Dragon Age Inquisition: Faith

Nighttime

“The Skyhold wine cellar, eh?”

“It’s my only hope of finding a decent bottle in this Southern backwater. I know Josephine keeps better stock hidden down here,” Dorian said.

“Uh-huh,” The Iron Bull said. “And you asked me to come with you because …?”

“Because you’re the tallest person here, which means you can reach the bottles at the top, which is likely where they’ve hidden the wine that’s actually drinkable,” Dorian said. Damn the man. He’s actually going to make me say it, isn’t he? He’s actually expecting me to ask him.

Soft, feminine giggles floated out of the wine cellar as they approached. Dorian paused, wondering if they’d happened upon someone else’s private moment.

“Oh! Be careful!” said an Orlesian-accented voice.

“Is that Sister Leliana?” Dorian said, delightfully scandalized.

“You said the best bottles were at the top. So I’m getting them,” another voice answered.

“They sound clothed,” The Iron Bull said, pushing the door open.

Leliana was standing at the bottom of the wine rack, laughing, her hood down around her shoulders and her red hair glinting in the light from the torch on the wall. It took Dorian a moment to recognize her; the expression on her face was that different from her usual mysterious smirk. Above her was an elf who had climbed to the top of the rack, her toes perched carefully between the bottles and her fingers curled around the top rung.

“Here, take this,” the elf said, handing down a bottle. “It’s Orlesian. Good?”

“Just pick something you will enjoy,” Leliana said.

“It all tastes the same to me. Sort of … purple,” the elf said.

Leliana tipped her head back and sighed. “You are impossible. Yes, this is a very fine … oh!” She jumped when she spotted Dorian and Bull. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Hello!” said the elf. She pulled a second bottle from the top rack and hopped down, landing lightly on her feet, the bottle cradled in her left hand. The woman was older than she’d first appeared, probably in her mid-thirties. She had red hair that she wore loose over her shoulders and a jagged scar that ran down the right side of her face from her temple to her jaw. Something about that seemed familiar to Dorian.

The elf looked up at The Iron Bull. “Can I ask you something? Are you considered tall, for a Qunari?”

The Iron Bull grinned down at her. “Actually, yeah.” Dorian stamped down a flash of irritation when he saw how Bull’s eyes skipped up and down the elf’s frame.

“I have a friend who’s a Qunari. He’s quite tall by elf standards, or even shem standards, but you’d almost make him look tiny. He also doesn’t have horns. Does that mean anything in the Qun? I’ve always wondered.”

“We generally think it means someone is marked out for a special destiny,” Bull said. “Our new Arishok doesn’t have them.”

“Right!” said the elf. “That’s Sten! Our Sten, I mean. I know there are other Stens. And I suppose he’s not Sten anymore. I still can’t get my head around calling him ‘the Arishok,’ can you, Leliana?”

The Iron Bull looked over at Leliana. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Dorian, Iron Bull, this is Naia Tabris—as I suspect you have guessed,” Leliana said wryly. “Naia, meet Dorian of house Pavus and The Iron Bull, also known as Hissrad of the Ben-Hassrath. So do not tell him anything you don’t want in a Qunari intelligence report.”