Chapter Text
Evelynn Trevelyan was a Mature adult, with a capital M. She prided herself on her calm and collected way of dealing with things and she knew that she was often the person people looked to when they needed guidance.
Not only that, but she had a surprisingly high tolerance for alcohol, which only added to her sophisticated air. Especially when she was the only half-sober person surrounded by a bunch of inebriated people trying to sing a remake of Dance in Denerim Square because the original “had too few dogs in it”. (Her father had a bunch of Fereldan merchants over, it was a weird couple of days.)
So when Bull asked her out for a drink after they had killed their first dragon, she didn’t think twice about it. She was Evelynn Trevelyan, Lynn for her friends, and she could drink anyone under the table while maintaining the superiority of a Mature adult.
Okay, maybe she couldn’t drink a Qunari under the table, but damn it, she was at least going to try to match him.
She squared her shoulders and opened the door to the tavern.
Dear Maker, how strong was this drink? Lynn felt her eyes watering, and that was only after one gulp.
While she was struggling with her drink she could hear Bull talking about how dragons were sacred for Qunari, and what was that phrase he just said? Taasid- something, something? That was the second time he said it.
Oh sweet Andraste, her throat wasn’t even on fire anymore. She was pretty sure that Bull was right about her nerves having been burnt after the second cup.
She needed to keep the conversation going, so that she had some time to prepare herself for the next cup. How did Bull do it? He didn’t look affected at all!
Oh Maker, she was slurring. She was officially in slurring territory. This was not good, she needed to find an excuse to not drink the last cup without losing Bull’s respect.
If she didn’t know any better she’d think that Bull was trying to get her drunk. The way he side-eyed her when he handed her the third cup looked suspicious.
Well, no way around it. Let’s get it over with.
Bad idea, baaaaad idea. Was it just her of was the room spinning? And why is the bard suddenly playing in slow-motion?
What was she saying? Best. Idea. Ever! She was the Inquisitor and the inquisitor never had bad ideas! Except when she tried on plaid weave, that was a definitive mistake.
“To whatever this is and the hangover it’s going to give me tomorrow!” she slurred, draping herself over Bull’s muscular arm. Maker, they were so haaaard. Not at all like the comfy pillow she had imagined.
She missed Cullen. She needed him, with his sooooft velvet-y mane.
“I need to- need to do business. With the commander. About stuff.” She tried to sound authoritative, but the effect was ruined when she had to grip one of Bull’s horns to keep her balance when she tried to stand up.
“Whoopsies,” she giggled, “I’m sorry about that!”
“That’s okay boss, sometimes you just gotta grab The Bull by the horns! I’m surprised it took you so long!” Bull said with a big grin. She thought she could hear Krem groan in the distance, but she wasn’t sure.
“You know the way to the commander’s office?” Bull asked her, more serious this time.
“Psssht, of course I do! You just follow the scent of awkwardness and uncomfortability!” and with those final words, Evelynn Trevelyan, leader of the inquisition and Mature adult staggered off to find her commander.