#SMOOTHER THAN ELVEN BABY-BUTT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kittlesandbugs · 5 years

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Bottles of Thedas Rating: T for alcohol and language, I guess Pairings: Solavellan and Adoribull in later chapters Summary: Parts 9 to 12 of 20 ficlets inspired by the Bottles of Thedas codex entries

Bottles 1-4 / Bottles 5-8 / Bottles 9-12 / Bottles 13-16 / Bottles 17-20

(Read all 20 on AO3!)

Mackay’s Epic Single Malt This whisky is older than the Maker and smoother than elven baby-butt.

“I’m surprised bears have such excellent taste in whiskey.”

Ren and Cassandra looked up from their field dressing of the bear carcass. The Inquisitor had decided they were going to not let the meat go to waste and feed the inquisition scout camp tonight.

“I’m sorry, what?”

In the back corner of the cave, as far from the blood spatter as possible, Dorian held up a bottle he’d found in a pile of bones.

Cassandra sighed heavily. “Haven’t you two found enough liquor on this trip?”

“My darling Cassandra, there’s no such thing as enough liquor. Especially of this calibre.”

Ren finished carving and tying the shank she’d been working on and went over to take a look. “What’s so special about this one?”

“Mackay was known across the land as one of the best single malt brewers in Thedas. He passed away several centuries ago, but legend has it he brewed so many barrels, his descendants are still bottling it.” He kept it out of her bloodsoaked reach and stowed it into his saddlebag once she had a good look at it. “Of course, if true, it’s worth so much money, they probably only have to bottle one barrel every decade or two”

“I… would actually like to try this one,” Cassandra grudgingly admitted as she wiped her blade clean on the bear’s fur.

Dorian nodded and grinned. “Of course you would, and you should! Whiskey barrelled that long is smoother than an elven baby’s bottom.”

Ren choked on the water she’d been drinking out of her waterskin. “Know that from experience, do you?”

“... that is a rather terrible phrase, isn’t it?”

West Hill Brandy Notes of black currant with a honeysuckle finish. Also, tastes like brandy.

Dorian’s face scrunched up with distaste as he read the label on the bottle the Inquisitor handed to him.

“What’s with that face?” Ren asked, amused. She only saw that particular expression when a particularly egregious outfit wandered in front of him. “Is this one bad? I’ve never had brandy.”

“It’s awful,” he replied and handed it back to her. “Not this one in particular, I haven’t had it. But brandy, in general, tends to taste like slightly fruity lamp oil. It’s quite popular with Orlesian nobles and Tevinter magisters. Another reason to dislike them, if you needed one.”

“So… what should we do with it?” She’d learned her lesson with Hirol’s Lava Burst to take Dorian’s warnings to heart. The man more than knew his liquor.

“That is an excellent question. We certainly shouldn’t let it go to waste.” Dorian stroked his mustache as he contemplated the fate of the bottle. “Ah, I know! Let’s take it to your ambassador. She would know if this is a good variety. If it is, she can use it for entertaining some pretentious Orlesians. If it isn’t, we can take it down to the kitchens. Even the cheapest brandy doesn’t go to waste in a dessert.”

“Really?” Ren brightened at the mention of dessert. The Dalish generally didn’t indulge in sweets, and, months later, the novelty had yet to wear off on her. “What kind?”

“It pains me that you even have to ask.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the library to pay a visit to Josephine. “You know, cherries are in season now. If this is destined for the kitchens, let’s see we can’t tempt that new Orlesian chef into making a jubilee for dessert tonight. And next time we’re in Val Royeaux, I’m treating you to crêpes suzette.”

Flames of Our Lady A wine with hues that range from blood to fire, always in that order. In the South, take a single draught, shout, "She is with us," and throw the remainder into a fireplace. In the North, draw steel and march.

“Cullen! Cullen! Over here! Cullen!”

Cullen let out a heavy sigh and turned to see the Inquisitor waving jovially to him from amidst a small group of her friends. He had hoped to be in and out of the tavern quickly with a nightcap to nurse as he finished up his reports. That was clearly not going to be the case tonight.

As he approached, Ren scooted over on the bench until she was half on top of Dorian to make room for him. The mage didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and pulled the giggling elf the rest of the way onto his lap. She was well into her cups, face and ears flushed red with drink. She clung to Dorian with one arm and held up the bottle they had just started with the other. Her voice slurred slightly as she asked, “Care for some wine?”

Cullen’s reluctance to join them melted in a tide of nostalgia as he recognized the fiery spirit. He slid into the offered place and accepted a glass with a small smile. “I would, actually. I haven’t had this since my training days as a templar.”

Varric took the bottle from Ren before she could spill it and filled Cullen’s glass. “I didn’t think they let initiates drink. Figured that was why your recruits spent so much time at the Rose,” he said with a wink.

Cullen nodded in thanks and elected to ignore the dwarf’s needling. He took a sip of the wine and his eyes drifted shut as he remembered drinking and talking with the other recruits, as dragged out as he was from a rough day of training.

“In Tevinter, soldiers traditionally drink this the night before marching off to battle.” Krem’s slightly gravelly tenor snapped him back to present. “Is it the same down here, in the south?”

Cullen shook his head. “No, it’s used for a rather... exuberant celebration of faith.”

“Exuberant? Templars being exuberant?” Cullen immediately regretted mentioning it as he could practically see Varric's storytelling mind roll into high gear. “What exactly happens with this “exuberant celebration of faith”?”

Cullen buried his face in his hands with a scathing "Maker's Breath" and muttered into his palms, fiercely regretting even setting foot into the tavern this evening.

“I’m sorry, Commander, I didn’t quite catch that.” Dorian prodded him in the ribs with his elbow. “The Inquisitor would like to know as well, wouldn’t you, Ren?”

“Yeah, tell us!” she crowed and turned sideways in Dorian’s lap to lean close to his ear. She was too far gone to whisper, and he flinched at her volume. “What is he telling us?”

“How to be exuberantly faithful, my dear. It sounds very exciting.”

Clearly not going to get out of this unless he made a break for it, which was impossible with the Inquistor’s legs now sprawled across his, Cullen sighed heavily. “You take a drink, shout “She is with us,” and throw the rest in the fire.”

“I’m sorry, Curly, I’m having trouble picturing this.” Cullen’s heart sank into his boots as he immediately knew where Varric was going with this. “I think we require a demonstration.”

“HEY!” Everyone turned to the very drunk Inquisitor, who slurred. “That’s alcohol abuse!”

“Hush, Ren,” Dorian cajoled her. “The show will be worth the abuse.”

She blinked owlishly as she processed the words through her alcoholic haze. “Oh, okay.” She moved her legs off Cullen’s lap, sat up as straight as she could, and raised her glass in a sloppy toast. “She is with us!”

Everyone around the table followed suit, yelling, “She is with us!” before all eyes fell to the Commander, shining with delighted expectation.

Cullen rose to his feet, taking his glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. He walked over to the roaring fireplace, took a long drink, bellowed, “She is with us!” and hurled the glass into the fire. The Inquisitor’s table exploded with cheers along with the flames, the rest of the tavern went dead silent, and Cullen strode out through the door to enjoy the rest of the bottle and reminisce in the peace and quiet of his office.

And maybe pray to Andraste that everyone gets too shitfaced to remember this in the morning.

Silent Plains Piquette An artisanal treatment of a Tevinter slave wine. Grape pomace is soaked and pressed, then buried for a year under the wastes where the first Archdemon fell. One assumes. They keep finding the stuff.

Krem uncorked the bottle and poured a glass of the piquette for himself and the Inquisitor. She took the glass with a grateful nod. She clinked her glass against his and took a sip. Her head cocked to the side as she considered it.

“It’s… a little weak, isn’t it?”

The soldier chuckled at her diplomatic description. “That it is. That’s why the Chief declined to join us and Pavus decided he’d rather… catch up with him than have a drink. Or, at least, a drink of this.” Krem stared into the glass, remembering bottles shared with family after a long day. “It’s Tevinter slave wine, made from the water-soaked remains of grapes after all the good stuff is pressed out. Only thing my father could afford with what he brought home from the shop.”

“You found it on your mission with Dorian to the Hissing Wastes?”

Krem nodded. “Pavus was the one who suggested I share it with you. Said you were always lookin’ to try new drinks.”

Ren laughed at that. “He is always looking out for my best interests. This is very easy to drink, but I can see why he and Bull would rather not have any. They’re probably having something stronger.” She paused uncertainly, eyes flicking from Krem to the wine. “Have you… heard from your father at all?”

He shook his head and drained his wine. “I had to cut off contact with him after I fled. Didn’t want anything comin’ back on him because my jig was up,” he said as he refilled his glass. If the Chief and his lover hadn’t retreated to their room yet, he’d probably join them for that something stronger. “I do miss him. He was always supportive of me.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope he’s doing well.”

“Thanks, Your Worship.” He sighed heavily. “I hope so, too.”

#kitbug writes things #bottles of thedas #tbt #inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus #cassandra pentaghast #cullen rutherford #now finally on tumblr!#i know it's friday but tbt still qualifies because time is a myth #and timezones are a fucking nightmare #also i'm forgetful lol #i will post a set of these every week through february if it kills me #ren lavellan #watch me forget to tag my own goddamn inquisitor

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