Welcome to part 2 of Ren and the Iron Bull's story! I've always wanted to be a mystery writer, and I was struck by Freddie Prinze Jr's description of the Iron Bull as Thedas's answer to James Bond, so who better to use as a detective? I hope you enjoy it!
Raising a glowing fist, Ren Trevelyan knocked on the door of the War Room for the first time ever. She had officially stepped down as Inquisitor yesterday, in favor of Ser Robert Morris, former Quartermaster of the Inquisition. Everyone involved had agreed that his skill set was far more suited to a more diplomatically focused Inquisition than Ren's, now that Corypheus was dead. She had spent the last month training him, working in tandem with him as he got used to the role.
Today, she and the Iron Bull had been invited to join the War Room meeting to make sure the transition had gone smoothly and answer any final questions Morris might have. They would stay on in Skyhold for another week, and then they would leave for the little house on the Storm Coast Ren had been given in gratitude for her service to the Inquisition. She and the Iron Bull intended to relaunch the Chargers as Ferelden's premier mercenary corps, but only after they spent a few blissful weeks entirely alone … having sex on every available surface.
After a moment, the door opened. "My, that is strange," Josephine said, smiling, as she ushered Ren and the Iron Bull into the room.
"Strange for you?" Ren chuckled. "Imagine how it feels for me." She glanced around the room, settling on Morris's face, his eyes wide as he stared down at the War Table. "How are you holding up, Robert? I mean, Inquisitor."
"Maker. How do you keep the location of all these pieces straight in your head?"
"I didn't; I relied on Cullen's impeccable memory for that."
"I am so pleased I could be of service," Cullen said wryly.
The Iron Bull folded his arms, looking down at the table. "So this is what it looks like," he said. He cast a sideways glance at Ren, who hid a laugh in a cough, or tried to. He knew perfectly well what the War Table looked like. They had snuck in one night and proceeded to see if it could hold up under some very vigorous activity. What's more, Cullen knew it. His ears were bright red. Had Leliana been here, she would have laughed, no doubt, but she was in Val Royeaux, undergoing preparations to be named the next Divine.
Josephine, oblivious to the subtext, flipped a page over on her ever-present board. "I believe the most important question for the assembled company is what we can expect over the next week with the change in Inquisitors."
"In a word, assassins," the Iron Bull said.
"I agree." Cullen frowned. "I would like to think our security is such that we wouldn't have to worry, but—"
The Iron Bull finished for him, "No such thing."
"Exactly."
"I would have to agree," Morris said, looking at the table thoughtfully. "With me so new to the work, certain factions may see this as an opportunity to create chaos within the Inquisition, and how better than by leaving it leaderless? Although I believe the danger will be greater in the first weeks after our friend here has taken her leave."
"You mean as long as I'm here, if anything happens to you, I'll have to step back up into the job?" Ren turned to the Iron Bull in mock desperation. "Let's go, right now!"
"Whatever you say, boss." It was only partly a joke; he was as anxious to leave as she was, and as filled with anticipation to be in their own space.
"No, no," Morris said. "You're not getting away that easily! I … I'll be fine," he said, as Josephine and Cullen both turned to look at him sharply. "But I'm not quite ready to do this job entirely on my own."
"Don't worry," Ren told him, "I'll stay for another couple of weeks. Hopefully we can work on beefing up security in the meantime."
"You might want to have someone stay in your quarters with you for the first month or so," the Iron Bull said thoughtfully. "Someone you trust."
Morris's face turned pink. He and Dorian had been trysting more or less secretly for some time. Of course, that wasn't going to last, Ren knew. The Inquisitor sleeping with a Tevinter mage was only slightly less disastrous than the Inquisitor sleeping with a Qunari. Her gain had almost certainly been Morris's loss. But then, he had known that going into the job; she hoped he was prepared for the consequences, more than she had been.
"I will … look into it," Morris said.
"It is a good idea, any joking aside. You are most vulnerable when you sleep, and while that is a reasonably secure set of rooms, nothing is entirely so." Cullen looked earnestly at the new Inquisitor. "I will, of course, detail guards to remain at your door for the first month or so, but someone you trust in the room with you would be better."
"We should also assign the Inquisitor personal guards, both seen and … not so seen," Josephine said. She sighed. "I wish Varric would agree to come on board as the official spymaster, but he insists he is unsuited to the task." Glancing at the Iron Bull, she sighed again, rather pointedly.
"Not a chance," he said flatly. "Doesn't Leliana have any good people who can step up to the job?"
"None that I know of," Cullen said. "The system runs fairly well, and I have been overseeing it, but … I am hardly cut out to be a spymaster."
"No shit." The Iron Bull grinned, and Cullen smiled reluctantly.
"I'll have guards assigned to you, Inquisitor, and a few watchers you won't necessarily see."
Morris frowned at him, glancing at Ren and then back at his advisors. "I don't remember seeing a guard retinue around the Inquisitor before."
"Our friend here is a trained fighter," Cullen told him. "A very good one. And almost from the beginning had a Qunari at her side constantly." He nodded in the direction of the Iron Bull. "While I know you are experienced in the training ring, you have done very little fighting in less … studious situations. Another area we should work on."
Morris was looking rather panicked, and Ren smiled, putting a hand on his arm. "Don't worry. Listen to what they tell you and they'll keep you alive and at the top of your game."
Cullen nodded at her, smiling. "Thank you."
"No, really, thank you. I'd have fallen on my face or been poisoned or gotten myself killed, or all three, on a daily basis without you."
"Our pleasure," Josephine said softly.
After some more discussion of safety and various details that had been missed in the changeover, Ren and the Iron Bull left the others to their meeting, ambling side by side through the keep and down the stone stairs to the courtyard.
"Kadan," the Iron Bull said abruptly. "Something that didn't come up in there."
"What's that?"
"Morris isn't the only one suddenly a lot more vulnerable."
Ren stopped and looked up at him. "You mean me?"
"To a lot of people, you still are the face of the Inquisition. Others blame you specifically for the Inquisition's actions and decisions. Still more would like to take the power in the Anchor for themselves. I think you're far more likely to be a target than he is."
"Why didn't you say so in there?"
He shrugged. "You're not their problem anymore. Or their responsibility. Oh, neither of them want to see something happen to you, but if it came down to you or him—no question now which they would choose."
"How nice for me."
Stepping closer, the Iron Bull closed his big hands gently on her shoulders. "That's what you've got me for, kadan. Nothing's gonna take you away from me. Ever."
Ren looked up at him, from the sheer size of him to the power in the hands and arms that held her so gently to the scarred and somewhat forbidding, unquestionably unusual, face, to the horns that branched out high above her head. She smiled. "Some people might find that as frightening as the alternative."
"Yeah, but you know different. No one comes into that room but you and me … but the bolt's on the inside, and you can lift it whenever you want to."
"I don't want to. You know that."
"Good."
He let her go, running one hand over her hair caressingly. "So it sounds like you don't have much of a job description these next couple of weeks other than being available if Morris—if the Inquisitor needs you.'
"Sounds about right."
"I'd say we should spend most of it in bed, but…"
"I know." Ren frowned. "Damn small bed." They were sharing his old quarters at the top of the tavern.
"Thin walls, too."
"And here I thought we'd established that people trained by the Ben-Hassrath could control themselves." She grinned at him.
"I can … it's just not as much fun."
"I'll give you that," Ren agreed. "It's only for a couple more weeks, and then we're off. Storm Coast, private beach, just the two of us …"
The Iron Bull closed his eye. He'd had quite a few very satisfying fantasies about having his way with her in the ocean, the waves lapping over them as they came together. "I suppose I can wait a couple of weeks."
"I don't know what other choice you have."
"I could kidnap you and run away with you."
"And leave poor Morris to sink or swim?"
The Iron Bull shrugged. "I don't remember anyone helping you ease into the job."
"Don't you? I do. I couldn't have done it without him." The light in her eyes made it clear she was talking about him, and he smiled.
"Not quite the same."
"I know. Morris is stuck with me." Ren took his hand for a moment, giving the fingers a brief squeeze. "Speaking of … I'm supposed to go talk to Master Dennet about the stock, and what we need. He's a bit … set in his ways, and is having some trouble accepting Morris as the Inquisitor."
"He won't be the only one," the Iron Bull warned her.
"They'll all get used to it. Eventually. Which is why we're only staying a couple of weeks, so everyone has to adjust." Ren let go of his hand. "I promise."
The Iron Bull watched her go, her free-swinging stride and the bounce in her step making him smile. She seemed so much lighter and freer now than she had been—he didn't know if that was from killing Corypheus at last, or from having given up the job of Inquisitor to Morris, or if it was his own influence, but he loved to watch her so happy and full of energy.
She practically skipped down the steps toward the lower courtyard. When she was out of sight, the Iron Bull turned back toward the tavern.
Krem was waiting for him at their back table, papers spread out. The Iron Bull sat down next to his second-in-command. "What've we got, Krem de la crème?"
"As much work as we can handle, Chief. The Inquisition by itself can keep us busy for the rest of the year, and then there's the rest of it. We left a pretty big gap in the market when we signed on here." He looked at the Iron Bull with some curiosity. "You have any idea when you and Ren will be ready to get back to work?"
The Iron Bull sighed. "Never?"
Krem laughed. "I know what you mean." He hesitated. "Did I mention that Flissa and I are planning to take a bit of a vacation in Val Royeaux while you and the Inquisitor are occupied?"
"No; I wasn't sure if she was leaving the Inquisition when Ren does." Flissa had been the bartender in Haven; when they came to Skyhold, Ren had hired her on as personal assistant to the Inquisitor. She and Krem made each other very happy.
"She is; she's coming with us. And … Chief …"
"Yeah?"
"I'm thinking—thinking about asking her to marry me."
"You don't say. What brought this on?"
His lieutenant shrugged. "Things are changing, and there are a lot of questions. I don't want this to be one of them."
"Yeah, I get that. Good for you, Krem. I'm … proud of you."
"Thanks, Chief. I, um … wondered if you wouldn't mind standing up as my best man."
The Iron Bull grinned to cover how touched he was by the request. "Can't think of a better one."
"Neither can I. That mean you'll do it?"
"Of course. Happy to." The Iron Bull frowned. "Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you, if you haven't even asked yet?"
"I suppose." Krem blushed a little. "I'm just assuming I know what the answer will be."
"You're probably right. Still, best not to get too cocky." Not for the first time, he wondered about Ren. Would she want that kind of thing someday? He was no longer of the Qun, but he wasn't Andrastean, either. For that matter, neither was she. That seemed to suggest that neither of them was a candidate for marriage, but where did that leave them, relationship-wise? They had never really talked about the future or any kind of formal agreement. Once they were on the Storm Coast, alone, maybe then it would be time for that talk.
He and Krem returned to their paperwork, scheduling some routine clean-up and patrol work for the Chargers during the time they would both be busy. By mutual agreement, they put Dalish in charge as the smartest of the small cadre of core Chargers. She wasn't great at hiding her magic, but she was a good manager and very effective when it came to keeping her fellow Chargers in line.
Krem cleaned up the papers and took them upstairs to his room, and the Iron Bull made his way to the bar and ordered an ale from Cabot, the dwarven bartender.
"Busy tonight," Cabot observed. "Happy people drink more."
"Sometimes." The Iron Bull had seen it happen the other way, too—anger and despair and sorrow also had a tendency to cause people to drink. Maryden the bard was back, tuning up her lyre, and he sighed. Maryden was nice enough, but her songs were too busy being deep to be tuneful; most of them sounded sad, which had hardly been what the Inquisition had needed in the depths of the war.
Apparently he wasn't the only one who had had that thought. Next to him, a woman's voice with a hint of an Antivan accent said, "Your bard seems unaware that the Inquisition won its war. Or perhaps she is focusing on the wrong aspects of victory."
He turned to look at her. The fact that she had chosen to place herself on his blind side told him something about her; most people chose to sit on the right so he could see them more easily out of his one remaining eye. "I'm told some people find the emphasis on sorrow more meaningful."
"Sad for them. They are missing so much that makes life worth living." Warm brown eyes looked up at him. "You are with the Inquisition?"
"You could say that." Technically, neither he nor Ren were still part of the Inquisition, but the ties were strong. He imagined it would be a long time before they truly left the Inquisition, if they ever did.
He studied the woman next to him. She was very thin, almost painfully so, with a lot of jet-black hair surrounding her face. It almost obscured the pointed tips of her ears, but not entirely. He wondered idly if she was a Crow. The idea had crossed his mind that some of Ren's enemies might try to get to her through him, but if that was the case, they'd find he was a tougher nut to crack than they appeared to have thought.
"You're new around here," he observed.
"I have heard so much about the Inquisition, I could not help but see for myself." She had shifted a bit closer to him. She put a hand on her leg, splayed such that the fingertips brushed his thigh.
The Iron Bull didn't move. It felt pretty good to be picked up, if only for the chance to stretch his intellect a bit to determine what she wanted.
"I had no idea it was so … powerful." The fingers shifted a bit closer to him.
"Yeah? Glad to see we measure up to your standards."
The elf smiled, acknowledging his move in this chess match they were starting up, and shifted a bit closer to him.
On her way back to the tavern, Ren stopped in Cullen's office. He looked up at her with a harassed smile. "Oh, it's you, Inq—Ren. What can I do for you?"
"Stop calling me Inquisitor, for one thing," she said tartly. "I expected better from you."
His smile widened and became more genuine as he sat back in his chair. "I will try harder, but I make no promises."
"I suppose that's the best I can ask for." Ren sank down in the chair across from his desk. "Cullen, is Morris ready for this?"
"Truthfully?" He sighed. "No. But you weren't, either, and you managed. He will, as well. Don't let his first stumbles keep you from living the life you've chosen."
"Easier said than done."
Cullen chuckled. "It is that."
"I'm going to the tavern for a drink. You want to come?"
He gestured at the piles of papers on his desk. "If I can get through that in a timely manner, perhaps."
Ren grinned. "I know a brush-off when I hear one. I'm going."
She left him hard at work again, glad to have checked in on him, if only briefly. When Leliana had been named Divine, she had broken off the semi-secret relationship that had existed between herself and Cullen. The former Templar had been prepared to see it end, but still … he was still suffering from the effects of his decision to go off lyrium, and without Leliana at his side, Ren worried for the consequences. If she could lure him out into the rest of Skyhold more often, she could leave knowing at least he would be in the right hands.
As she came down the stairs into the main room of the tavern, Maryden was just finishing another of her long, sorrowful songs. The bard looked up as Ren came around the bottom of the stairs.
"Ah, there you are!"
"Yes. Here I am." Ren stopped, wondering what it was that Maryden wanted. They'd never been particularly good friends; had, in fact, rarely exchanged more than a greeting in passing.
"Can I play something special for you? This being your first official 'day off', so to speak." Maryden smiled.
"Oh. Well, that's kind of you." Ren glanced up the stairs, seeing Sera's door open, and grinned. "Play the Sera song. I like the beat of that one."
"Anything for you, my lady. I … was wondering …" Maryden began, and hesitated.
Over her shoulder, Ren could see the back of a slender woman with a long fall of rich black hair, leaning toward the Iron Bull, who was turned halfway around in his seat to look at her. She was sitting on his blind side, granted, but still … their heads were very close together. She tore her eyes away to look back at Maryden. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"It was nothing. Never mind." Maryden flushed a little and began playing the "Sera Was Never" song, which Ren had chosen as much because she knew it drove Sera nuts as because she liked the tune.
Forgetting all about the bard, she made her way to the bar, where the woman was shaking back her hair, exposing a pointed elven ear, and laughing low in her throat at something the Iron Bull had said.
Ren didn't think he would do anything that would hurt her; but she didn't like seeing another woman hanging on him this way. She must be a newcomer to Skyhold—everyone else knew perfectly well that the big Qunari was an extremely taken man. And this woman was going to learn that lesson, and learn it well, Ren thought, striding toward the pair of them. She slid a caressing hand across the Iron Bull's broad, scarred back, wedging her body between the two of them.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend, lover?" she asked him, using a deliberately intimate purr as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.
The Iron Bull grinned, clearly aware of her jealousy, and he turned further in his seat so he could see her with his good eye. "Didn't ask her name; she'd only have lied to me anyway."
"Probably so. But I think your Inquisitor may find it a more familiar one than she imagines." The woman's voice was indeed familiar.
Ren looked more closely at her, and broke into a delighted grin. "Zadra? Is it really you?" Ren looked deeply into her former mentor's eyes, finding Zadra older and thinner than she remembered, but there was the same warmth there. "I can't believe it!" The two embraced for a long moment, holding on to one another tightly.
They had first met years ago, when Ren and her father's captain of the guard, Brandt, had run off to be raiders with a man called Dooley. Zadra had been Dooley's lover, and on Brandt's death in battle, the two of them had taken Ren into their tent and comforted her in every way they could, teaching her a great deal about life and love in the process. Dooley had later been killed in a raid gone wrong; Ren had been thrown in jail afterward, and then sent to the Chantry by her father, which had led to her presence at the Conclave. She had never known what became of Zadra after that.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I heard you were running this spectacle down here and I wanted to see if they were taking proper care of you." Zadra winked at the Iron Bull. "I had no luck tempting this one; you seem to have found yourself a good man here."
"That I have." Ren glanced at the Iron Bull, who was watching them both with that enigmatic former Ben-Hassrath look he got when he didn't fully trust the people he was with. She couldn't blame him. Zadra's sudden appearance at Skyhold, and her choice to approach the Iron Bull rather than find Ren, were a bit suspicious. "Zadra, where have you been?"
"I … went home to Antiva for a brief period. To recover." She twisted the silver ring she wore on the third finger of her right hand. "I still miss him."
"I know. I do, too."
"Slowly I began to drift southward, and to hear stories about the beautiful, bold Inquisitor. Eventually I began to recognize my beloved Ren in the stories, and determined to come this direction to check on you. I had a bit of … trouble on the way, or I would have been here soon enough to be of some assistance against Corypheus. Although it appears you had all the help you need." She cast a smile at the Iron Bull that was almost, but not quite, free of artifice.
"I could have used you," Ren said, "but I'm sure we can find something for you to do if you're hunting work." She wasn't about to offer a position with the Chargers; Zadra was used to a greater amount of autonomy than the Iron Bull would stand for. For that matter, Ren wasn't entirely sure what her own position with the Chargers would be once they got back to being mercenaries again.
"I … am not certain what I will do. But I will stay for a little; I have missed you, my darling." Zadra put up a hand and traced the edge of Ren's cheek.
"And I you." They embraced again.
Ren had never expected her path and Zadra's to cross again, but now that they had, she found herself uneasy. What did Zadra want? What had brought her to Skyhold? Her time as Inquisitor, her long association with the Iron Bull and his spycraft-focused brain, made it difficult to take anyone, even a formerly trusted friend, at face value. They had a few drinks together, and Ren made arrangements to have Zadra put up at the inn—hoping that the spies already had people keeping the elf under surveillance—before she and the Iron Bull retired to their room.
"You want to talk about it, kadan?" he asked her.
"Nothing much to talk about. There's more to it than wanting to check on my well-being, for sure. I don't have to have been trained by the Ben-Hassrath to know that." Ren shrugged. "I guess we'll find out." As the Iron Bull kicked off his boots and stretched out next to her on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight, she frowned at him. "Can't say I liked coming in and finding her all over you."
His eye warmed, his hand snaking around her waist and pulling her more firmly against him. "Really got you going, huh?"
"A little. I'm used to everyone knowing who you belong to."
He raised his eyebrow. "'Belong'?"
Ren rolled him over onto his back, exulting in the fact that he went willingly, and put her hands on his horns, pinning him to the bed. He could have fought back, but he didn't, and she could feel his chest rise and fall beneath her as his breathing sped up. "Belong," she repeated firmly. "And don't you forget it."
"I could probably use a reminder, boss."
"Well, then. If you put it that way." She pulled a red ribbon from her pocket, tying his hands together above his head. Initially, their sex life had been based on her needing to put the burdens of command down, to let someone else take charge. Now that she was transitioning out of the role of Inquisitor, they were switching that around more often, letting her retain that sense of command in the bedroom even as she relinquished it outside.
When they left for the Storm Coast, he would be the head of the Bull's Chargers, and she would answer to him. But here, in bed, with his body twisting underneath her hands, and his hips bucking as she teased him with lips and tongue, Ren took great pleasure in her power over him.
She worked him until she could tell he was close to the peak, then she climbed on top of him, taking him as deeply inside her as she could. Both of them felt constrained by the need to be silent, the walls of his room in the tavern thin enough that the occupants of the neighboring rooms had complained. Ren bit her lip against the cries of pleasure that begged to be released as the tension inside her built to the breaking point. With a muffled grunt, the Iron Bull pumped up against her, his climax triggered by hers.
Collapsing on the bed next to him, Ren untied the ribbon around his powerful wrists. He could rip the fabric easily if he wanted to, and they both knew it.
His arms wrapped around her, cradling her against him. "I'm not going anywhere, kadan. There's not a woman in the world you need to be threatened by."
Ren pushed up on her elbow so she could look at him better. "I know that. It's not that I'm threatened, exactly. I just … I like everyone knowing that you're mine. Does that bother you?"
The Iron Bull chuckled. "Not in the least." More seriously, he said, "In this case, she knew. Not sure if she was testing you, or me, or both, but she knew."
"That's not really a surprise, is it? I mean, I think most people assume I stepped down as Inquisitor for you."
"Yeah." He looked at her thoughtfully. While he didn't disagree with the decision, or with her stated reasons for it, there were times when he wondered how much of a factor their relationship had been. Everyone had made it clear to her that she couldn't have both—the advisors, her father, the Iron Bull himself. No one was arguing that the post-Corypheus role of Inquisitor didn't play to her strengths, but he couldn't help worrying that she was going to find the position of partner in command of a merc company a big step down from what she was used to. He traced the blue tattoo that wound its way under one of her eyes and over the other. "Just be cautious."
"I will be." She nuzzled the side of his neck affectionately. "My Ashkaari, the one who thinks too much."
"I thought you liked that about me."
"Sometimes. Sometimes I like it when you shut up and kiss me."
He smiled. "Can do."
The following morning, they were on their way to the sparring ground when Varric found them. His face was as serious as the genial dwarf ever got. "Come with me. There's something you need to see."
He led them to the stables, where the horses were restive, shifting uneasily in their stalls. Horsemaster Dennet was there, turning to frown at them in distress as they came closer. "I can't think how this happened! I keep the stables tight closed up and under guard during the night," he said. "It'll take me days to get some of the higher-strung animals calmed down."
Varric seemed to be on the verge of snapping at him, then he sighed and thought better of it. "We'll be out of your stables as soon as we can," he said instead, leading Ren and the Iron Bull to a stall at the end. Inside, one of the scouts sat propped against a wall, head tilted at an unnatural angle. "This is how the horsemaster found her this morning."
Ren didn't recognize the woman, but that was no particular surprise. The Inquisition had so many people; she couldn't know all of them. The Iron Bull knew he had seen this particular scout before once or twice. What he found most striking about her was the particular shade of her hair—the rich, dark red of bloodstone, a color the scout happened to share with the former Inquisitor.
"Someone," he said, "is sending us a message. You want to get rid of a body in Skyhold, you throw it over the side of the battlements, let it get buried in the snow. But this … Leaving the body where it's certain to be found … This was deliberate. This was murder, and someone wants us to know it."