It's strange, having something which is feared and terrible become familiar and even reassuring. Not that Bull would term it exactly as such. He'd been around magic for years. Saarebas first. While they were respected among the Qun for their submission to it, they were still gruesome. Once Bull had been away from the Qun for some time he'd been around another mage, although she continually protested this fact. Her magic was rare, always directed at enemies, and while Bull was used to it he still made sure to be well out of her line of sight during combat. The Qun had taught him this fear; of demons and of mages alike. They were practically one and the same to his mind. But now—now Iron Bull was no longer of the Qun. He was Tal Vashoth. For the last month he had been thus. It still startled him to remember it at times.
Usually sudden remembrances of this fact came when he noticed something he would have previously reported to the Ben-Hassrath. But this one came in the middle of a battle, and with another realization: he was completely relaxed while fighting with a mage at his back.
When he'd fist joined the Inquisition and started traveling with the so called 'Herald of Andraste' he had been exceedingly put off by the mage, not that he showed it. The kid was a twig Bull could break in half with one arm he reminded himself—no exaggeration. But he used magic in ways Bull was unfamiliar with. He was not a trained fighter; almost all his skills were focused on bolstering allies. The first time Bull felt the tingle of Amahri's barrier engulfing him he almost lost grip on his axe. He'd never had magic like that near him before. And again, when Amahri first healed a wound in camp one night. Bull had been reluctant to let the elf near it, but Cassandra and Varric had dismissed his attempts to avoid it by downplaying, and he wasn't about to admit it made him nervous to let the elf heal it. That had been an experience indeed. He knew in theory from listening to the others talk that the elf could heal, but he hadn't seen it. And it had been a pretty nasty wound; a Hurlock had taken a chunk out of his shoulder. It was completely back to normal when Amahri finished, obviously drained, but smiling up at Bull with satisfaction. He hardly knew how to feel about that and was barely able to thank him. That was nothing to being healed in combat however.
It had only happened once so far, but the memory was vivid still. The party had been flanked and were fighting in close quarters with a Giant on one side and White Claw raiders on the other. Bull had focused on the Giant rather exclusively, a mistake—one of the rogues slipped into their circle and stabbed Bull in the side before Cassandra had been able to turn and send her sword into the rogue's back. The wound was deep and blood was flowing from it-fast. He'd have been on the ground in a moment but for Amahri's quick response. At first it felt like the same warm, almost numbing sensation of the healing he'd received before but then it 'snapped'—he hardly knew how to describe what it did to him—maybe like taking a big gulp of particularly strong ale but even more punchy. Every muscle in his body felt it- and then he was swinging his battle axe again. His side still felt strange; it was hot, and maybe a bit like pins and needles, as when you sit cross legged too long and then move. After the fight was won he looked down at his side and saw it was not healed, at least not completely. It wasn't pouring blood like it 'should' have been, but it was certainly not good as new either. Amahri had insisted on his sitting down for a proper healing then and there.
And all this, all this had become 'normal'. Amahri's magic had improved in the months since Bull had first met him. Lightning and fireballs now entered the fray, and Bull did not worry about being out of the way as he once did—he trusted Amahri to hit his intended target only. And the odd feeling of a barrier going up? It was now a regular part of the rhythm of combat. Amahri had become quite proficient at timing his barriers to take the biggest hits for his "protectors"—Amahri seemed to do the most actual protecting of anyone. And healing? Well that was just damned practical. Amahri teased Bull that perhaps he had become careless in combat of late; he came to Amahri so often with small injuries to be healed. In truth he wasn't taking any more damage than before—less with the barriers actually-but he saw no reason to waste supplies with a mage like Amahri on hand.
The crack of his axe coming into contact with armor-and then silence. Another battle won. Bull easily slid his weapon back into its place and half turned to check on the others. Cassandra was pulling her sword from the corpse of a fallen ghoul and Varric was checking on Bianca. Amahri was leaning on his staff and panting slightly. His increase in offensive participation was not without some cost. Bull sidled over to the youth and gently—although it still was dangerously close to knocking him off balance—clapped him on the shoulder.
"Nice timing on those barriers, as usual, boss. You're gonna make me lazy. I might start letting my guard down if I never get hit."
Amahri smiled up at the Qunari—he always appreciated compliments and Bull knew he still needed to build some confidence in battle.
"I hardly think you're in any danger of losing your edge, Bull."
Bull rolled his shoulders exaggeratedly in a stretch. "Well, I suppose that's probably true. I am pretty good." He grinned and Amahri laughed good-naturedly at the warrior's bravado before turning to follow Cassandra's call.
Bull wasn't generally sentimental, but he allowed himself one brief moment now. When they'd first met Amahri had asked about the Qun and life in it—and about what would happen if the Qunari conquered the Free Marches. The answer had disturbed him-and Bull could now admit it had disturbed him too. Saarebas and Bas Saarebas didn't laugh like that under the Qun. Some mages even had their mouths sewn shut. Bull wouldn't have wanted to ever see 'Dalish', the Chargers not-mage, or Amahri forced under the demands of the Qun. Well, at least now he had no conflict over that. He was Tal-Vashoth. And he could fight to protect them without a second thought.