My part of @daficswap for @crispych0colate featuring her Inquisitor as a Scout, and Cullen. Cheers!
“There isn’t much new activity in the Hinterlands,” she says as she turns the page, scans the words. “There have been some reports of Venatori sighted in the Hissing Wastes, apparently interested in a few ancient ruins hidden there.” Cullen is rubbing his temple as she speaks, feeling the attention slip away from him. He’s been reading reports all day, monotonous and eerily similar, nothing of interest all day long. Part of him was hoping she had knocked on the door to his office for a different reason, but no, more reports.
“Cyriel.” She looks up, startled in mid-sentence, blinks at her name. “Listen, I – did you want to get a drink?”
“Yes,” she says maybe a little too quickly. “I mean. Yes, yes a drink would be nice.”
“Oh thank the Maker,” Cullen says as he pushes himself up from the desk. He holds out his hand for the clipboard, which she passes to him. He tosses it onto his desk without looking, already heading for the door. He never tires of Skyhold. Stepping out onto the battlements, presented with the glory of the mountains, the delicate pattern of stars overhead. Cyriel has her hands clasped behind her back, a small spring in her step as she follows after him.
Soldiers look over their shoulders as he enters, scouts give him wary looks. This is why he doesn’t take up many offers for drinks. This is why he never goes on his own. His presence is – well, he knows it can be difficult to separate the Commander from the man sometimes. He chooses a table far from the others, from prying eyes, but Cyriel doesn’t seem to mind. She’s already ordering drinks, fingers in the air, smiling at the barmaid.
He stares at the amber liquid in the mug before him, before taking a small sip. “Bah, I still have no taste for alcohol.” Cyriel’s eyebrows rise.
“You came here from Kirkwall though! I thought everyone in Kirkwall was pretty well acquainted with drinking.” Cullen chuckles, scratches the back of his neck.
“There were very few places for someone like me to drink. The Hanged Man was always guaranteed to have someone’s from Hawke’s crew there and if they caught you, Andraste have mercy on you. I had more than one Templar returned to the barracks stuffed in a pretty dress, babbling nonsense, at the crack of dawn. Then there was the Blooming Rose but it – I, ah, never felt comfortable stepping inside,” he tells her.
“I see,” she says, laughing into the back of her hand, “Ladies make you nervous?”
“No! No. The ladies were fine – I mean – you know what I mean. It was the place most Templars felt comfortable drinking and who wants to drink with their Knight Captain around?” At that, he takes a sweeping glance over the tavern, sees more than one head turned towards them. Cyriel follows his gaze, sees the same thing he does.
“You’re allowed to do things on your own time Cullen,” she says.
“So I’ve been told,” he tells her with a smile. How many times had Cassandra cornered him? How many times had even Josephine told him to get out of his office? More than once even Leliana had sent her own scouts to scold him. “Still, I am their Commander. I – have made myself unapproachable, because of that, I think,” he says. Gloves around the mug, drops of condensation rolling onto the leather. Cyriel looks into her mug, peers over into his.
“We have about the same amount. On the count of three, we’re going to drink and the winner is whoever can finish first,” she says. He looks up from where he’s been staring at the table, eyes wide.
“Wait, what?”
“One.”
“Cyriel, I don’t think -”
“Two.”
“Maker’s breath.”
