The next time she went out on patrol, she took Iron Bull along.
The Storm Coast was aptly named. A storm rolled in faster than a horse could run, and caught them out on a mountainside, while they were still wiping Templar blood off their swords.
Varric found them a cave. Adaar suspected that his dwarven sense of the stone had something to do with it, for all he claimed that he couldn't hear the stones singing.
There was a firepit near the front of the cave that indicated that people had stayed here before. Iron Bull mucked around with tinder and flint and then Dorian muttered something about dying of old age before they died of exposure and just threw a fireball at it.
There was nothing much to do but sit and watch water pour down in sheets past the mouth of the cave. Varric went to sleep. Dorian cursed the frozen wastelands, the barbarians that lived in, the foolish impulses that led him to traipse around it, and then he too went to sleep.
That left her and Bull, sitting in silence at the fire.
They checked their weapons and their armor. No warrior lived for long without being meticulous about such things.
It was a comfortable silence, broken by the clinking of metal links and the rasp of stiffened leather. If Adaar stared at the fire and let her eyes unfocus, she could pretend that she was back in the Free Marches, that one of her company sat beside her, that the last few months had been a strange and terrifying dream.
But eventually her gear was as clean and perfect as she could make it, and she set them aside. The fire burned lower and the rain showed no sigh of stopping.
"Their chairs are too small," Adaar said abruptly. "It's like…damn…dollhouse furniture."
As soon as she finished speaking, she wished she'd said nothing at all.
Stupid way to start a conversation. How are you doing, Bull? That was a good swing, Bull, you made that one guy's head explode. Badass. How about this weather, Bull? You ever see anything like this with the Chargers, Bull?
Nope, I led with dollhouse furniture. Well done, me.
"Tell me about it," said Iron Bull, with feeling. "I started wearing armor over my thighs just to avoid banging myself on tables."
"And the outhouses…" said Adaar.
They both shuddered.
"I had a carpenter make a chair, once, that almost worked," said Bull. "Sort of a stool with a padded kneeler. It got me on the right level for the table, anyway. And don't get me started on the doorframes." She could see his good eye roll in the firelight.
A nameless emotion swept over her, something she couldn't identify, something to do with homesickness and sorrow and relief.
It was something about being able to say their to another person and have him know exactly what she meant. Her breath caught, and for a moment she did not know if she was going to laugh or sob.
It came out as a laugh, thankfully. "We should get chairs made like that for Skyhold."
"Might help. It's their silverware that really gets me, though," said Bull.
"Silverware?"
"It's all so tiny." He grimaced. "I've got eating knives to carry with me, same as anybody, but when I'm not out in the field…" He shook his head. "I'm half afraid my hand will slip and I'll put one of their little damn salad forks up my nose."
"That one I hadn't noticed."
"Well." He stretched out a hand toward the fire. It made a black silhouette between them.
Adaar put out her own hand beside his.
"Pfff. Look at you, all dainty and shit."
She had to laugh. Her hands were larger than those of most human men, but Bull's were twice the size. She could see how silverware presented a problem.
"Yeah, that's what all the Templars say when I'm putting a sledgehammer into their skulls. 'Look at those dainty hands!'"
Bull snickered.
After a moment, he said, "It's easier for you out here, isn't it?"
"What're you, Cole?"
"Nah, you're just more relaxed. Don't have to poke around in your brain to see that."
Adaar sighed. "Somebody else is running things. I've got…well, the three of you. A squad I understand."
Bull nodded. "I don't envy you. I can fit all the Chargers in one room. Anything more than that…" His shoulders rippled in a vast shrug. "Empires are hard."
"Yeah," said Adaar. "Yeah, they are."
Bull leaned forward and poked the fire up. "But hey," he said, obviously trying to change the subject, "it's not all bad. Hot and cold running men, am I right?"
Adaar stared at him.
"Um…hot and cold running ladies?"
Adaar continued to stare.
"Power's a turn-on, right?"
Adaar had to blink because the stare was drying out her eyeballs.
"Because you're Inquisitor?"
Adaar shook her head.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," she said.
"I thought you and Blackwall…"
"Maker, no!" Adaar flapped her hands to shoo away even the possibility. "Sparring partners only. I never come between a man and his self-loathing."
Bull laughed loudly enough that Dorian came half awake and grumbled something at them in Tevinter.
"I'll give you that one," said the Qunari, when Dorian had gone back to sleep. "But really? Nobody?"
Adaar grunted. "Why exactly are we talking about this again?"
"I asked, remember?"
"Yes, but I can't imagine why I answered."
"My trustworthy nature, obviously."
"Are you putting it in a report for the Ben-Hassrath?"
Bull sighed. "They really don't understand these things. I've learned to…err…gloss over some bits." He poked at the fire again, then inspected the charred tip of the stick thoughtfully. "Hey, how about Cullen? I'm sure he'd…I dunno, lie back and think of the Inquisition?"
"I'm sure he would," said Adaar acidly. "Thanks, but no thanks. I accept that I'm not an easy woman to love, but I'd still rather not be an article of duty."
"Fair enough," said Bull. "Still. Here I'd been thinking you wouldn't want for company."
Adaar sighed. "Yeah. You know how we always say that size doesn't matter?"
"No one ever says that to me."
"…no, they wouldn't would they?" Adaar coughed. "Well, anyway. Let's say that the sort of people who are casually interested in bedding a woman twice their size are generally not the sort I want to spend time with."
"Aww, poor boss. That bad?"
"Yeah. I got a guy who call me his giantess and wanted me to step on him."
Bull laughed once, explosively, and slapped a hand over his mouth. Adaar pinched the bridge of her nose. "This was so much easier back home," she said.
"What, people don't have fetishes in the Free Marches?"
"I'm not their fetish in the Free Marches."
"Everybody's somebody's fetish," said Bull happily. "I'm a bunch of people's!"
She started laughing. She couldn't help it. "Go to sleep, Bull. I'll take first watch."
He stood up and stretched. She scooted to one side to let him pass.
He paused beside her, reached down, and gripped her arm. His fingers were a band of heat against the cool night air.
"Adaar," he said. Not Boss.
She looked up, surprised.
"It gets easier," he said. "Living with humans, I mean. After a while, the sizes just seem…normal. You get used to holding back a little, and you stop worrying that you're going to break the furniture every time you walk into a room."
"I hope you're right," she said. "And that we live long enough to find out."