She cannot mend her armor.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to think she could wear her old set of armor forever. But it isn't as if she can just toss it aside. Arnbjorn made it specifically for her; a blend of the Dark Brotherhood leathers reinforced with dragon scales and accented with daedric pauldrons, gauntlets, and boots. It's practically indestructible thanks to his craftsmanship and Luka's enchantments.

Or, it was practically indestructible.

That dragon ripped right through the leather, the enchantments weakened by the godsforsaken Veil that separates this world from the realm of magic. She never noticed how magic permeated every part of Nirn until she was removed from it. The air here is stale, the food is bland, and everything feels so… dead. Magic is such a huge part of her world, it's not even noteworthy. No one is surprised when they come across an enchanted sword or something as basic as an ice-enchanted goblet. Things that would cause mass panic in Thedas are commonplace in Tamriel.

When she explained this to her companions the knowledge was met with a mix of horror and fascination. Solas, in particular, looked as if he was about to cry, Varric took notes, and Sera made retching sounds. Blackwall, however, had suggested she come down to the smithy and get kitted out in some new gear. Funny how something so sensible had not occurred to her. Perhaps it was nostalgia that kept her clinging to her old armor. It is all she has left of home.

So that's how she finds herself following Blackwall and Sera down to the smith. She likes them both well enough. Blackwall reminds her a bit of Arnbjorn; good in a fight, great at scowling, and tons of fun when you get a few pints in him. Although there's something in the way that he carries himself that makes her suspicious of him. He wears guilt like shackles around his feet, but she's not stupid enough to ask him what he's done— or what he thinks he's done. Whatever it is, it's his problem and she wants no part of it.

"When you're all geared up I can run you through a few drills if you like," he says. "New armor always needs time to be broken in and you don't want to get into a real fight with stiff armor hindering your movements."

"That would be great," she says, grateful for his offer. "I've got a lot of tension to work off, anyway."

He glances at her and she smiles at him in turn. She didn't mean for that to sound like an innuendo, but she cannot deny that she is tense. She's itching for a good fight or a good lay, and she would take both if she could get it.

"Right, well—" he clears his throat. "Nothing a little exercise can't fix."

"Why so tense, Lulu? I thought you were in it with Baldy," Sera comments. "Does he cry out "Elven Glory" when he does it? I bet he does!"

"How would I know?" Lumen visibly cringes at the mental image that conjures. "I'm not "in it" with anybody! Trust that I would be in a much better mood if I was."

Sera actually looks sympathetic upon hearing that. "It didn't work out, eh? You not elfy enough to get 'im hard?"

"I'm just going to pretend I'm not part of this conversation," Blackwall says, although he doesn't make any attempt to walk out of earshot.

Lumen snorts. "I have no idea what gets him hard."

"What? That's a bloody lie!" Sera rounds on her, her loud voice attracting the attention of the nearby soldiers. "I saw him leaving your cabin in the middle of the night! Don't tell me nothing happened! That's so boring!"

"All of Haven knows you saw him leaving my cabin, but nothing happened," Lumen snaps, then decides to change gears because once Sera is on a subject she's like a dog with a bone. "Are you spying on me, Sera?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. You're not interesting enough to spy on." She wrinkles her nose. "Bit of a shame nothing happened, though— a shame for him. Not for you. You dodged a big, elfy arrow. Well, it may not be that big after all— Whatever. I just mean he'd probably be less of a tit if he loosened up. But you know what this means? It means we gotta find someone for you to squeeze up to. Can't save the world if you're all weepy lonely-heart, can you?"

"I—" she stammers, not quite knowing where to start. "I'm not weepy! I'm just—"

"Randy!" Sera cackles, slapping Lumen roughly on the back. "Bet we can find someone to help with that. Oi! Blackwall!"

"Do not bring me into this." Blackwall casts a stern glare at Sera. "The Lady Herald does not need your help or mine with this… Issue. It's her private business."

"Yeah. But you could dive headfirst into her private business if you play your cards right."

"Maker, Sera," he sighs, all while turning a rather interesting shade of pink.

"You're both sweet, but I don't need any help. I promise."

"What did I tell you Sera? The Lady Herald has everything well in hand—"

Sera cackles. "In hand!" she says, snorting with laughter. "Oh, I just bet she does!"

A horrified laugh escapes her. "Is that the smithy? I think it is. Come on Blackwall!" Lumen grabs him by the wrist and drags him onward, leaving Sera to her giggles. "Walk faster. If she doesn't give up, we can just talk about magic and demons for a while. That usually scares her off."

She likes Sera. She really does. But there are times when her particular brand of humor is just too much to deal with. As it turns out, a conversation about armor enchantments and soul gems is enough to dissuade Sera, and Lumen is able to spend the rest of the afternoon in relative peace.

Days later, and Lumen is leading a party through the Hinterlands. They have been clearing out all the Templars and mad mages they can find, but the real reason they are there is to hunt down the Venatori. The Venatori are tough, but The Iron Bull and Blackwall make short work of their warriors, while she and Dorian take out the rest.

"How does the new armor suit you?" Blackwall huffs, winded from a recent fight.

"It's bulkier than I like, but it'll do."

"Seems like you got used to it pretty quickly. You fought well."

Lumen smiles at his words, uncertain of how to respond. Instead, she looks around at the once serene hillside. The pure, green grass now stained with blood and littered with corpses. Dorian and Bull are picking through the fallen, looking for loot and survivors.

"Do we have any live ones?" she asks.

"All dead, Boss."

"That saves me the trouble, I guess," she murmurs, making her way over to Dorian, who is staring down at the corpse of a fallen Venatori mage. "Did you know him?"

"No," he sighs, tearing his eyes away from the dead mage to look at her. "You've got a little blood on your face, dear."

"Yeah, well, it happens when you fight with daggers." She wipes at her cheek, wincing when she feels a twinge of pain. "Oh, damn. That's my blood."

"Yes, that happens when you fight with daggers," he mocks, gripping her chin to get a better look at her. "Do you want me to take care of it?"

"No." She swats him away. "It's not worth wasting magic on such a tiny thing. It won't even scar."

"Herald, I understand that it's your face, but I'm the one who has to look at you." Dorian laughs when she swats at him, just narrowly dodging the offending hand. "At least clean up so you don't attract any flies or blood mages, all right?"

"Fine, fine," Lumen grumbles.

The walk back to camp is a quiet one. For all of his good humor, something is bothering Dorian. He's been sullen the entire way back. At least Bull is filling the silence by singing a tavern song— Lumen can't really hear it, but she thinks it might be a disturbingly rude version of "Andraste's Mabari".

"Lady Herald." Blackwall appears at her side and passes a handkerchief to her. "Thought you could use this."

She takes the cloth, looking it over before using it to wipe the blood from her cheek. "Do you keep these on you just in case you find a damsel in distress?" she asks with a grin.

"Maybe."

"You're oddly charming for a man I found wandering around in the forest." She gives him an appraising look. Broody heros aren't really her type, she prefers those who aren't ashamed of the blood on their hands, but she supposes the hero thing works well enough for Blackwall.

"I always thought myself more odd than charming," he laughs. "But I'll take a compliment from a lady."

Lumen snorts. "You think I'm a lady? You were present for that conversation Sera and I had, yes? Would you like a recap?"

"No, I would not." Blackwall grins at her, but quickly looks away. "Even so, I do think you're a lady and you deserve you be treated as such."

"Why, Blackwall. You flatter me."

"I'm the one that's flattered. That you would spend any time with me at all is—" he sighs, thinking better of whatever he had planned to say. "You're unlike any woman I've ever met."

"I would expect so," she says, not liking the serious tone he's suddenly taking. She often flirts because it's fun, but it quickly becomes not fun if it's taken too seriously. "I don't think anyone else in Thedas is capable of breathing fire."

"I'm not entirely convinced that Cassandra can't." He breathes a tired laugh. "Please don't tell her I said that."

"Do I look like I have a deathwish? I'm not telling her a thing!"

"Then I am in your debt, my lady."

Dinner passes without incident (which is saying a lot considering Bull's abysmal cooking skills) and sleeping arrangements are made. Bull tends to sleep outside, preferring not to get his horns caught up in the tent if he needs to move quickly. Which means Blackwall has a tent all to himself and Lumen is to share with Dorian.

Dorian has been stretched out on his bedroll and staring at the top of the tent for a half hour. It is dark, but Lumen can tell he's not sleeping by his breathing. Too slow. Too indicative of a person in deep thought rather than a deep sleep.

"Something is troubling you," she finally says. "You can talk to me, if you like."

"You know, you are rather sweet for a madwoman who cackles while she disembowels her enemies."

"I don't cackle," she says quickly. "And don't change the subject."

"I am touched. But you needn't trouble yourself with my problems."

Lumen rolls on her side, propping her head on her hand and giving Dorian the most fearsome glare she can muster. "Dorian," she growls. "Listen up, because I am only going to say this once; I like you. So it's no trouble if you need to bend my ear. I might actually be able to help."

"You like me?" he asks, a hint of sorrow hiding behind his amused tone. "Truly?"

"Yes," she says slowly. "You remind me of a friend I have back home. He's a mage, too. You're definitely more composed than he is, though. He's about as nervous as a long tailed Khajiit in a room full of rocking chairs. But he's sweet. I think you'd like him."

"A long tailed what?"

"Tell me what's troubling you and maybe I'll tell you what a Khajiit is."

"Oh, very well," he says, but there is no annoyance in his tone. "I can tell I'm not going to get any peace until I give you what you want."

"I'll find new and exciting ways to annoy you until you do."

Dorian heaves a long suffering sigh, a sure sign that she's finally gotten through to him. "I didn't know the mage we killed. His name is a mystery, but I— I knew his face. I'd seen him before. It's only a matter of time before I start seeing more familiar faces with names that I've always held dear." He glances at her, his voice carrying a trace of bitterness when he says, "This is where you're supposed to tell me to have faith in my friends. Faith that they will stay true to our cause, rather than fall in with these Venatori rabble. Faith that they are not so easily swayed by promises of power."

"You know your friends better than I do."

He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. "I do, and they aren't really my friends are they? Trust is a dangerous thing and friendship is a cute concept, but it's not something that truly exists in a place like Tevinter. Still, I would rather not kill them." His tone lightens when he says, "Now, you owe me. What is a Khajiit? Am I even saying that right?"

"A Khajiit is like— well, you have cats here? Think of a person who is also a cat."

Dorian stares at her for a few seconds, trying to process what she just said. "What?"

"They're beastkin. They take different forms depending on what moon phase they are born under. But the ones I've seen are just like us, only they have cat-like traits. This is a horrible description and a Khajiit would find it quite offensive but… Think of a human with cat ears and a tail."

"I would like to visit this world of yours," he finally says. "It sounds fascinating."

"It's similar to Thedas, only the mages are free and the sky isn't shitting demons."

"Even better." They both fall silent for a moment. Dorian fidgets with his bedroll, desperately trying to get comfortable, but his efforts are for naught. "Thank you for letting me ramble. I do feel a little better. I've never had someone I could just talk to aside from Felix. I guess this means we're friends now?"

"If you like," she says, grinning at him. "Would you rather be enemies?"

"Heavens, no! I've seen you fight! I'd like to stay on your good side."

The group is quiet on the way back to Haven. Blackwall and Dorian excuse themselves upon arriving; Blackwall claims to be in need of a drink and Dorian in need of a bath. Which leaves Lumen and Bull alone in each other's company.

She walks with him to the Charger's campsite, which is situated just outside the gates. "Thanks for your help, Bull," she says, taking a moment to marvel at his size.

"No need to thank me, you are paying me for my services," he says, grinning. "Or, at least, your organization is."

"Yeah, well." She shrugs. "The money isn't coming out of my pocket. So thanks, all the same."

"No problem, Boss." He stares at her for a moment, taking her in. "So… How does an assassin end up masquerading as the Herald of Andraste?"

"I—" She glances around, trying to think of a way to deny the accusation but thinking better of it. Bull did tell her he was a spy when they first met. He's good at reading people and it would be insulting to try to lie her way out of this one. "How did you know?"

He laughs jovially. "Every part of you practically screams what you are," he tells her. "It's the way you walk, the way you fight, and the way you watch people. You're a predator. A wolf among sheep."

"Yeah well, these are my sheep," she says, feeling defensive. "The people of Haven have nothing to fear from me. I haven't assassinated a single person since I've been here."

"But you've killed plenty of people."

"They were trying to kill me first, so it's not morally objectionable," she says. "But for some reason, when I am paid to kill a man in his sleep, people get their knickers in a twist."

"Most people want to die in their sleep," he says, cracking a smile. "It seems like a peaceful way to go. Better than lingering and eventually dying of illness or infection."

"How do you want to die, Bull?"

"That's an odd question."

"Not to me," she says, sitting down on the stump of a recently cut tree. "Besides, you can tell a lot about someone from their answer."

Bull hums thoughtfully. "I think I would prefer dying in the midst of an orgasm or fighting a dragon. Or both at the same time."

"Those are reasonable choices," Lumen says, laughing softly.

"You're not really here, are you?" He narrows his eye at her, still smiling as he looks her over. "I mean, you are here physically, but not mentally— and I don't mean that like an insult, so don't make that face at me. You're miles away. Your head's not really in the game. I'm not gonna tell you your business, but that's dangerous, Boss. Dangerous for you, for me, for everyone."

Her good mood vanishes as a wave of misery washes over her. "I want to go home," she admits. "I keep thinking I'll wake up and I'll be home, and all this will just be a crazy dream."

"A lot of people are thinking the same thing, the only difference is that you actually have a home to go back to. They don't."

"Is this your way of telling me to suck it up and get to work?"

"You said it, not me," he says. "But you might want to heed your own advice. You recently stole Venatori's mages. Things have been quiet, but someone is going to retaliate. Can't have your mind elsewhere when that shit comes raining down on us."

"That's some pretty sound advice," she concedes.

"I'm good at a lot of things, Boss." He looks to her, and she's fairly certain he'd follow that up with a wink if he had use of his other eye. "Giving advice is just one of my many talents."

"I'm curious as to what your other talents are."

"Maybe someday you'll find out."

Lumen smirks at his flirtatious tone. "I look forward to it," she says, pushing away from the stump. "See you later, Bull."

These games are safe to play with Dorian, but with Bull? With him, subtle flirtations could quickly become promises, and she is not a fan of making promises she does not intend to keep. Not that Bull isn't alluring in a very… giant, intimidating way. But Lumen rarely goes to bed with someone she does not trust. If she doesn't trust someone, then she at least picks a lover she can easily control, and Bull is not someone she could easily control. In fact, she's fairly certain he would have her wrapped around his finger in no time, which doesn't sit well with her at all.

"Don't worry about it," she tells herself. As lonely as she is, she's got to worry about cultists and a hole in the sky. She doesn't have time to worry about finding someone to keep her warm at night. Still, she thinks it might be a good idea just to keep her flirtations limited to Dorian, because she will just end up breaking Blackwall's heart and Bull will end up breaking her if she's not careful.

Notes: It's been ages since I have updated this fic. I have a handful of half written drabbles for it, but I'm having a hell of a time actually finishing anything. Job stress, anxiety, and some recent health problems are really messing with my creativity lately.

Anyway, I'm one of those people who has their character flirt with eeeeeveryone, which means I "accidentally" initiate romances and have to break a few virtual hearts. Lumen is also a bit of a flirt, which gets her into all kinds of trouble, but it makes for fun writing. The point of this chapter was to get a feel for some characters I haven't written much of; Bull, Blackwall, and Sera. It meanders around a bit, but I enjoyed writing it and I thought it was good enough to post.

Still undecided about what ships might sail in this fic. I can tell you that Dorian/Bull is not happening. It's not my thing. I'm a fan of Dorian/Cullen, though. So there might be some shadows of that if I can get out of this low point and back into the swing of writing.