bringspeopletogether

It wasn't really an issue in Kirkwall, so it's something Cullen had to learn in Haven: when the commander enters the lone tavern where his forces spend their time off duty, a hush falls over the crowd. They want to let off steam, but not in front of the man who can make their lives miserable on the field.

Taverns tend to be both enclosed and noisy, anyhow. No matter that his absence was remarked upon more than once -- including by Varric, in the same conversation where the dwarf told Cullen that he spent too much time with a serious expression on his face and it was bad for his health.

It would have been nice if Cassandra could have found Hawke early on, Cullen reflects. He'd almost be willing to put up with the chaos that would have inevitably ensued if it meant Varric had a high quality distraction from imposing upon their minimal prior acquaintance.

The Herald's Rest, though, has two entrances. One of them is much more discreet. It means Cullen can come down the stairs, rather than in the front door, and keep his head low as he approaches the bar. Cabot takes one look at his face and, rather than pull from the large casks close to hand, opens a cabinet behind the bar and produces a mug of something dark and yeasty that smells a great deal like the coffee Josephine imports from Rivain for her personal use.

"Commander," Cabot says, dour and sardonic. (And not without sympathy.)

"Ah -- " He does wish Cabot's voice was a little more... discreet. Unremarkable. "Thank you. How much -- "

"On the house." Cabot folds his arms.

Cullen lifts the mug. "Cheers," he says, and takes a sip -- and his eyes close in unexpected pleasure.

When he opens them, Cabot smirks at him, and turns away to do something with some sort of -- bottles. Whatever. It's not important. What is important is drinking this, not sharing, and fulfilling the terms of this lost Diamondback bet before he casts a pall on the entire place.

Furtively, he takes a seat next to Alistair, in the darkest corner available. Is it too much to hope that Bull hasn't seen him? Probably. "Let's get this over with. Discreetly."

Alistair heaves an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "And just when I gave Maryden that twenty-minute epic song I wrote about you."

If they'll only be having one drink, Alistair opted to make the best of it: he's got a tankard of, as he requested of Cabot, the strongest stuff you can give a human without killing him. It ought to be worth four or five pints of ale minimum. At least, that's his hope.

...Cullen's drink does smell considerably better than Alistair's own, however. Intrigued, he leans in. "What is that?"

Cullen hunches around it. It needs protection.

"It's terrible. You don't want any."

"I see." Solemn. "If it's terrible, it sounds like I need to take it off your hands and get you something proper instead. Out of the goodness of my heart."

Cullen growls -- growls! -- "Touch it and lose a hand."

Snickering, Alistair leans back and picks up his tankard. His voice shifts higher, as if mimicking a child at storytime. "Oh, One-Armed Warden, how did you suffer such grave injury? Was it the archdemon? A noble sacrifice to save your brothers?" And lower: "No, I just got between Commander Cullen and his beer."

He holds out his cup.

"Cheers?"

"Cheers," he begrudges, and is very careful to make sure nothing spills as the cups clink together. "Keep your voice down."

Alistair takes a swallow of his drink. Briefly, his gaze flicks to the doorway as a few Wardens straggle in, then back to Cullen.

"All right." To his credit, his voice has dropped a few degrees in volume. "Maker forbid anyone see you having fun. I understand."

"It's not that," Cullen says to his beer. "They won't -- it'll make them uncomfortable, thinking I might be watching. It's their place. They deserve that much respite from everything."

...Ah. Alistair's humor sobers, slightly.

"I'd hope they'd understand that we're all off-duty here." A rueful smile. "But -- no, I see that. It's decent of you."

There just has to be somewhere in Skyhold Cullen can take a break, besides his bedroom or a slightly different spot in his office. Even the Inquisitor gets to have a drink or two in her own time.

Cullen drinks, and doesn't say anything right away.

"You didn't see Haven. You could've fit... four of the tavern there in this place. It was impossible to hide in there."

"And everyone sort of..." Alistair waves a hand near his head. "Kept thinking that way once they got here?"

He drains a little more of his own drink.

"No, I -- that's not it."

Softly.

"They'd been through a lot. We ask a lot of them. We're marching soon. Staying out of their space when they're off duty is the very least I can do."

Alistair nods. Taps his thumb against the side of his tankard for a moment.

(Saying it's everybody's space probably wouldn't be any help. And Alistair meant what he said before: it's decent of Cullen to let them have a spot where they don't feel they're being watched.)

"Well," and his smile's more crooked this time, "the top floor's usually empty, isn't it? Could set up a big sign saying Commanders Only Beyond This Point."

"...very discreet," Cullen says, dry. "But if you're willing to risk Cole offering unwanted glimpses of the inside of your head, it's a much better option than this floor."

Beat.

"And it's certainly a better option than whatever Sera might do to us on the middle floor."

Alistair snorts, and taps a finger to his temple. "Whatever Cole finds up here, he brought it on himself for looking."

The best defense against nosy spirits: carry so many nasty memories of the Fade that they wouldn't dare take a peek.

"And if Sera throws a pie at me, well...free pie, yes?"

"That depends," Cullen says darkly, "on what she put in it. Dorian's formed an alliance with her. He feeds her information about assorted awful things one can put in anything edible, and in return she swears not to use them on him."

Cullen isn't scared of Sera. That would be overstating it. Rather, he's... very cognizant that she shouldn't be crossed, if at all avoidable.

"Wasn't she trying to weaponize bees at some point?"

Alistair's staring into the middle distance, with the dawning horror of someone picturing a pie filled with live bees.

"It wasn't her, it was one of her contacts. They're actually quite useful. ...in the jars," he clarifies. "She did manage to sneak the better part of a hive into the dummy in my office. Much less useful."

Alistair cringes in sympathy.

"Please tell me you discovered it before you started throwing knives."

"I did. It started buzzing."

He takes a drink. It makes it easier to retell the story.

"Once I was sure I wasn't hallucinating, I... poked at it. With something blunt. They didn't take kindly to it regardless."

"I'm sure the healer was thrilled to use a week's worth of poultices on all the stings." Still wincing; still sympathetic.

(For more than one reason now.)

"I made it out before the bulk of them could escape." Cullen lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. "Good thing I didn't use a blade."

He casts a look up. "Can we go? The longer I'm here, the more likely it is I'll be spotted."

"I was just about to ask if you'd prefer Cole to -- "

Bull's booming laugh shakes the floor; Alistair doesn't jump, precisely, but his tankard comes dangerously close to sloshing over for a second there.

"To that," he finishes, rueful, and gets to his feet, drink in hand. "Come on, Commander."

Cullen's already up and headed for the stairs by the time Alistair makes it all the way to his feet.

He is also guarding his drink very closely.

"There aren't any chairs," he mutters to Alistair by the time they're headed to the top floor, "but there are the steps by the door to the tower."

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