say to her goes for you too." He winked.

Varric shook his head. "Ok, nevermind, I don't want to be a part of this conversation. In fact, I'd leave if I wasn't so worried about leaving her drunk alone with the two of you."

"Aw, but Blackwall is here!" Errol said, patting his chest. "The Grey Warden will protect my honor!" Then she laughed again, gleefully, because it was so funny.

As if on cue, Blackwall let out a snore, and they all laughed so loudly that they didn't hear the clunk of boots coming up the stairs.

"What's going on— oh for Maker's sake!"

Everyone hushed as if they had been discovered doing something very bad. Suddenly no one would look at Errol - Sera was fascinated by something in her glass, Iron Bull was contemplating the beams on the ceiling, and Varric was fiddling with Bianca. Errol finished another strange, dark brown drink that tasted like sewer water and watched the room spin pleasantly.

"Oh, Curly, hi," Varric said without looking up, as if he had just landed there without any idea of how it had happened. "I'm afraid you came at a bad time. We were about to head out for the night."

Cullen huffed and pried the glass from Errol's fingers. "The sun will rise in three hours. How much did you all drink? And Blackwall—what did you do to him? To his beard?"

"He's just sleeping," Sera said, giggling madly. "He fell 'sleep a looong time ago."

"If anyone had seen the Herald like this—"

"I'm fine," Errol insisted. "I just need to make it back to my cabin." She stood, unsteadily, and suddenly the floor was swept out from under her and she was cradled in armor-clad arms.

She finally looked at him, and noticed with a surge of nerves that his amber eyes were far too close for comfort. "Are you all right?" he asked. "When we realized that your cabin was empty… we thought you would have returned hours ago." He turned away from her to glare at the others. "We thought you were in the care of responsible people."

"Aaaaaand that's our cue," Varric said.

"Yeah, places to see, people to go," Sera said, standing abruptly and almost falling down.

"I'll get Blackwall back to his cabin," Iron Bull said, the only one of them who seemed completely sober. He leaned across the table and lifted the sleeping Blackwall so gently that he didn't wake, then slung him over his shoulder and carried him down the stairs, Varric and Sera tiptoeing behind him.

"I'll talk with all of you tomorrow," Cullen said sternly.

"Cullen," Errol said softly, and he turned back to her. She found herself petting his fur mantle and twining it through her fingers; it was very soft. "Don't be mad at them. I asked them here tonight." She knew her words were a little slurred.

He sighed. "Maker's breath, Errol, why did you drink so much?"

She leaned her head against his armored chest. "Because I was sad."

He said nothing, just hoisted her higher in his arms and started down the stairs. She tried to nestle into him but it was all sharp edges under the fur.

"Why are you in your armor at this time of night?"

He opened the front door with his hip. "Because we couldn't find you. I couldn't take it off until I knew you were safe."

"Oh," she said as a blast of cold air hit them. Her teeth started to chatter. He pulled her closer.

"Your cabin's not far. Don't fall asleep just yet."

"Mmm," she said, starting to fall asleep. He jostled her.

"I mean it."

She opened her eyes just as they rounded a corner and Solas came into view. It looked like he was walking from his cabin toward hers. When he spotted them he froze, and for an instant he gave Cullen the iciest look she had ever seen him give anyone. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

They approached, and he fell into step next to them. "Might I inquire as to what happened here?"

"Sera happened," Cullen said shortly, and Solas' shoulders relaxed.

"Ah." He sniffed the air. "Alcohol?"

"A lot of it. What are you doing out here at this time of night?"

"I usually teach the Herald in the Fade while she sleeps. This was the first night I was unable to find her. I grew worried."

"You still do that every night?" Cullen sounded surprised.

"Yes. There's a lot to learn." A pause. "Does that upset you?"

"What? No. Not at all."

"Ah. Glad to hear it."

The atmosphere was very strange, and if Errol had been sober, she would have been taken aback by it. As it was, she was only half listening, concentrating more on how cold she was and how Cullen's mantle tickled her cheek.

They finally reached her cabin, and Cullen gently maneuvered them through the doorway so she wouldn't hit any part of her body. He sat her on the edge of the bed.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked. She nodded at him and forced a smile, the room still spinning.

"I'll be fine. It's not my first rodeo."

He looked very confused by this.

Solas gently touched her forehead and shook his head. "She'll be ill before morning. Stay with her for a few minutes, Commander. I'll return with potions shortly." Without waiting for a response he vanished back into the night, the door closing behind him.

"I'm fine!" Errol insisted, swaying. Cullen sighed and knelt in front of her to undo the laces of her boots. She tried to kick him away but he grabbed her heel. "What are you doing? I'm fine!"

"Why are you sad?" he asked.

"What?"

"Back at the tavern, you said you did this because you're sad." He finished untying her first boot and eased it off of her foot before starting on the second one.

"Oh." Errol was quiet for a moment, then said in a small voice: "They hate me."

"Who hates you?"

"The Chantry. The templars. The mages."

"So this is about what happened at Val Royeaux and Redcliffe?" He removed her second boot and put them to the side, then raised himself up on his knees so that they were eye-to-eye. "That would have happened regardless. The templars are out of line, and the Chantry is floundering and leaderless. The mages were insane to hand themselves over to the Magisters. It's not you."

"How do we know? I'm not one of you, and they know that. They threw it in my face. If you were led by someone stronger, someone from your own world, who they would accept, this would all be better, you deserve someone better…" To her horror tears started to clog her throat.

"You are who we deserve," Cullen said firmly.

She gave him a sad smile. "Then you must have been very bad."

"I'm serious," he said, bringing up one hand to gently brush hair from her eyes. "You've proven yourself already, a hundred times over. You've kindness and bravery, and you're a skilled mage with strong convictions. It's good that you're not from this world. Because you were not raised in violence and death, you see it differently than we do. You work hard not to kill because you understand that every life is valuable. You aren't tied down by the burdens of an entrenched belief system, leaving you to be a free agent and follow your own path. You perhaps see things more clearly than any of us do. We've lived this life for too long, the smoke and flames are all we can see. You— you can see the forest that will grow once the fire has been put out."

She stared at him, a tightness in her chest threatening tears if she so much as breathed. He dropped his head. "And you're probably too drunk right now to remember a word I'm saying."

"I'll remember," she said, and put a hand on his cheek. "Cullen." He looked at her, and she moved her hand from his cheek to his hair, running her fingers through it. "I like your hair, it's very soft," she said seriously. "And you have pretty eyes."

He looked shocked for a moment, then laughed a little and shook his head. "All right, it's time for bed."

He eased her, fully clothed, under the sheets, and plumped the pillows before she put her head down.

"Cullen," she murmured, half asleep. "You're—"

Solas reentered, bearing two small glass vials, and stopped when he saw their positions. "Apologies for the interruption," he said stiffly. Cullen stood and Solas took his place; Errol felt him lift her head and put a vial to her lips.

"This will help with the dehydration," he said as she forced herself to swallow the bitter concoction. He held up the next one. "And this is for the nausea."

"I don't—"

"Drink."

She drank.

"Good." He recapped the vials and stood. "You won't dream tonight, and you'll sleep for a long time. Eat lightly when you wake, even though you'll be hungry, and drink plenty of fluids."

"Yes mom," Errol muttered into her pillow. He turned, but she flailed out her hand until it caught his. He stopped abruptly - they so rarely touched in the real world.

"Thank you," she murmured sleepily, squeezing his hand.

"I— you're welcome," he said. Then, more gently: "You can let go now."

Her fingers slipped from his hand and her breathing evened out. Solas turned to Cullen.

"I believe she is asleep, as we should be, Commander. Shall we leave her in peace?"

"Yes," Cullen said, finally looking away from her sleeping face. "Thank you, Solas, you were a great help tonight."

"Don't thank me, Commander," Solas said as he walked out the door and into the night. "Nothing I did this evening was for you."

Then he was gone, leaving Cullen with a feeling in his stomach that he very, very much did not like.

"I must admit, when I went looking for you today I didn't expect to find you here."

Somehow Errol wasn't surprised to find Leliana lurking outside of the barber's little office in Haven's Chantry. She raked her hair back with one hand, still marveling at its lightness. "Do you like it?"

Leliana tilted her head. "Did you ask for it to look like that, or does the barber just hate you?"

"Ouch."

"Luckily, hair grows back," Leliana continued, unperturbed. Errol frowned.

"You know, if most people don't like someone's haircut they just lie."

"I am not most people. You presented a softer image with longer hair. You must remember that as the Herald of Andraste you are a religious icon to many people. You should have consulted with myself or Josephine before cutting it."

Errol glowered. She was still a little hungover, and a headache pounded behind her eyes, but the worst was that she remembered everything that had happened the night before, including asking Iron Bull if it was "like a Coke can" and being carried like a baby back to her cabin by Cullen before telling him that he had soft hair and pretty eyes.

Ughhhh what he must think of me, she thought, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Out loud, she said: "I didn't realize when I joined the Inquisition that I'd signed my every body part over to you. Please forgive me for this vast oversight." Sarcasm dripped from her every word.

She liked her new hair. She needed something that was easier to keep clean and out of her eyes in the field, so she had gone for a very short, tomboy bob - so short that everything below her earlobes was buzzed, and the top was just long enough that she could pull it into a small ponytail at the back of her head or leave it down to frame her face.

New day, new woman, she had told herself, but Leliana was only frowning at her.

"You look like Sera."

"Oh come on, that's just rude. She cut her hair with a butcher's knife! At least I went to an actual barber! And look - no bangs!"

She didn't smile. "Shall we walk, Herald?"

Errol was suddenly deeply uncomfortable, and her headache worsened. "Okay," she said, putting her left hand in her pocket to grip her iPod reassuringly.

They walked out of the Chantry via a back exit and into the chilly air in silence. It wasn't until they were on a lonely path well out of earshot of anyone that Leliana started to speak.

"I heard you had quite the night last night."

Errol coughed nervously. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"No." Their footprints left fresh tracks in the snow as they circled Haven from a distance. "I am here to advise you, Herald, and as your advisor I would recommend you choose your company more carefully."

Errol stopped walking. "Meaning?"

"Meaning that your actions and the company you keep reflects not only on yourself, the Herald of Andraste, but also on the Inquisition."

"Let me guess, you have a problem with someone," Errol said flatly, crossing her arms. "Let's hear it."

Leliana tapped her chin with one finger, looking relaxed and pensive even as Errol grew angrier. "No, not a problem. I'm merely saying that you should be aware of how your friends affect your image. They are good fighters all, but should they really be more than that to you, to us? Take The Iron Bull, for example. A mercenary and admitted Qunari spy who beds anything that moves; indeed, the rumors around the camp already have him in a torrid affair with you. Varric is an incorrigible and compulsive liar. Solas, while his knowledge of the Fade is an asset, is an apostate with no formal training and indeed, it seems no past. Sera's, well… Sera. In fact, the only one of our new allies who could help our cause is the one you've spent the least time with, Vivienne."

"I tried," Errol protested. "She condescended to me and then insulted Solas. She wants to put us in a Circle when this is all over. I won't go."

"We wouldn't let that happen. I don't agree with the Circles either; in fact I agree with you that mages should be free to govern themselves, but for now we need powerful allies, and she has influence with the court at Halamshiral."

"So you befriend her," Errol said bitterly.

Leliana looked at her, and there was something sharper in her tone, like the gloves were coming off. "And there's the matter of Commander Cullen."

"What, you have a problem with him too?" she asked incredulously.

Leliana shook her head. "No, with you." She seemed to choose her next words carefully. "Cullen is going through a lot right now, and he is my friend. Perhaps if you were from here it would be different, but you can never truly understand what he is going through, what any of us went through, struggled through for so many years. It would be better for him, in the long run, if you were to keep your distance." She paused, gauging Errol's reaction. "I say that respectfully, Herald."

Errol stood completely still, almost shaking with… it was anger, yes, but also hurt and sadness and some other huge, undefinable emotion.

She wanted to lash out and curse at Leliana, be everything they all expected her to be: loud, coarse, wrong. Instead, she drew herself up and looked the Nightingale in the eye.

"That's odd, because just last night Cullen told me that my greatest strength is that I am different. That I am capable as a symbol of the Inquisition because, and I quote, all of you have lived this life for too long, the smoke and flames are all you can see, but I see the forest that will grow once the fire has been put out. If you doubt my memory, ask him yourself."

Leliana opened her mouth, but Errol raised her voice. "As for my friends, they are the ones who protect me when I'm about to die, who take blows for me, who eat next to me, who sleep next to me, who watch my back while I shit in the woods. After all of that, you want me to abandon them once we're in civilization because of what some gossiping people might think? How dare you. I am the Herald of Motherfucking Andraste, and I will associate with who I choose. If you have a problem with that, Holy Maker I don't care."

She turned on her heel and walked away, simultaneously queasy, proud of herself, and terrified that Leliana would assassinate her before the day was out.

It wasn't until Errol returned to her cabin that she realized she'd said Maker instead of God, and felt how deeply this place had seeped into her skin. She wondered, if they found a way for her to return home, how she would live a normal life after this was over, or if she even wanted to anymore.