Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate your time and your enthusiasm.


In the morning, Ren woke to find him already up, doing a complicated series of stretches on the balcony. She watched him for a moment, admiring the unexpected grace of that massive body, before getting out of bed and getting dressed. He was finished by the time she was, leaning against the doorway and watching her with a more inscrutable look than usual on his face.

"So, boss, I've been thinking."

"What about?"

"When Corypheus is dead, I'm gonna take the Chargers back to the Storm Coast, get back to being mercs."

Ren frowned. "Sure, if that's what you want. I thought it was working out all right to have them based here, though."

"Yeah, they've done good work. But I need to take the reins again, get back out in front, and …" He paused, taking a breath, preparing himself for the words that would make her understand what he really meant. "And my work here will be done then anyway."

She frowned at him, the words and the thought behind them so unexpected that for a moment they didn't make sense to her. "Oh," she said at last, as understanding settled in her, heavy on her shoulders. Ren blinked, trying to keep back the tears that sprang suddenly to life. Her hand went to the dragon's tooth at her throat. "But I thought you— I mean, you said—" She clamped down on those words hard, practically biting her tongue. Wherever this conversation might go, she was going to get nowhere with a man like the Iron Bull by whining that he had told her he loved her.

"I do," he said heavily. "You know I do, kadan." He moved toward her, putting his hand on her head. "That's why it has to be this way."

Ren twisted her head out from under his hand, the familiar gesture too much in this moment where suddenly the earth under her feet had disappeared. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Yes, it does. You've let yourself be rolled along like a piece of driftwood in the ocean, and you've come to rest here, in the Inquisition. Now is your chance to decide who you want to be, what you want to do, what the Inquisition will become under your leadership. But—you can't do that with me here. No one will take you seriously. And I can't take the risk of being just another wave, pushing you in a direction that in the long run won't let you live up to your potential."

"My potential?" she echoed. "What are you now, my father?" Her temper was rising, and she let it climb, let it drown out the hurt and the sharp grief. "You arrogant ass! I never asked you for any of that. How dare you stand here and act like it's your job to decide what my future should be, or who it should be with, or what I should do with it? Who the fuck do you think you are?" There was a momentary silence, his face determinedly impassive, giving Ren the strong, and infuriating, impression that he had predicted everything she had said, and everything she might continue to say. Well, she was damned if she was going to stand here and keep reciting a script he had already prewritten. "You know what? Fine. You want it this way, then you get out."

Without another word, he went.

Ren threw herself into work, pushing the morning's conversation, and her hurt and anger, away every time they tickled the back of her mind. She needed space, needed to separate herself from the conversation somehow if she were going to be able to look at it with anything like clear eyes.

Finally, everything was done, even the busy work that hadn't actually needed her attention. She stood on the balcony of her quarters, alone, looking down at Skyhold. She didn't see the Iron Bull; hadn't, in fact, seen him all day. Wherever he was keeping himself, he was out of her sight. She had expected no less, really. Ben-Hassrath, after all, as he would say. She wondered if it was the Ben-Hassrath training that made him think he knew better than she did what she needed in her life.

And that opened the floodgates, that speculation. She let her emotions take her, pacing her quarters and ranting and throwing things and weeping and trying out all the arguments that hadn't occurred to her this morning, until the storm passed and left her calm and able to think again.

He was arrogant. He had never denied that. He thought he knew better than everyone else; he had never denied that, either. Their entire relationship was based on him thinking he understood her needs, better than she did, really … and she had never doubted before that he did, said a small, quiet voice that floated up from the back of her mind, where she had firmly buried it beneath her anger and her grief.

Ren braced her arms on the railing and looked up at the stars. What if he was right? she asked herself. She knew she had let herself be tossed about by the waves, making a spot on whatever beach she washed up on. But she was the leader of the Inquisition now, and she was about to accomplish what the Inquisition had been created to do. Once she killed Corypheus—assuming, for the sake of argument, that she could kill him—what then? Where would the Inquisition go? Where would she, Morvoren Alys Trevelyan, lead the Inquisition?

Standing there, she was forced to admit that the Iron Bull, damn his arrogant hide, had been right. She needed to decide who she wanted to be and to figure out how to become that person … and she couldn't let him and his undeniable force of personality cloud the issue. Whatever lay ahead for them, if anything did, they both had to be absolutely certain it was what she wanted, and that it wasn't just her going along with what he thought she needed.

It was a lot to come to terms with, and while Ren's generally impulsive, decisive attitude had her wanting to make a declaration of who she was and who she would be and have that be that, something told her that wasn't the way to go this time. She wasn't going to overcome a lifetime of drifting, or be able to make informed decisions about the fate of the Inquisition with anything like the confidence she would need, without some serious contemplation. And she would have to do that contemplating alone; she accepted that.

Down below, someone opened the door into the tavern, sending a block of light across the darkness of the courtyard.

He would be there, with the Chargers, the man she loved. And she did love him, in a way she had never imagined loving anyone, never known was possible. She knew what it had cost him to leave her this morning, and to do it honestly, without making up some reason for her to hate him or manipulating her into thinking it was her idea. And she knew how he would be feeling now—lost, alone, uncertain—because she felt the same way.

In that knowledge, she made a decision. She might not know what she wanted to do next year, but she knew what she wanted to do—what she needed to do—right now.


The Iron Bull looked down his outstretched legs, keeping his eye focused on the tips of his scuffed boots. Not that they were particularly interesting, but they were better for his peace of mind than looking up every time the tavern door opened, his heart pounding with a hope he knew he shouldn't be feeling. Or, worse, looking up to find Krem's eyes on him, his second-in-command as usual knowing a lot more about the situation than he should.

The Chargers were in good form tonight, jokes and songs and stories crowding on top of one another. The Iron Bull was well aware that they were exerting themselves on his behalf; he had himself encouraged them to do the same for other members of the company when they'd had low days. He appreciated the effort, and tried to join in the songs with his usual enthusiasm, but his heart wasn't in it. His heart was on the other side of Skyhold with a woman who was probably throwing things and cursing his name—all his names. Not that he blamed her.

Still, it had needed to be done. Without him, she was free to move forward with her life, free to lead the Inquisition as she saw fit, to eventually make a match that was worthy of her, to get married and raise a family—all the things he could never have offered her.

He could practically map out the future; there would be a period of longing, probably some relapse sex here and there, which would fade into the occasional nostalgic round or two when their paths crossed, and by the time she settled down what they had once been to each other would be a distant memory. Lifting his hand to the dragon's tooth at his throat, he tried to think of that as a consolation, but right now the very idea of losing this feeling was making him feel as bereft as he'd felt when Gatt declared him Tal-Vashoth.

He was on the verge of setting his untouched ale on the table and getting up to leave when suddenly a hush rippled across the room, followed by a roll of whispers.

"Damn, Chief," said Rocky, next to him. "You are one lucky bastard."

The Iron Bull wasn't sure what his Charger meant—until he raised his head and looked at the door of the tavern. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't heard it open this time, and his breath caught in his chest at the sight of her.

He would have been prepared to see her eyes flashing with anger, or to see her pale and sorrowful, with evidence of tears. His bets would have been on the first. But this … he had never seen her look so sexy. Her hair was just slightly tousled, her eyes lined with a dark blue that made them and the paler blue tattoos around them stand out, her lips a rich crimson, and her jacket was off, her shirt buttoned low, leaving a tantalizing glimpse of just the top swell of her breasts and the way they moved as she walked. And, of course, those wickedly tight pants.

She came toward the group of the Chargers, walking like she owned the place, instead of trying to act as though she was of the rank and file the way she usually did. There was a smoothness to her walk that was unusual, an awareness of her sexuality that had the Iron Bull hard just watching her. And he was watching her; couldn't take his eye off her. Probably that was her goal, to torment him with what he had given up. He wouldn't have put this approach high on the list of possibilities, but he had considered it.

At least, he had considered it up to the point where she sat on his lap, plucked his ale out of his hand, and started drinking it. That hadn't made the list at all.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, even as he was putting his feet flat on the floor to make a firmer seat for her and sitting up straighter to get closer to her. He was aware of the Chargers shifting away from them, giving them privacy.

"What's it look like?" Ren asked him. "I'm drinking your ale."

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it?" He'd seen that wide-eyed innocent stare before.

"I'm not going to change my mind, kadan." Probably that would have sounded more final if his arms hadn't been sliding around her waist to pull her more firmly against him.

"Perish the thought! You, the mighty all-knowing Ben-Hassrath-trained Iron Bull, change your mind? I would never imagine such a thing."

"So what are you doing?" he asked again, ignoring her sarcasm.

"Last I checked, unless someone's killed him and didn't tell me, Corypheus isn't dead yet. And since you said after Corypheus was dead, I figure nothing's really changed." Her eyes still on him, she took a deep swallow of the ale, her tongue licking a stray droplet off her full red lower lip.

The Iron Bull stifled a groan. Sitting the way she was, she had to be able to feel how she was affecting him. Even if he had wanted to, saying no to this approach, which he had absolutely not predicted, would have been difficult.

"Well?" she said, when he didn't respond.

"So you're saying we leave things as they've been until Corypheus is dead?"

She shifted in his lap, her beautifully rounded rear against his cock, and he bit back another groan. "Isn't that what I said?"

Desperately holding on to his control, which had never been quite this difficult before, he said, "And you don't expect me to change my mind?"

"Naturally not." Her blue eyes were still wide and innocent, with a hint of a wicked smile.

He took the mug from her hand, taking a long gulp of the ale. "Kadan, you make it very hard to do the right thing."

"Good. Hard was exactly what I was going for." She wriggled again, then whispered in his ear, "Now, either we're going to argue about this and fuck, or we're going to agree about it and make love, but we can't do either one in the middle of the tavern in front of the Chargers."

The Iron Bull tangled his hand in her hair, holding her head still, and he kissed her, regardless of the tavern full of people around them, or of the whistles, applause, and catcalls that filled the room in response.

Ren emerged from the kiss grinning in triumph. "We going now?"

"Absolutely. In a second." He nudged her off his lap and took a moment to think of all the least-sexy things he could imagine before he felt comfortable standing up—and even at that, he was glad to be wearing baggy pants.

Krem was grinning at them as they went by, and the Iron Bull was very sure he would be getting crap from his lieutenant tomorrow … but equally sure tonight would be worth it.

Outside the tavern, he said, "Kadan."

"We'll talk upstairs. Okay?"

"Sure." He followed her through the keep and up the familiar stairs to what he supposed was still their quarters, since she didn't seem to be willing to end things.

Taking him by the hand, she led him to the floor in front of the fireplace, sinking down onto the rug. He followed, taking her face in his hands as he knelt in front of her, looking into her eyes, trying to put what he felt into words so she could really understand. "I love you, kadan. I want to be here with you, more than I can say, but I also want to see you become all the awesome things you can be; I couldn't stand to think that I got in your way, that you chose a lesser path because of me, or that there were opportunities not open to you because of what's between us."

Ren sighed. "You are an arrogant ass," she told him again. "But you're not wrong. It's time for me to decide who I am and what I want and where this Inquisition is going to go, and I don't have any idea what the answers are to all of that. But I know this, right now—I can't do this without you, and I can't be here with you and not be with you. You are—" Her voice cracked, and she took a breath to compose herself. "I need you, Ashkaari, in every way."

She kissed him then, her mouth moving from his across his cheek and along his jaw. The Iron Bull closed his eye, tilting his head into her kiss, feeling the warmth of her mouth exploring down the side of his neck, her fingers at the buckles of his harness, and then on his shoulders, exploring the contours of the muscles there.

Gently he nudged her back, looking at the swell of her breasts framed by the opening of her shirt. He knew every inch of those breasts, every taste, but having them there tantalizingly on display but still hidden was maddening. His hands moved to her buttons, slowly loosing them one by one until he could push the shirt off her shoulders, and then deftly he did away with the breastband, letting the soft mounds fall into his hands, weighing them and massaging them. Ren's head fell back, her eyes closing in pleasure as he suckled first one and then the other, brushing his lips across the wet, hard nipples and grazing them with his teeth.

Ignoring his groan of protest she disentangled herself and attacked her bootlaces, tugging the offending footwear off with some difficulty. The Iron Bull grinned at her, kicking off his own boots.

"Show off," Ren grumbled. She lifted her hips, sliding her pants down over the curve of her delectable rear. The Iron Bull tugged them off the rest of the way, letting his hand travel slowly back up her calf, stroking the delicate skin at the back of her knee.

Ren sighed, parting her legs, allowing him to move his hand farther and farther up until he was stroking her. He let his tongue trail over the same path, dancing along her flesh as her hips rose Her hands were on his horns now, urging him up her body. He made his way slowly, kissing the curve of her hip and the line of her ribcage, pausing to rub the bearded edge of his jaw against her breasts, before finding her mouth with his again.

He could feel her hands on him through his pants, and then the pants were being shoved out of the way. He kicked his way out of them, awkwardly, still kissing her, and moaned into her mouth at the sureness of her hands. She knew what he liked, the firm touching, the teasing caresses, and his hips thrust against her hands of their own volition.

"Ashkaari," Ren whispered at last.

"Yes." She was more than ready, and he slid easily inside her.

She was clinging to his shoulders as he moved within her, uttering little cries of pleasure that made his knees go weak. He gathered her close into his arms, moving with determination now, feeling her tighten as the tension built within her until it snapped and she cried out with it. A few more thrusts sent him after her, and then he carried her to the bed, climbing in beside her and pulling the covers up over them.

Ren pressed herself against his side. "You won't go, then? Not until Corypheus?"

"I won't go until Corypheus." It would be harder then, he thought, to leave her a second time. Or would it be easier because he could make a cleaner break? Either way, it was one of the few things she had ever asked of him, and unquestionably the easiest. He couldn't forget her words from earlier—"I need you, Ashkaari, in every way." For words like that, from a woman like this, he would have said yes to almost anything she asked.