Pride, Wolf and Rebellion

Reverence

She felt the room stop as their lips parted only to melt together again in molten heat.

The Wolf searched her form with his hands, touched her neck with his paws, watched her heaving chest with his eyes. He was firm with his movements, assured with his lips and he took her mouth with unspoken confidence.

She closed her eyes, as the kiss deepened with slithering tongues entwined. She explored the broadness of his back, his tense muscles, hard under the fur.

"There you are," came a voice accompanied by a cool breeze.

Her eyes flittered open to find Dorian standing in front of her with a stack of trays. He was wearing a too-small serving boy uniform and had a hat plunked sideways on his head. He looked exhausted.

"What are you doing off in the corner here?" said Dorian. He looked behind her and watched as she pushed herself off the wall.

"I..."

"Have you been drinking?" said Dorian. "If you're drinking, I'm drinking."

"Did you see...?"

"Have you seen Iron Bull?" said Dorian. "I think he's taking this Satinalia thing a mite too seriously." He looked around for a place to deposit his serving trays and decided on using a nearby table for a breather, stacking the platters on it and leaning against the wall. The band played on.

"There was..." sighed Fen'Asha. Her eyes scanned the room.

"Are you sure you're okay?" said Dorian.

Fen'Asha blinked and cleared her throat. "I'm...fine," she said.

"Well, I am not," said Dorian. He was skimming the room now, trying to hoist his neck to see over the whirling aristocracy.

"What's wrong?"

"Never give a Qunari power," he said. "Even imaginary." His eyes widened as he looked out over the crowd.

Fen'Asha followed his gaze and saw what he was dreading: Iron Bull was pushing through the dancers, his great horns festooned with the glittery sprinkle of trinkets and accessories. He was wearing a noble's ceremonial dress, which was also too small for his massive form, and he stalked toward Dorian as he reached the other side of the bopping horde.

"Ebasit qalaba," he roared.

"What?" asked Fen'Asha.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "He's calling you a...stupid cow."

"Me?"

"Or me," said Dorian with a shrug.

Iron Bull repeated the words noisily and lurched close to Dorian, draping a brawny arm around him and nearly dragging him to the ground. "This is...is...saar-qamek, venak hol," said the Qunari.

"He thinks he's drinking poison," said Dorian.

Fen'Asha covered her face and shook her head. She'd never seen Iron Bull this out of it. She'd seen him swallow entire casks of ale before and had known him to drown himself in nugswill that could slay druffalo by the dozen, but this was something else entirely.

Dorian was trying to free himself from Iron Bull's iron grip, but he kept finding himself on the lower end and was soon lying half-under the Qunari.

The band took turns noticing and their song drifted in and out of tempo as the Qunari and the Vint started to roll around.

Fen'Asha wanted to recede through to the outside, wanted to ignore Dorian's cries for help. But she grabbed for his outstretched arm and tried to tug him out from under Iron Bull, which only made the Qunari tighten his grip so that Fen'Asha was hauled onto the floor with the demented pile of muscle and his mortified Tevinter lover.