Chapter Three: Horns Up!

Rosalie Trevelyan was drunk.

That certainly hadn't been the intent when she'd agreed to meet Iron Bull at the Herald's Rest so that he could introduce his company. It had just sort of… happened. Though she got the impression it just sort of happened rather a lot around the Chargers.

As for why she'd let it happen? Her day before meeting the Chargers hadn't exactly been very relaxing. Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen had met just a few hours ago over their imminent need to go to the Winter Palace and prevent the assassination of Empress Celene.

Even if Rosalie had been the noblewoman she said she was, that wouldn't have been a mission to look forward to. As a bard, it was probably exactly where she would have been if this Corypheus nonsense had never begun. Yet she knew the thought of going would keep her awake at night for a while to come.

Her worlds were going to collide. That was guaranteed now, though she had always expected it would come sooner or later. Her bard master hadn't been in touch yet as she'd expected, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten about her. It didn't mean those she worked with in Orlais had forgotten, and it certainly didn't mean her enemies had.

She had come to the conclusion that she'd need to discuss this with Leliana and the other advisors sooner or later. Still she dragged her feet, trying to gauge what their reactions might be, hoping something would come up that meant they didn't have to attend Celene's gathering. That became less likely by the day, and today's meeting on the matter had made it clear that she needed to reconcile herself with the idea of appearing bare-faced at court to represent the Inquisition. With any luck, nobody would recognize her out of the usual mask.

For now? Drinking seemed like a good idea. Drinking with the Chargers, doubly so.

"No man can beat the Chargers, 'cause we'll hit you where it hurts," she sang loudly, looking to Dalish for approval to make sure she wasn't getting the words wrong. "Unless you know a tavern with loose cards and looser skirts..." Her brow furrowed, then she asked, "What does loose cards even mean?"

"They're... you know... loose!" Dalish offered unhelpfully, an answer which made Rosalie laugh.

"You don't even know?"

Rocky nudged Rosalie with his elbow, then nodded to her mug. "It means you need to drink more. When it makes perfect sense, then you know you're drunk enough."

Accepting that, Rosalie took another swig from her mug, then continued the song. "For every bloody battlefield, we'll gladly raise a cup." Everyone around her raised their cups and joined in for the last line. "No matter what tomorrow holds, our horns be pointing up!"

Behind the bar, Cabot the bartender rolled his eyes, shook his head and went back to mopping his counter with a wet rag, an impatient look on his face like he'd heard that song a few times too many that night. And the night before. And several before that.

"How was I?" Rosalie asked her drinking companions.

"Hmmm..." Dalish tapped at her lip as she considered her answer, then looked to Stitches for help. "It didn't sound quite right."

"That's because she wasn't off-key," the Fereldan grunted in that gravelly voice of his.

Rocky laughed and elbowed Rosalie again. "That means you need to drink more!"

And drink she did.

From there, she and the Chargers taught each other the best drinking songs they knew, and when they ran out of those, they began adding verses to the Chargers' song; one for each member.

It was Rocky who suggested that for Krem's verse they all stand on their chairs, and by that point Rosalie was all too willing to follow his move. Dalish tried, but was a bit too tipsy by that point to really manage to pull herself up, and soon ended up rolling around on the floor.

Krem just scoffed, rolled his eyes, and kept drinking.

Suddenly Iron Bull was standing in front of Rosalie, their heights just about even now. It was odd being at eye-level with the man. She wasn't sure where he'd been the last little while, but she suspected it was in the back room with one of the serving girls.

He smiled and pressed his forefinger to her forehead. Rosalie didn't notice herself go cross-eyed as she focused on that finger, nor was she sober enough to correct her balance in time to prevent a fall backwards. Luckily Bull seemed to have been expecting that and was quick to catch her. "How about we get some air, boss?" he suggested. As she went to answer, he tossed her over his shoulder. "Upsy-daisy."

She was drunk enough to not be mortified by the chorus of cheers as he carried her outside. In fact, as the shutting of the tavern's door muffled the sounds within, she found herself laughing. "Do Qunari say upsy-daisy?" It seemed like such a strange thing for a horned giant to say, after all.

She felt him shrug. "This one does."

"You know, people will talk if they see the Inquisitor being carried off to her room like this," she teased.

"True. But we're not going to your room. We're going up to the battlements so you can get some air, clear your head. Better idea than trying to match Rocky drink for drink."

Well, she couldn't exactly deny that. "I like your crazy bunch of assholes," she told him as he climbed them up the steps that led from the side of the tavern up to the battlements. "Sort of like a very fun, drunk family, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't know," he reminded her.

"I'm not sure I would either," she confessed, aware it was only the alcohol letting her say even that much. Iron Bull didn't comment, though she was certain he'd made a mental note of that for future reference.

They reached the top of the stairs and Bull set her down, keeping a hand on her back to help with balance as her legs wobbled beneath her for a moment. There was a guard on duty, she noticed. There were places he could have brought her where no one would see them, but he'd placed them near a guard so that she knew two things for certain without him having to tell her. Firstly: that this wasn't about getting her alone for sex. Secondly: that she was safe. Ish. Rosalie was certain that she - unarmed and drunk - plus one Skyhold guard were not a match for the Iron Bull, but the message was received all the same.

"I heard the singing. You've got a big voice for such a small chest," he noted.

Rosalie feigned offence at that. "Some ladies might not take kindly to you commenting on the size of their chest," she pointed out.

The corner of Bull's mouth lifted into an almost-smile. "Bards are musicians, right? They're good singers, most of them."

The smile on her face slipped before she could stop it. "That's what they say, yes."

If anything, the answer seemed to be expected by Bull. "It took me a while to get a good read on you. You remind me a lot of the Tallis. They're... the bards of the Qun, I guess you could say. Even before Haven I got hints of it from you, but since they named you Inquisitor..."

"What?" Rosalie asked, a deep frown on her face.

"You're used to following orders, not giving them. Haven't had to think for yourself before. Most who looked closely would assume that's from a controlling parent or something, but that doesn't explain why you always seem like you're planning your escape just in case you need it. That is how a spy thinks."

Suddenly feeling like she'd been backed into a corner, Rosalie's breath began to quicken, which was difficult to hide given her inebriated state. "Maybe we Trevelyans are just a shifty bunch."

"Maybe. Doesn't change my point though."

Resisting the urge to deflect with an obvious joke about his point, she simply asked, "Which is?"

"Half of Thedas is looking to you to lead them through a dark time. And you're here waiting for orders from the person who usually tells you what to do."

"It's not like I asked for any of this," she reminded him. "And I'm not sure what you want from me. Are you telling me to do better? Warning me that you're about to report to the Qunari that there's a useless impostor running the Inquisition? What?"

Bull smiled softly. "Maybe it's as simple as this: I know you're a spy. You know I'm a spy. And both of us know that Corypheus needs to be stopped. You play your role as the Inquisitor, I'll play mine as the big dumb bodyguard. And if you need a person to be… not the Inquisitor around, I can be that for you."

Rosalie thought about that for a while. Someone who she didn't need to pretend with… Given that he was openly spying on them, he seemed just about the worst choice. But maybe that was why he was the right choice. He was right that he was someone who could understand better than just about anyone else. She couldn't trust him exactly. But if she couldn't fool him, there wasn't much to lose in setting her role aside in private either.

"I think I'd like that," she agreed, giving him a faint smile.

"And maybe you talk to Red about this?" he suggested. "From what I've heard, she's no stranger to… what's that Orlesian way of putting it? 'The Game?'"

"Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment," she answered, tilting her head back to look at the stars as if they were far too distracting for her to possibly give this discussion her full concentration. "And maybe now you'll stop trying to figure me out, hmm?"

He chuckled. "I still want to know why you sound Fereldan when you're drunk."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "So what you're saying is that I shouldn't be drinking?"

"That would be a shame."

That brought a playful smile to her face. "Oh? You want me with my guard down? Makes your job easier, I suppose, Mr. Ben… Hashmash."

"Ben-Hassrath," he corrected, lips twitching with amusement. "And maybe I just like seeing you let your hair down a bit."

Rosalie worked her fingers into her hair, tugging out the pins that held her braided updo in place until her raven hair tumbled down her back, all the way down to her elbows. "You like my hair, do you? Good to know." If she remembered doing that come the morning, she would certainly roll her eyes at herself.

Bull smirked. "I'm not holding that back for you if you need to spew over the battlements."

"Just as long as you're not throwing me over the battlements, I'm happy," she countered. "And I think I can manage to find my way back to my quarters from here. Thanks for the company, Bull."

He inclined his head. "Any time, Boss."

In the morning, a note arrived from Bull asking her to meet with him. She assumed it would be about the night before, what he'd revealed he knew about her and his offer to be the one person she didn't need to wear her mask with. Which was why it was a surprise to find him busy sparring with Krem.

Given how much she'd managed to drink while the Chargers had been buying, it was hardly a surprise, if still unwelcome, that the clash of steel echoing through the training yard made her head pound. All the same, she stood and watched them exchange blows and well-meaning insults for a while. Besides, even her headache wasn't enough to distract her from the rather captivating view of sweat trickling down Bull's expansive bare chest.

She didn't think he'd caught her staring by the time he stepped back from Krem and turned to face her. His face was all business, in fact. "Glad you came by. I got a letter from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red."

Rosalie was wary of a mission working with the Qunari - anyone in their right mind would have to be. She had to admit, though, that the knowledge they were offering in exchange would certainly be a boon to the Inquisition, and it was certainly true that Corypheus was the sort of foe worth putting aside differences for.

In the end what made her accept was Iron Bull. He seemed wary as well, and all he had to say for his hesitation was, "I'm used to them being… over there."

She had to wonder if perhaps this mission would give her some insight into a man who was fascinatingly difficult to read. A man who she wanted to trust but knew she shouldn't given who he worked for. A man who genuinely seemed to love the mercenaries he surrounded himself with, despite the fact that they were only supposed to be his cover.

It would be interesting to see what came of this for the Inquisition, but more interesting still to see what she could learn about the Iron Bull.

It was raining along the Storm Coast as the Iron Bull led them to the rendezvous point. Just like it had rained when he'd first met with Rosalie and her companions. Just like it was always raining along the Storm Coast.

Sera and Varric had passed the time playing I Spy for a while, but since something beginning with B always meant boulder, and something beginning with S always meant the sea, that had grown old fast. Soon enough, Varric had declared that B was for bull and S was for shit, and the group had continued to trudge towards their meeting with Bull's contact in damp, miserable silence.

It wasn't long after they came to a camp that had already been set up further back from the cliffs that an elf emerged to greet them. Bull could tell Gatt was a surprise for Rosalie, who hadn't known enough about the Qun not to expect a giant with horns - though he was sure she realized that an elf who could easily go unnoticed certainly made more sense than The Iron Bull for spy work.

"Boss, this is Gatt. We worked together in Seheron."

Gatt bowed to Rosalie. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work."

He caught her eyes narrowing slightly at that. Apparently Rosalie didn't like the reminder that she shouldn't trust Bull any more than Bull himself did. "Iron Bull's name is Hissrad?" she asked. Bull chuckled inwardly at her pronunciation.

"Under the Qun we use titles, not names," Gatt explained.

"My title was 'Hissrad,' because I was assigned to secret work," Bull added. "You can translate it as 'Keeper of Illusions' or-"

"'Liar,'" Gatt interrupted. "It means Liar."

"Well you don't have to say it like that," Bull muttered indignantly. As he'd expected, this collision of the two separate worlds he belonged to wasn't going to be easy. Already the people whose trust he'd worked so hard to win were being reminded of exactly what he was. Not that they didn't know he was a spy, but well… they had no way of knowing how competent a spy. Gatt's words weren't going to do Bull's mission at Skyhold any favours. Still, he understood what the elf was trying to do.

Rosalie gave a smile that was too polite to be friendly and said, "It's so nice to hear people say good things about me in their secret spy reports."

"He does." Gatt's gaze drifted to Bull. "But they aren't really secret, are they?"

Yeah, he got it. Gatt was worried about him slipping, forgetting the Qun, becoming true grey. This was all a not-so-subtle reminder of where his loyalties should lie.

Their conversation moved on to the real reason they were freezing their asses off in the rain: the mission. Simple enough, but risky. The Qunari had brought in one of their dreadnoughts to put an end to a Venatori operation to smuggle red lyrium north. The Venatori had two camps on the ground, which would need to be wiped out simultaneously to protect the dreadnought. The Bull, Gatt, and the Inquisitor's party would take down one, and Krem would lead the Chargers to take down the other. More room for something to go wrong than he'd like, but it was the best plan they had, and better by far than doing nothing.

Krem and the boys weren't worried enough, and Bull spent a good while reminding them to watch their backs right up until Krem sighed, "Yes mother…" to get him to stop.

While speaking with his men, he was aware of Rosalie and Gatt discussing him, but he wasn't close enough to eavesdrop.

Once they set out, they had an easy enough time fighting their way uphill to the camp. Bull could tell Gatt was eager to show what he could do, his ability to keep calm and think smart rather than charge in full of fury as his nickname - from the word gaatlok - suggested. Bull had been the one to save him from that slaver and bring him over to the Qun, after all. He'd come a long way, and that was good to see.

When everyone in the Venatori camp was dead, they fired the flare, signalling to the dreadnought that it was safe to move in. The Chargers' signal had already been fired by then, to Bull's relief. The dreadnought crashing through the waves and firing its cannons was a majestic sight, stirring up a nostalgia that he hadn't felt for quite some time.

That feeling was short-lived, however, and Bull breathed out a foreboding, "Crap…" as he saw Venatori reinforcements making their way up the beach towards the swallowed, knowing in an instant the choice they were about to face.

"They've still got time to fall back if you signal them now," Rosalie said urgently.

"Your men need to hold that position, Bull," Gatt reminded him.

Yeah… that choice.

Let the Chargers die, let Krem die, or lose any right to call himself Qunari after everything he'd lived through in Seheron. Gatt frantically spouted off all the reasons it would be the worst thing he could do, but it was a waste of breath. He already knew them. And yet…

"They're my men," he heard himself say.

Bull looked helplessly to Rosalie, at a loss for what to decide and aware that it was rightfully her choice to make. The irony of the moment after he'd criticised her for waiting around for orders was not lost on him.

"Call the retreat," she said firmly.

It was an odd feeling to breathe a sigh of relief even while dread sank to the pit of his stomach. His mind was too highly trained not to be examining every possible consequence as he raised the horn to his lips and blew out the sound that would seal his fate once and for all.

"They're falling back," he reported in a stiff voice as he watched his men disappear from view. He couldn't help but feel guilty realizing what a blow it was for Gatt.

"All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For them?"

"His name is Iron Bull," Rosalie said firmly before Bull had a chance to respond.

"I suppose it is," Gatt said bitterly. He gave Bull an expression that was pure ice, then walked away, not looking back over his shoulder even for a second.

Bull fixed his gaze ahead of them to where the dreadnought was being battered with fireballs by the mages that had gathered on the beach. He could feel Rosalie's grey eyes boring into him, he could make out the look of genuine concern on her face in his peripheral vision, but he couldn't think of a damn thing to say in response to it.

"No way they'll get out of range. Won't be long now," he eventually murmured, wishing to make it clear that he was watching out of respect for the fact that the deaths of those on board were his fault, and not because he had any hope for their survival.

"Bull," Rosalie said softly, settling a hand on his forearm and giving it a comforting squeeze. "When the dreadnought sinks…"

"Sinks?" he asked, just in time for the inevitable explosion. The noise made Rosalie jump, and he couldn't help but wonder if being this close to it brought her momentarily back to the explosion at the conclave, the one only she had survived. He shielded his face from the heat with one arm and grunted, "Qunari dreadnoughts don't sink."

They stood in silence and watched the ship burn, Bull pondering all the while what his life might be as true grey.

Without really thinking about it, he reached out and grasped her hand. Later he would blame it on exhaustion, but in the moment he simply knew that he needed to feel warm skin against his, needed someone to accept him, even if only for a short while. Especially knowing that his own people would never accept him again.

Rosalie didn't comment, just bowed her head, silently acknowledging the need.

From there it was all rather predictable. Gatt showed up at Skyhold shortly after their return to inform them that there would be no alliance. There was a haunted look in Bull's eyes as she heard Gatt call him Tal-vashoth, but Rosalie doubted he wanted her sympathy. Instead she focused on what they could do, suggesting they reach out to some of Bull's contacts, a thought that left him looking rather impressed with her.

His Chargers were what mattered to him now, and they were what would pull him through it, especially Krem, so she left them to their training and went back to the business of trying to be the most indispensable Inquisitor she could be while also avoiding Leliana's scrutiny.

She didn't see Bull for a few days after that except in passing, though she found that he crossed her mind a great deal. Sometimes life was like that as the Inquisitor, dragging her in every possible direction at once and not giving her a chance to check up on friends - especially ones who were inevitably busy drinking in the tavern. They didn't speak again until he sent her a note, in fact, asking her to meet him on the battlements.

After their late night talk in that very spot and his offer to be the person she could be not the Inquisitor around, she wondered if perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.

It was a shock then, when just as she arrived and began to greet him, two guards approaching from behind drew their weapons and ran in to attack. Rosalie's expression quickly tipped him off, and the first assailant was met with a punch to the face. The second caught him in the shoulder with a thrown knife. Bull responded by throwing an axe, which caught his attacker in the chest.

"Bull!" Rosalie cried, rushing forward.

"I got it," he answered in a disgruntled roar as the first assassin surged.

Something was said in the Qunari language that Rosalie knew had to be an insult, and Bull responded with a shove over the battlements.

Once she knew he was all in one piece and not bleeding too badly, she gave him a little thump on the shoulder - the uninjured shoulder. "You knew they were coming?"

He shrugged. "Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off."

"You could have told me ahead of time."

"You go through years of Ben-Hassrath training to hide facial expressions when I wasn't looking?"

She glared, taking that as an insult to her bardic skills. He was saying he didn't trust her talent enough to work with her when it came to spy business.

"See? Like that," he teased. "If I'd warned you, the assassins would have been tipped off."

Rosalie made a mental note to prove to him just how wrong he was, but that wasn't important for the moment. Bull was. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Hurt myself worse than this fooling around in bed," he grunted. A statement that invited her imagination to go somewhere rather interesting.

With a sigh, she said, "I'd hoped the Ben-Hassrath would let you go."

There was just a note of heartbreak in his voice as he answered, "They did…" Then it became slightly more fierce as he added, "Sending two guys with blades against me? That's not a hit. That's a formality. Just making it clear that I'm Tal-vashoth." He sighed heavily at the notion. "Tal-va-fucking-shoth."

"You acted like a Tal-vashoth for years. That didn't change you. Neither does this," she argued.

"That was just a role. This is my life, as one of those…"

"Look who you're talking to," she demanded. If anyone knew what it was for a role to become their actual life, it was her, after all. As Bull's face softened, she continued, "You're still doing what matters. You're still stopping Corypheus. You're not like those murderers you used to hunt in Seheron. You're a good man."

"Without the Qun to live by…" he began to argue.

"Hey! You're a good man. If the Ben-Hassrath don't see that, it's their loss."

Bull met her gaze for a moment, and in a softer voice said, "Thanks, boss." He sighed. "Anyway, I'll get this cleaned up and let Red know what happened."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I can get someone to deal with the mess. You get your shoulder looked at."

The order made him chuckle. He seemed like he was turning to leave, but then he looked at her and said, "Boss? Whatever I miss, whatever I regret… This is where I want to be." A little smile came to his lips then. "Whenever you need an ass kicked, The Iron Bull is with you." And then he began to walk away.

"You'd better be going to have that shoulder looked at, or your ass is going to be the one that needs kicking," Rosalie called after him.

He wasn't fine. It would be a while before he would be fine. But she could make him feel like he belonged. She could mother-hen him worse than Vivienne if it meant making sure that Skyhold was truly where he wanted to be. Because if that mission had taught her one thing, it was that she didn't want to imagine Skyhold without him.