Bull's had a lot of names. His first one was just numbers, so it's safe to say Bull has issues knowing what persona and name is really his. Perhaps Inquisitor Samahl Lavellan will see what persona hides behind all the names. But if Iron Bull must seduce Samahl to help save the world, he will, no matter what persona of Bull is real. Iron Bull/Male Lavellan

Author's Note: This is a story inspired by the actual voice directions that were given to Freddie Prinze Jr. right before he voiced the first romance scene that takes place between Bull and the Inquisitor in the Inquisitor's bedroom.

Before recording the scene, the director looked right at Freddie and said, "Fifty Shades of Bull! Go!"

Freddie said something along the lines of, "Ok, let's do this!" real enthusiastically and in Bull's voice.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, not even Samahl. I have based him on the more humorous persona of the male British voice for the Inquisitor and have tried my best to match the persona I have seen in the game.

This story features a healthy and consensual relationship of friendship, sex, sub/dom dynamics, and love.

Trigger Warnings for Chapter

Attempted rape and attempted murder (at the end of chapter)
War PTSD
Minor character Death
War violence
Referenced deaths of children

Chapter 1: Demands of the Qun

Ashkaari had learned at a young age that he was not only good at hitting things. He was also good at thinking and lying. "One who thinks" was the meaning of Ashkaari, the informal name the Tamassrans had given him at school. It was always difficult to remember code numbers, and Ashkaari's number of 68107 was a mouthful. Most of the children were given nicknames.

When Ashkaari heard the quiet weeping in the children's dorm room, Ashkaari snuck into Tama's study. He carefully searched through Tama's desk with quick fingers and found what he was looking for: The pouch of candy nestled in the top drawer. Ashkaari pulled at the draw string and filched a piece. Then, after a pause to consider his rumbling stomach, he filched another.

Just as he tied the drawstring of the punch, Ashkaari's grey eyes caught sight of a report marked with dates and entries. It was about him.

68107 "Ashkaari"

Age: 8

Sex: Male

Notes: 68107 likes to dismantle order. The proof is in the blocks he knocks down, the rules he breaks to get the other children to laugh, the questions he asks about nearly every lesson or rule or custom or tradition. Today, when he was ordered to eat two more food items on his plate before he could go play, he put two pieces of candy on his plate that he had been hiding—I don't know where he was hiding them—ate the two pieces of candy, and left. He was never meant to follow the Qun.

Ashkaari stared at the report with wide eyes. Then he frowned. "Tama's wrong," he muttered. "I'll show her she's wrong. I can follow the Qun." Ashkaari looked at the stolen candy in his hand. "I'll follow the Qun tomorrow," he promised.

Ashkaari hurried back upstairs to the bedrooms and found the new child, 68123, who had just arrived yesterday, sitting on the floor by the window. His eyes were filled with tears and he was still crying softly, his eyes and nose streaming. It's the reason his nickname was "Tears" at the dorm. According to a conversation Ashkaari overheard from the Tamassrans, Tears' parents were something called "Tal-Vashoth." Ashkaari did not know what that meant yet.

Ashkaari held out the candy the other boy. "Here," he said with a smile.

68123 looked up in surprise, saw the candy, and took it hesitantly. "Thank you," he whispered softly.

Hissrad could trust no one in Seheron.

Everyone could be a spy, an assassin, a Tal-Vashoth. So, when Hissrad needed someone in the most intimate of ways, Vasaad, once called "Tears" many years ago, was the one he found sanctuary with. The child Hissrad had once given candy to was now a seasoned veteran of Seheron like himself. They were both scarred, hardened, but in intimate moments, they were still Ashkaari, the planner who was always careful and who worried about people close to him, and "Tears," the impatient and spontaneous one who not only leapt into action and then thought of the consequences later, but the one whose passion, emotion, and lust for life was now one of the only things keeping Hissrad from falling into insanity.

It was Vasaad who suggested this arrangement first, this agreement that, since Hissrad could never surrender on the battlefield, or let down his guard in front of his subordinates, Hissrad would only surrender in the circle of Vasaad's arms.

On their last night together, Vasaad was the one who approached Hissrad first.

Vasaad guided Hissrad to the back of their Qunari stronghold, shut them in Hissrad's quarters, and strong-armed Hissrad till the back of Hissrad's knees hit the side of the bed. And even though Vasaad was slimmer and leaner, Hissrad let him. After all the shit and nightmare fueled horror in this horrible place, Hissrad wanted more than anything to let go for a moment. Just a moment.

Hissrad lay back on the bed and stared up at Vasaad's face as the other Qunari leaned over him. Vasaad's ivory microbraids swung down off of his shoulders to caress Hissrad's chest. Hisraad's childhood friend bent down and kissed him deeply, his tongue seeking between his lips, as he ran one dark hand over Hissrad's shorn scalp and the other down his chest and over the ridges of his abdomen. Then Vasaad leaned back a little and his red eyes glistened in the firelight with a request for permission.

Hissrad took in a deep breath and ran his fingers up one of Vasaad's curled horns. "Yes," he murmured.

"What's the safe word?" Vasaad whispered.

"Sataam," Hissrad rumbled quietly. It meant "boot."

After massaging every surface, inside and out, of Hissrad he could with his nimble fingers, Vasaad finally took him. Hissrad gasped, closed his grey eyes, and arched his back. His huge legs wrapped around Vasaad's slender waist, his heels digging into his lean back, as the slender Qunari sucked kisses into his neck as he plunged into him at a relentless pace. Vasaad's hands pressed Hisraad's giant horns against the bed. Hissrad kissed back frantically, tears of stress, pleasure, and relief streaming from his grey eyes.

"Hey," Vasaad said with a fond smile. "No tears. That's what I'm for, right Kadan?"

Hissrad tangled his fingers into Vasaad's ivory micro-braids as he came with a groan.

"Kadan. We can't go in there without a plan," Hissrad snapped. "We need to think this through."

"We can't let the Tal-Vashoth get away with killing those kids at the dormitory," Vasaad shot back. He held his knives in clenched fists while he glared out over the fortress wall toward the direction of the Tal-Vashoth stronghold hidden in the jungle. "Something needs to be done, Kadan."

"And it will be done and we'll do it," Hissrad growled quietly. "But we need more time to—"

There was a knock. They both turned as one towards the opening door. Gatt, his face pale and drawn, looked at both of them with a horrified expression on his elven and angular features. "The last child, the one who survived the dormitory attack, is dead."

Vasaad tightened his grip around his knives till his dark knuckles cracked. Hissrad took in a deep breath, staring hard at the jungle, and began to shape a plan that would slaughter every last one of the Tal-Vashoth in the stronghold.

Vasaad threw open the door and charged into the quarters of the Tal-Vashoth leader.

But that wasn't part of the plan. It wasn't part of the plan because Hissrad knew it would be a trap. They had talked about this. He had definitely talked to Vasaad about this, hadn't he? So why was Visaad—?

Vasaad's whole body jerked. Hissrad felt the splash of blood on his chest, heard the clang of knives clatter uselessly to the floor, and watched as his childhood friend's body fell like a rag doll to the floorboards. The two arrows in his neck still vibrated with the force of their impact.

One of the Tal-Vashoth in the shadows laughed.

Hisraad did not remember everything that happened next, but he would always remember how his axe cut cleanly through that shadowed, laughing face and everything else behind it. But after that, Hissrad's world became a mangled mess of blood, rage, and anger. A great, howling sound tore through his throat and shook the very air as he fought like a whirlwind through everything that stood in his way.

His clouds of his madness cleared only enough for him to be aware that, at one point, he had stopped fighting. He was surrounded by the surviving soldiers that had been sent to back him up. He was kneeling in the middle of the Tal-Vashoth stronghold, his own blood pooling into the cracks between the tiny mosaic tiles. On each piece of polished glass, he could see his own face, bloodied, bleeding, deformed by the crazed, half-animal look in his eyes. The bodies of dozens of Tal-Vashoth lay broken and bloodied around him. Two of his fingers were severed. He was wounded in many places. His face felt numb with bruises.

And he could no longer think of any reason why he should keep breathing.

Hissrad stared with unfocused grey eyes up at the horrified faces of his remaining soldiers. "I am no longer fit for duty," Hissrad rasped.

Hissrad had wanted to be re-educated. Instead, they sent him to Orlais to spy. They never told him why, but he could hazard a guess. Many people who got re-educated never came back the same. The same reason Hissrad always found himself in trouble with the Qun was same the reason why he was good at his job. He asked questions. He speculated. He doubted. He was suspicious. At his core, he was a thinker, and the re-education would have fixed him so he wouldn't have to think anymore.

Either way, the decision wasn't up to him. Par Vollen needed him to be able to think, even if Hissrad didn't want to anymore.

So Hissrad was sent away from the front lines in Seheron. He was also expected to come up with an alias.

And for the first time in his life, he was truly alone.

As Hissrad passed through a small village, his travel sack slung over a broad and bare shoulder, he felt the eyes of the villagers and farmers on him. Whispers followed him. He kept his grey eyes forward. He could see the suspicious look of the Orlesians out of the corner of his eyes.

Then he heard a giggle. He ignored it. When he heard the giggle again, he looked up. Two women were eyeing him with twin approving looks, smiling with bright, flirtatious grins. Hissrad stared. That had never happened before. Humans outside of the Qun—even some in the Qun—usually ran the other way when they saw him. He had never seen humans outside the Qun gawk at him with anything else but fear.

Hissrad grinned back with his best flirtatious grin and arched a dark eyebrow. The two women broke into peals of giggles and walked away, glancing back over their shoulders at his arms and bare chest.

After a half an hour of wandering aimlessly, Hissrad found himself in the center of a grassy field. He stared up at the sky and thought absentmindedly, as he usually did when he visited a place so scenic, that Tears would have enjoyed himself there.

Hissrad heard a loud snort and turned around.

Standing a few yards away was a giant bull. It lowered its head and dragged a cloven hoof over the dusty ground. Hissrad bent his head down, his horns gleaming, and locked eyes with the beast. "You looking at me?" Hissrad asked threateningly.

The bull snorted so powerfully that dust plumed from the ground. Then a cow walked by. The bull turned away from his stare-down with Hissrad to stare at the cow's ass.

Hissrad roared with laughter.

Hissrad knew something was wrong the moment he approached the door of the tavern. His mercenaries, several human men and a dwarf who had followed his lead after they left Fisher's Bleeders, knew it too. They all heard the shouts and the malicious laughter. Hissrad threw open the door.

Sprawled on the floor, surrounded by leering Vints, was a young man. One Vint had the man's legs open wide while another Vint loomed threateningly over him. As the Vint smiled with lewd and violent intent, he held a flail against the terrified young man's face.

"STOP!" Hissrad roared.

The Vint with the flail looked up at Hissrad in alarm and drew back his arm instinctively.

Instinct took over. He barreled through the Vints like they were made of feathers and threw himself in front of the flail. Agony flared raw and hot across his face. He threw a punch that dented the side of the flail-wielding Vint's head. He tried to open his left eye but couldn't. For a brief moment, panic flared and made his heart race, but he cast aside the panic when he heard a broken sob. He looked down at the young man who was trying to cover himself with what remained of torn trousers and a ripped shirt.

He realized then that the young man was a woman.

And when he saw those wide brown eyes staring up at him in fear and awe, any regret he had about losing an eye vanished completely.

"You're safe now. I'm Iron Bull. What do you want me to call you?"