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He wasn’t anywhere to be found. Not anywhere in Skyhold. Not in the mess hall, not on the training grounds, not even sleeping in someone else’s bed. She hadn’t seen him in three days, and the new recruits hadn’t seen him in two. Cullen had asked her to deal with it and Leliana had pitched in with a well meaning:
“Last I heard, he was spending his nights at the tavern and his mornings sleeping.”
“He was what?!”
Lavellan hadn’t meant to snap at her advisor. She was one of the few people who didn’t deserve to be shouted at.
“I...Leliana I’m sorry –”
“Oh? No, don’t worry, I understand. Um...should I?”
“No, that’s okay,” Lavellan replied, taking a deep breath, “Cullen is right, I need to deal with him.”
Leliana may have given Cullen a venomous look behind the elven Inquisitor’s back but the latter was already on her way out of the keep.
She could hear him singing as she neared the tavern, a bass completely out of place in a chorus of higher pitched voices. That’s not to say his voice wasn’t lovely to listen to; but at that moment it simply fuelled the anger burning in Lavellan’s chest to the point where she blew the tavern door off its hinges without touching it.
Her face darkened beneath the dim light of the melting candles strewn around the room. She kept her back straight and her arms at her sides, taking measured steps as the crowd gathered around the mercenary she was looking for hushed and parted to let her pass. Many of the humans, elves and even dwarves on either side of the Inquisitor looked like they could have easily overpowered her – the slim, tiny Dalish elf dressed in light armour that provided little physical defence. Yet they knew better than to try. Even the pianist stopped playing as soon as he caught sight of her, leaving the Iron Bull to sing on his own.
The mercenary remained oblivious to his situation until the last few people standing between him and Lavellan moved out of the way. Someone may have nudged him, because he looked around him in a confused manner before his eyes fell on the angry elf. He immediately set his tankard down and grinned widely.
“Lavellan, finally taking a break I see! Come, join us!”
Lavellan smiled forcefully in response while shaking her head to push the message across.
“You’re...not happy about me being here, are you?”
The Inquisitor’s smile did not falter.
“Not at all. Now get off that chair, Bull and come closer.”
He was apprehensive at first, but did as he was told. Lavellan calculated the distance between them as he leaned over her.
“Just a little bit closer...there we go!”
She grabbed onto one of his ears first then changed her mind and got a good hold of the horn just above it.
“You have a job to do,” Lavellan continued, dragging the Bull out of the tavern, the smile on her face now bright and genuine, “and tomorrow morning you’re going to explain to all of the new recruits why the Inquisitor dragged you back to Skyhold by the horns last night.”
im sorry but could you imagine dorian wearing those sun glasses that have a mustache attached to the bottom of the glasses and going why do i need a fake mustache over my own real mustache
omg but it wouldn't sit on properly because of his moustache so it would just look like his facial hair had facial hair and I...I need a moment
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(wow this took me a while. here's part 1, aaaand part 3)
When she fell into his arms – entirely by accident and in no way prompted by Leliana’s carefully constructed plan – a pit had formed at the base of Dalia Lavellan’s stomach. But it was a nice sort of emptiness, a welcome feeling of suspense about just what kind of sparks would fly when her eyes met the Iron Bull’s and he grinned toothily at her.
“Bit clumsy for a leader of armies, aren’t you?”
She groaned in response (really, is that the best you can come up with?) and he laughed, hugging her small frame closer and unintentionally lifting her ever so slightly off the ground. Dalia Lavellan was sold.
Yet when he fell in battle before her very eyes – taken down by the sharp claws of a terror demon – a very different kind of pit formed at the base of the elf’s stomach. This one threatened to swallow her sanity whole. The pain it was causing her almost convinced her doubling over and screaming in agony would be a fantastic decision. Dalia watched the demon’s arm lift for a second time and closed her eyes as she was shoved roughly out of the way by a sinewy, frail frame. She watched Cole take down the demon with Vivienne’s help, but it was too late. There was nothing she could do. The Iron Bull, her Iron Bull was lying on the ground, barely breathing, a garish gash staining his clothes in blood. How had the demon’s blow simply torn through his armour so easily? Why hadn’t he done anything? Why had he just stood there?
What was he so afraid of?
For several minutes the elven mage continued to stare at the person she now held dearest to her heart, only to realize she had been staring through him when she noticed Vivienne waving a hand in front of her.
“Inquisitor? Inquisitor! Lavellan!”
Her tone sounded almost motherly.
“What, what is it Vivienne?”
Slowly Dalia registered that she had fallen to her knees. Her cheeks were damp and her throat was sore. Had she screamed out his name? She must have. She couldn’t remember.
“I have done all I can. He will be alright, but it will take him some time to recover. It is perhaps best if we return to camp now.”
“Ye-yes. Yes, of course.”
Her companion offered Lavellan a hand which she gratefully took. She wasn’t sure that she would have been able to stand without it.
Cole was fretting around the Iron Bull as Dalia approached them. They were talking about something in a hushed tone but the Inquisitor could only make out a few words.
“...won’t happen...vision wasn’t a premonition...”
The closer she got, the more she realized that it was mainly Cole who was speaking with the mercenary responding with various grunts and vague gestures. He seemed terribly shaken. She swallowed in a vain attempt to get rid of the lump in her throat. The conversation stilled.
“Bull, are you...are you alright?”
He nodded. “As good as I can be. This sort of crap is just part of the job, right? Don’t worry about me.”
He refused to speak to her for the rest of the day. On the other hand, Cole was no less talkative than usual but if Lavellan even vaguely hinted at the subject she actually wanted to speak to him about, he would suddenly grow very silent and avoid her gaze.
A small, quiet voice at the back of her mind told Dalia things would only get worse for here on out; but she pulled it out of its hiding place and bludgeoned it into submission with logic and denial, until it too grew still and quiet.
(I really liked the idea but I also feel like I can't do it justice in a short piece so there are [now] another 2 parts)
(part 2), (part 3)
There were many things Dalia Lavellan could do, and one thing she definitely couldn’t. She could lead armies, she could produce rousing speeches with little effort, she could tell stories that inspired the mind and set the soul aflame. She had been a keeper, a foster mother by a fashion to a clan much larger than the Inquisition, and equally as needy as the citizens of Thedas who had all become her responsibility overnight.
Yet when she became aware that one person, one single entity could encompass more that the universe she had become such an important member of, her reality began to crumble beneath her feet. She could not form sentences. She could not speak. Her main tool of trade was taken away from her at lightning speed and her control over her talent, the dreadful magic she wielded, left her without warning. She had made something explode while speaking with him; a delicate vase, a gift from Vivienne. She didn’t even consider the fact that she would never hear the end of it once the former first enchanter found out – she simply mourned the loss of one of the only gifts she had ever received, and one that she had treasured dearly. She wasn’t the vindictive type, but it had been his fault. All of it. Everything.
“Thank you. Everyone is, um, dismissed?”
Leliana threw Lavellan a small, reassuring nod. The members of the Inquisiton began to file out of the war room, already pairing up and starting quiet conversations of their own. The tal-vashoth mercenary and the elven rogue were almost out the door before Dalia mustered up the strength to say what she wanted to say.
“Except you Iron Bull, I need to speak to you.”
“Oh?” Sera had never been one to keep her mouth shut. She crossed her arms and looked up at the Iron Bull questioningly.
“I have no idea,” he replied, making no effort to lower his voice.
Thankfully, the rogue left them alone without further fuss. The two of them had become fast friends in the few days after the Iron Bull joined their rapidly expanding group, and Lavellan had taken it almost as a slight. She was still very wary around him.
“What is it, Inquisitor?” the mercenary turned and walked back to the war table. Across from him, Lavellan stood up from her chair in an effort to make herself feel slightly taller.
She began the conversation with a tentative attempt to ease the tension.
“So, what exactly do I call you? Should I call you the Iron Bull or Iron Bull or is Bull an acceptable form of address?”
“Well, I do tend to save Bull for my closest...uh, confidantes.”
The Iron Bull pulled out the chair in front of him and sat himself on it unceremoniously, kicking his legs up onto the table. He kept his good eye focused on Lavellan’s face and directed a pleasant, friendly smile her way. Nonetheless, she felt on edge. She began to pace around the room, taking her staff in one hand and twirling it as she did so.
“R-right. Bull it is then,” she paused as he chuckled with a deep, rumbling sound. “Things are going to get a lot worse very soon and I believe it would be in both our interests if we were, in fact, friends.”
“If you’ll excuse the interruption,” she waved a hand in his general direction without looking strictly at him, and he continued “have I done anything, unintentionally of course, to make you believe we weren’t friends?”
Delia stopped twirling her weapon and turned to face her companion.
“No,” she said curtly, unable to say anything else for fear she would trip over her words. It would have been unseemly, but something told her he wouldn’t have really cared.
“I can hear a ‘but’ somewhere there in your nonexistent explanation.”
“But it has not been very long since you have joined the Inquisition and although you were completely upfront about your dealings and your ties to the Qun, about what you are and about what you are not, I have not been able to...well I have not been able to bring myself to...” Delia paused while the mercenary stared at her expectantly.
He knew exactly what she was going to say but he was not going to say it for her.
“I do not trust you, Qunari.”
He flinched at her tone, but did not offer any retort.
“I will not apologise for being frank because it is only fair to reward honesty with honesty but you have not given me any reason to believe that you will not betray me. If not to the Qun,” she continued when he attempted to protest, “then to a higher bidder. To your next whim. To a better adventure—”
The Iron Bull stood while she continued to speak and walked over to her. Closer, closer, then closer still. His demeanour was still confident but open; he had nothing to hide, and he meant her no harm.
“to—to—to...” Dalia forced herself to close her mouth. This close, he was far too tall. It simply would not do. She shifted her staff from her left hand to her right and made a grab for the chair closest to her. Standing on the chair she was just tall enough to regain some of her authority. Nevertheless, it was clear that the Iron Bull was making a conscious effort not to laugh.
“I need to be assured that you will not deceive me.”
“You want my loyalties to lie with you.”
“Yes, I want your loyalties to—” the Inquisitor became aware of the inflection he had placed on the word she was about to repeat and took a deep, tortured breath before she continued, “lie with me.”
He grinned at her.
“That could be arranged. Over time, I am sure my loyalties could get very cozy with your person. But as of yet, the only thing we have in common is our dislike for demons. And I don’t make any promises I can’t keep. It proves to be too much of a hassle. Besides –”
Before she realized what was happening, Dalia Lavellan felt two large hands wrap around her middle. She was lifted into the air and placed carefully on the ground, but it all happened so quickly that she didn’t even have the time to make any surprised noises.
“...one thing humans are really fond of repeating, is that trust isn’t given, it’s earned. Now I don’t know how it works in the clan you came from, but I sort of like that idea. It’s a good code to follow. Give me a chance, Inquisitor; give me some time. I’ll...grow on you before you know it.”
Lavellan closed her eyes and bit her lip, repressing the need to chastise him for his insolence. This was the best she would probably get out of him at present. She tilted her head towards the door, giving him a silent signal that he instantly picked up on.
He bowed his head in response and left without another word. Left her alone with her thoughts, her fears and her desires. The little smile on her lips crept up on her unawares.
