Disclaimer - I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters. All belongs to Bioware.
A cacophony of voices, each one unique; together she had heard their chorus of woe as they had whispered incoherently inside of her mind in a strange, unnerving tongue. Focusing on them was a challenge, and she had only managed to make out a few words, but the tone had left no doubt—they spoke of warnings and prophecies, wrapped together into a knot of desperation. Her failings had earned her Morrigan's disdain, an unmistakable burgundy-lipped sneer in her periphery as they had all stood around the huge oak table, and it hadn't surprised her that the raven-haired mage was jealous. Luckily for her, Morrigan's curiosity was far hungrier than her ambition, and she had left the war room with a plan to set out for the Altar at dawn's first light. It gave her a precious few hours to settle some unfinished business.
As she moved through the worn passages of Skyhold, she noticed the determined faces of her soldiers, and she smiled at the realization that even the servants and other residents moved with a purposeful step. Everyone knew what they faced; they all understood that Corypheus would not take a slight like he had in the Wilds without some sort of retaliation. He was cornered, suffering from defeat at their collective hand, and it was only a matter of time before he struck back. Her Inquisition would be ready, and so would she. Yes, preparation was vital, and as her people saw to their tasks, she would see to hers. She already knew which of her companions she wanted to accompany her, but she had to question if one in particular still wanted to follow.
For a moment, she toyed with the idea of trying to ask the now-silent voices for a vision, but quickly decided against it. On this particular subject, she didn't need muddled, divine elven intervention or countless lifetimes of wisdom. She would never doubt the Iron Bull's abilities, but something had definitely changed in his demeanor while they had scoured the Wilds. He was very much there physically, ready to mete out deathblows to any who dared defy them, but in retrospect, he had been mentally distant, somber, and retracted, almost guarded. At the time, she had dismissed his quiet as a reaction to a mixture of adrenaline and nerves—after all, they had come upon rather strange things within the temple. It wasn't until they stood next to the Well of Sorrows that she had realized something was very wrong. There had been a slight hesitation when he responded with his advice to take the well, and then, he had nearly jumped out of his own skin when she had pushed him toward the Eluvian. Was his reaction to having to pass through the magical mirror, or to her touch? She knew not, but it seemed rather unfair that he would encourage her actions and then treat her differently. But, she did have a sneaking suspicion as to why he might be acting so strangely, and it was well past time for her to confirm it.
A cool breeze blew across the courtyard, hastening her feet as they carried her instinctively towards the Herald's Rest. She pushed open the heavy wooden door, moving inside the common room as the tavern's patrons paid her little heed, lost in their cups or the bard's songs. She marched toward the stairs, and when she saw that he was not at his usual station, she climbed them two at a time. Up and further up, she rounded each flight, reaching the final story and the door to his quarters. Knuckles found wood, sounding out a distinct pattern, and when no response came, she slowly turned the handle. The hinges groaned quietly as she pushed the door open, and all she found inside was the normal hodge-podge mix of strewn clothes, empty bottles, and the bed with an axe buried in the headboard. Seeing the strangely lodged weapon made her pause, her thoughts drifting to the last time she had joined him in this very room.
"Why not?"
Scurrying, she scrambled to sit up on the edge of the mattress, leaving the warmth of his embrace as her hands fell uselessly into her lap. Her instincts screamed for a change in position—most of her body gladly accepted a submissive role in the bed, except for her mouth, and this was the one point that haunted her, making her feel inadequate.
He leaned up, resting on his elbows with biceps flexing, "I'm not discussing this again."
She rolled her eyes, frustration warming her blood. "Of course you're not. Why bother trying to make someone you claim to love understand why you would be against something so very natural?"
"Natural? To whom, Kadan? I have already told you, that what you are asking for goes against everything I have ever known, everything I have ever been taught. Sex is a choice, but..."
She cut him off, already aware of the tired argument he was making. "Ah...the Qun raises its ugly head yet again, and this is just more proof of its horror. Everything about one's life is controlled...what you feel, when you feed, how you fuck."
"There is a reason, a purpose for the instruction—the Qunari pride themselves on breeding the best possible offspring. The Tamassrans choose breeding pairs specifically to accentuate the positive and root out the negative. My people have done this for ages, and while you may hate the methods…" he lifted one arm, gesturing towards his sprawled out body while wearing a very smug grin, "you can't argue the result."
"I wouldn't dare…" she murmured, an answering smile forming on her mouth at his boast, and she knew it was time for a change in tactics. She crawled across him, since he had so willingly invited her, knees coming to rest on either side of his thighs. He moved with her, sitting up, his feet finding the floor, and she put her weight in his lap, her heels hooking into place behind his calves. He was perched on the edge of the bed, and she shifted her hips against him, the pressure tantalizingly perfect, a tiny grunt escaping his lips at the contact. "I'm not asking for anything so terrible as children, Bull. I can take precautions..."
"Precautions?" he shook his head, a rueful, half-smile on his lips. "You have no idea…"
He stood, lifting her gently with him, and he turned them so that her back was facing the bed. He bent at the waist, her body coming to rest on the mattress as he loomed over her, and for the briefest, most joyful second, she thought she had won. His hand grabbed her chin, bringing her eyes to his; lost and sad, they spoke to her so much that she was silenced. He sighed, voice strained, "Sorry, Kadan. But I cannot allow you to wear me down on this, and if I stay with you tonight...you just might."
He said no more, gathering his clothes and dressing hastily in the dimly lit room. She stared daggers at him; as far as she was concerned the stubborn idiot could punish himself all he liked. She managed to keep her composure, refusing to cave until he approached her again. He bent low, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek, and it nearly broke her heart and her resolve. "I'll see you in the morning."
This was ridiculous. "Where do you think you're going? These are your quarters...I can leave..." she tried to sound angry, and instead instantly hated how weak her voice sounded.
Frustrated, she moved to get out of the bed, and he reached out his hand to her shoulder, preventing her escape. "Stay."
"Why?"
"Because then, I can at least dream about you being in my bed. Even if I cannot join you in it."
Before she could say any more, he was gone, the door closing behind him.
Loud, drunken laughter carried up the stairs, and it startled her back to reality. She was certain that the well had not only given her knowledge, but also the ability to re-live events in her past. She had always had a keen memory, but now, it almost seemed that she could watch her past self in stunning detail, re-seeing every moment with added clarity, and it was no surprise that her most favorite conjured image would involve a certain one-eyed Qunari.
But, she needed to find him in the now, and standing here daydreaming was not going to accomplish that. Her footsteps echoed along the ramparts of the fortress as she searched, her annoyance increasing at the waste of her time. The mule-headed, big-horned lummox had a lot of nerve to drag their personal matters onto the battlefield. If her hunch was correct, if his odd behavior in the Wilds was due to their disagreement, she would use him as her own personal training dummy. He had promised to keep their personal arrangement separate from their professional one, and he had managed to do a fairly decent job up to now.
Their relationship had been almost too easily, even amongst the absolute chaos that engulfed them. She had fallen deeply for Bull—he had shown her things, about herself, about the world, that she would never have seen with her own eyes. She could still feel the relief, the giddy happiness when he had told her that she was the only one, for as long as whatever they shared continued. He had taken their lovemaking to a level she had never known, initiating her into a whole new aspect of submission, and while terrifying, she had trembled and thrived within every second of it.
But, somewhere along the way, she realized that he was too in control, that he never seemed to lose himself. Everything, she gave totally to him—mind, body, and soul; but he restrained, withholding his last abandon from her. Sure, he gave her unending, toe-curling pleasure, took her to heights that she never would have reached within the bedroom; and the selfish part of her wanted to just go along with the status quo, to silence her nagging curiosity. After all, if Bull wasn't satisfied, surely he would say something, her greedy side had argued. But, she was nothing if not thorough, and she had asked, only to be dismissed by the object of her affections telling her that he was more than fine with their arrangement.
Maybe he was, but the small voice in her head that wanted to see him break, to crumble and beg her for a change, never quieted...if anything it only grew, and as it did, her satisfaction diminished. Was it so terribly wrong that she wanted to give him the same mind-blowing experiences? Eventually, she voiced her wishes to him, and he had objected, but they were both stubborn creatures. At first, their impasse had been a casual, almost funny thing between them; after all, most relationships had some sort of spark of disagreement. It was cute, a little quirk they could point to as proof of the normalcy. But over time, it morphed into a issue, something that crawled beneath her skin and irritated her, which led to arguments and plots where she would do her best to shake him and his infallible skills, but she never succeeded. One time she had come close, almost managing to corral him, but even then he had pulled away from her at the final second.
She pressed onward, still searching, checking the practice yard, the kitchens, even the gardens, and then she began to think that he must be toying with her. If he was not where he belonged, then where else could he be? She was about to inspect the stables when she heard the call, "Inquisitor!"
Manderly, one of the guards who was normally posted within the throne room, was jogging toward her, and she paused as the man approached, "Yes?"
The man looked nervous, almost out of sorts, and it was strange, as he was always the absolute picture of decorum and formality. He stuttered, "I have a message for you, Inquisitor."
She nodded, and he looked toward the tower nervously, "You have been asked to return to your quarters, as soon as you are able."
Almost immediately she realized who made the request, and it took her a moment to recover from her laughter as the poor red-faced guard still stood at attention, waiting for her to speak. She smiled, "Did you relay that message word for word, soldier?"
The answer was obvious, but she still couldn't help but ask the question. To his credit, the man hesitated, the truth written plain as day on his face, "No, your worship. I'd like to keep my rank and my teeth."
She nodded as the guard fell into step behind her, moving undeterred back into the keep and through the throne room. When she reached the door to her quarters, she looked over her shoulder to Manderly and said, "I'm not to be disturbed until dawn, unless Corypheus himself tries to sit upon my throne. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Inquisitor."
"Thank you."
As the door closed, she thought she heard one of the other guards chuckle at her joke, but she didn't bother to care. She climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, and lo and behold, she found the Iron Bull sitting on her bed, just like he had the day they started this whole, damnably wonderful mess. Neither of them bothered with a greeting, and for a few precious moments she allowed the silence, the peace a chance to memorize all of his breathtaking features. He rose slowly from the mattress, moving deliberately closer, and she stepped forward meeting him halfway. Toe to toe they stood, and even at her towering height, he still bested her by a few inches. Finally, she dared to speak, her voice barely a whisper, "I've been looking everywhere for you…"
Rich and smooth, his tone reminded her of the feel of Orlesian silk on her skin, "Seems like we might have had the same plan in mind, boss. Just two different ways of getting it accomplished."
She frowned, his words accurate in so many ways, "Well, we're both here now."
He nodded, and she stumbled on her words as she continued, their proximity driving her clumsy, "We should talk about the Wilds."
His fingers grasped at her hips, pulling her body into his as his lips tickled at her ear. "Talk? Right now, there is absolutely nothing I want to talk about…"