Slow Burning Dreamer

“You kicked the shit out of that demon, Boss!” The Iron Bull had hoisted a heavy stein of mead into the air over the crackling fire where Isala and her team sat huddled for warmth. They were camped at the base of the Frostbacks and Skyhold was only another day’s ride away. The elven mage had considered riding through the night to reach the fortress, but it wasn’t worth exhausting their horses or risking the perils of night travel. Skyhold would be there when they arrived, whether it was this night or the next.

“Hm? Oh, yes, thank you, Bull.” She replied absently. Her eyes scarcely strayed from the flickering orange and gold light that danced in front of them.

“And I think our fearless leader might be somewhere else, Tiny.” Varric quipped from over the top of his stein.

Isala blinked her pale eyes to the dwarf. “I’m here. I’m listening.” She huffed indignantly.

“Whatever you say.” Varric chuckled. The Inquisitor made a face but it quickly dissipated into a sigh. The rogue was right. She was somewhere else. She had been almost the entire trip. Only half listening, only half present, trapped somewhere in her own thoughts.

“You’re right. Forgive me.” She sighed, making the effort to look around the circle at her companions. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Something in the Commander’s report?” The Iron Bull asked. He took another gulp from his glass.

Isala opened her mouth and closed it. She shrugged nonchalantly. “No, it was just the usual report.”

“You always blush at the usual reports?” Bull was smiling over his stein before taking another deep drink.

The Inquisitor felt heat rising up her neck and into her cheeks. There hadn’t been anything indecent in the report. Nothing that was even improper, just like the Commander himself. It was just the way he’d written his closing. The way she could hear his warm voice delivering the words in her head. She hadn’t realized how eager she was to see him until that moment.

Isala swallowed hard. “Am I so obvious?”

“Obvious? No. But we are staying in a fortress overflowing with Orlesians.” Varric shrugged. “People talk.”

“Well I think it’s great!” The Qunari suddenly erupted. “You’re carrying a big weight on your shoulders there Boss, its good you’ve got someone to…relieve some of the tension.” The Iron Bull flashed her a wide, knowing grin and winked his one good eye at her.

“I’m not sure any tensions been relieved as of yet, Bull.” Isala groaned. She puffed out a little breath of air, shooing the wisps of her pale hair from her eyes.

There was a choking sound as The Iron Bull quickly lowered his glass to stare at the Inquisitor. Disbelief twisted his features as he cleared his throat. “Wait. You mean, you two haven’t…”

Isala smiled. “A girl doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“Bullshit!” The Qunari shot back.

“No, we haven’t.”

Varric was chuckling. “And here the Orlesian’s make it sound like you two are getting married any day now.”

“You need me to talk to him, Boss?” The Iron Bull grunted. “I mean, some people are just—”

“Too proper?” Isala offered.

“Oblivious.” The Iron Bull finished. “Maybe he hasn’t gotten the hint yet?”

The Inquisitor licked her lips. She remembered that moment at the base of her staircase. It had been just a few short weeks prior, but she remembered the feel of Cullen beneath her fingertips in vivid detail. The tautness of the leather. The gruff hissing of his voice as he cursed softly.

“I’m not sure that’s the case either.” She breathed, swallowing the tightness that was drying her throat out.

“You mean to tell me that the sky is pissing demons and you can’t get laid?” Blackwall spoke up suddenly, taking a seat around the fire. He’d brought another flask of wine and The Iron Bull held out his stein for a refill.

“The world really is coming to an end.” Varric quipped. Isala chuckled, passing her own glass toward the newly offered flask.

“Well, my doors always open if you need to relieve some of that tension, Boss.” The Iron Bull winked his good eye again and held up his stein in a toast. Isala took her own glass back and held it up.

“Thank you, Bull. That’s good to know.” She was smiling and it felt good to smile.

“Hey, anyone seen Chuckles?” Varric asked, referring to Solas.

“He said he would meet us back at camp.” Blackwall shrugged. “Should we look for him?”

“Ah, Solas can take care of himself. I’ve seen what that guy can do with a staff. Scary shit.” The Iron Bull took a long draw off his glass. “Glad he’s on our side.”

“You and me both, Tiny.” Varric gestured a toast with his own glass.

“I’ll drink to that.” Isala hoisted her stein up.

“Now there is a guy who needs to get laid.” The Qunari continued.

Blackwall leaned forward. “Hey, what do you guys think he does all day in the Fade? I mean, he makes friends with spirits right? You don’t suppose any of those spirits are…more than friends?”

The Iron Bull made a disgusted sound around his drink and Varric stood suddenly. “And on that note, I’m going to try to get some shut eye. Hopefully I don’t have nightmares about what you just suggested.” He inclined his head toward Blackwall. The Grey Warden began to chuckle and toasted his glass toward the dwarf.

“You’re welcome.”

Isala drained her recently filled stein and settled it on the ground before standing. “I think my tent is calling me as well.” She confessed.

“See you later, Boss.” The Iron Bull said. “Seriously though, next time you’re in the mood, I say you bust into his office and lay it all out for him. You know…naked.”

Isala felt her face flame, but couldn’t stop the grin from spreading. “I’ll bare that in mind, Bull.”

“You do that, Boss. You do that.”