It's been a long time for me to get motivated to write this fic again. Mostly got it with my realization that I write for myself and share with the hope even one person enjoys my work and that cannon doesn't matter. Of course the next couple chapters will have main plot centric stuff but after the ball it'll be like a completly different story. At least I'm hoping so, I'm trying to deviate from the main story as much as I can without it being a complete mess by separating it slowly.
Ch 7: Horns Up
By the time I finished with Val Royeaux the personal attempts on my life had nearly doubled and so did my strays. A rag tag group of poorly matched degenerates and royals coming along out of duty or, in Varric and Seras case, fun and bringing my temper to the breaking point. Fucking hell.
Even Solas began to annoy me, his racist and ignorant comments of dwarves, even fellow elves, grated on my nerves to the last strand. I'm not proud to admit the only thing that kept me from permanently silencing the bickering behind me was the glowing reminder on my palm and Varrics sarcastic remarks in my ear.
I need a drink. Something hard and heavy and burns me from the inside out like dragons fire. After the shit storm I went through recently I feel as if I deserve it. Mage rebellion, crazy defecting templars who punch the pedestal standing cunts that run the Chantry, and of course raising a wolf pup without her trying to bite everything.
It helps that Baby, a name that stuck when we couldn't think of a proper one, never leaves my side, pressing against my legs in fear whenever someone new comes across us. The Fereldan warriors that came along to guard us on the road took to her faster than anyone, without their slabs of muscle they call hounds to paint and adore. She drank it all up with the cunningness of a child looking for treats.
I fear she'll become spoilt but at this point it would be easier to let it be and allow their antics. Who cares if it can be seen as war hound training, they keep her fed and exercised when I'm too busy. Like now, I guess, when I'm too exhausted to do anything but cling to my horse and think while my bleary eyes refused to focus on anything.
Too jaded for my age, too much hurt in my life, I walk in a bitter haze now. Tired and snippy, only wanting to do what I can. If only my family could see me now, after I had finally gotten better from...well, just better. I don't sing anymore. My hands are too stiff to draw. My body is too tired to cook delicious flavors. Calluses too thick to sew. I only fight now, day after day as I thin out the Hinterlands and think longingly of peace.
But there is a spark of horror when I look deeper and find a soul settling peace among this chaos. I don't like killing, I don't like hurting, but I like the fight. I enjoy the pain in my knuckles when I split them over the face of my enemy. I revile in the blood splatter over my face when my war hammer descends on someone's skull so they can never hurt again. How sick am I? I don't want the answer.
A war hammer weighs on my back now, long swords abandoned when I found one of my preferred weapons in the ashes of a collapsed home, with countless daggers strapped over my body. Hand axes are strapped to my steads front legs, right within arms reach.
I might be over armed, a walking arsenal so to speak, but from my experience not only with the ongoing war but also bandits I knew it might not even be enough if I want to make it back to Haven with my party intact. Already, we have lost too many soldiers. Boys and girls with romantic dreams of grandeur. I feel like the elders because the need for a stiff drink increased ten fold.
Haven approached in the distance and I watched my party visibly relax. Even Vivian, an uptight mage that nearly killed a man when we first met in Val Royeaux. That was...interesting to say the least. I was just glad to have been able to groom and bathe in a hot bath before hand. I would have hated to ruin the sleek midnight blue dress Varric picked up for me, wrapped heavily in paper now, attached innocently to my saddle.
I didn't feel innocent having it, the rich silk too expensive for my toughened hide, crystal beads embroidered heavily into the stiff top and sleeves. At least it made my tits look amazing, the only reason I didn't make him take it back. And maybe because the wide eyes following me throughout the night.
Our return warranted a welcome reception it seems. Town girls flung themselves at weary soldiers, even Varric was dragged away by a tittering maid that seemed to have a thing for chest hair. Cassandra and Vivian left with a huff while Sera casually eyed a pretty young woman. When I turned to look at her again she had left and I was alone with the rabble nodding reverently and keeping a distance. Wonderful.
Patting Baby on the head, I lead the skittish animal to the lonely cottage on the outskirts of town. Away from the stares and the churches devote murmurs. It's the homely little thing I woke up in and I feel the itch to plant some flowers in the sill. Foolish notion. Haven is too cold to support grain, let alone flowers.
Waving a young Chantry ward closer, I order the girl to get a small bed for Baby and buttery milk. Lots of it. Ever since we started training her, her appetite came roaring to life. Solas says we can start weaning her in a couple weeks and then it will be much simpler to feed her. Hunting might have never exactly been my forte, an exaggeration of my skills honestly I'm terrible at it, but it's not exactly hard to buy some cattle.
I spent an hour cleaning the road from my skin and getting Baby familiar with her surroundings. Knowing what a bad idea it would be to leave her alone right now, I hide the squirming pup in my shirt. It won't fool Modi, the portly bar mistress that always has the strong stuff on hand for me, but maybe it'll make her laugh enough to let me keep her inside.
She gave me a tired grin when I innocently looked up, shirt squirming and huffing as Baby tried to sniff her way out. Victory. Baby sat at my feet with a bowl of cream while she snagged the expensive liquor I liked from under the bar. Modi is a blessing, a plump angel that deserves the world. From the generous glass she poured, mixing with some chilled apple juice, it seems I'll be the one to hand it to her.
"Gods above and below woman. You sure you don't need wife?"
The older looking woman huffed and adjusted her bust delicately but I can see the grin twitching under her stern mouth.
"Aye, fight ma husband fer ma hand you will?"
I shrug and take a sip. The blacksmith might have a few tricks up his sleeve, "I can be your secret wife. Doesn't even need to know."
Before she could counter the door slammed open and a glowering man strutted inside. With a look at the pissy expression and wet armor she bustled to the beer filled barrels in the corner.
The grumbling soldier slid beside me, kicking his legs up on his stool and slamming his head into the counter. He must be new, no one would be so brazen in this town as to sit uninvited by the Inquisitor. How interesting. Lazy eyes rove over him, from the non standard issue armor, to the floppy hair cut that looked soft as a mink.
"Whatcha lookin at?"
His head was tilted to me, still on the freshly cleaned counter, to glower under his mop of hair. I almost jerked back at the accent. A Vint so inland during a war? How brave of him.
"Sorry. Should I not be? You're a very handsome man and I don't think we've met."
I lean lushly against the bar and wink like those prostitutes I met. I was rewarded immediately with a furious flush and a couple stuttering murmurs. Snorting, I down the rest of my sweet and tart drink and slap his back.
"Don' get nervous on me soldier boy. I was just joking. You're not exactly my type. You are handsome though, if it makes you feel better."
He grinned and rolled his eyes, reaching for the tankard Modi placed in front of him bringing a small tumbler with liquid burn just for me, the hard stuff finally, "You're just as bad as my boss."
Eyebrows arching I appraise him and he stares back, not intimidated by a dwarves stare. Pity.
"Who is your boss?"
I'm too fucking tired to act coy, I'm curious and I'll have an answer or I won't. Either way I have alcohol. The man looked at me and just stared for a minute, tapping his fingers on the warm bar when I shrugged and tipped my glass back for a mouthful of fire.
"The Iron Bull."
I swallow with a grimace and a cough. "Who?"
"Leader of the Bull's Chargers. I was sent to talk to the Inquisitor, but their guard dogs won't let me within 10 feet of the door."
He punched the bar in frustration, taking a mouthful of swill with a sigh. I already knew why he can't get an audience with anyone. Two reasons actually. Cullen and Leliana are the most over paranoid fuckers I've ever had the fortune of meeting and it seems this isn't the only time it's bitten me in the ass. I need to talk to them about this, I can't let the Inquisition be some kind of invite only party when war and turmoil is everywhere you turn.
"I can get your message to the Inquisitor," I bust out laughing at the look he leveled on me and waved Modi over, "Modi, tell him I'm close friends with the Inquisitor."
She also gave me a look but nodded when I winked. Oh thank you Mok for this gift, "Can' see either without the other most days. The two be like siblings."
He chuckled and raised his mug in acknowledgment before we both took a drink.
"What's your name anyway soldier boy?"
"Call me Krem."
"Cullen. Any particular reason why people can't get an audience with the Inquisition?"
Cullen's back went ramrod and I mentally cheered.
"I, um, we just thought," he coughed awkwardly into his jacket but still didn't turn, "we didn't want you to be meeting with anyone not high tier."
"That's not what I asked Cullen," I rose my hand when he finally rounded on me, "I'm a figurehead. I know this. But the Inquisition is a real thing and, for a lot of people, a last hope. Don't fuck it up by thinking you can turn away requests if it's not attached to a name or a title."
He opened his mouth to retort but my hard glare keeled him. I am under no illusions here. I am meant to be a name to call in battle, a figurehead the soldiers gather under. I'll be damned though, if I allow this organization to become as corrupt as the thrice damned Chantry whose claws sink deeper into this land every day. I'll use what little power I have by shoving the mark in their faces if need be. Turning heel, message received, I stop when he called back to me.
"I have something to tell you Inquisitor."
I took the seat he gestured to carefully, pouring myself a glass of wine from the bottle and crystal set on his desk. Decoration, undoubtedly, but from the look on his face this is too serious and I'm still too sober today. Leaning back with a quick gulp of the sweet wine I wave him to continue.
"I stopped taking my lyrium."
The wine was too good to spit out but I sputtered and coughed after swallowing. Cassandra covered me on the basics of Templars, including their crippling dependency on lyrium. And it's negative effects when one stops taking it. Ah. So that's why. It seems the seeker was preparing me for the worst. Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"You're a grown man I presume. You are completely aware of what this could mean, should it go bad?"
He stiffly nodded and I leaned back with an exhausted grin.
"So be it Commander," He blinked but a slow grin cracked over his solemn expression, "Why did you tell me now?"
A shrug.
"You seem trustworthy now."
We sat together when he poured his own drink, the silence somehow light.
"We leave for the Storm Coast in a week."
Cullen purses his lips but let it be, sipping his wine in easy silence.
Cullen wouldn't let me leave without his personal escort and, since I left everyone to run the army and fight against the rising tide, I let him. Just me and him, and a couple veteran guards that feel more like babysitters for Baby. Awkward wouldn't be the only word I used to describe it. Maybe infuriating. Eye opening? We certainly knew more about each other by the end, including the freckles on his ass. That night in particular was hilarious.
We crested the mountain and I saw a sight I haven't in years. The ocean. Tears stung the back of my eyes as the familiar scent of brine filled my sinuses. It wasn't the same though. This cold and dank place, with more fog and rain than should be allowed, is nothing like the warm and sandy beaches of my home. Pine trees instead of fronds sway overhead and the air nips at my lungs.
I don't know what's worse, the niggling of familiarity or the soul crushing disappointment when it wasn't enough.
Shouldering my pain, I kick my stead in gear, letting it carefully toe down the slick path to the beach. Krem said something about them being encamped there. The sound of battle, clanging metal and cries of fury, reach us long before we see the beach. Perfect. I've been getting antsy on this relaxing ride.
Grinning savagely after shoving my pompous feathered helmet on, I push Baby in the arms of another and push my horse faster with the order for him to stay with her. Can't have a pup get underfoot in battle. I reared him over when I saw the mass of bodies that accompanied the sounds clanging in my ears. How exciting. Leaping down, I lash out at the obvious Vint army on the outskirts. Cullen landed beside me and I watched him transform from the awkward and nervous man looking for a reason to live into...into a lion.
A snarl like the beasts and a sword as deadly as any claws he swung with a blood curdling roar. I see, now, why he is our commander. I see him sometimes, the ruff of his mane somehow spotless but the glint of his blade now red with blood. He will be just fine. My company spread out to cover all escape and I somehow ended up with my back to the sea. Axes slick with blood, I roughly toss them down and lift my hammer from my back, worn iron of the head looking somehow deadlier than the blades by my feet.
The men cornering me into the surf grinned, those that I could see at least, and I smiled back. Let the real fun begin. My first hit swiped a man's legs out from under himself and I feel the give of his knees breaking. I lift it back up to block a broad sword coming to cleave my head in two, one of the daggers on my thigh flung out to imbed into the fallen soldiers neck. Good aim.
I use another to stab into an oncoming man's gut, shoving back against the blade so I could roll away, leaving my heavy weapon in the gravelly sand. My axe met my hand. The wrong one for my hand but I only needed to take a wild swing at the unbalanced man, slicing into the muscle of his exposed bicep. I watch in wonder as red beads up around the silvery white of muscle and tendon. My moment of distraction was too much, a short blade no longer than my ring finger dug itself into my thigh. Screaming a curse, I tear it out and ready myself against the two others advancing on me, pushing me deeper into the surf.
The one with another dagger in hand twitched his wrist and I was only able to just jerk away so it scrapped the sliver of hip exposed from my twisting instead of my stomach. He payed for that with his life, my own plain dagger digging into the flesh of his throat. Two in one go, how lucky.
The ocean spray bit into the seeping wounds on my thighs, sprayed up as the fighting navigates into the dangerous current. My last remaining opponent struck like a snake, grabbing my already weak leg and yanking me under. I couldn't scream as the salty and fishy water filled my mouth. Bubbles and sea foam blind my screaming eyes but I can basically feel his smarmy grin as he held my lower body close and gripped my exposed hair backwards into the sea.
I closed my mouth and rejected my reaction to cough like an idiot. Unsheathing my dagger on the small of my back, I jab upwards and feel my arm jar. Armor. I slide it down to a leather binding and slide in until the scrape of bone tingles up my spine. Yowling like an injured cat the man drops me into the ocean spray and I kick at his knee cap. Not nearly as effective underwater but it unsteadies the shocked man long enough yank him down to my level. Looking him in the eyes I slide my dagger into the opposite side, twisting it a bit to slip between the ribs.
A choked garble is his answer and I toss him away into the wave. The current will cary him out. Splashing back into the fray, I heave my discarded hammer out of the earth and slam it back down with a cry. It catches a few others attention and, picking out the identical armor-they really need a new design, it's hideous and rife with openings-I rush at them in a frenzy. It's hard, wielding such a huge weapon in close quarters, but those that matter keep out of the way and my enemy don't seem to think that I would hold it up one handed and stab them anywhere I could.
The battle ended easily from there, blood slicking the handles of my weapons and fingers. Tearing off the stifling helmet, I wring out my sopping hair, grimacing when the sticky blood from dead men stain the pristine locks. I hate it when stuff gets in my hair. Deciding I'm as presentable as I could be I look over at the soldiers, a mass of mismatched warriors mingling with Inquisition armor. I don't see the polished insignia among the dead, only limping men that would need medical attention and Cullen standing apart with a twisted snarl on his face. Might need to stay clear for a time. My eyes catch a lumbering movement by the tangle of drift wood and look to the side.
The world stood still around me.
I met eyes with another, a grey man with pointed and deadly horns that might have had blood on one point. The Qunari was absolutely coated in gore and dirt. It nearly covered the stark black tattoos going up his arms and between his muscle packed shoulders in smears of red. He is a giant among giants with a glint of steel in his eye that wasn't even the missing one covered in actual metal. Most importantly, his pants are atrocious.
He smiled like a wild thing and the only thing I could think was 'Oh shit.' My heart thumped and my mouth went dry. I wondered how much it would hurt if I risked climbing him like a tree. Swallowing my sudden and unexpected infatuation, I approached him with a steady smile.
3rd POV
The sea is roaring, the ground is shaking from an unknown force, and the taste of someone else's blood is thick on his lips. It is a good day. Even when the Vints turned the tide against the Bulls Chargers the horned giant grinned, attacking with vengeance. One would never to think his name to be Liar when faced with his overwhelming power. He didn't fear and he didn't waver even when a new wave of the bastards took the place of their fallen comrades.
They proved a bit more than a nuisance when they struck down Grim. Roaring in anger, he don't notice a new wave, this time of allies, laying waste to the bandits until a tiny thing with a giant hammer smashed in the head of a man going for Krem's throat. It gave him pause for only a second, then he jumped in with renewed vigor. If they needed to deal with them let it be after this when his people are alive and kicking.
Sometimes he can see the little woman, able to tell by the curves and dips of her fitted leather and metal armor, made to be comfortable on a horse with metal only in vital areas, and that great ass. Bull can definitely appreciate the male physique but rarely a man has an ass of such form. Nice, round, firm with a bit of bounce. And the thighs leading up to it? So curvy he nearly hardened thinking of them draped over his horns as he made her scream. The smell of blood and the rushing roar of adrenaline only made this more of a problem. Nice images, all in all, but maybe he should kill the asshole trying to sneak up on her. A thought.
His ax nearly cleaves his head in two and the dwarven woman turns long enough to acknowledge and give thanks by nodding. Then she turns around with her twin axes and slashes at a mans exposed calf. Tendon cut with muscles and he went down, easy prey for her other axe cutting into the side of his neck, slicing his jugular in a swift moment.
Suddenly, he couldn't see her anymore, lost in a swarm of enemies. He don't catch sight of her until later when his eyes catches a struggling pair dangerously far in the surf. A man holding a twisting dwarf and from the looks of it it's her. About to step in, she stops moving. He almost left her as a lost cause when her arm shot out of the water with a flash of silver, digging it into the soldiers side.
She quickly incapacitates him and, in an impressive show of strength, tosses him further in the current. She stomps back onto land, steps squelching and armor dripping. She looked like a drowned cat. Bulls humor dissipates a bit as she lifts the near imbedded war hammer from the ground, lifted it in the air, and slams it down with a roar. Rocks cracked under her, an eerie green light fills the area, and noise stopped in face of her thunder. She lifts it back up one handed and charges back in the fray. He didn't let her leave his sight since.
The earth shook as she slammed the ground several more times before everyone was dead and accounted for, leaving a wake of dead and blood. He almost couldn't look away. He turns only long enough to make sure his men were alive, looking back and inhaling sharply at the sight. The dwarf took off her helmet and a tumble of hair came out, as white as ivory and curlier than a milk maids, shaved from the left side of her head. It's still dripping and she wrings it out with a mumble. Blood ran with the water.
She is not an unearthly beauty, scar marring up her face and lips, premature stress lines almost invisible on the corners of her eyes. But then she smirks at the others and Bull can't seem to look away from the bright red tattoos marking her face. His attention is drawn to her eyes by the pinkish sheen her pupils take when the sun came our from behind a group of clouds. They are green lightning, unholy and dangerous. Like the rifts the mercenary company has stumbled across. She strode through the throng of wounded men, stepping over bodies with a barely notable twitch, and smiled with the stiff air of professionalism.
"You must be Iron Bull."
