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Busting Out At the Seams

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Haven's Dinky Tavern, Too Early For This Shit O' Clock

“Sera? Why are so many people afraid to look at Adaar today? So many voices, warm, flushing, firm. No! No! Can’t see the Herald like that. Not right, not right!” Cole asked, appearing right in front of Sera's face, eerie as always.

“Eugh, get away from me, Creepy! Personal space! Did I say you could talk to me? Don't answer that, because, y’know, I didn't. Ever. But, er, why d’ya think people ain't lookin’ at her gracious ladybits?” Sera made every move possible to evade the demon-thing without having to touch it. She stuck to the wall until she neared the bar, swiping a big sausage from a platter while Flissa wasn't looking. She prodded at the weirdie demon-thing with the sausage, trying to keep it at a distance. Though honestly, the continent wasn't big enough.

“Oh they are. They like them. Too much. But they feel ashamed. I don't understand.” He looked at Sera, sad and confused, then Cole looked at the sausage and whispered hello to it, apologising for it to have become a sausage, but telling it that it would make someone happy.

Sera pulled a face, not pleased in the knowledge that Creepy'd gotten more creepy. “I dunno, feck off. Ask Varric or summink. I’m sure he knows. Him and Solas know everything.” Well, they sure as shite acted like it anyway, she thought.

“Oh, thank you, Sera. I will ask Varric. Solas still walks the Fade.” Cole’s face rearranged itself into something that might resemble a smile, if demons smiled straight out of the Void. She shuddered as the demon-thing floated off to find Varric. Weirdie McCreepface. Made her skin crawl.

"...Sodding nutter, that thing. Elfy still walks the Ferrrrd~" She rolled her eyes, then plunked the sausage back on the platter with Flissa none the wiser, wiping the grease on her tunic to match the mustard stain beside it. Creepy managed to plant a seed of curiosity in Sera, however, and she decided to investigate. Curious Sera was curious. Really, who wouldn’t want to look at Adaar? Phwoar…

~Earlier that day, before dawn~

Cullen woke to the constant slam and clang of someone using a training dummy. The sound of wood cracking just a few yards away from his tent might as well have been splintering inside his skull. Lyrium withdrawals already made sleeping difficult, and the headaches were near constant. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, they were about to get a bloody earful.

He started to poke his head out of his tent, but stopped short of fully emerging, his jaw going slack at the sight before him. “Maker preserve me…”

The Herald, all eight feet of her, was seemingly voidbent on destroying the dummy in front of her. Cullen's eyes were round as saucers for an entirely different reason, however. Adaar’s bare chest was heaving and glistening with a sheen of sweat in the predawn light, the strange qunari markings on her skin leaving nothing to his sordid imagination. A flush began creeping up Cullen’s neck as something stirred in his breeches. Well, not so much a stirred as a surged.

As Commander of the Inquisition, he knew he shouldn’t watch. It wasn’t right, but Maker, he was enjoying it too much. He couldn't begrudge the woman her training. He would feel awkward going out there just to tell her she should wear a tunic at the very least. Too late, lust reared its ugly head and pushed reason aside. Cullen slipped back into his tent just enough so he could view her through the tiny opening, palming his burgeoning erection over his breeches as he recited portions of the Chant in his head.

~The Dawn Will...Come?~

As the sky lightened, Cassandra, usually the earliest to rise, was walking toward the training yard after her warm-up run around the lake, lost in thought as she flexed and stretched. She drew up short at the snap of wood followed by a litany of profane words that would make a Rivaini pirate blush. It seemed the Herald was awake and training hard. Cassandra realized it would be a good opportunity to get to know Adaar by training alongside her. The qunari might be more amenable to conversation without other members of the inner circle around.

However when Cassandra rounded a tent and actually saw Adaar, her feet remained firmly rooted in place. The Seeker scrubbed at her eyes and pinched herself without mercy. No, definitely not a trick of the Fade. She stood silently staring, paralyzed with shock.

The Herald of Andraste, breasts bared for the world to see, was battling as fiercely with wood and straw opponents as she would any foe. Cassandra’s cheeks burned and she could not, for the life of her, look away. In fact, she almost admired Adaar for her lack of shame, though she would never admit to such.

A pained groan from the Commander’s tent caught the Seeker’s attention. Cassandra managed to tear her gaze away from the fierce half-naked Herald, (thankful for the excuse, not that she needed one, but not Cullen's difficulties, not that she didn't have faith he couldn't handle them,) she strode over to check on Cullen. She made him a promise, and she would keep it. She just prayed to the Maker he was alright. She barged into his tent, expecting to find him suffering from one of his nightmares, as she saw during their journey from Kirkwall to Haven. Instead, she collided with a very much awake Commander, and they both tumbled heavily onto his bedroll.

“C-Cassandra?! Why in the Maker’s name…” His face was flushed and pinched with agony.

“Commander? Are you alright? I heard you moan and thought you might be—” Her eyebrows rose as she felt something solid prodding her thigh. Her eyes widened with surprise, “Commander, were you just,” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, blushing furiously instead.

“Whatever you think it is, it wasn’t. Maker’s breasts, er, breath! No! Shit…” Cullen’s face was flaming.

“I’m going to leave and pretend I was never here, Commander,” her tone gently rebuking, expression stern with the barest hint of amusement in her eyes as she made her exit from his tent as gracefully as possible. The Seeker pointedly ignored the magnificent sight of the Herald in the dawn light. Mostly. Cassandra hid in her own tent and found one of Varric’s books that she had stashed away. She desperately wanted to read. Vigorously.

~Judgement: Tits Vashoth~

Meanwhile, Blackwall, The Iron Bull, and Krem, had all gathered, rising at the sound of the commotion as well. The three warriors stood in a line, heads all tilted in the same direction, admiring the Herald’s display of martial skill. Among other things.

“’Morning,” followed by two amiable male grunts of greeting in reply.

“Right good one at that, eh, Chief?” Krem said with a slight smirk.

“Well, Krem Brûlée, there’s good, and then there’s fucking good. Only thing that’d make this day better right now is—”

“Dragons,” they said in unison. Bull’s sharp, single eye gleamed with the prospect of so much excitement. Krem rolled his eyes with a lopsided grin.

“Think I might start callin’ her Tits-Vashoth, because damn, she’s got a nice rack,” Bull added, keeping his voice low. “And the way she wields that greatsword… Uuuuunf!”

“Why, Maker, why?” Krem wore a long suffering look, stifling a groan. Blackwall was biting down on his fist to keep from laughing, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, hang on, are those, wait that's, hot damn. She's got vitaar on ‘em.”


“So? Can't your dragon-worshipping vint ass see the markings?! They're—” Bull licked his lips, and his voice dropped an octave, “...dragony.”

“Chief, are you gonna need a little alone time?” Krem shifted away from Bull ever so slightly.

“Nah. My left knee’s acting up though and one of the Chantry sisters has some pretty good healing hands. Catch you later, boys.” His lecherous grin wasn’t lost on anyone. With that, Bull clapped Krem and Blackwall’s shoulders firmly before sauntering off in search of healing. Of the sexual kind.

~The Birds, The Bees, and The Spirit Demon-Thing?~ *crude sketch of Blackwall running around with a wooden bucket covering his danglebag and a version of his facial beard on his arse*

Varric nodded to Bull as he passed by, hearing Bull mutter something about "tar" and wondering why he would need it. Varric figured he was probably better off not asking, considering the predatory look on Bull's face. The dwarf shook his head and turned his attention to Cole who was hovering beside him.

“Cole, what were you talking about? I’m still waking up and trying to process said wakefulness.” Varric was squinting from the light of the early morning sun.

“Sera said you would know and that I should ask you.” Cole, looked at Varric, ever-trusting.

Just then, the non-elfy elf attempted to move stealthily past Varric and Cole.

“Remind me to thank her appropriately later,” The dwarf raised his voice enough so that Sera would know he’d spotted her anyway.

The result was a hastily whispered, “Shite!” Though Sera continued creeping down the stairs.


“How may I help you, Cole?” Varric’s eyes followed Sera as she opened the gates just a wide enough to slip through quietly.

“Oh, no, I want to help you. You need to thank Sera later, so remember to.” Cole looked at Varric with his naïve, watery smile.

Varric craned his neck up to look at the kid and just laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender, “What is it I'm supposed to know, exactly?”

“Why everyone is burning, turning red, like heat, hearths and hearts, but not. Fire, shame, the flames of Andraste burn at the Herald’s breast.”

“Uh… Make some sense kid.”

“I just want to understand.”

“That makes two of us…” Varric scratched his head and knew this conversation was going nowhere. “Do you know where Adaar is?”

“Glorious, gleaming, glistening, galvanizing, great sword strikes straw and oh maker he shouldn't think of her that way. Not right but feels right, and so good when I touch my--”

“So she’s in the training yard?” Varric cut the kid off and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking as tired as he felt. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go see what the fuss is about.”

The two ambled down to the gates, pulling them fully open. Cole and Varric’s eyes were both drawn to the source of the noise coming from the training yard. Varric almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and he'd seen more than his share of weird shit.

“Huh, you think you’ve seen everything.” The dwarf’s face split with a shit-eating grin. Not that this necessarily qualified as weird. Maybe it'd be filed under “completely fucking unexpected, and the possibilities for ensuing hilarity at the expense of the inner circle are endless” shit.

“Varric? Why is it funny?” Cole just looked confused. This was nothing new.

Varric’s eyes crinkled in thought as he tried to explain. “Well, the way everyone else will react will be funny. Adaar is a strong, brave, beautiful woman, who happens to have an,” he hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word, “...unusual way of training.” And coincidentally one of the finest pairs of breasts this dwarf had ever laid eyes on. Sorry, Bianca.

“Is it funny because it makes others feel funny? I hear that in their thoughts. They feel funny. Did she tell all of them a joke? Like one of yours?” Cole blinked. His innocence was almost cavity inducing sometimes. And yet, the kid had wicked skills with daggers. Another item to go into the “weird shit” file.

“Uh, you know what, kid? I think we'll just talk about it when you're older.”

“Will it be funnier then?”

Varric sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “C’mon, kid. You can come watch me eat breakfast instead.” The dwarf turned the kid in the direction of the tavern and off they went.

~Best Day Ever and Beer~

Meanwhile, Blackwall and Krem were lifting Sera up from the ground. The elf might have had too much to drink the previous night, but the sight of the Herald beating the snot out of straw dummies seemed to make her dizzy. She was still unsteady on her feet, so Blackwall and Krem held her, until she pulled herself loose, “Phwoar!” The elf rogue stared, her eyes glazed over, ready to pounce on Adaar right then and there.

“Maker’s taint, how much beer did you drink last night, Sera?” Blackwall groused, turning his face away from her apparent beer-breath.

Sera began gesticulating wildly, a dreamy look on her face, “Does it matter? I mean look at that. LOOK! Knocking around them dummies wiv her knockers all out and jigglin’. But they ain't jigglin’ at all, right? Firm and high and I wonder what the rest looks like or feels like or tastes like…” Sera’s skin paled, eyes rolling back into her head as she swooned a second time with a ridiculous grin on her face, slipping from Krem and Blackwall’s grip to land like a lump in the snow.

“Whatcha reckon?” Krem asked while both men stood over Sera’s unconscious form.

“For what?”

“Quality. Score from one to ten.”

“Ah…” Blackwall said, finally grasping Krem’s meaning. He stroked his beard and studied Sera for a moment. “I’ll have to say 9 for the first. Extra points for sheer surprise.”

“Agreed. I’d give her an 8.5 for that one.” Krem snorted.

“Really? I would’ve given the first one a 6,” Adaar said, her voice right behind them.

Apologies immediately began tumbling from the mouths of both Krem and Blackwall, who finally saw fit to help Sera out of the snow. Both men were afraid to look at Adaar, keeping their backs to her.

Sera started to come to, dangling between Krem and Blackwall, unaware of Adaar’s presence. “Andraste’s sopping cunny, if she keeps on like that, I'll be walking about like a friggin’ Tranquil. That'd be well creepy.”

“That is quite the mouth you have, Sera. So blasphemous…” Adaar quipped, Sera’s head whipping upward at the sound of her voice. The elf’s cheeks flooded with color bright enough to match her Highever weave overtunic at the lascivious look she was getting from Her Gorgeous Lady Tits.

“Apologies, my lady. We didn’t mean to intrude on your, erm…” Blackwall frowned and stopped as soon as Adaar started laughing. “My lady?” He turned his head, and he was simultaneously relieved and disappointed that Adaar was fully clothed again, albeit flushed from her training in a rather attractive way. The wicked twinkle in Adaar’s brown eyes told him she knew she’d been seen, and it hadn’t bothered her in the least.

“Nothing to apologise for, Warden Blackwall. As you were, gentlemen. And Sera, you might want to do something with that mouth of yours. I’ll be in the war room.” With that, Adaar walked away with all the poise and grace of a Queen, and a promising sway in her hips.

Sera just stood there, gawping, and Blackwall’s mouth was bone dry.

Krem coughed unnecessarily. “I need to get the Charger’s up and training.” He walked away like he had a demon tailing his arse.

Sera and Blackwall exchanged looks and reached some unspoken agreement.

Blackwall cleared his throat. “So, beer?”

“Beer.” Sera nodded.