Chapter 3: Sure Thing, Boss

Summary:

Bull arrives at Haven, meets some people, follows the Herald into a shack in the woods, and contemplates leadership with his new "boss."

As Bull and his Chargers passed through the Hinterlands on their way to Haven, they witnessed groups of fanatics worshiping, of all things in Thedas, the Breach. The fucking Breach. The thing spitting demons out of it. Apparently, they thought the Maker opened it up so the faithful could go home through it. The Qun did not always make sense to Bull, but it was practical. It didn't worship an unseen creator and it definitely didn't encourage people to worship holes in the sky. The Qun was orderly and it was meant to serve people that were alive, breathing, and real.

Bull and his Chargers got into several skirmishes on the way to Haven and helped the locals and refugees where they could. The closer they got to Haven, the more Bull saw the surprisingly positive signs of the Inquisition's presence. It confirmed Bull and his superiors' conclusion that the Inquisition was a force to get behind in this all-out war, even if they were not part of the Qun. All the ordinary folk were flocking to join it. Without support, the Inquisition would probably not succeed. But with the help and direction of the Qun in the shadows, it could become a useful tool for the Qun to gain a steppingstone here. Bull tried not to think about it too much.

The village of Haven, according to Iron Bull's reports, was the site of an old cult convinced that Andraste was a dragon. Bull chalked it up to more fanaticism, but the dragon blood was an intriguing detail. It was supposed to also be the resting place of Andraste's ashes. Rumor had it that the ashes actually had magical properties. No one knew where they were anymore.

Haven was now—or at least, it was before the temple blew up—a town made mostly of Pilgrims and townsfolk, who stayed all year round. And because most of the attendees of the conclave had stopped here first, many tents were still pitched. Many of their owners had never returned to claim them, and were now being used to house refugees and survivors from the conclave.

As Bull and his team approached the front gates, a soldier guarding the gates to the village looked up at Bull and then did the biggest double take of the Age. The young man's jaw dropped, and his hand fumbled for a moment at the weapon at his side before he noticed the rest of the motley crew of the Chargers standing spanned out behind Bull. He must be a farmer turned soldier, Bull thought to himself.

"I—" the guard began shakily. "Who are you all?"

"Bull's Chargers," Bull said smoothly with a grin. "I'm Iron Bull. Haven was expecting us."

The soldier stared up at him. "Yes, but no one said you'd be an Oxman." His face whitened. "Begging your pardon! I didn't mean it."

Bull laughed. "Sure. No hard feelings. After all, my name is 'Bull,'" he added with a hearty laugh and a pat on the guard's shoulder. The man grinned up at him awkwardly. Bull and his Chargers walked into the village.

Haven was bursting at the seams with refugees, pilgrims from the conclave, soldiers, Templar's, mages, chantry, townsfolk, and orphaned children. Most of the children had traveled to the conclave with their parents but had stayed behind in the town with caretakers. A small tavern, the only tavern in town, was crowded with patrons of all sorts. Children were playing a game of marbles on the frozen ground while a fire roared nearby in a hastily made circle of stones.

And from every corner, Bull could hear the incessant chanting of Chanters chanting the Chant of Light while the giant hole loomed above them all in the sky. Its glow turned the white snow a poisonous green.

Bull turned to Krem, "I'm going to find Lavellan. The rest of you," he added, "Get settled. We'll pitch our tents outside of the gates with the refugees. Get a good look at the town. Keep an eye out for anything that looks suspicious."

The looks Bull received were a mix as Bull walked through the town. Some were horrified. Some were curious, especially the children. One petite Chantry sister, her hair bound up in a headdress, was staring at him with awe. She looked exhausted, hungry, and overworked, but her eyes widened and sparkled with interest when Bull gave her a smile.

Bull continued walking through the town and gradually the voice of someone singing came to his ears. He followed the noise to the center of town.

Samahl Lavellan was sitting on a stump beside a fire as he strummed a battered lute. A motley audience was watching and listening quietly. The way Samahl played the lute was a bit different than the way Bull had seen Orlesians play. The Dalish elves must have their own way of holding and using the instrument. The song he was singing was in the common tongue, but the words didn't rhyme, so Bull figured Samahl had translated roughly from Elven. When the Herald came to the end of his song, there was an applause. "Herald, can you play the one about the halla," asked a woman in Chantry robes.

"He already played that a few minutes ago," a Templar said. "Play the one about Mythal. You haven't done that since yesterday."

There was noise of disapproval made in the form of someone clearing their throat. Standing nearby with arms crossed and a scowl on his face was a man dressed in Chantry garb. "If you are going to continue this charade, then I advise that you only play the songs of the faithful." He said charade with a blatant look of disapproval at the tattoos on Samahl's face.

Samahl studied the man a moment. Then he smiled. "Of course, Chancellor Roderick." Samahl adjusted the pegs on his lute for a moment, strummed a cord to check the tuning of the instrument, and he began to sing and strum an old Chantry song about Shartan, the elf whose verses had been taken out of the Chant of Light. It was clearly not a well-known or accepted song, for the Chancellor stuck up his nose at the Herald and walked away, but not before staring up in horror at Bull. He skirted around Bull, keeping his distance, and walked away towards the chantry.

The crowd listened to the Herald sing without interruption. His voice was not the best singing voice Bull had ever heard—the best singers Bull had ever heard were in Orlesian theatres—but Samahl sang the words clearly, as if the words were much more important than the sound of his voice. When Samahl reached the last cord, the crowd applauded him. Samahl stood and bowed. As the crowd dissipated, Samahl caught sight of Bull. "Welcome to Haven."

"Nice singing," Bull complimented.

Samahl smiled. "Thank you." Samahl placed the lute in a carrying case, laced it shut, and slung the case over his shoulder. "I can walk you through Haven and show you around, if you like."

"Maker go with you, Herald of Andraste," someone called.

Samahl nodded gracefully to the speaker and continued on his way. "You have brought tents?" he asked quietly. When Bull raised an eyebrow, Samahl grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. Of course you did. It is force of habit. We've had to explain to several groups of people that there are not enough houses in Haven to accommodate everyone, but we've been trying to keep as many of the children and elderly out of the cold as possible."

"We've got tents," Bull said. Then he thought for a moment. "Not enough to give away. But we've got a good healer. Stitches."

Samahl grinned up at him as they walked. "Your healer's name is Stitches?"

Bull laughed. "Yeah. I bet he'd be willing to look at the wounded."

"Really?" Samahl said hopefully.

"We're here to help, so we'll help."

"If you have any suggestions for any other tasks suitable to the Chargers, let me know. Or let Josephine know." Samahl laughed. "Actually, just let me know and then I can relay it. Josephine has enough to do as it is."

"Sure thing, Boss," Bull said. When Bull first came to Orlais to pose as a mercenary, he immediately took to calling Fisher of the Fisher's Bleeders "Boss" to butter him up. Little did the bastard Fisher know that "Boss" was only a few letters and sounds away from the Qunari word "bas." "Bas" meant "nothing." It was Bull's private joke only he understood, and it made those years with Fisher bearable till Bull and a few companions broke off and Bull started his own company.

But the word "Boss" didn't really butter up Samahl. He just looked up at Bull with a confused look. "Boss?" he asked.

Bull laughed. "Well, you are one of the reasons I'm here. Frontline bodyguard, remember? We talked about this on the beach on the Storm Coast."

"Right," Samahl said with a slightly bewildered expression.

"Never had a bodyguard?" Bull said with a smirk.

Samahl shrugged his free shoulder. "Firsts don't usually walk around with Qunari Bodyguards."

"Firsts?" Bull asked.

"Apprentices of the Keeper. We're next in line for leadership in our clans." Samahl's eyes widened a little. "Or at least, I was. But I'm here now." Samahl tucked a lock of bright red hair behind his ear as the snowy wind blew it across his forehead. Bull's eye immediately traced the movement of his fingers, the tress of his hair. Bull dragged his eye away.

"What's stopping you from going back?" Bull asked probingly. When Samahl looked at him with surprise, Bull jabbed a giant thumb over his shoulder towards where Chancellor Roderick had disappeared into the Chantry. "No offense, but not everyone here appreciates you."

Samahl frowned. "I'm not here to be appreciated," he said. Samahl pointed to the Breach. "That is why I am here." His eyes reflected the green glow of the Breach and, for a moment, Bull thought he saw a pulse of green light flare from his hand. "I was only sent to observe the outcome of the conclave as a spy. Then that opened in the sky. The Inquisition seems to be the only organization in Thedas trying to close it. The world is tearing itself apart, but they say I can stop this. And as far as we know, I am the only one who can. I choose to be here because, appreciated or not, willing or not, I'm needed." Samahl turned his head toward Bull, his eyes still reflecting the eerie glow of the Fade. Bull felt a shiver run up his back. "Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, Boss," Bull answered immediately.

Samahl nodded. "Good," he replied.

Bull followed Samahl around Haven to meet the blacksmith, the left hand of the late Divine, Leliana, Commander Cullen, Josephine, the quartermaster, the healer, and even the flustered bar keep, Flissa. Despite her apparent awe and fear of Bull, Flissa was more friendly than afraid. Solas was unlike any elf mage Bull had ever met. It immediately made him suspicious. Cassandra was aloof but Bull suspected it was a cover, and Varric had a hell of a lot of heartbreak but was keeping it together with smiles and stories at the bar and by the campfire. And Sera—Bull knew her better as Red Jenny, though he'd only heard stories about her in Orlais and read reports about her from his informants—stared at Bull with a wide eyed, curious look on her face. She wasn't attracted to him, possibly not to men because he caught sight of her watching the minstrel Maryden a few times with a combination of loathing and resigned fascination, but she was definitely attracted to something about Bull's height.

The Healer, a cranky, overworked man called Adan, lamented the loss of the notes of a healer known as Master Taigen. Samahl's eyes widened for a moment and, after he said his goodbyes, he began to stride with purpose towards the front gates. Bull easily kept pace.

As they passed through the front gates, Bull noticed that the recruits were training with Commander Cullen out in the middle of a beach covered in snow. Bull made a mental note of how he instructed them to block with their shields. Templar, he thought silently. And an experienced one. He watched as soldiers, men and women, charged at each other with shields. Only a few of them winced before impact. "They've got good form. Cullen's putting his Templar training to good use."

Samahl glanced over at him. "Did Cullen tell you he was a templar? He's not wearing the armor."

"He didn't have to," Bull said. "Might not be a templar shield, but it's a templar holding it." He pointed as Cullen circled a recruit, his shield and sword in hand. "He angles his shield just a bit down. Helps direct fire or acid away, so it doesn't spray right into your face. Qunari learn the same thing when we train to fight Tevinter mages. Your templar's doing good work."

Samahl looked over at Commander Cullen with a nod. "I'm impressed by what Cullen has accomplished with the troops."

"Damn right. It takes time to build a group into a team. But he's got their loyalty. Now he just needs 'em to make a decent shield wall. And they'll be good to go."

After Bull and Samahl passed by the recruits and walked into the small forest surrounding Haven, they were alone. Completely alone. Samahl easily stepped over roots, twigs, and brambles in the dim forest lit only by the light filtering from the setting sun and the glowing Breach. Bull was a little bit less graceful, but he was perfectly quiet. He saw Samahl glance back him with an impressed look on his face. And his eyes quickly traced over Bull's exposed chest and arms before his face reddened a little and he faced forwards again. Bull made a mental note and tucked it away with all the things he was learning about Samahl Lavellan. Lavellan was either much too trusting of people he had just met, or he was confident in his own abilities to defend himself if someone betrayed him.

As they walked, Samahl finally said, "You don't have to follow. I'm sure you are due for regrouping with your team."

Bull laughed and pointed to himself. "Bodyguard," he said.

Samahl laughed. "All right, yes. You're right. That will take a while for me to get used to."

"You're out here looking for those notes," Bull said curiously.

"Yes. I think I know where they might be. There's elfroot all over this grove," he said with a wave of his hand. "I passed by a small house out here yesterday. It's a good spot for a healer to live. I suspect it might have been Taigen's, what with all the dried herbs hanging from the rafters."

The small house Samahl was referring to was a shack. When Samahl opened the unlocked door, Bull breathed in the overwhelming odor of herbs, spices, earth, and the smell of old blood. Many people must had come here for healing. Bull could understand why Adan felt so overworked. There were signs all over this little shack that Taigen had been the healer of this village, not Adan. Adan must have been his apprentice.

The two of them searched through the small house for the notes in a strange, comfortable silence. Bull was rifling through a hope chest when he heard a quiet cheer from the other side of the shack. Samahl was lifting a notebook from a table. He skimmed through the pages, his eyes scanning over the words. "I think I found it," Samahl said. Bull stood beside him. Samahl looked up at Bull and his eyes widened. "Mythal, you're tall," he breathed.

Bull laughed. "You just noticed?" he asked.

Samahl chuckled. "I haven't had another height to compare your height to till now," Samahl said, pointing up at the rafters decorated by dried herbs.

To prove just how handy his height was, Bull reached up and began untying the dried herbs from the rafters. "We'll need these."

"Yes, we should take it all," Samahl said. He tucked master Taigen's notes into his lute case and began to gather up as much supplies as he could from the shack.

"So, I noticed something," Bull said as they worked.

Samahl looked around. "What did you notice?"

"It's not about the shack. It's about the Inquisition."

Samahl turned back to look at him. "Oh? What is it?"

"I've seen enough of Cullen's training methods to know that your recruits are in good hands. Biggest problem for the Inquisition right now isn't on the front line. It's at the top. You've got no leader. No Inquisitor."

Samahl looked down at the sack of herbs in his arms, a frown between his eyes. Then he looked back up at Bull. "Then maybe we need one. I'd be willing."

Bull blinked. "You? Huh . . ." His grey eye narrowed curiously. "Why you?"

Samahl shrugged. "Nobody else seems to be stepping forward, and since I can seal rifts, I'm here whether I like it or not. If it proved necessary to have an Inquisitor, I could make a go of it."

Bull hummed. "For a second there, you sounded like a Qunari. My people don't pick leaders from the strongest, or the smartest, or even the most talented. We pick the ones willing to make the hard decisions . . . and live with the consequences."

Samahl looked down at the floor and he frowned, deep in thought, clearly thinking about some of those possible consequences.

"Ah, who knows," Bull said with a smile to lighten the mood. "Maybe you seal the Breach, the Chantry gets off its ass, and all those soldiers go home and get fat."

Samahl raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

"It could happen. It won't, but it could."

By nightfall, after they had given the desperate Adan supplies and master Taigen's notes, Bull was convinced that the majority of the Inquisition already was deferring to Samahl's leadership. The Herald had a charismatic personality that seemed to draw people to him. And Bull had to admit to himself that he felt drawn to Samahl as well.

But Bull compartmentalized that feeling, along with all the other emotions and thoughts that distracted him from doing his job for the Qun, into the part of his mind that he could lock up and hide away whenever he needed to.