Bull is big and intimidating to most, and he can be the brute everyone assumes he is to get what he needs (Ben'Hassarath, remember?). But he is also gentle. He files his nails (Qunari’s tend to grow like claws–sharp and curled) to small stubs and keeps them clean, though sometimes his Kadan likes them a little sharp for scratching. His fingers are thick but nimble for tying rope and even more so when he does small, intricate braids in his Kadan’s hair before the long day ahead of them. In the morning when he’s awake before his Kadan, he’ll find himself counting their breaths, tracing their scars with his nail stubs and silently guessing where each is from with pride in how far they’ve come.
He laughs from his belly, which is full from the food he indulges in (even if the Qun doesn’t allow one to indulge oneself), and hard from the years of fighting and protecting. Sometimes his leg aches from too much walking and his metal brace will creak from over-exertion, but he’ll be okay. It’s nothing new. He gets headaches around his missing eye and horns that he passes off with a elfroot potion, maybe a drink too. Some days he feels old when he’s stuck with his memories, and he doesn’t realise the tight grip his hands form when his mind travels a little too far back. Some days he feels young, but also new. When he fights a dragon with the others, and they walk back to camp with singed hair and bloody weapons, smiles and panting breaths–pride. When Krem and his boys celebrate a successful mission like when they went giant-baiting, or helped Krem’s stuffed nugs fly. When the night is quiet and it’s just him and his kadan, skin on skin with sweat gluing them together after heavy breaths and roars. Some days his Kadan reminds him it’s okay to be Iron Bull, and some days he reminds himself he is Iron Bull.
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