Whether it was the effects of finally catching up on an ever-growing sleep debt, or communing with an ancient, but benevolent, spirit, Fae finally felt a certain kind of fog lift from her mind. It felt like she was finally, truly, awake, since before the Inquisition left for Adamant. And although it felt like a relief to no longer feel like she was still in that literal waking nightmare, it meant that she was feeling everything again. Guilt, anger, frustration, and, as the Inquisitor and the other advisors had predicted, fear. Not for her life (well, not more than usual), but fear of loss. Hawke had been furious, and so had Fae been; a confrontation under the circumstances was practically inevitable, but it had been in front of everyone.

Fae knew what nearly everyone had seen: a mouthy elf known only by whispered rumours, openly defying the will of the great Champion of Kirkwall; all-in-all, fucking around and finding out. But Fae had seen a member of her own virtually-adopted family willing to throw her life away, no matter how many hearts would have been broken if she had actually succeeded. Hawke had scolded her before, more than once, back in Kirkwall when Hawke was an infamous apostate and Fae was little more than a street rat glued to Isabela's side. Fae would sulk and give Hawke the cold shoulder until she was dragged downstairs to the Hanged Man's bar, where Hawke would let Fae have one (1) sip of her drink by way of making everything better.

But things were different now- Fae could hold her own, as well as Hawke, at least in wit if not in battle, maybe. Deep down, her biggest fear now was that in her attempt to save Hawke, she had lost her anyway. But that hurt too much to think about, and who knew how long Hawke would be staying now in light of recent events. So, instead, Fae decided to opt for the age-old not-really cure for dealing with difficult problems: distraction. And what better place to find it than the Herald's Rest, where Sera was surely planning something, she was always planning something.

As it happened, her fellow Fereldan was already making arrangements for a new 'prank,' although calling them pranks seemed somewhat inadequate for the ones Sera usually had in mind, given the extra risk factors they usually entailed. But, she was all too happy to lay out her plans for Fae, and even convinced her to assist. The time passed mercifully quickly, and rather than partake in the suspect stash of sweet treats and pastries Sera kept in the cupboard for sustenance, Fae eventually ventured downstairs for food, a proper meal less likely to keep her awake for the next two days straight. At present, the only other person sitting at the bar was the Iron Bull, who raised his tankard in greeting.

"Hello, Bull. Uh, Cabot, could I—oh, yep, thank you," as Cabot wordlessly slid a plate of something vaguely pie-shaped over to her before going back to checking his stock of beverages.

"Fae! You'll drink with me, won't you?" Bull placed a tankard in front of her from where several were lined up on the other side of his plate. "You just missed the boss. Ever since we indulged in the good stuff after killing that dragon in Crestwood, she flat-out refuses to drink with me. Claims her insides haven't been the same since."

"Afraid not, Bull. I don't drink either." Nauseating flashbacks of that one time she and Fenris drank that Tevinter summer wine crossed her mind as she began to eat.

"What?!" Bull feigned mock horror. Or maybe he genuinely was horrified. It was hard to tell with the Iron Bull. "I figured somebody who grew up in a bar in Kirkwall would at least appreciate a good drink. Is it an elf thing?"

Fae shot him an unconvinced look. There were several elves in the Chargers, he'd know if it was. "No, it's a 'growing up with people who make poor decisions when they're drunk' thing." Clearly he'd never visited the Alienage in Denerim, either. Not that he'd be allowed in, anyway.

"Hm. People who make decisions like, oh I don't know, stealing sacred texts?"

Fae raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "Just like that. Is that why you're trying to get me drunk? So that I'll confess all the terrible things Isabela did that Varric didn't include in his 'Tales of the Champion?'"

The Iron Bull sighs, taking another swig. "Believe it or not, not everything I do is for the sake of being Ben-Hassrath. I'm trying to get you drunk so that you'll relax a little, for once," he nudged her arm with his tankard. "You're so tightly wound up all the time. Besides," his voice lowers. "Even if you did get so drunk that you tried something like stealing the Tome of Koslun, I'd stop you before you got to that point."

Fae frowned. He was being nice just a moment ago, but was he threatening her now? Or-

"Or," Suddenly he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I'd at least drag you back to face the consequences."

Fae's face immediately grew hot as she batted his hand away, and he let go easily. She was suddenly very focused on cutting up her pie. "Just because Isabela wasn't taken to Par Vollen for stealing that tome doesn't mean there were no consequences. She lost her whole crew getting it," she glanced back at the Chargers, all (except for Grunt) loudly arguing over a game of cards in a corner. "And she nearly lost her new crew, so to speak, refusing to give it back. Even me," she added quietly, eyes still trained on her food.

Bull was quiet for a moment too, analysing her. Fae could practically feel his one eye boring into her head. "Don't worry, I know all about risks and consequences," he finally said, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him jovially pointing to his eye-patch. "It never hurts to be careful, you know what they say about playing with fire." With that, he lightly brushed a wave of hair behind Fae's ear, and she automatically batted his hand away again, immediately wishing she hadn't as she blushed again.

"I'm a mage," she snapped. "I am fire. It is you who is playing with me." A small, worried voice in the back of her head noted that it sounded like something Anders would have said, but she had to stand her ground, right? Even if it was just because Iron Bull looked so—and he was acting so—nope, not even going to finish that thought.

The Iron Bull held his hands up in surrender, but his voice remained low. "Well, if you ever feel like you're burning too hot, you know where to find me."

Fae was totally speechless by this point, so she just nodded, returning to her plate once more.

"Oh, and speaking of mages who burn too hot," Bull added, his voice light and cheery again. "The Champion of Kirkwall was looking for you."

Fae paused. "Really? Where-?"

"Southwestern ramparts."

"Oh. I should go, then."

"Good chatting with you."

"…Uh huh. I—yeah," Fae had never left a meal so fast. Or wanted a drink so badly after all.