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The Iron Bull did not like surprises. If Bull was surprised, if something made it past his Ben-Hassrath training, it meant he had gotten sloppy. He didn’t always know the exact ending of a contract or numbers in a fight, but specifics hadn’t been his specialty, anyway. He was trained to track patterns, recognize habits, and plan to accommodate the potential outcomes. When he was surprised, when he didn’t have a plan or preparations in place, it normally meant someone died. And Bull was quite proud of the Charger’s low loss record. A record Krem, apparently, didn’t care to maintain.
“It’s a good fight, chief. More than that it’s a good cause!”
The fact that Krem had lived in Tevinter for as long as he did, that he had survived what he’d survived, and still come out an optimist, was unexpected enough to border on a surprise. Normally, Bull could appreciate the difference in perspective, but right now it was driving him up a wall. Krem had been harping on about this Inquisition since the explosion three weeks ago. The Charger’s weren’t far, just outside of Denerim. The sickly green glow of the breach made it awful hard to ignore. Ideally, they'd have left it far behind already, but Bull had received word to hold position until his contacts straightened out some weird intel about Vints in the area.
“One-word Krem. Demons. Trust me, you don’t want to fight demons.” Bull eyed the potential recruits who were still hanging around the camp. A bit of extra muscle brought on a couple of jobs ago who hadn’t yet earned a permanent place in the Chargers. They weren’t close enough to be a concern, and most were distracted by Skinner coming around with the mail. Should be an update on his orders in that stack of letters. Still, Bull dropped his voice and turned away from the crowd. “Besides, I can’t get involved in that Cluster-fuck without the a-okay from home.”
As far as Bull was concerned, that was enough to end the discussion. Sure, Bull was known to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, but that was typically reserved for relocating the Chargers from foul weather or taking a particularly lucrative contract. This Inquisition, though? No way Par Vollen was gonna sanction getting involved in something with so many uncontrolled mages. If the Chantry can’t get their shit together after a few years, now that might be when Par Vollen gets involved. Especially if things stayed as unstable down here as they were now. It would leave the South easy pickings for the Antaam. Bull took the letter Skinner offered, ignoring Krem’s continued one-sided debate.
And promptly dropped it. “Fuuuuuck.” He pounded down his drink. “Pack it up Krem. You’re heading to Haven. Issue an invitation to whoever’s running the damned Inquisition.”
“Sure thing Chief! And don’t worry about the demons! I’m sure we won’t see that many!”
Fucking Surprises.
***************
Bull knew the value of presentation. He needed to impress this Herald and her entourage, make sure they wanted his crew. His handlers had made it clear that The Iron Bull would be joining the Inquisition one way or another, but he wanted to go there with his guys. Ideally fucking their lives and habits up as minimally as possible, which meant getting them hired as a company. When his scouts confirmed there were boots on the ground headed this way, he signaled Rocky to demolish the cave where he knew a squad of vints had been hanging out, sending them running right into the Charger’s swords. It was unnecessary, but welcome when the four (only four?) strangers jumped into action to join them. Intermidst his broad sword swinging, he inspected the small crew. Descriptions of the herald had been somewhat mixed, but he had a general idea of what he was looking for. Without his intel, he’d have placed money on the tall human woman with short hair. A good fighter, and even in combat she had a regality to her stride. The dwarf with the wicked crossbow was a familiar figure from the ben-hassrath reports out of Kirkwall, but definitely not the herald. That left the two mages hanging back, which checked out from his reports, as did both having the long pointed ears of an elf. But the reports all said woman, and few went without mentioning the tattoo. Sure enough, she was the one who approached him, and he had to admit his first impressions were low. She wasn’t a warrior, wasn’t bold. Her shoulders hunched in and while she was strikingly beautiful, she didn’t seem to have the confidence that normally provided. No, she had mostly seemed to focus on protection magic. Barriers on herself and her people, healing spells. And she had initially deferred to her female companion, the human having to almost shove her towards him to start negotiations. Passive magic, passive personality. Not the person Bull wanted leading him into danger.
Still. He had his orders. He made his offer, catered to what she clearly needed. A big target to do most of the work in a fight. Let her throw her barriers on him while she stayed back. This little elf was gonna be fragile on the frontlines like this, delicate as the vines tracing along her cheekbones. But… still. There was something engaging about her. About her brash pragmatism when faced with the debate of allowing a known spy access to her inner circle. He fully expected to wrap up the conversation with her insistence that she needed to talk to people back at Haven. He’d meant it when he told her not to worry about the money. After all, hiring him really wasn’t the responsibility of a symbolic prophet. The real power players would need to make that call.
But then she did something unexpected, something that reminded him of, well, himself. Asking for forgiveness over permission.
The tiny elf didn’t exactly surprise him, but well. He had already bet against her having the balls to hire them on then and there when he told Krem to crack open the casks.
************
It was no surprise when the spymaster, another well-documented figure in the qunari record, sat him down for a light interrogation, nor that she brought along the quiet, golden commander. Bull let them posture, and then made it clear that he knew all they were doing was posturing. He’d overheard the argument they had had with the herald, and had enjoyed a bit of smug pleasure hearing her defend herself. Maybe not so passive in personality after all. Nonetheless, it was still the others of the council he needed to impress now. Leliana had a brutal enough reputation that he knew not to cross her without an exit plan already enacted. As for Cullen… there was something off about him, and Bull made a note to watch him, challenge him to a spar or two just to get a better measure of the man.
Finally, once all-important dick measuring was finished, Bull decided to probe the dynamic between these so-called leaders a little. “Doesn’t much matter if you want me here anyway. Your Herald hired me. It wouldn’t do to have your holy lady questioned from within. Not when you’re already fighting the fact that she’s a savage elven apostate after all.” He shouldn’t have enjoyed watching their eyes flicker to each other. He’d hit quite the mark. Behind closed doors, how much did the Dalish mage protest this mantle they’d stuck on her shoulders for having bad luck? And how critical had she already made herself to their cause?
His bag was already packed to go when she found him not 2 hours later. Her hair was twisted into a knot high on her head, leaving her ears and tattoos prominent, and the wooden staff on her back never seemed to leave it, even as she wandered around the quiet courtyards of Haven. It seemed Lavellan refused to hide, to minimize that which marked her as other. He’d never had that choice, but he knew she wasn’t choosing an easy path. “You good to head out with me later today? We’ll be out for a few days. Maybe a week?”
It was the kind of call he'd make, taking out a newbie as soon as possible. It was smart of her to get his measure. Test how willing he’d be to dive headfirst into the field at her side. Fights went about how he expected, though he was pleased to see she didn’t hesitate against the apostates causing mayhem. Thankfully the other elf, this one bigger, was good with a bow, and Cassandra, the stately brunette from the storm coast, was just as good in the hinterlands as she’d been in their initial introduction. If Bull had had to play bodyguard to anyone else AND fight demons and ghosts, he’d start missing things.
But to be honest… there was far less fighting than he anticipated. Mostly, they climbed mountainsides, hunting down caches of blankets, marking locations for guards' towers. They’d even spent an hour hunting through an isolated tower for a spell book one of the mages back in Skyhold wanted. Lavellan gave away massive bundles of herbs she picked with her own hands on the off-chance it would help a pack of refugees and traced down a runaway teenager just to get medicine for his mom. Sure, the one goat had turned out to be a rage demon and cost Bull some of his arm hair, but at least that had been a good fight.
Bull had spent years in southern Thedas, and received updates constantly about the status of many places between here and home. He knew how people acted down here when they got power. Knew they needed someone like the Ben-Hassrath just to keep them from punching down at every opportunity. The Dalish especially were known for being reclusive, even from themselves. It had left many northern tribes vulnerable to the Vints, their brethren unwilling to provide aid that might leave them lacking down the road. But the Herald, Lavellan, wasn’t acting like he’d expect of a leader, and he couldn’t pin it on cultural differences. This was real, honest-to-good altruism. By the end of the trip, he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it to keep taking hits for her. She’d change eventually corrupted by money or sex, or get taken down by someone inconvenienced by her goodness. For now, though, it felt good to be at her side, riding her coattails.
But he wasn’t willing to admit he’d fully misread her until, right before the return to Haven, she agreed to the horse master’s daughter’s challenge. He’d seen her wide eyes when the beautiful beast was brought out, full of hesitation. The back of the horse was at her eye level, so he volunteered to be her mounting stool, bending down to provide her a step and a boost. If she was gonna back away from this challenge, it was going to be fully her choice. But behind the brown bulk of the gelding, she met his eyes and quietly whispered with a thrilled smile. “Wish me luck… We don’t have horses in my clan.” She let out a breathless giggle as he all but tossed her up and over.
He couldn’t help his lecherous grin. “Not that different from riding a man. Clench your core and let it bounce.”
Cassandra’s flared nostrils let him know his voice had carried, but Sera cackled. As for the Inquisitor? He expected her cheeks to turn as red as her valleslin, but instead, she winked at him before immediately pushing the beast into a canter. And FUCk, did she take his words to heart. Three times around three courses, riding a beast so wide it had to be murder on her trim thighs. But she did it damn well, steady in the seat the whole time and knickering back and forth with her new mount like old friends.
It wouldn’t have surprised Krem, but it did surprise him just how easy Bull could imagine those legs spread wide over an entirely different mount.
***********
If anyone had asked Bull, he’d have lied and told them, of course, he thought Lavellan would make it to the end. But he had seen how delicate she was. How her magic lent itself to support, rather than true combat. She cared too much for the little people, putting herself at risk and casually accepting that it might piss off this noble or that. He’d even put himself at risk to follow her through the camp rescuing the barmaid, the apothecary, even bashing down the blacksmith’s door so the old fool could run in after some easily replaced crap. Every instinct told him to throw her over his shoulder and run to the relative safety of the chantry, but she wouldn’t leave a single soul behind who she could help. So he wouldn’t leave her. Until she sent him away. Sent everyone away. It was almost qunari, the way she placed the needs of the group before herself. Bull walked away, knowing the pattern, knowing the chances, knowing the odds. Knowing that there was no way she survived facing down that monster and his dragon solo and knocking down a mountain. He knew she never should have lasted this long. But ending her story with a sacrifice just didn’t feel right.
He had to force himself to think of what they’d lost in losing her, otherwise he’d wallow. And this was no time for a spy or a mercenary to wallow. The Inquisition had been relying on her leadership more and more, her gentle but firm hand bringing balance to the often contrary wills at the head of the organization. Bull was risk-averse for the most part, preferring to take safer paths, surer paths. If you’re fighting magic, you should ally with the soldiers trained to fight magic. If someone crosses you, you cut off their head so they never can again. But Bull knew he wasn’t fit to lead anything larger than a group like the Chargers. The Herald, Ellana, he’s not sure every choice she made would have been the absolute best. He was sure that had she gotten the chance to keep making them, it would have led to something new. Something to shake up the repeated cycles of guilt and anger that was dragging the South into absolute mania. He told himself that future was lost, that he needed to move on, figure out who to support in the power vacuum.
But, it was not surprise that bloomed in his chest when he heard the Commander exclaim. No, his heart sang out with relief, with expectation. “Finally!” it cried. Somehow… he had stopped doubting her ability to show up.
It also wasn’t a surprise when he caught sight of her face during that fucking song. Sure, it was great for all these Andrastians to bond, to lighten some hearts, yadda yadda. But gathering around a proud Dalish Elf? Who had just managed to survive sacrificing herself for them? And singing a bloody hymn? Ellana would never have made it as a Ben-Hassrath. Not when her face showed every ounce of disgust and discomfort they apparently both felt. If Solas hadn’t stomped over, grabbed her arm, and pulled her away, Bull was getting ready to do so himself. Good. It was better that one of her own people had intervened. Still, he found Varric’s eyes across the crowd, and they silently agreed that these humans were useless.
He didn’t overly concern himself with anything other than ensuring the Charger’s were warm enough and good to move. Krem had been proving his skill at wrangling the masses without Bull’s immediate backup, and he’d gotten every single one to safety, snagging a fair bit of their equipment and supplies along the way. Josephine had quietly come to him and emphasized how helpful those supplies had proven. Bull spent the first part of the hike enjoying time with his guys. As always, he kept half an ear out for whispers, but unsurprisingly most of them were about the Herald. She’d done something miraculous and that couldn’t be denied. But he wished it wasn’t such a focal point. He needed info, something to pass on other than the increased worship and power the Herald was now suffering through. He wanted to hear the theories on that weird dragon, or on Coryphe-whatever’s claims. There were enough over-educated mages and chantry members that someone had to know something he could use to minimize the impact in his reports.
It was only when he ran right into Dalish and Skinner, both of them froze up in the middle of the path and whispering to each other in the hybrid of elven and common they frequently used with each other. He followed their sight and saw, far in front of the crowd, leading the way and scrambling up spits of rock to get a better view, was the Herald. Staff in hand, used almost like a walking stick, she stood with a ramrod-straight spine and determination in her gaze.
The whispers took on an entirely new context. Elves and mages were perking up, taking notice and taking pride. The chantry folks this far back in the procession were… less positive. Mumbling and questioning how exactly this mage survived. The phrase blood magic hadn’t crossed his ears… yet.
Enough. Bull had heard enough. He saluted Krem with two fingers, signaling him to take charge, and stomped on ahead, only pausing to scoop a couple of lagging toddlers up onto his shoulders. The exhausted and grateful parents didn't hesitate to trust him, a sign of how Lavellan's reputation was rubbing off on him. But at this point, he'd heard enough whispers, done enough mental calculations. He’d rather fill his hike with giggles and games of eye-spy.
But nothing could take his attention away from the wonder that filled him watching her. In the weeks since he’d first seen her, she had grown substantially stronger, physically and mentally. Her body was filling out with muscle and it seemed to be no struggle for her to charge ahead, finding routes through snow and stone. Only Solas seemed to know where she was leading, but… everyone was following. When was the last time he saw her defer to Cassandra or Vivienne? She might ask for advice, or for them to try their hand at convincing a stranger, sure. But it dawned on Bull, around the same time that the massive fortress burst over the horizon, glowing gold in the sunset, just how wrong his initial read on Ellana Lavellan had been. She was named Inquisitor, a position she had earned many times over.
Par Vollen never appreciated it when he had to report he had been surprised.
*******
Skyhold had plenty of room for the unexpected to hide. Friendships, lessons learned, cooperation previously deemed impossible. Bull and Cullen had taken to using the Chargers to bridge the gap between soldiers and mages. Dalish had been a part of the crew since almost the beginning and pretty much his whole crew knew how to cover the gaps around her and keep the attention diverted so she should keep them warded and rain down hell from above. Both men would supervise the drills and follow up sparring matches when possible, sometimes jumping into the ring together. Before all this, Bull had rarely had to fight people he couldn’t simply overpower, so Cullen’s advice was more than welcome. Of course, Cullen was adjusting to a new way of fighting, his lack of lyrium leaving him unbalanced and comparatively unfocused, so he had plenty to gain from sparring with Bull as well. They beat the absolute crap out of each other, in the most respectful way possible.
The two of them hover in the shadow of the Herald’s Rest, drinking water and resting after a grueling morning. It's a quiet companionship, but one Bull appreciates. Neither comment, though both sit straighter when their newly crowned Inquisitor, a slight hesitation returning in her curved shoulders, steps into the ring. She’s dressed to spar with Cassandra, Vivienne and another elf watching from the sidelines. At first, it seems like a standard mage versus warrior match-up, Cassandra charging and the Inquisitor doing her best to dodge and cast. But then…. Ellana gets close… closer than she’d normally ever dare… Her hand closes around what looks to be a sword hilt on her belt. But then she whips it around, a glowing golden blade of mana materializes and Cassandra only barely manages to block it. Cassandra stumbles. Suddenly the entire fight shifts.
Bull had been hanging back at Skyhold the last few trips she’d taken out. He hadn’t thought much about it, what she'd been doing. She’d been going out with just her fellow mages. Training, Cullen had mentioned. Bull hadn’t expected this kind of training. The last time he’d seen her fight, back at Haven, she’d been all protection magic, healing, a couple of offensive spells that mainly served to temporarily paralyze an opponent or two. She explained that her Keeper training was focused on the spiritual needs of the clan. Fighting was left to warriors and hunters. Other than a barrier that made her almost invisible, there wasn’t one ounce of protection coming from Ellana now. Besides her new sword, she threw down red and blue glyphs, trapping Cassandra on either side, dancing around the purple electricity crackling out of the tip of her staff. Vivienne and the elf called out advice that, for the first time with magical attacks, didn’t fly over Bull’s head. Ellana stepped into the battle-calm and it was a beautiful thing, full of elegance and power. For a moment, Bull could see her with a massive two-handed greatsword, blood, and guts splattered over her beautiful face, blending into the deep red of her tattoos and lipstick. Blood rushed away from Bull’s head and went straight to his groin. He tried to clear the knot in his throat nonchalantly, but Cullen snorted a laugh.
Finally, Cassandra yielded, and Iron Bull roared in celebration with his Inquisitor, in sync without even realizing his heart had been pounding alongside hers. Ellana’s head whipped, and the flush of physical exertion extended to the tips of her ears. She looked almost demure when she smiled at him and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thanks, Bull!”
“Anytime Boss!” He chuckled.
“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Cullen’s voice was full of… longing? When Bull looked at him, his face was as well. Well then… that made sense he supposed.
“Gonna make a move, templar?” That’d be a pretty story for the history books. Plus Par Vollen had been pushing him to get closer. Friendship with her lover might be a way in, even if it did twist his stomach up. (If his stomach twisted even tighter at the brief mental image of her and Cullen tangled in bed, he refused to think about it further and slammed a wall down to compartmentalize that for later.)
“That’s not a….. stereotype I’d care to perpetuate.”
“Mage and templar? Shouldn’t let that stop you. Not if you both want it.” Bull’s throat felt oddly stiff.
Cullen was growing stiffer by the second, and Bull recognized a man haunted by past inaction. “We don't both want it. Enough of my former order have pushed themselves into relationships with mages. Ellana has never given me any indication she desires more, so I will not even consider pushing my feelings onto her.”
“Nah.. she might flirt with everyone but that doesn’t mean-” Cullen’s bitter laughter cut him off mid-sentence. The human shoved off the wall and walked away, shaking his head the whole time.
“Good work today, Iron Bull.” It was his normal farewell, but there was that bitterness… Puzzle pieces were laid out in front of Bull, but they didn’t click together until he looked back at Ellana. Though she was crowded by the other three women, their overlapping conversation loud enough to carry, her gaze was on him. Their eyes met for a moment and she smiled and winked, just like she had all those months ago, before returning her attention to Vivienne’s demonstration of an uppercut.
The increasingly familiar sensation of surprise had his jaw hanging loose as he played back months of conversations, examined dynamics. Ellana’s almost scholarly mentorship with Solas. The consummate professionalism with Blackwall. She was joking and kind with Cullen and Varric, often utilizing an acerbic wit that she wielded with utmost precision. But it was much the same as she acted with Sera and Cassandra. The only other person she seemed to actually flirt with was Dorian, but it was as obvious as the horns on his head that they both knew that wasn’t going anywhere. But with him….
Her hand would linger on his shoulders when he came to help her on and off her horse, a habit he hadn’t even realized he’d come to treasure until Blackwall offered one time and he had to hold back a growl. He’d jokingly flex after busting down a wall, and Ellana would call for more. The way her lip would curl into a little snarl when she asked him about the rumors swirling around him and this chantry sister or that kitchen boy. He’d once joked with Cassandra about her bath and since then, they’d never joined her in the field together. At night, late around the campfires, how often had they been the last two awake, normally sharing a bottle of some type of cheap booze, commiserating about the lack of delicacies from home, her hand on his knee or hand. He can’t say it hadn’t occurred to him once or twice that he could bend his head and kiss her. Or that he hadn’t found himself hard and aching when her touch would linger on his sweat-slick skin after healing his battle wounds. But if she was just a flirt, that didn’t matter much. He was a flirt too, thus the jokes with Cassandra, Dorian, countless others.
But if she wasn’t a flirt… if she only treated him like that….
Every nerve ending lit aflame when his body realized before his mind that she was walking over to him… no, sauntering over to him. There was a deliberate swing to her hips, her arms behind her back pushed her tits out ever so subtly. His tongue felt like the sands of Seheron in his mouth, but his smile still came easily. “What can I do for you, boss?”
“I was wondering if you had any thoughts on the fight? I’m always looking for pointers and I noticed you were watching.” There was a polite challenge to her tone and no wonder. If he’d been blind this long, she was probably about to give up hope.
“Never seen you fight like that. What happened to all the “keeper” magic?” His normally clever tongue felt stiff, and his voice came out gruff.
The flirtatious tone fell away for a moment, her eyes serious on his. “I was foolish to try and hold onto that. It’s not who I am anymore, not who I want to be. I can’t rewrite Haven, but I refuse to lead anyone else into a battle if I can’t fight alongside them.”
When pride and approval fluttered in his chest, his stomach dropped like he’d skipped a step on the stairs. Still, he held it together… and picked up the gauntlet she had thrown down. “Fair enough. As for the spar… I cannot wait to see you like that up close and personal.”
“Challenging me to a fight, Bull?”
“I’d hate to thrash you in front of your men so early in your training. Maybe when it’s just the two of us.”
Ellana’s smile grew wide enough to pop her dimples out, and he saw her nibble on the edge of her lower lip. “You’re on. Just let me know when and where.” She immediately turned heel and walked off, and Bull let himself enjoy that added hip sway.
Maybe, just maybe… Not all surprises are bad.
************
The Iron Bull can’t make the move. And fuck does he want to make the move. Now that he’s clued in, now that’s he’s given her some encouragement, now that they’re traveling together again, he’s aching to have her, to take those pert little nipples between his teeth. But he’s willing to admit he cares about her, wants to make sure it’s good for her, that it’s gonna do something for her other than indulge her curiosity. Problem is, he can’t seem to keep his own desires out of things.
See, sex in the qunari is as perfunctory as he once described. You don’t really get to explore kinks. In Seheron, there were tamasarrans on hand to satisfy that need and most of the locals were too scared of the Qunari warriors or of the tevinter reaction to finding out someone had a qunari lover to take the risk. And he’d never much cared for paying for sex, especially in Seheron where, like as not, the workers were quietly slaves. When Bull arrived in Orlais, he’d dived headfirst into the world of raunchy, kinky, dirty sex. There wasn’t much he hadn’t tried at least once. But it was with one of his only long-term flings that he’d found how much he thrived in controlling the bedroom. It was like it was custom-made for him, especially with his training. Ropeplay had come along towards the end of that particular relationship, as she had kept pushing things towards pretending like he was forcing himself on her. He could stomach scratching that itch once or twice, but it wasn’t a repeated fantasy for him. The ropes though, that was an enduring desire.
But for hookups, Bull normally made it all about the other person. He loved giving people exactly what they may not even know they need, and he realized that it often helped people find their sexual stride in the next relationships they may form. So why was the Inquisitor proving so difficult to crack? Maybe it was because Bull normally wouldn’t hook up with anyone too close to home. He’d never slept with another Charger for instance. Ellana wasn’t just his friend, but his mark, and the Inquisitor he now would have followed even without orders. He knew her. He should be able to easily figure out what would unlock her. But all he could think about was how badly he wanted to take her away from everything and make sure the only thing she cared about for 30 minutes was following his orders and riding his tongue. In sand-infested camps, he lay awake in a too-small tent thinking about sliding a gag in her mouth and taking her while everyone else slept. While they hung out in the oasis, letting her gather herbs, she caught him watching her and made sure to bend over slowly, letting him get a damn fine view of her ass. If he had her, he could punish her for that, taking her to the edge of pleasure and no further until she begged, his name on her pretty red lips.
But bringing her into that, into his preferred world. Well… that was probably gonna be more than she could handle. He wasn’t even sure she could really take him. She was a tiny little elf after all. He had a mixed bag in regards to that previously. Besides, it was hard to have the true trust that a relationship like this would require for just a hook-up. No, that would require a commitment to scratching the itch together. And the only thing he was sure she didn’t need was yet another complication to cause the human nobles and chantry to balk at supporting her. A qunari mercenary lover was definitely that. So no. He wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t make his move until he knew what she needed.
Lucky for him she does exactly that the night after they confront Erimond and the warden mages. The fight had been quick, but draining, especially for Ellana with all the demons. The fact that the magister had escaped had robbed any feeling of success from their small group. It was late and the camp was mostly still, the desert freezing at night. But the sound of panting, moving sand and rustling clothes beat out a pattern and he wasn’t surprised to see Ellana running through drills. Normally, the scouts they traveled with were responsible for night watches, but she seemed to have sent them off to bed. He watched her for a while, still impressed by the grace she exhibited, almost dancing between uppercuts to jabs and parries, dropping to her knees to roll right up to the imaginary opponent's feet and take advantage of the temporary nature of her blade and shove it presumably into someone's gut. Eventually, she stopped, wiping sweat from her brow. “I know you’re there, Bull.”
“Wasn’t trying to hide.” He closed the distance, knocking her hands away from the shoulder muscle he’d already noticed was stiff. The groan she released went straight to his cock, and she leaned into his touch. “What's keeping you awake?”
She didn’t look at him, probably finding it easier to answer that way. “I really wanted to avoid a full-fledged battle. Against wardens no less.” She sighed and placed her tiny hand over his. “It's- never mind.”
Bull squeezed her shoulder harder, letting his thumb trace the column of her neck, wondering how much she’d squeak if he ran his tongue up it. “No, not never mind. What’s worrying you? Guilt over fighting wardens? Or-“
The words fell out of her mouth in a rush. Like she’d been desperate for someone to ask. “Ican’thaveanotherhaven.” She turned to face him finally, and he saw tears glowing silver in the moonlight. “Are our men ready? Can I even ask this of them? I should have done more, pushed for more alliances-“
He pulled her into a hug, though he wanted to silence her with a kiss. He wouldn’t have their first kiss tasting of tears. Long strokes along her spine, and she shuddered with a couple of quiet sobs. “You’ve done plenty boss. You’ve busted your ass training, been at that war table planning at every opportunity, tearing down rifts left and right. I wish I could show you how incredible you looked fighting at the ruin today. Like a warrior queen. And Cullen and Josephine have been preparing for this. We’ll be as ready as we can be.”
She felt so tiny in his arms, as delicate as he’d once written her off to be. They stood like that, quiet in the moonlight, sands shifting around them, for a long time. When she realized just how long it had been she jerked out of his hold. “I’m sorry- it's… I think I just needed a moment to not be… the herald? The inquisitor? Whatever role I’m filling now I guess.”
“Never apologize for that, boss. I will always be here for that.” It felt like the most true thing he had ever said.
“Why don’t you head on back to bed? I’ll finish the watch.”
“Nah. I got it. Go crash.”
She paused, considering arguing and then followed his order, letting her hand drag across his shoulders as she walked around him. “Thank you, Bull.” Her touch ended with the faint scratch of her nails, and his spine rippled in a shudder. He raised a brow at her, and she winked before sauntering away.
That’s a fucking good surprise.
*********
Ellana is even better than he thought. Tastes better, feels better, everything is better. He knows he has to have her again, and again, and again, as many times as she wants him even before he runs into Leliana outside her room. The spymaster makes it clear that she’s monitoring the situation. That this step into the inquisitor’s bedroom puts him under closer watch, a tighter leash. It could make things more difficult for him. He’s relieved that they’re being so thorough with her protection.
Though they share a tent almost every night on the way to Adament, she doesn’t ask him to join her in her assault. Instead, he’s to lead the Chargers, tasked with keeping the way to the gates open, ensuring a path should their forces need to retreat. A lesson learned from Haven. In the early hours of dawn, he kisses every inch of freckled skin as he helps her suit up in a newly commissioned suit of battle-mage armor. This is casual, he reminds himself. They’re helping each other have an easier time with the chaos around them. Enjoying the pleasure each can bring, sexual and otherwise. She’s made a strategic call with each member of her team. Solas for his expertise with the fade and spirits. Cassandra’s ability to neutralize magic made her a shoo-in. Varric gave them distance coverage, and he could help Hawke fall into rhythm with the remainder of the group. There’s no place for him at her side. Still. He’d be worrying about her whether she was his lover or not. Of course, he would. The signal horn blows, and Bull can hear his guys outside the tent, waiting for him. They need to go. But Ellana rests her hands on his chest and holds his gaze with some emotion he doesn’t want to put name to yet. They stay like that thirty seconds longer than they should, before he presses a firm kiss to her hairline and walks away without looking at her again. Most of the Chargers wolf-whistle or cheer, but Krem smirks and claps his shoulder. “Let’s find you something to kill chief.”
And he kills, and kills, and kills. Demons and Warden’s fall under his blade as they keep the gate accessible, keep their soldiers freely moving. He watches from a distance when Cullen sends her off with orders and gets a bloodied nose for his distraction. It’s obvious when they stop the ritual, the flow of demons finally slowing. Even with the Archdemon swooping low over the troops, their men never falter. But the Wardens do. Some break ranks and run, others immediately take a knee in surrender. But enough still fight on, both at their side and against them. The fight had slowed enough that he was at Cullen’s side, surveying the field when word came. Ellana, Hawke, Stroud- all of them had fallen into the Fade. As Solas was at her side, no one could predict if it was even possible to return. All they could do was wait. The Inner Circle gathered once the dragon disappeared, trusting the remaining fight to their troops. Later he was told that they were only gone for 90 minutes. He heard his heart pounding in his ears the full 90 minutes. Sera fell into jokes that of course, they’d be okay, she’d done this already, but all he took to heart was her deep-seated fear that the Inquisitor who returned would only wear the face of her friend. Leliana assured them that she’d been through things like this before, that the Maker was on their side now as before. But she was worried she’d lose yet another friend, yet another hero, due to her own failures. Reports came that there were no major losses in their forces. He knew Ellana would be relieved. But there was an unspoken expectation that that would shortly change to “No major losses except…” A mana-warmed hand patted his shoulder and he looked up at Dorian, the first pair of eyes he met directly since Ellana’s in their tent. “Our girl will be okay. She wouldn’t be our girl otherwise.” And it’s the only comfort that actually rang true.
When she returned, he waited for her to come to him. Waited, so he wouldn’t be another expectation to manage. Waited, so the news would trickle in from other people, so he was one less person to report to. Waited, so that when she finally came to him, armor stained with blood spatter and ichor, she could collapse into his hold and cry and cry and cry.
It was surprisingly comforting to admit to himself that this wasn’t casual. That this had never been casual. That no matter if she sent him away the moment she finished crying, that it would never have been casual.
*********
Tal-Vasoth. The word is like lead on his tongue. Chasind sack mead can’t wash away the taste. The sar-qamek antidote can’t numb the feeling. The weight of Gaat’s disappointment feels like it pulls on his horns, makes him hunch in on himself. Makes him smaller, lesser. He clings to the control in Ellana’s bed chamber, draws their scenes out, distracts himself with the euphoria of her embrace.
She holds him, rubs his horn balm in. The first person to do so since Tama. Tells him he’s the same man. A good man. It takes a couple of weeks for him to believe her. For him to stop looking for the savagery he’d seen in Seheron, the lack of care for those around him. Sera reminds him of all the ways he had already failed the Qun. Blackwall pushes an unwelcome comparison. Solas dares to suggest that nothing before that point had ever been his choice, and all Bull had to do was glance at Ellana, laughing and sharing a bottle of wine with Dorian, to know that wasn’t true.
But Solas also immediately reminds him that he’s not alone, not stranded, not an island. Varric does as well. Cassandra, even Cullen. Krem, Skinner, Rocky, Grim, they all find quiet ways to acknowledge him. He stops sleeping anywhere other than Ellana’s bed. And, though he wouldn’t admit it, they start making love almost as often as they fuck. He wakes up each morning, and there is no lack of purpose, no missing role in the world. Bull doesn’t need the matriarchy telling him how to live his life, how to bust a nut, or serve a cause. He won’t look back yet and question if he ever had needed it. But he finds the values he had once chafed at, once brushed aside for convenience and comfort, had long been replaced by the values of the Inquisition. Of his Inquisitor. And that they’d been his values for far longer than a breech had hung in the sky.
There’s no surprise in Ellana’s eyes when he confesses this to her, but there’s love in the way she comforts him. And love in the way he accepts it.
And Bull wonders why that feels like a surprise and yet feels so natural.
***************
The final fitting of the blood-red uniform comes much too soon. They leave for Halamshiral the next day. Josephine and Leliana are listing off names for Ellana to dance with, to charm, and the benefits and exchanges required for alliances. He knows that she’d look lovely dancing with an ogre, much less a charming orlesian noble. Someone fitting to stand at the side of the Inquisitor, someone with something to bring to the table. It’s not surprising at all that her advisors might consider using her charms. They weren’t exactly sneaking around anymore, but there was nothing truly official between them. He knew there never could be.
He also knew that unless she sent him away, nothing would keep him from being at her side, however, she desired him, alliances be damned.
Ellana is glorious, mastering a game rigged against people like them, people so markedly different. She steps between the role of warrior and diplomat in a way that the woman he met on the beach could never have. He couldn’t have trained her better. The nobles are eating out of her hand, talking about pointed ear-cuffs and adding jeweled vallesline to their masks even before she saves the Empress. And she doesn’t stop at saving the empress but drags all three opposing factions into an alliance. She earns the loyalty of the most stable monarchy the empire has seen in a century and gathers enough blackmail for Leliana to reinforce their alliance ten-fold. When he joins her on the balcony, all he wants to do is sweep her away and show her just how impressed he is, to start working the night’s stress out of her system.
Instead, he takes a risk. He’s ready for her to tell him no. To tell him that she can’t risk her hard-won approval. She’d asked him earlier and he’d put his foot in his mouth, assuming she was joking. And of course, she hadn’t been. Ellana knew the optics, knew the risks, knew that there would be ten thousand stories told the second the rabbit publicly embraced the oxman. She just didn’t care. But Bull had. For so long, he had cared, had limited them to what he believed was the safe path, the known path. But Ellana was ready for more. Ready for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever want, much less get to have.
It hit him like a knife to the ribs when he finally recognizes the desire. He’d take whatever she could give. But he wants to claim her. To be claimed by her. He wants to dance with her in public. He wants to be introduced at her side. Wants to be known as her partner, as her other half. He doesn’t want her to be like Cullen. Swarmed by nobles looking for an asset to use and alone before the masses.
He covers the vulnerability in his request with jokes about the food, the crappy music. Ellana sees through it. They both know what it’ll mean and he still takes her in his arms, her own barely able to take his shoulders with his back unbent. They both hear the titters, the gasps. But he never takes his eyes from her, and she’s quietly counting their steps, and nothing else matters so long as he keeps dancing.
Josephine grumbles on the way home. Sera memorizes the lines from the scandal rags and sets them to music. But Ellana glows with pride and later leaves a prominent love bite on his shoulder, a near twin to the one ghosting her neck.
Still. Somehow… she surprises him again when she hands him a dragon-tooth necklace, already pulling on the other half.
Surprise no longer feels like a dirty word.