A Candle in the Darkness (A Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfiction)

Stakes

29 Harvestmere, 9:41

"Wicked Grace, boss?"

"Bull, didn't you take enough of their money at diamondback the other night?" Antonia asked. She was scrubbing out the skillet the Iron Bull had cooked in while Dorian fetched water for the morning—complaining the whole time about there being no magic water spell that would do it for him—and Varric chopped up firewood, grumbling in his turn about dull axes that were a poor substitute in his hands for Bianca.

The Iron Bull and Antonia exchanged a grin. Part of the fun of bringing Varric and Dorian along was watching them have to go without their creature comforts. Not that Antonia loved camping herself, but she accepted it with equanimity, unlike her more pampered companions. The Iron Bull, on his part, thrived on it. The only thing that would have made him happier would have been to bring the Chargers along, but that tended to get complicated.

"He did not 'take' my money," Dorian protested. "I am merely allowing him to hold it for me."

"And it's not lonely, with all Varric's to keep it company."

"Really, are you ever going to tell me how you do it? I thought I had raised cheating to an art form, and then you come along and rob me blind. You're as bad as a publisher," Varric complained, dropping his armload of firewood onto the pile. "There. That's the last of it. You all want more, you can cut it yourselves."

"Bull, do you remember telling them if they wanted more food, they'd have to cook it themselves?"

He snorted. "These two wouldn't eat their own cooking if you paid them—and neither would anyone else."

Antonia looked at the skillet and decided it was good enough. Unfortunately for her, Varric was standing next to her at the time, and he took it out of her hand before she could stow it away. "Speaking of shirkers, your Heraldness, wouldn't you say this could use a little more elbow grease?"

"Sodding nobles," the Iron Bull grumbled. "How did I get stuck with you people?"

"You don't like it, Bull, all you have to do is give us back our money and take your leave." Dorian held out his hand.

"You wish."

"Can we all just shut up and play cards already?" Varric asked. He dug out a well-worn deck and began shuffling it, to loud protests from both of the other men. "What? Where are you going to get a fresh deck in the middle of the sodding wilderness?"

The Iron Bull and Dorian looked at one another and sighed. "Fine."

"Sounds like we're agreed, gentlemen. Stakes?"

"Yes, please." The Iron Bull grinned hugely.

"We just ate!"

"And I'm still hungry. You have a problem with that?"

"Not if you're cooking."

"Boys!" Antonia shouted. They all looked at her guiltily, and she was hard-pressed to hide her smile. In some ways, they were very much like small boys—small boys with deadly weapons, granted, but still. "What are the stakes?"

"If I win, Varric writes a story about the person of my choice," Dorian said.

"Present company excepted, naturally, Herald." Varric smiled at her. "If I win, Sparkler's buying the rounds when we get home."

"How many rounds?"

"How long can we drink?"

"Fasta vass. I'll go broke!"