Beta-read by brightspot149. Thank you!
Some dialogue adapted, altered, or borrowed from "Demands of the Qun"—if you recognize it, it isn't mine.
Bitterly cold rain peppered Ciri as she advanced with the Iron Bull to the rendezvous point, the Chargers, Olgierd, and Cole close behind them. They'd arrived toward the end of the proposed window to deal with the Venatori smugglers, and late autumn had the Storm Coast firmly in its chill grasp. The Iron Bull and Cole looked distinctly unbothered by the wet and the cold, though Ciri had spotted the occasional shiver coming from Olgierd.
The Iron Bull pointed past Ciri to a canvas awning half-hidden by a pile of broken dwarven masonry. A low, sputtering fire sat before its mouth. "This is the spot. Our contact should be around here."
"You'd be right." An elf in Dalish armor ducked out from beneath the awning and came over on silent feet, his cool, pale eyes roving across them assessingly before settling on the Iron Bull. "Good to see you again, Hissrad."
A smile broke across the Iron Bull's craggy face. "Gatt! Intelligence put you in Seheron last I heard. What changed?"
"Our superiors decided I'd finally calmed down enough to go back out into the wider world," Gatt said with a smirk.
The Iron Bull laughed and turned to Ciri. "Boss, this is Gatt. I used to work with him back in Seheron."
"The bad old days," Gatt said. He gave Ciri a nod. "Pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work."
Ciri doubted that intensely. She'd learned just a little bit about how mages were treated under the Qun and knew her alliance with Fiona and her people stood in complete opposition to that. And setting things up so that Emperor Cyril would ascend to the throne instead of Gaspard prevented the Qun from taking advantage of wars on the Orlesian border with Nevarra—wars that wouldn't come to pass now. If Gatt was flattering her, then the Qun wanted something out of the Inquisition, and they didn't care about her policies.
But more curiously—
"You call Iron Bull 'Hissrad'?" she asked.
Gatt's cool eyes narrowed slightly at her question. "Under the Qun, we use titles, not names."
"My title was 'Hissrad' for my work in the Ben-Hassrath," the Iron Bull explained. "It translates to 'Keeper of Illusions', or—"
"Liar," Gatt interrupted, his voice flat. "It means liar."
The Iron Bull frowned. "You don't have to say it like that."
Behind her, she heard Cole say something softly to Olgierd, and Olgierd murmured back indistinctly. She wasn't as insightful as Cole, but she didn't need to be a spirit to pick up on the tension. Something about the Iron Bull bothered Gatt, despite the big spy's effusive greeting. And that only made her unease worse.
Ciri set her suspicions aside for the moment and smiled politely at Gatt. "We didn't leave much time to deal with the Venatori smugglers. Shall we get started?"
"The reports said you were decisive," Gatt said. Ciri couldn't tell if he meant it approvingly or not. He kept his face blank, and his eyes were hard to read. "Very well. Hopefully, this will help both our peoples. Tevinter is dangerous enough without the influence of the Venatori. And if their red lyrium helps them seize power back in Tevinter, the war in Seheron could get much uglier."
The Iron Bull grunted in agreement. "We're looking at a potential slave army of magical freaks like the red Templars over here. They could overrun Seheron—and turn their attention south."
"That's why we're here," Gatt said. He pointed toward the shoreline. "Our dreadnought is around the head, out of sight for now, and out of range of any Venatori mages on the shore. We'll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnaught so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship."
"That sounds doable. Iron Bull?"
Iron Bull's face reflected her unease. "I don't know. Covering a dreadnought run is always risky. Too many ways for things to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate Venatori numbers, we're dead. And if we can't lock down their mages, the ship is dead. Like I said, risky."
"Riskier than red lyrium getting into Minrathous?" Gatt countered.
"Why does this need to be done on land at all, if the dreadnought is so powerful?" Ciri asked. "Can't your ship handle the smugglers on open water?"
"A half-decent smuggling ship can outmaneuver a dreadnought easily," Gatt said, "and the Venatori will be well-equipped. No. We have to handle it close to shore before they slip away."
Ciri suppressed a sigh. There was no getting around it, then. For better or worse, they were partnered with the Qun for this operation—though her reservations about an alliance hadn't diminished in the slightest since the Iron Bull had brought her the proposal.
"Then let's get to it," she said.
"Our agents relayed two likely locations the Venatori may be camped and watching the shore," Gatt said. He pointed down the shore at a bluff, then back up at a short cliff. "There, and there. We'll need to hit both at once for this to be an effective operation."
"I'll come with you, Boss," the Iron Bull said. "Krem can lead the Chargers to take the other camp." He glanced back at the mercenaries waiting in a loose bunch behind Olgierd and Cole and added, "I'm going to go fill him in. Let me know when we're moving out."
Gatt nodded curtly and turned to move back under the canvas awning. "I await your signal, Inquisitor."
Ciri watched the Iron Bull walk away for a moment then joined Olgierd and Cole. She beckoned them a few more yards from the awning, and she darted a swift look around before lowering her voice.
"I'm not imagining that tension, am I?" she asked.
"All is not well between our Ben-Hassrath contact and the Iron Bull," Olgierd said. "Possibly not between the Iron Bull and the Ben-Hassrath at large." He inclined his head toward Cole. "Will you tell Ciri what you told me?"
Cole twisted his fingers together, his eyes glancing toward the awning. "Panic chokes me, screams outside the door. Is he coming back? Silence falls—who won? Who owns me now?"
Ciri flinched and just barely kept from looking over her shoulder towards Gatt.
"The giant's horns scrape the door frame. Blood drips down, scarlet spatters on the carpet. The giant's voice is gentle. 'You're free now,' he says. 'It's over.'" Cole's voice hardened. "He looks at them like me. It was supposed to be a cover. Halfway Tal-Vashoth already, for them?"
She reached out and caught his nervous hands urgently. "Cole. Do the Ben-Hassrath think he's left the Qun?"
"Suspicion and speculation," he said. "Could the mask be more? He wears it too well."
"What does this mean for us, then?" she asked. She looked between Cole and Olgierd.
"I believe they're sincere in this joint venture, at least," Olgierd said. "Whether we can count on them not to stab us in the back or start to sneak spies into the Inquisition the moment we shake their hands in the aftermath remains to be seen."
Cole didn't disagree, so Ciri sighed softly and nodded. "Very well. We'll let this play out. But stay on guard."
"Always," Olgierd assured her.
She stepped away, back into view of the awning's opening, and gestured to Gatt. He waved back in a salute that seemed to ride the edge of dismissiveness.
"Let's tell Iron Bull we're ready to head out," she said.
Ciri headed to where the Iron Bull stood with Krem and the rest of the Chargers, Olgierd and Cole close behind her. She came in at the tail end of their conversation, just in time to hear the Iron Bull say with a note of worry in his voice, "Just…pay attention, alright? The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad."
"Yes, I know," Krem said with fond tolerance. "Thanks, Mother."
"Qunari don't have mothers, remember?"
"We'll be fine, Chief." Krem raised his voice. "Chargers! Horns up!"
"Horns up!" they volleyed back enthusiastically.
"Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast," the Iron Bull told the Chargers. "When this is over, drinks are on me."
"You heard the Chief!" Krem called out. "Double time! Let's move!"
The Chargers jogged past Ciri toward the bluff camp in a jangle of mail and clank of weapons. Ciri looked back to see Gatt approaching, his pale eyes narrowed again, and she motioned for him to take the lead.
They set out up the rain-slick path in silence, Ciri and the Iron Bull behind Gatt and Olgierd and Cole taking up the rear. After about a minute of walking, Gatt broke the silence.
"You gave your men the easier target."
The Iron Bull grunted softly. "You think so?"
"Lower and farther from the smuggler's ship? It's much less likely to be heavily defended."
"Maybe I just wanted a good fight."
A short, knowing laugh escaped Gatt, and Ciri wondered just what sort of work they'd done together in Seheron to elicit a laugh like that.
They pressed on, silence falling again. As the path began to veer upward, Gatt looked over his shoulder at Ciri. "Interesting backup you chose to bring, Inquisitor. A demon and a bas saarebas would not have been my first guess at who you'd take to the start of an alliance with the Qun."
Ciri glanced up at the Iron Bull. "I'm assuming bas saarebas means the same thing as maleficar—if that allegation made it into your reports?"
"It didn't, and not exactly," he said. "Our mages are called saarebas—'dangerous thing.' A bas saarebas is a mage outside the influence of the Qun. A dangerous thing twice over because it's not under control."
"Your culture sounds wonderful," Olgierd said dryly.
"Dorian said you put blinders on your mages and stitch their mouths shut, cut off their horns," Ciri said. "I can't imagine the Qun approved of my alliance with the free mages of southern Thedas."
"Our superiors weren't happy," Gatt said. "But you make it sound simple. Magic is a destructive force of nature. We respect the sacrifice of those unfortunate enough to be born with it. They're given a guide to ensure their safety and the safety of others, and they serve the Qun in the role they're intended for."
That was as pretty a non-answer as she'd ever heard. She looked back up at the Iron Bull steadily, and after a moment, he looked away, discomfort written across his face.
"I don't set policy, Boss," he said. "Shelve this for later?"
"Hm." She looked back at Gatt. "There's no one in all of Thedas I trust to watch my back more than Olgierd. And Cole is a valued member of the Inquisition, and a friend besides that."
"I help people," Cole piped up. "I hear the hurts inside, and I pull at the knot. Then it doesn't hurt as much. Sometimes they want to die. But I don't kill them."
"Because the Inquisitor has bound you?"
"Because it's not right."
"Hissrad, how can you work with a demon?" Gatt demanded.
"This one's alright," the Iron Bull said casually. He abruptly stiffened and made a low gesture. "Vints, straight ahead."
Ciri saw what he meant. Between the tall, scrubby pines, gray light reflected off metal barriers in the near distance, and low voices carried beneath the sound of the rainfall. She drew Gynvael with a quiet rasp of steel against leather and prepared for a fight.
"If there are slaves," she whispered.
"Yeah, Boss," the Iron Bull said. "We'll try to save them."
Gatt gave her a sidelong look she couldn't quite decipher. "Better move quickly, Inquisitor. Don't want them to warn the others."
He led the way toward the camp silently, his sword drawn. They didn't get far before a cry of alarm rang out. The Iron Bull charged past them, smashing through the barriers to crash into a Venatori zealot. Ciri raced forward alongside Gatt as twin clouds of dark smoke vanished in the corners of her eyes.
Olgierd and Cole reappeared in the center of the camp in another burst of smoke. Ciri struck out at a Venatori archer, her blade chopping through the artfully crafted bow and carving deep into the man's arm. He jerked away with a cry of pain and drew a dagger at his waist with his off hand, lunging for her wildly. She parried the strike and thrust Gynvael home.
A half-naked gladiator in a helm and collar advanced on her, mace upraised and tower shield held steady. Across the camp, Olgierd swore. He swiftly ran his saber through the man he'd been fighting and began to make his way over.
"Desinite," Ciri said calmly, holding Gynvael carefully at her side. "We're not your enemies. The Inquisition frees slaves. We don't kill them."
The gladiator paused. His grip on his mace tightened. "You have an altus in your Inquisition. You brought Venatori agents into your ranks. I won't trade one master for another."
"Crassius Servis was sentenced to taking down the Venatori's intelligence network and aiding the freed slaves," Ciri told him. "Gereon Alexius was sentenced to serve the free mages."
He took a half-step back. "A hypocrite and a madman. And you can't trust mages."
"Trust me, then," Gatt broke in. "The Qun freed me from slavery. They gave me purpose."
"I won't trade one master for another," the gladiator said again, his knuckles white around the handle of his mace.
"Look," the Iron Bull said. "Can we at least get that collar off you? You can decide what you want later. Maybe you'll stick around and meet my mercenary company. Or you can take off on your own. Most of the slaves freed were in the Western Approach if you want to meet up with them."
The gladiator hesitated, then gave a single, jerky nod. Ciri beckoned for Cole to come over. He stiffened as Cole deftly picked the lock dangling from the heavy collar around his neck. It slid off and hit the muddy grass with a dull thud, and he dropped his shield and mace and yanked off his helmet.
Beneath it, he was a young human not much older than Sera, with deep brown eyes and a peachy undertone to his light cheeks. His ears stuck out like jug handles from beneath a messy thatch of sandy blond hair. He looked from face to face warily, his gaze finally coming to rest on Ciri.
"You'll let me go?"
"You don't belong to anyone but yourself," she said. "There's an Inquisition camp up the shore where you can get food and supplies if you want, but it's entirely your choice. No one will force you to do anything you don't wish to."
"And if you find yourself looking for a purpose, the Qun will have a place for you," Gatt added. "It did for me."
"No." The gladiator shook his head hard. He looked up at the Iron Bull with cautious hope. "You, though. I'll wait. Here. If you survive…maybe I'll meet your men."
"What's your name, kid?" the Iron Bull asked.
"Sephus."
"Sephus. Good name." The Iron Bull gave him a respectful nod. "See you soon, Sephus."
Ciri took a last look at the bodies scattered across the soaked ground and set it aside as a problem for later. She doubted Olgierd would have trouble getting them to burn.
Gatt headed off toward the cliff's edge with an impatient gesture at the rest of them. "We don't have time to waste."
They crept through the trees, their eyes peeled for movement. The relentless, steady downpour made it difficult to make things out. But at last, Ciri spotted a faint wet gleam of rain on metal, and she caught a glimpse of a dark robe as a mage moved behind the barrier.
Cole disappeared in a puff of dark smoke and reappeared behind the mage, his daggers drawn. Before one of the Venatori could shout a warning, he plunged them into the mage's back and tore them messily free.
The two Venatori left standing, both fully armored and uncollared zealots, cried out and drew their swords. Ciri raced forward, her boots almost slipping on the slick, muddy grass, and caught the downward swing of the nearest zealot's sword on Gynvael's crossguard. To her left, she glimpsed the Iron Bull charging in to engage the remaining enemy.
A burst of black and red smoke. Olgierd's saber cleaved down at the zealot's unguarded back as Ciri broke away and darted back in to strike. The man let out a strangled cry of pain and twisted to clumsily parry Olgierd's next blow. Ciri struck again, slashing deep into his unarmored side as Olgierd thrust his saber between the man's ribs.
"That's the last of them," the Iron Bull reported as the zealot crumpled at Olgierd's feet. "Let's get the signal fire lit."
Ciri joined him at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the heavily soaked logs stacked against each other in the Venatori's campfire. "This signal fire?"
"Uh…yeah. Olgierd, this going to be a problem?" the Iron Bull called over to him.
Olgierd glanced over at the campfire from where he knelt wiping his sword clean on the wet grass, and he shook his head. "It oughtn't be."
He came over and held out a hand to the wet wood, giving his wrist a casual twist. The flames sparked and caught, and with a sudden rush, a fire burned merrily at their feet despite all the efforts of the freezing rain to put it out.
Gatt knelt before it and set something in amidst the burning logs. The fire gave a crack and a pop, and a bright, burning red flare shot up into the sky.
The Iron Bull looked down the shore at the bluff camp. "The Chargers already sent theirs up."
"I knew you gave them the easier target," Gatt scoffed.
Harsh, strident bells clanged, and Ciri turned her attention to the sea. A massive warship, heavy-prowed with an almost draconic silhouette, cut through the gray rain and choppy waves.
"There it is," the Iron Bull said in satisfaction. "That brings back memories."
The Venatori's ship tried to cut around, but with muffled whooshes that Ciri could hear even from her vantage up on the cliff, the Qunari launched a volley of flaming missiles that struck it broadside with unerring precision. The sails, then the ship itself, quickly caught fire, and it began to capsize and sink.
The Iron Bull laughed. "Nice!" He looked down at Ciri. "Back to Sephus, Boss?"
"No." Olgierd pointed down the shore. "Look there."
"Ah, crap," the Iron Bull muttered.
A half-dozen Venatori mages and a handful of their zealots advanced with haste on the bluff camp where the Chargers stood. Ciri took in the distance at a glance and grasped her agate pendant, then let it go reluctantly.
She couldn't use magic for anything but the rifts. And she wasn't certain she could direct Alzur's Thunder that precisely.
"Those mages will overwhelm them," she told the Iron Bull.
He nodded, his single eye glued to the scene. "Yeah."
"Your men need to hold that position, Hissrad," Gatt said.
The Iron Bull tore his gaze from the advancing Venatori and glared down at him. "They do that, they're dead."
"And if they don't, the Venatori will keep their foothold and the dreadnought is dead," Gatt countered. "You'd be throwing away a historic alliance—declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!"
The Iron Bull looked back at the Chargers and fingered the horn on his belt.
"Half the Ben-Hassrath think you've betrayed us already with all the intelligence you've shared with the Inquisition!" Gatt continued. "I stuck my neck out for you! I told them you'd never become Tal-Vashoth!"
The Iron Bull's hands clenched into fists at his side, and when he spoke, his voice was like gravel. "They're. My. Men."
"I know. But you need to do what's right for this alliance," Gatt said. "And for the Qun."
The Iron Bull's tense fists shook, and he looked away. Then, just when it seemed Gatt's words had reached him, Cole spoke up.
"Horns pointing up."
The Iron Bull bodily flinched. "Boss."
"They're your men," Ciri said firmly, "Iron Bull of the Bull's Chargers."
"Don't!" Gatt protested as the Iron Bull raised his horn to his lips.
The sound echoed across the shoreline, and Ciri peered through the rainy haze to see the Chargers retreat from the bluff camp with alacrity. As the Venatori halted their approach, she unfastened her pendant necklace and handed it to Olgierd.
"Just channel magic into it and focus where you want Alzur's Thunder to hit," she said to him in a hurried undertone. "Quickly. We don't have much time."
He nodded and wrapped his scarred hand around it, the bright depths of the agate disappearing in his palm.
"All those years, Hissrad," Gatt sputtered. "And you throw it away, for what? For this? For them?"
"His name isn't 'Liar'," Ciri shot back. "It's 'the Iron Bull'."
Gatt gave her a cold, contemptuous look. "I suppose it is."
A blinding white flash lit up the sky, and Ciri squinted as lightning arced down from the roiling dark clouds above to smite one of the Venatori mages stone dead. Two of the nearest mages staggered and yelped, stray threads of lightning flickering out and striking them.
Olgierd dropped her pendant, now dim and dark, back in her hand. "We'll see what comes of that."
As the Venatori on the shore scrambled in the wake of the sudden attack, the dreadnought pulled back into deeper water. The remaining mages managed to gather their wits and hurl fire at the retreating ship, but the Qunari vessel slipped away with nothing more than a badly scorched hull.
Gatt's shoulders slumped, relief painted across every line of his body. "I can't believe—I thought you left us to die. The Qun will honor our alliance with the Inquisition, Inquisitor," he said. He shot an unreadable look up at the Iron Bull. "We don't need to mention what happened here."
"You almost left the Chargers to die," Ciri countered. "I went along with this because I wanted to see where it would lead. But I can't ally with the Qun and look Grand Enchanter Fiona or my advisors in the eye, not knowing what you do to mages, and not knowing the sorts of sacrifices you consider acceptable. I won't be your enemy. But there won't be any alliance."
"My superiors won't be happy," Gatt said. "But they rarely ever are. Hissrad—"
"She said it," the Iron Bull interrupted. "That's not my name."
Gatt faltered.
"I knew exactly what I was doing when I blew that horn," the Iron Bull said. "Look, Gatt…"
"Forget it, the Iron Bull," Gatt said. "I'll write your final report. I'm sure—" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and with it seemed to exhale an entire sea of anger. "I'm sure your men are waiting. Sephus, too. Panahedan. Farewell, Inquisitor."
Ciri fastened her pendant around her neck as Gatt stalked off back through the trees.
"Horns still pointing up?" the Iron Bull asked Cole, his voice weary.
Cole nodded, and droplets of rain went flying from the brim of his hat. "They're brash and bold, brave like Bull. Fiercely faithful. Horns up, always."
The Iron Bull laughed a little and clapped Cole on his thin shoulder. "Yeah. Those are my guys, alright. Come on. Let's see if Sephus stuck around and get back to them."
Olgierd held up a hand and gave Ciri a questioning look. She nodded, and he tossed a handful of fire at the scattered bodies. They quickly caught despite the rain and lack of tinder, and once they'd burned down to ash and bone, he clenched his fist and they abruptly smothered out.
"Now we can go," Ciri said.
"You're a strange one sometimes, Boss," the Iron Bull said as they began to head toward the other camp.
"Respect for enemies costs nothing," she said mildly.
And if the spirits ever lost their grasp on the dreams of this world's necrophages, she'd hate to learn what leaving bodies lying around would do.
Sephus was still in the first devastated camp, sitting between a corpse and his discarded tower shield and clutching his mace. His bare skin had a worrying blue tinge to it from exposure to the elements, and he shivered every few seconds.
"Shit, kid," the Iron Bull said. "We need to get you warmed up."
Sephus looked up, his eyes hazy and tired. "You lived then. I'm still not joining you."
"That's fine," Ciri told him. "Will you come with us back to camp, though? We can get you clothing, a hot meal—"
"You can meet the Chargers," the Iron Bull interrupted. "You'll like my guys. They're nothing like the Inquisition. Only one Vint, and he's as common as they come."
"Hmph." Sephus stood slowly and made his way over to them, his body wracked with shivers. "Just for today," he said.
"Sure," the Iron Bull agreed.
Olgierd set the rest of the bodies alight without fanfare, and once they'd burned out, they headed down the slope quietly, Sephus following along at a cautious distance. They'd made it back down to the muddy path before Olgierd cleared his throat and glanced up at the Iron Bull.
"You did right by your men."
"I know," the Iron Bull said. "It'll just take some time to wrap my head around it."
Ciri didn't understand his loss, not fully, but she empathized. She'd had more than one life she'd had to walk away from, and most of them had been stolen from her. He'd need time and the company of his band.
It wasn't long before the crimson tents appeared from between the scrubby pines, accompanied by cheerful voices and the scent of cooking meat and root vegetables. A voice rose in excitement, and laughter broke out ahead of them.
The Iron Bull relaxed. "Sounds like they all made it back alright."
"Chief!" Krem called out in welcome as they came into view. "Pull up a log and have a drink."
Someone had stretched a canvas sailcloth across the space between the tents, providing a makeshift shelter for the fire and the people seated around it. Rain pattered down on it in loud drumbeats as Ciri ducked beneath it to take a seat. Olgierd sat beside her and silently accepted a bowl of stew from Grim.
"Good to see you," she said, smiling at Krem. "It looked a bit tense back there."
"We weren't worried," Krem said. He raised his mug at her and the Iron Bull. "We knew you had our backs."
"Always," the Iron Bull said gruffly. He patted Krem on the back and dropped down to sit between him and Ciri. "Boys, this is Sephus. Sephus, these are the Chargers."
Sephus gave them all a tense nod and slowly sank onto an empty spot on one of the logs.
"Scout Donnel," Ciri called out, spotting a familiar face. "Do you have a spare uniform you can give Sephus? I think he's about your size."
Scout Donnel bowed with his fist over his heart. "Right away, Your Worship."
"Hungry?" Dalish asked. She passed Sephus a full bowl of stew. "Eat up. You're practically blue from the cold."
Stitches gave him an appraising look. "You don't look injured. Anything I need to stick a poultice on?"
"No." Sephus jammed a spoonful of stew in his mouth and hunkered down over the bowl as Scout Donnel came back with a stack of folded clothes.
"Thank you," Ciri told Scout Donnel, who bowed again.
"After all that, I hope the Qun's coming through big with that alliance," Rocky said.
A strained silence fell over Ciri, Olgierd, and the Iron Bull, and she glanced at the big Qunari—Tal-Vashoth, now—only to find him looking to her for the same answers.
Cole spoke up. "'His name isn't Liar. It's the Iron Bull,'" he said in Ciri's accent. "'I won't be your enemy. But there won't be any alliance.'"
"We did all this for nothing?" Skinner asked, her face screwing up in annoyance.
"We killed a bunch of Vints and took out their shipment," Stitches countered. "That's not nothing. And the Inquisition can clean up the rest, right?"
"With the help of the Grey Wardens," Ciri agreed. "They have better resistance to red lyrium than the average person."
"But no alliance," Krem pressed the Iron Bull. "Chief."
The Iron Bull sighed and shook his head. "The Qun demanded more than I was willing to give."
Krem looked up at him for a long moment, his eyes somber and knowing. Then he slapped him on his meaty shoulder and smiled. "Couldn't give you up either, big guy. You're stuck with us now."
Rocky let out a barking laugh across the campfire and raised his mug. "Horns up!"
"HORNS UP!"
As the Chargers broke out into song around a startled Sephus, Ciri leaned in and murmured to the Iron Bull.
"Welcome home, Bull."
He stared down at her in bemusement. "Never called me that before."
She shrugged. "You're your own man now."
There were sure to be repercussions from this; the Qun would no doubt pull the agents the Iron Bull had corresponded with, and they'd do their best to squirrel new spies into the Inquisition to replace him. There'd been no invasion of Rivain and Antiva without the fall of Orlais and Ferelden, though, so perhaps she'd done a decent enough job as it was. And she could finally trust the Iron Bull without reservations.
"Huh. Guess I am." His single eye roved around the circle of raucously singing Chargers, and a fond smile crossed his craggy face. "'Welcome home'. I like it. Thanks, Boss."
Olgierd passed her a bowl of stew, and she knocked her shoulder against his and settled in to warm up and dry off, the pounding of the rain on the canvas above them a rhythmic counterpoint to the enthusiastic amateur singing around the fire.