A horde of legs and arms forced their monstrous way through the open door. Somehow I was in the midst of it all, trying to keep my drink vertical. It was all for naught as a wooden sword smacked into my elbow, sending mead sloshing over the floor. Who thought it was a wise idea to give the Orlesian nobles fake swords?
The owner grinned wide but didn't offer apologize, his eyes failing to focus on me. A mask teetered off his face, threatening to slip him into darkness. Josie called him a close relation of the Empress and someone the Inquisition needed to impress. I kept from killing him by smashing my foot into the table every moment the idea arose. My toe throbbed.
"Boss!" the voice towered above the crowd's cacophony as did its owner.
"Bull?" I answered, trying to shove past the non-pious nobles. Those were back in the makeshift chantry with Josie and Leliana, down on their knees scoffing at everyone else having fun.
The Qunari leaned against the bar, cutting off the flow of alcohol with his wide ass. Nobles tried to shoo him away, but cowered when he turned those horns to try and hear them. "Where ya been?" he called, waving me over.
"Oh, you know, someone had to open the feast, lead a prayer, and referee the jousting tournament," I said, sliding into the alcove he carved out for me.
"Ha! That was good fun, a bit of light work before dinner."
I eyed him up, "Says the man who picked up three chevaliers and threw them into the stands."
"The kiddies deserved a souvenir," Bull laughed again, thudding his tankard on the bar. Ribbons dangled off his harness, given to him by smitten maidens trying to win his favor.
"So..." I started, reaching for a mug, "I'm curious. What's with the masks?"
He laughed and sloshed down his tankard before reaching up and spinning three of the masks impaled upon his right horn. The left held five. Most were suspended through an eyehole, but a few were impaled on. "Sera's doing," Bull explained, "Well, the first couple. After that, the nobles thought it was a game and started trying to toss their own on."
"I see."
"Don't worry, I only killed a couple of 'em."
I sighed, taking a long drink. "That's Josephine's problem now."
Bull laughed again and slapped me on the back, jostling his horn decor. "Now that's the Satinalia spirit!"
"If I get anymore into the spirit I'm going to vomit suckling nug all across the chantry floor." Despite my pronouncement, I still dumped another glass of the only remaining liquor down my throat. No one expected the heaving mass of people happy to cast off the pious robes and throw themselves headlong into a full on Satinalia.
"It's quite a spread our ambassador put on," Bull said, picking at his ribbons, "I should pay her my respects."
"Josephine was tearing her hair out with worry we wouldn't have enough, but either Leliana calmed her down by finding lost stores or - more likely - spiked her wine. Last I saw Josie, she was running across the jousting yard screaming this was better than Antiva City."
"Sounds like a ringing endorsement to me."
"Have you seen anyone else?" I asked. Being the head of the party meant I barely saw anyone I knew or cared about. The day was a blur of names and wooden faces I couldn't possibly remember.
"I've seen lots of people, my boys are holed up down by the infirmary. They've got the good shit there and Krem's guarding it as if his life depended on it. Last I saw, Sera's with them, though she had that look in her eye."
"She can't get in much more trouble. The day's almost over and we're out of brontos," I tried to reassure myself, but Bull only shrugged. That's what I was afraid of.
The masses moved apart as if by magic and a sparkling white dress crossed the new canal. "Darling!" Vivienne called, her arm draped across an older noble who wrinkled his nose up at the smells of our little tavern.
I turned towards her and tried to hide my drink behind me. Even then I still felt the condescending eyes of Vivienne's companion judging me.
"My dear, you simply must meet Monsieur Rocqfort," she cooed, pulling the man towards me.
I held out my hand and he glared at me as if it were diseased.
"This is the Inquisitor," Vivienne continued.
"Charmed," Rocqfort answered, before turning to Viv and speaking in punctuated Orlesian. Her cold face never wavered but it was easy to pick up on the background whine of a man forced to brave the dregs of society. He even gestured to his shoes as if he'd waded a river of shit to approach the fabled Herald of Andraste. Hm, maybe we should try that next time. Want to ask the Inquisitor a favor? Cross the bog of crap first.
Vivienne talked over the man's whining and smiled at me, "Dear, my Rocqfort is having the time of his life."
Rocqfort snorted and I coughed to hide my smile.
"It is impressive what you could conjurer up given the limited nature of your upbringing," Vivienne continued, speaking as if I'd only wandered out of the wilds a few years ago having kissed my adopted wolf mother goodbye.
"That's all Josephine's doing," I answered truthfully, "If it were up to me we'd have gathered all the nobles together and watched them fight to the death. Winner gets crowned Queen of Satinalia."
Bull laughed, gurgling into his mug until the bubbles sloshed over the side.
"I see," Vivienne said, the frost thick in her words.
"Oh, and pie. Lots of pie."
"Pie's good," Bull said, "Can't go wrong with pie for holy days."
"Not for eating," I said, waving my head, "We'd put them on everyone's chair and have them sit on it. The person with the filthiest pants wins."
"You have a curious approach to celebrations," Vivienne tried to save face in front of her guest.
"Just what someone of my upbringing would come up with," I finished. The bite in my tongue was matched by the burn from the alcohol guiding my words.
"Indeed..." But the cloud passed and Vivienne's face cracked in all smiles, "Come, Rocqfort. It is nearing the hour of the moon and we should join the others in the chapel."
"Thank ze Maker!" Rocqfort exclaimed, waving his hands in the air in praise. Vivienne guided him past the other nobles who'd have been all for my pie idea and probably come up with some better debauchery.
"Andraste, preserve me," I muttered to my hands.
Bull shook his head, tossing off one of the cracked masks, "Have you tried hiding yet?"
I glanced at him through my fingers and asked, "Is there a single crevice of Skyhold that isn't crammed full of nobility ass?"
But a new voice answered me, "No, there is not." The bald head of our elven apostate poked around the back room. Solas was far less ruffled than I expected, his back straight and that ivory sweater still pristine. He took the bartender's place. We'd lost that man three hours into the celebration and feared we'd never see him again. Minaeve was taking up a collection for his memorial.
"What brings you down to wallow with the dregs?" I asked.
He sighed, twisting his head, "After failing to find a quiet place to enter the fade I came to speak with Cole."
"Cole's here?" I hadn't seen our spirit all day. Occasionally, I thought I caught a glimpse of the hat poking through a crowd or a shadow of a boy atop the parapets, but it could have been one of the dozens of flocks rushing about the grounds.
Solas tipped his head towards the back tables where two men sat closely together, their bowed heads touching. Sure enough the boy hovered over them. He touched one on the arm and whispered some comforting words. The man turned away, Cole already forgotten.
I reached my hand up, trying to wave the boy over, but he'd vanished back into the crowd. Turning back towards the bar, I picked up my mug only to have Cole materialize beside me. The surprise caused me to lose a bit of mead, but Bull threw his mug where it smashed into the ceiling.
"Don't do that!" he shouted, then looked at the new mug stain under the stairs.
"Do what?" Cole asked, the hat twisting around.
"That spirit shit. It's creepy," Bull shuddered, twisting the masks around more.
"Spirits don't shit," Cole said softly, confusion in the words.
"It's okay, Bull," I said, "I'll protect you from the scary wisp of a boy."
"That ain't no boy," he muttered, but didn't press the issue. This was Satinalia, a time of...what was it a time of again? Repentance? Family? Drinking until your insides melted? That last one sounded right.
Bull stepped away from the bar, mentioning how he had to go find his boys and something about a redhead. I waved him on, sad to lose the imposing bodyguard, but the off-putting spirit might be enough. Despite Cole sitting calmly on the counter, his shoes banging into the bar, no one wanted near him.
I finished off the last of my drink, swearing it'd be the last, and turned towards the boy, "Cole, I have to ask. What's with the sweater?"
He turned his head down and picked up the edge of the green, red and yellow monstrosity enveloping his thin frame. Small yellow griffins chased each other across a field of rust red while the green provided some scrolling.
"Yarn spooled the way grandmother taught. A switch across the knuckles when a stitch is dropped."
Solas interjected, "It was a gift from Master Tethras."
"Varric said you can't celebrate Satinalia without one," Cole said, still poking at the griffins.
"I missed 'garish oversized outwear' on the checklist," I said.
"Oh. Then, you can have mine," Cole said, trying to pick it off.
"No, no," I waved at him, "It is your gift, you should keep it."
"Oh, right. I forgot."
"Have you two been having a good time?" I asked watching the spirit and the mage gazing through the people. Cole lived inside them and Solas forever out. It was like stepping into the eye of a hurricane to be between them sometimes.
"People want to be happy," Cole said, "But in trying they make themselves sadder."
"That's the holidays for you," I tipped my head. "What about you, Solas? How does this stack up to any Satinalias you've seen in the fade?"
That perfect posture wavered at the question, "There was one in Baridur where a lord paraded about a dozen wyverns adorned in jewels and gold."
"What happened?"
"The wyverns attacked the guests, ate the jewels, and defecated in the punch."
"At least we're doing better than that," I laughed, before pausing. "Has anyone checked on Sera lately?"
"Misfits alone on the island. Only by the burning of a nose can they gain acceptance," Cole said. We turned to him, but he vanished back to the fold. With the strange boy gone, the guests began to fill the gap.
"Inquisitor!" I sighed as a few more of the faithful flocked towards me. They paid no heed to the apostate fading into the background, his cold eyes peering through them. All anyone wanted was the Herald.
I slipped a smile on and rose from the chair. They flowed around, trapping me with disparagements dressed up as compliments. "It's such a delightfully tiny celebration."
"You had a most interesting approach to the benediction, my Lady."
"Your ham barely tasted of anything but salt and pork."
My legs wobbled from below me as I tried to prop myself against the avalanche, but the exhaustion of the day was winning out. All I could do was bob my head in agreement. Sure, we should have sponsored a juggling act that flies off the rafters, Master Benson's Gargling Nugs, and a dragon or two. Why not? Anything to humor the nobility.
I was so enveloped I didn't notice a form breaking through the crowd until a gloved hand cupped around my bicep. "Excuse me, but I require the Inquisitor's attention for an important matter."
I turned from the flock of masks to find my Commander's exhausted eyes daring any of them to object. A few grumbled, but I tipped my head and mumbled a, "Duty calls."
People flooded the doorways, trying to claim a warm place to usher in Satina's zenith. Cullen still clung to my arm as he pushed them aside to climb the stairs. Even the second level was overflowing, here the more adventurous celebrators in various stages of dress and states of affection. I couldn't see Cullen's face but I noticed a small blush along the back of his neck. The serious couples tried to find a moments peace in Cole's outcropping. I ducked my head but smiled. They were going to be in for quite a surprise if he pops back in to see what's going on.
The Commander climbed the stairs and led us towards his office. He pulled out his key and pushed open the door. "Andraste's grace!" Cullen shouted at the three people piled across his desk, bottles scattered at their feet, "How did you get in here?!"
One of the guests pointed a jittery finger to a door thrown wide open.
Cullen glared at it, then back at the three carefully sliding off the commander's desk. One tried to buff away where he sat. "Get out!" he roared, sending them scurrying out the open door. With a wrench, he slammed the door shut and massaged his forehead.
I poked the empty bottles with my foot, "Nobility are worse than rats at getting into things."
"At least you can poison rats."
"Oh you can poison the nobles, but you have to do it with your finger extended," I stopped messing with the broken glass and shifted to business, "What's the problem, Commander?"
He dropped his hand and turned to me, "There are nobles all over the hold and you needed a break."
"Sweet Andraste's knickers," I sighed, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
Cullen's lips twisted in a small smile from my reaction.
"I like Josephine and know she's doing her job and all, but if I had to smile at one more lazy elf joke, or raise a glass to some minor noble house that sits on half an acre I was going to strip naked and run into the mountains."
"That...uh," the blush filled his cheeks, but I was too embroiled in my rant to take proper notice.
"And that joust tournament thing! I've never hosted one of those, but is it proper to have one Qunari square off against ten Orlesians coated in grease?"
"I'm afraid I missed that. Or perhaps not so afraid. You did an admirable job leading the chant," he said.
I leaned into him and whispered, "I had most of it written on my arm."
He smiled, glancing down at the covered cheat sheet, "I doubt anyone noticed."
"Oh that cleric did. Mother...Goose?"
Cullen laughed, "Mother Goose? I did not have the chance to meet her either."
Sighing, I crumpled low and dropped onto his desk, "Throw all the fancy hats on me you want, I fear I'll never be cut out for politics."
"You did far better than I."
"Oh?"
"After Lord Paroquet found me, again, bragging about his templar sword from Val Royeaux I reacted poorly."
"How poorly?"
Cullen shrugged, "I upended him into a water trough."
My laugh shook the desk, rolling the bottles around. "Oh, Josie is going to kill us in the morning."
"I fear you're right," he steadied his hands upon his sword and joined me at his desk.
"Welp, only hope for us is to become outlaws. Run away to...I hear Rivain is nice this time of year. Or maybe Seheron. Think the Qunari would notice someone with a glowing green hand?"
"Or the Tevinter a Templar amongst them?"
"Good point," I sighed. "I guess we're stuck here."
"I suppose so." The air fell into a comfortable silence, both of us lost in thought as the rest of the keep broiled away in celebration.
"Oh!" I snapped my fingers and reached into my pocket, fishing out a small trinket wadded up in a scrap of cloth. I held it out to Cullen.
"What is it?"
"Either I've fully failed to grasp the concept of presents, or you're supposed to open it to find out." He picked up the gift and unrolled the cloth, exposing a carved ebony crown above the blank face and long hair.
"It's a chess piece," I explained despite the obvious, "I saw you were using a rock as a stand in."
"I suspect Pavus absconded with the original," Cullen said, carefully turning it over in his hand. "For what purpose, I didn't want to ask. Where did you get it?"
"I carved it myself. It's not too difficult as long as you keep an eye on the blade don't stab yourself in the hand."
"Thank you," he said, inspecting her in the candlelight. Even from the distance I could see all the flaws where my knife bit too deep or shallow into wood, and a chip when a Venatori snuck up on us in camp. "I, I'm afraid we never celebrated with gifts," he fumbled, glancing about his room as if something could suddenly materialize.
I placed my hand upon his arm, getting the full affect of those warm eyes. "You rescued me from a horde of rampaging nobility. That counts as five gifts, maybe six."
His smile tinged with a tiny regret, never able to let things go. "It was a thoughtful gift," he said, holding the piece cupped in his fingers as if it was some precious jewel.
Picking up the gift, I twisted it in my fingers and shrugged, "You looked like a man who needed a queen."
Cullen laughed softly and ran his fingers over my own. I turned away from the ebony queen to trip into his eyes. The inches between our faces seemed an immeasurable gulf. Twisting my head to the right, I inched closer when a cry of joy broke through the hold.
"Satina has risen!"
Closing my eyes, I whispered the same chant going up across all of Thedas. Cullen added his own voice to the celebration. I glanced up through the still broken rafters of the roof to find a glimmer of Satina at her peak. He followed suit, and paused in the chant to the moon.
"What is that on the ceiling?" he asked pointing to a ball of herbs dangling above our heads. "Is that...rashvine? Did someone hang rashvine all across Skyhold"
I shrugged and smiled, "We were out of embrium."
The confusion broke into a smile as he shook his head. "Happy Satinalia, Inquisitor."
"Happy Satinalia," I said, "and here's to many more, Commander."