Chapter 2

They reached the house thirty minutes later. The darkness, as much as Ellana's injuries, caused Bull to walk slowly. He stabled Asaara, then entered the abandoned house and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He could make out the shape of a chair against a wall and lowered Cara into it.
The pitch black felt oppressive. "We need some light," he said, thinking aloud.
Brightness suddenly lit the hall and he turned to see a ball of flame shimmering above Cara's hand; with a practised flick of her wrist, the orange orb shot through the air hitting a torch that sat in a bracket on the wall.
Bull chuckled, "Okay, that works." He collected the torch and handed it to her. "You'll need to hold this while I'm carrying you."
"I think I can manage that," she answered with a smile. But he could see the dark circles beneath her eyes as well as the layer of sweat on her forehead and knew she was still in pain. He glanced at her injured ankle and cursed his stupidity for not removing the boot as soon as he'd found her.

The flaming torch threw out shadows upon the once splendid furnishings as he checked each room. Eventually, he spotted a large double bed and laid her down. Taking the torch, he placed it in a nearby sconce before positioning himself by her feet. He looked over his shoulder to warn her, "This is probably going to hurt so I'll try and do it quickly."
Cara lifted her head and realised what he was going to do. "No! Don't tou-" The remainder of the sentence got lost in a scream of agony. Bull immediately stopped trying to remove the boot. "Shit, I'm sorry, Boss, but this needs to come off."
"Then find me some alcohol before you try again," she panted.
"I don't know whether that's a good idea. I think you might have a concussion, too."
"Bull, I appreciate the concern, I really do. But if you touch my foot again before I get drunk, I may well shoot a lightning bolt up your ass,"
He eyed her warily, unsure whether she meant the threat. Nah, she wouldn't do that. He reached once more for her boot but a mind blast knocked him away before he could touch her. "I'm warning you, Bull."
He pushed away from the wall where he'd come to a halt and stared at her in surprise. "Damn, you're a grumpy woman when you're injured." However, unwilling to risk the lightning bolt, he went to hunt for alcohol.

Bull certainly hadn't expected his day to turn out like this. The continual absence of the Inquisitor had been grating on his nerves for a while, so last night he'd cornered Varric and asked why she no longer came to the tavern. The dwarf had given him a surprised look, then his eyes had slid over to the barmaids. Bull had noticed the direction of the glance, and tried to defend himself, "I stopped that when..."
But he'd broken off, and a grimly smiling Varric finished the sentence. "When you realised they couldn't replace the Inquisitor."
Bull had growled in agreement and rubbed a hand over his face. Varric had sympathetically patted his arm and offered some advice. "I think you need to talk to her, Tiny."

Today, when Bull had seen Cara leave on one of her solitary rides, it had seemed like a perfect opportunity. He'd rushed over to the stables and quickly saddled Asaara. Even so, she'd been out of sight by the time he'd mounted the horse. Thankfully, he'd known where she went for her rides and had taken a leisurely canter in her direction while thinking about what he wanted to say. He'd still been trying to figure out how to start the conversation when he'd spotted her on the ground with a bear closing in. His heart had been in his mouth as he'd spurred Asaara towards Cara. He rubbed the back of his neck now, realising that he'd never gotten around to sorting out what he would say to her. He relegated that problem to a later time and focused on the immediate problem - finding alcohol.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned to the bedroom and laid out his spoils: a bottle of Chasind Sack Mead, two glasses, some dried meat and fruit, a roll of bandages, a small jar of ointment, and a sharp knife. Cara raised a questioning brow at the sight of the knife. "I think it might be best to try and cut the boot considering the usual method of removing a boot didn't go so well."
She groaned, "But I only bought them a couple of weeks ago."
He chuckled as he poured her a shot of liquor. "Just think how much fun you can have going shopping for a new pair," he said as he handed her the glass. She laughed at the suggestion, and his breath caught in his throat; even roughed up and looking sickly, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. She knocked the drink back and held out her glass. He didn't hesitate to refill knowing the boot removal would be rough. As she sipped the drink, he sat back, his gaze falling on her thick red hair and recalled some of the fantasies he'd had about wrapping her hair around... he quickly ended that line of thought when he felt a stirring in his lower regions. Not the best time to be distracted.

He noticed Cara reaching for the bottle of Chasind Sack Mead and quickly picked it up. "I don't think you should have another."
"Pfft! I can handle more than one glass, Bull."
"That's your second."
She squinted at him. "Are you sure?"
Bull rolled his eyes. "The fact that you're asking me is proof enough that you don't need a third."
Cara dropped her head back to the pillow. "Fine, but don't blame me if your dangly bits are turned into a block of ice."
He glared at her. "You wouldn't? But talking about ice, it's getting kinda nippy in here," he said as a shiver ran down his spine.
"Not surprising. The house has been abandoned for quite a while."
Bull checked the fireplace and sighed. "Right, I need to go and find some wood."

He returned twenty minutes later to find Cara giggling and the half-empty bottle of mead in her hand.
"Crap. Please tell me you didn't drink all of that. You spilt some of it, right?" he asked with little hope.
She hiccuped cheerfully and waved the bottle. "I'm not feeling a thing. This stuff is great!"
Bull shook his head and took the bottle. Her words were already slurred, if she drank anymore she'd be incoherent. After building the fire, he dissuaded her from flinging a fireball at the wood because he felt certain she couldn't see straight after drinking that much alcohol, or worse she might be seeing double.

Judging now would be as good a time as any to remove the boot, he picked up the knife and sat at the foot of the bed. Carefully, he started to slice the leather. Cara jerked her leg away. "What are you doing?" she shouted. "Get your own damn boot!"
"Fuck!" he muttered, wiping away a layer of sweat from his forehead as he realised how close he'd come to cutting her leg. The bloody woman would give him a heart attack doing things like that. "Cara, keep still. I need to remove your boot so I can check your ankle."
She responded with a dismissive snorting sound. "S'nothing wrong with my ankle," she slurred.

He sighed, took hold of her leg and again started cutting through the leather. He let out the breath he'd been holding only when the task had been accomplished, thankfully without any further interference from Cara. He slipped off the boot revealing her swollen ankle and foot which were already showing some ugly bruising.

He collected the bandages and ointment from the bedside table. He looked at the label on the jar, noting the ingredients of elfroot and arbor blessing, both of which he knew were used in regeneration potions. He slathered the injured area with the thick cream before wrapping the bandages around. After critically eyeing his handiwork, he gave himself a mental pat on the back.

"All right, let's take a look at your head." He moved to the head of the bed and she leaned forward to rest against his broad chest. A soft sigh slipped from her mouth as his fingers slid into her hair.
"Feels nice," she mumbled as he moved gently over her skull checking for any open wounds.
He couldn't agree more; her warm breath against his skin felt wonderful.
"Well, you've got an egg-sized lump on the back of your head, but no bleeding." A snore answered his diagnosis. He chuckled and laid her down, carefully pulling the covers over her after removing the remaining boot. Wistfully, he eyed the empty half of the bed and contemplated climbing in next to her, but dismissed the idea after considering what her reaction might be when she awoke. That lightning bolt sounded painful, and the ice even worse. So, after looking around for a while, he found a thin blanket and a relatively comfortable chair, which he moved closer to the bed. For a moment, his eyes rested on her profile, lit by the warm glow of the fire, and a sad smile played over his lips; his dreams of spending another night with her had come true, just not in the way he'd pictured.