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The Storm Coast felt like home. Ren jumped from rock to rock, listening to the waves and smelling the ocean and letting the spray soak in. Behind her, her three companions watched with varying degrees of tolerance and amusement.
"Don't you love this?"
"Darling. You'll slip and fall and ... well, I suppose your hair can't get any worse," Vivienne said. "Still, isn't it rather beneath the dignity of Andraste's Herald to gambol in the waves like a child?"
Cassandra said nothing, but her stance looked very much as though she agreed with Vivienne.
Ren laughed. "Who's to see me? The bandits we're about to kill? Just think how nice it will be for them when they discover I know what I'm doing after all."
"Nice, Herald?" Varric asked.
"Sure! Everyone wants to be killed by someone competent." Ren looked up as a huge figure came into view above the mountains. "Me, I think I'd like to be killed by that."
They all turned around, following her gaze to the dragon that was now soaring high above their heads. Varric closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath.
Cassandra looked back at Ren. "Not today," she said firmly. "Today we find out what happened to the Grey Wardens and we find this mercenary company. No dragons!"
"Fine." Ren still hadn't worked out who was supposed to be in charge. Cassandra had called the Inquisition, and she sat in on the War Room meetings, but in the field she was mostly content to follow. So it seemed that Ren was supposed to lead while they were outside Haven ... but occasionally Cassandra appeared to forget she had decided to take a subordinate role. It wasn't too surprising—being subordinate to anyone didn't seem to Ren to be Cassandra's style—but it was often confusing. Still, she had a point here today. "No dragons," Ren agreed. "There's really no time, anyway." She sighed. "Maybe next time."
Reluctantly, she turned away from the seacoast and toward the mountains, leading the way up the slopes, following the maps Leliana had given her of where the Wardens were most likely to be located, if they were still here at all. Cassandra kept up well; Vivienne trailed by a bit, concerned about keeping her robes clean; and Varric lagged far behind.
Ren stopped to let him catch up, and he glared at her. "Next time you ladies want to go rock climbing, would you mind bringing along someone, anyone, who isn't a dwarf? Besides, these mountains are going to ruin my boots."
"I'll get you new ones."
He didn't appear to find this mollifying, but he managed to entertain himself by needling Cassandra as they went along, until Cassandra was ready to backhand him and Vivienne threatened to shoot them both with lightning if they didn't stop talking.
Ren ignored it all, focusing on the task and occasionally pausing to study the surrounding countryside. She wondered if this Iron Bull had sent scouts out to watch them; it was what she would have done in his place. The Chargers' references had checked out; nearly everyone they'd worked for gave them glowing reviews. Ren was curious to meet the Iron Bull. She had seen Qunari before, but rarely, and mostly of the type they called Tal-Vashoth, vicious criminals who had needed killing. Ren and the mercenary company she'd been with at the time had been happy to oblige, but the Tal-Vashoth had been good fighters and the battles hard-won. If the Iron Bull was that good, he and his company would be a much-needed, much-appreciated addition to the Inquisition.
Hours later, in the midst of a thunderstorm, she stood under a rocky overhang and studied the last of an increasingly strident and illegible series of notes from the Grey Wardens. "They're not here, that's for sure. Whoever this 'he' is they're following, he's led them out of Ferelden."
"That can't be good," Varric said.
Vivienne shrugged philosophically. "We're not in the midst of a Blight, after all. What need do we have of Grey Wardens?"
"We will need them again the next time there is a Blight," Cassandra pointed out. "It is wise to care for them now that we don't search for them fruitlessly then."
Her point was inarguable. The Grey Wardens were clearly gone, however, with no information left behind about their final destination, and there was nothing more to be done about them today.
"I guess we go find the Chargers," Ren said.
"In this weather?" Varric groused. "Have you ever seen a moldy dwarf? Because you're about to."
"Next time I'll leave you at home," Ren promised him.
"Please."
Aclassi was waiting for them at the rendezvous point as they approached. He seemed as little perturbed by the thunderstorm and the pouring rain as Ren was. "You're just in time," he said without preamble. "We caught up with the Tevinters just an hour or so ago; follow me and we won't miss anything."
"I do hate to miss some good bloodshed," Ren said agreeably, happy to have the chance to see the Chargers in action.
They followed Aclassi until they could hear the sounds of battle. "How do I know which ones are the Chargers?" Ren asked him.
"We'll handle this one."
"The Void you will. I don't hang back from a fight."
Aclassi looked her over, grinning. "Fine. Chargers are the ones winning. And the Tevinters are in matching armor."
"Got it."
It was a pretty fine scrap, lots of blades flashing and people shouting and grunts of people getting hit with arrows. Thunder rolled high above them and lightning flashed, and Ren was practically bouncing on her toes ready to jump in the middle. "Varric and Vivienne, get rid of those archers," Ren said. "Cassandra?"
"Yes, Herald."
"Let's go."
Aclassi had already joined the fight; Ren threw herself at the nearest armored Tevinter, catching him by surprise and plunging a dagger into the back of his neck. She whirled to catch the next one, but he had his sword up and they did a little dance before one of her daggers moved too fast for him.
Ren found herself next to someone who could only be the Iron Bull. He had large upturned horns sticking out from his head, and he was very big. Enormous, in fact. There was a rakish patch over his left eye, and she wondered if that was a real injury or just there for effect. He looked down at her with the uncovered eye, grinning.
"Herald of Andraste, am I right?"
"Got it in one."
"Good. Let's kill things."
She laughed, tossing her wet hair back off her face. "I already was."
"So was I. And I have a head start."
"Fine; next time we'll start even."
"You're on." And he moved on to the next Tevinter, his giant blade making short work of the man.
Ren threw herself back into the battle, feeling the bloodlust rising. This was the part she was good at; never mind the political entanglements and the mess of building an army and the niggly secrets of spycraft. She was best in the midst of the fray, rolling and stabbing and finding the spaces no one expected her to show up in.
At last the Tevinters were all down, and she cleaned and stowed her daggers. The rain had stopped, and there was even a hint of sun coming out.
The Iron Bull was on the other side of the field, but he bellowed loud enough to be heard in Par Vollen. "Chargers, stand down! Krem, how'd we do?"
Aclassi had been seeing to the Chargers, and he came strolling over to the Iron Bull with his report. "Five or six wounded, Chief. Superficial." He smiled at Ren. "I see you two have met."
"Briefly."
"Good. Then I'll get back to the men."
"Tell the throatcutters to finish up, then all of you feel free to break out the casks," the Iron Bull said. "I'll be over after we conduct some business."
"Throatcutters?" Ren asked.
"The Chief likes to make sure we take care of all the details."
"Got it. You mind if my people give you a hand?"
"Not at all. Plenty in the casks for everyone."
"Varric will be happy to hear that." She turned to the Iron Bull. "Shall we?"
The Iron Bull led the Herald of Andraste a little way down the beach, away from the others, watching her covertly out of his single eye. She was a bit less covert about her scrutiny of him, and he wondered if he knew how much of herself she gave away doing that. Of course, he knew a fair number of things about her already—since he'd sent Krem to Haven with the message, the Iron Bull and his contacts had been busy discovering as much as they could about the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisition.
Seeing her in a fight had been worthwhile; he was glad he'd timed it so well. He'd had scouts watching her group as they moved through the Storm Coast, and had engaged with the Tevinters just in time.
She was ferocious, and he liked that in a fighter. A little reckless, and more of a lone wolf than a leader. He could help her with that, he imagined. Impatient, too; she was waiting for him to speak for now, but it was evident that was a conscious decision, not her natural tactic. It wouldn't take much to outwait her. For now, though, he didn't want to put her at a disadvantage, so he made the opening move.
"Drinks are coming. Don't know about you, but I talk better while drinking." He didn't, necessarily, but drinks tended to put other people at ease.
"I hear you're looking for work," she said, cutting straight to the chase.
The Iron Bull was disappointed. No subtlety. Still, he could appreciate the direct approach, too. "I am. But not until after drinks."
"So we just wait to be ... waited on?"
"Not what you're used to, Lady Trevelyan?" He was pleased to see she wasn't surprised.
She sighed. "What else do you know about me?"
"More than you want me to."
"I'll take your word for it." She leaned against a large piece of driftwood, watching him.
The Iron Bull leaned against a large, flat rock, folding his arms over his chest and watching her in turn. She was pretty, he'd give her that. He had a weakness for redheads, and hers was the dark, rich red of bloodstone as it dried soft around her face.
They let the standoff continue for a moment, until Krem caught up with them, bearing two not-quite-brimming tankards. "My lady," he said, handing one to her.
She nearly recoiled, but at the term, not the drink. "Please. Ren, if you will. Herald, if you absolutely must."
"Ren?" Krem asked.
"Short for Morvoren," the Iron Bull said. "Odd name."
She glared at him. Her eyes were a clear, light shade of blue, enhanced by the delicate blue lines of the tattoo that snaked under one eye, across the bridge of her nose, and above the other eye. "This coming from someone named 'the Iron Bull'?"
He laughed at that. "And you've met my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi."
"Krem."
"Pleasure."
"The throatcutters are done, Chief," Krem said.
"Already? Have 'em check again. I don't want to miss any of the Tevinter bastards. No offense, Krem."
"None taken." Krem nodded to the Herald, turning to head back down the beach. He called his parting shot over his shoulder. "At least a bastard knows who his mother was, which puts him one up on you Qunari."
"He's Tevinter?"
"Born there. Not sure he'd call himself that now, though." He took a swallow his ale. Good stuff. "So, you've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it. And I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us."
She wasn't so sure, he could see that in her face. "How much is this going to cost me, exactly?"
"Oh, nothing personally, unless you're buying the drinks later. Your ambassador, what's her name? Josephine. We'd go through her."
"The Chargers do seem like an excellent company."
"Oh, they are ... but you're not just getting the boys. You're getting me."
"Lucky us?"
She was feisty; he liked that about her. His orders were to stay close to her, and that wasn't going to be as onerous a duty as he'd imagined it might. Nothing worse than having to fight with someone who bored him, and this Morvoren Trevelyan was not boring, at least, not so far. "You need a frontline bodyguard. Those your best people with you?"
"Some of them."
"Puts you out in front too much; not your style. You'd do better as support for a bigger blade, coming in while they're distracted and taking them out. I can be the bigger blade. Demons, dragons ... the bigger the better."
"Dragons?"
"Oh, yeah." There was one here on the Storm Coast; he could practically feel its presence.
She nodded, grinning. "I think we can make that happen at some point."
"Good." The Iron Bull had debated how much he would tell her, but seeing her now, he decided a bit of openness up front would sell him better than the potential pitfall of the lie later. "There's one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off."
The Herald raised her eyebrows.
"Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?"
"A Qunari organization—like a city watch, or something of that nature."
"Closer to spies, really, but yeah, that's them. Or, rather, us."
The eyebrows lifted further, but she waited for him to continue.
"The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach; they want to know what's being done to stop it. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the leadership, and report back. That said, I'll also get reports in from other Ben-Hassrath agents, and I can share those with your organization."
"You're just ... telling me this?"
He shrugged. "The more I hear about the Breach, the less I like it. If swinging a sword and killing things can help, I'm in."
"You still could have hidden what you are."
"From something called the Inquisition?" The Iron Bull laughed. "I hope not, or you need a new name. Nah, I'd've been tipped sooner or later. I'd rather be up-front from the start, so we all know who we're dealing with."
"And what would you tell the Ben-Hassrath about us?"
"Enough to keep my superiors happy, nothing that would compromise your operation."
"Would I be able to look over those reports?"
"Only if you read Qunlat."
"I'll get right on that," she said dryly.
"Look, the Qunari want to know if they should launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. Do you want that? I don't. If you let me send word of what you're doing, it'll put some minds at ease, and that's good for everyone." The Iron Bull had always taken pleasure in what an excellent tool the truth could be, when properly applied, and this was no different.
"And what do we get out of your reports?" She was suspicious, which was good; she should be. But she also knew he was offering her something valuable she couldn't afford to pass up. They both knew where this was going, but he liked that she was asking all the right questions.
"Little bit of everything. Enemy movements, suspicious activities, bits of intriguing gossip. If your spymaster's any good, she'll be able to make use of it."
"She?" The Herald was smiling, acknowledging that he had done his homework. "All right, you're in."
"Excellent. Meet you back at Haven?"
"Actually, we're done here, too. Might as well travel together; easier to get to know one another."
"I look forward to it." He did, too, which was a pleasant surprise.