Chapter Text
The Inquisitor wasn’t truly hiding.
Hiding involved cowardice and fear. And while she wasn’t exactly afraid of what Hawke would make her do if Hawke found the Inquisitor, she definitely wasn’t in the mood to dodge daggers and try to block them with her staff rather than her magic. For some reason, everyone thought she needed to develop her martial skills, in case the entire world fell apart and she suddenly forgot how to cast a spell. Or something. The Inquisitor usually stopped listening or had to dodge daggers by that point in the explanation.
Now that the Inquisitor thought about it, Hawke really needed to work on her people skills. And her explanations.
She also wasn’t hiding from Josephine, who wanted her to practice ‘the etiquette and manners you will need to know for the ball, if you are to successfully play The Game.’ This had, so far, involved trying to learn sixteen different dances, forty-three different responses to the question “What are you hoping to achieve?” and the uses of no less than seven types of forks. It was almost worse than the daggers.
She’d managed to escape everyone by climbing a tree. It had worked when she was still with her clan and it worked now. Nestled in the lower branches, she contemplated the apple she’d stolen to snack on and thought about how many forks she would have to use to eat it if she were in Orlais.
Above her tree and in a much less comfortable room, someone was wishing they had as easy an escape.
The Iron Bull liked Red. He liked Red just fine. He liked Red just fine somewhere she wasn’t turning those icicle eyes of hers on him rather than one of the poor qalaba that worked under her.
Bull understood Leliana just fine.
He didn’t want to give her the kind of opportunity that would allow her to understand him.
“We have,” said Leliana, her eyes growing even sharper, “a problem.”
For half a heartbeat, even as he put on the blandest, stupidest smile in his repertoire, Bull wondered if she’d found the Tallis he’d recently planted amongst her Feralden spies. Normally the transition was as smooth as the barmaid’s bottom, but this Tallis was new to the Ben-Hassrath and had been a pain in his ass since the very beginning.
Bull mentally toyed with convincing the Boss to drop by Redcliffe so he could remove the idiot, but judging from Leliana’s barely concealed fury, he’d do better to concentrate on replying.
His smile was a little more toothy as he replied. “You want something dead, Red? What is it this time? Insane Templars? Insane mages? Insane mage-Templar dragons?”
He paused. “Please tell me it’s dragons.”
Suddenly, all of the chill vanished from Leliana’s eyes and her expression grew so sweet that Bull felt the sweat start to bead at the back of his neck.
“You know,” she said, her tone casual, “I have so many incompetent employees working for me. Why, one of them even started answering in Qunlat when I asked them a simple question.”
Her voice turned back to full arctic blast. “While carving off their fingers.”
Bull didn’t swear, but it was a near thing. He knew that Tallis was trouble.
Leliana leaned over the desk so that she was barely inches form Bull’s face. “Do not take me for a fool, Hissrad. I will respect your position if you show an equal respect for mine.”
Bull didn’t flinch. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
Leliana smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I believe I have the perfect way that you can show your respect and solve a tiny, minor problem for the Inquisition.”
She leaned backwards, her smile predatory. “Tell me, Qunari, what do you know of the Great Game?”
***
There were days when Bull wished he hadn’t been quite as good at lying to Tama about who drank the last cup of cocoa. Idly, he tried to imagine himself as a Sten fighting boring, mindless battles, but all of his enemies seemed to morph into smirking Lelianas.
For a brief moment, Bull admired a hundred different views of Red’s… assets, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. Frankly, he was pretty sure all of the Fereldan basra were more than a little insane, but that was what made them such dangerous opponents. Bull had no doubt that Leliana would gnaw off her own arm and beat him to death with it if she knew of the extent of his interference.
He knew that he’d gotten off lucky.
That didn’t make what she’d asked any less terrible.
As he casually strolled towards the large tree at the back of the garden, Bull wondered again exactly what Leliana was thinking. With Red, Josephine, and Vivianne working together, what they didn’t know about the Orlesian court wasn’t worth knowing.
While Bull certainly had more knowledge than they realized, teaching The Inquisitor how to play with the nobility was not something he thought they’d leave up to a Qunari mercenary captain.
He frowned.
He was fairly sure that Leliana had been joking about him using secret Qunari mind-control techniques on the Boss.
If only because someone had to have a mind for mind control to work.
He was being a little unfair, he knew, but sometimes he wondered if a lost puppy hadn’t accidentally been transformed into an elf when it fell out of the fade. A surprisingly lovely, wide-eyed, red-headed puppy-
Bull only realized that he was growling when he bit down hard enough to draw blood.
It wasn’t worth thinking about for more reasons than he wanted to explore.
Case in point- Boss thought she was being sneaky and secretive by running away to the garden when she couldn’t handle her Hawke or her advisors anymore. The reality was that everyone in the hold knew that she was out there, but after she’d accidentally knocked out the gardener with a falling apple, no one wanted to get close enough to disturb her.
Now those crazy Feraldens- they would have set the tree on fire and been discovered hanging from a random window at the top of the tower.
The Boss, at least, was predictable.
If there was a stupid way to tackle a situation, she’d find an even stupider way to handle it, although not quite as stupid as the Feraldens. Even as he thought it, Bull felt a strange twinge of guilt. He wasn’t giving the Boss enough credit. They’d survived situations that would have killed lesser companies. Surely he could teach her a few party tricks-
Bull realized what the strange twig and leaf covered lump in front of him actually was. Even as he blinked, a scrawny arm reached out to grab frantically at the crow above it.
Maybe, Bull realized in dawning horror, he hadn’t been giving Boss too little credit.
He’d given her too much.
Somehow, the Inquisitor's apple had turned into a fight to the death with a bird. Not to an actual death, if she were honest, and not really a fight, but more of a ‘dumb bird stole her apple and she’d tried to climb up after it to get it back and what with one thing and another, she might have ended up clinging to one of Leliana's birds with one hand, an apple in the other, one foot on the garden wall and one foot on a very wobbly branch.
"I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this," she said to the bird.
The bird screeched and scratched her wrist, causing her to release both bird and apple, as well as lose her balance. She scrambled to catch another branch on her way down, coming up with handfuls of leaves and just barely managing to jerk to a stop inches from the ground, bobbing gently from an overgrown twig.
The Inquisitor glared at the departing bird, a bird whom she'd decided was the root of all her current problems, up to and including the impending doom waiting to be unleashed upon them all. Birds were less intimidating than hoards of demons backed by an invincible, insane general.
If not for birds, she'd still have lunch.
This all passed idly through her mind as she bobbed gently from the twig. Lost in thought, it took her a moment to notice--
"Hi, Bull," she said, dropping to her feet. She craned her neck to see if Krem was with him. She liked Krem. She said fewer stupid things when Krem was around, because he distracted her from thinking about things like licking the base of Bull's horns and other uses for his mouth, like--
"Apple!" she remembered, belatedly, and scrambled, barely catching her liberated lunch before it smashed into Bull. She grinned triumphantly. "What can I do for you?" she asked, biting into the fruit.
Bull nodded subtly to the “scout” hidden behind the Inquisitor. The man nodded back and faded into the foliage, leaving Bull to give the Boss a genuinely appreciative smile.
It was hard not to be happy to see the elf. She was a creature made to make herself and others happy and Bull couldn’t help the undertone of amusement when he spoke to her. “Well Boss, I was going to see if you wanted to join me and the boys for a meal, but it looks like you’ve got that covered. Though-”
He stretched casually, internally smirking as her gaze landed nowhere near his face “-I was hoping you’d have some time to chat. Wanna head somewhere to talk?”
She nodded, obviously not paying a whole lot of attention. But as soon as he started moving, she scrambled after him, all awkward legs and limbs, that damn apple bobbing along in her mouth.
Bull could have had the conversation in the garden. His scout would have ensured their privacy. But Bull knew what it was like to have a space where you felt safe and could relax, and he didn’t want to taint that for The Inquisitor.
Also walking would give him a few more minutes to think about how to approach this.
He wasn’t sure he wanted the Inquisition to know exactly how much he knew, but he certainly wasn’t going to leave The Inquisitor unprepared and in danger. He’d put all that political crap in words that she’d understand and leave the casual touching and dancing to the Ambassador. He knew that physical dominance was a big part of the Game, but words were all he had to offer the little elf.
Bull had a policy about touching the Boss.
Some subtle directions, protection, to signal to assholes that she wasn’t the easy mark they thought she was.
Those were all acceptable reasons to touch.
What Bull didn’t do was any kind of touching that might let those big, soft eyes think that there was a chance they’d turn the vertical touching into horizontal.
He’d thought about it. He could have taken her up on the painfully clumsy flirtations and greeted her from her bed, ready to play. It would have been easy, too easy, to slip into the special role the Ben-Hassrath had designed for dealing with high profile targets.
Bull thought about his previous assignments to high-ranking officials. It was all about control, but not the safe, boundary-driven control he practiced with scullery maids and stable hands. Sex within his role was not a weapon, but a set of strings. It was his responsibility to build not only loyalty, but dependence.
The best results came from establishing his dominance in the bedroom. Most people weren’t so good about separating out the bedroom from the office, not without considerable help. And he encouraged that blurring, spoke out about their roles publicly to help set them in place.
He had the whole routine pre-set, down to the word to tell him to stop. No input necessary. No input desired. Tell them what they need and then make them need it. Not brainwashing, but careful cultivation until they couldn’t imagine not telling him everything he wanted to know or doing everything he wanted them to do.
He’d hesitated with the Boss.
He told himself it was because he didn’t need to do it, because she listened to everything he had to say anyways. He told himself that the woman couldn’t even hide a nest full of kittens from him (Literally. He still had the scratches.), much less the secrets of the Inquisition.
The truth was, without brainwashing or cultivation or careful personal tending, from the very first moment he met her, the Boss looked up at him like he’d personally brought the sun down from the sky.
It turned out that maybe his post-Seheron re-programming wasn’t quite as thorough as it should have been.
He’d die for her.
But he wouldn’t touch her.
He hoped that it would be enough.
***
There was something, something at the edge of the Inquisitor's awareness, some little flicker, but there was always something flickering in the corner of her eye, something to pay attention to, and more often than not, that something ended up being someone’s lost child, or love, or another new set of issues everyone expected someone to help with, but no one ever volunteered to do.
Most of the time, she thought, she was running errands because she was the only one who paid attention when people asked. What good was saving the world if there wasn’t a world worth saving?
But she didn’t want another errand or to pay attention to a new flicker, she wanted to stay where she was, not-quite-strolling along with Bull and enjoying her apple. His legs were longer, too long to truly stroll and keep up with him at the same time, but he had a habit of slowing down to accommodate her pace, even when they were roaming the countryside, even when the others outdistanced her.
“I found a new place,” she said, veering off to the small courtyard she’d discovered wedged in a crevice formed by the battlements. She could slip through easily enough, though she popped her head back out of the tight corner and held up her arms to her head, miming his horns with decent accuracy towards the spread. “You’ll have to come in sideways. Hawke’s in the tavern.”
The last seemed to be a non sequitor, but otherwise she would have happily followed him there, or down to the practice yard. But Cassandra would be waiting for her in the yard.
The private little courtyard suited her needs, barely a few strides wide and carved mostly out of old rock. She liked it when the sun hit just right; it did now, warming her skin and calming her nerves as she relaxed onto the ancient stone.
“I was thinking about taking Blackwall and Sera after the Visnomer down on the coast,” she said, watching him try to squeeze through. It was a tighter fit with both of them, so she tucked up her legs.
She knew he wanted to talk about the Winter Palace. Everyone wanted to talk to her about the Winter Palace. Cullen had tried to explain the importance of deciding upon a uniform versus a gown to her. She eyed Bull to see if he’d take her bait.
As the silence stretched out, it became obvious that it might not be as straightforward as her previous conversations.
When the time came to actually talk to the Boss, Bull found himself strangely nervous. For one thing, he’d been thinking about not touching and they were currently touching a little too much for his peace of mind. For another, there had been a half a second where something knowing had flickered through her eyes before she had tossed aside her apple core and started to wave and yell at the crow sitting on the wall.
For all that Hawke was a sociopathic nightmare (Bull wasn’t sure if he envied Varric that particular brand of bed play), the Boss had latched onto her like a puppy with a new playmate. For Boss to avoid her…
Or the practice yard which held…
Cassandra…
As Bull realized what was going on, he could only blame his shitty day for how long it took him to put the pieces together.
“You know,” he said admiring how her face looked perched above her knees, “you don’t have to go to Halamshiral.”
He was rather proud of how high she managed to raise her eyebrow. He grinned in return, feeling much more in control of the situation. “Or that’s what I would say if I was just looking to collect a paycheck and thought there was some shitty hole somewhere in Thedas I could hide from Fade demons.”
He continued on, carefully monitoring her expression as he spoke. “I’ll save you the lectures. You’ve heard them all and my ass ain’t as tight as the Commander’s.” He waggled his eyebrows and brought out his best leer. “Seriously, I want to drop something on those cheeks and see if there’s a bounce.”
Before she had a chance to respond, he lowered his head and met her face on, his gaze serious. “All that crap you’re learning has its place, but if you want to succeed in politics you have to learn the big stuff first. And the big stuff is how you’re going to use your strengths to bend the victims to your will.”
He waved a hand, careful not to hit the Boss. “There’s only a few real ways to win in politics. Option one- you charm and blackmail them into agreeing and they follow you because they love you and you hold them by the balls. Option two- you prove that you are smarter and more talented than they are and they follow you because they want to have a piece of the success when you ultimately win. Option three- you beat the crap out of everyone and the ones who are left don’t want to be beaten up anymore.”
“So,” he said, leaning forward, “which do you think is your strength, Boss?”
The Inquisitor eyed a bird that was circling above them and absently narrowed her eyes, sending a shock through the thing. Not enough to actually hurt it, but enough to warn prying eyes that the Inquisitor was not in the mood to be spied on. Sometimes, she wondered if anyone realized she had survived until this point on her own, and just fine.
Well, mostly fine. Her glowing hand was testament to that.
She considered Bull’s choices, as she pulled off her boots to press her bare toes into the rock. (It was better than considering his ass, which she had already done in considerable detail, in the past. Cullen’s was nice, but Bull had power to his haunches, something that made warmth curl in the pit of her stomach.)
The unobservant might mistake her pressing her foot beside his, seemingly absorbed by the comparison, as inattention. But even as she wiggled her toes, she saw troops already following her, a title she’d never asked for, and a mystery as to how it all came to be.
She wasn’t particularly adept at any of the things he described; each could be done better by any number of her retinue and that was the part she didn’t understand— why she had to learn to do these things, why she had to be the focus, when she had no less than three masters of The Game already. All she needed to do, really, was save an empress. That was what bothered her most. She didn't need to win at court. She needed to save one life.
“Does it matter?” she asked, not despondent, her eyes sharp when she met his. “I’m a Dalish mage going to Halamshiral, leading a counter-movement condemned by most of Thedas. If we’re playing any Game, I’ve already lost.”
She sat back and considered the slice of sky, then shook her head abruptly. “I don’t know how I got here, Bull. But I know it wasn’t alone. Which do you think is my strength?” She raised an eyebrow. “Charm? Talent? My bad ass attitude?” She pulled a face at him, her best imitation of Hawke on a bad day.
She wasn’t worried about the Game, not really. She had a job to do and she’d get it done. She already knew the price for losing. It was too dear to pay. “Everyone is talking like I have to win over Orlais, not save Celene.” She hadn’t missed that and sharp ears heard whispers of why it would be better to have a tested military general on the throne, when they needed Orlais’ army.
When she looked at Bull, her gaze was piercing, that of a woman who’d survived the cost of losing. “I think they’re trying to prepare me for a coup, Bull.”
Bull felt an unpleasant chill run the length of his spine.
The Boss wasn’t taking him seriously.
That was… a surprise.
Bull had gotten used to the Boss hanging onto his words and providing often thoughtful, if also strange commentary. This time though she’d brushed off what he was ultimately asking and focused in on the nugshit motivations of the Commander. Bull pushed aside an unfamiliar burst of jealousy. Of course the Boss and the Commander would see this exercise as either “save the Empress” or “establish our own personal army by crowning her successor”.
That she’d missed the larger point wasn’t surprising and ultimately didn’t matter. Bull was far more frustrated that the Boss hadn’t even thought about why she’d been given the responsibilities she had been. It would have been real easy for Red to set the Boss up as a fangless figurehead. Did the Boss even know why she was in charge?
Knowing how to delegate was an invaluable skill as a leader. Building the loyalty that allowed you to delegate? That took years of charm and blackmail… or an intuitive and natural charm and concern that created the same effect.
Not having a skill wasn’t a sin.
Not recognizing your own skills was the greatest possible violation of the Qun.
“I think,” Bull said finally, “that if you think this is about creating a new Game with you at the center, then we really have already lost. Maybe what you should be asking yourself is if you are indeed a Dalish mage going to Halamshiral, leading a counter-movement condemned by most of Thedas, why have you been invited there in the first place? Why not just send a note to Celene’s personal guard to step up their security? Why not send Red and Josie to make all the naughty nobles behave? If we were going to let Celene die, why not send the Commander and his troops to maintain order in the aftermath?”
He tried to keep his breathing even, his thoughts under control. “Why did they specifically want you there?”
He stood up, unwilling to spend any more time in the tiny space until he’d gotten himself under control. As he turned to leave, he looked back over his shoulder, “I’ll ask you again, Lavallen, what do you have that the Winter Court wants?”
Bull strode off, trying to understand what exactly was driving him to leave.
Bull didn’t get disappointed. After Seheron, Bull used his re-programming to make sure he was never again going to be in a situation that he didn’t control. Bull knew what people were going to say weeks before they said it and had already planned his next several months’ worth of responses.
Maybe that was why the bitter taste on his tongue took so long to identify.
Bull was half-way back to the Tavern before he realized he’d left to get his temper under control, three-quarters of the way before he realized that it wasn’t anger he was feeling. When he put the pieces together, the disappointment became paired with the equally unfamiliar taste of fear.
The worst part was that Bull wasn’t sure why he was disappointed, he just knew that he was.
And that was maybe the most frightening part of all.
***
The Inquisitor watched Bull go, resting her chin on her knees and considering what he’d asked. It took her time to absorb— she left him and Hawke to fight out ownership of the tavern and took Sera, Cole, and Blackwell with her to Crestwood while she was still distracted by their conversation. Killing the undead was always a good way to practice her skills and she’d promised to help a Chantry Sister find the bodies of the lost dead.
She came back late, covered in…well, she didn’t particularly care to think about what she was covered in. Her coat was going to need a serious soak before she could wear it again and her boots were almost ruined. She didn’t mind the boots, preferring to go barefoot when she could.
She stomped into the tavern, a barefoot, sodden mess.
“Fine,” she said to Bull, pushing her hair back. “Give me the crash course in the Game. I’m not letting Celene die and if we’re going to do this, we do it right.” She glanced around and found Hawke missing, to her relief. “The things that matter, Bull, not forks and how to hold my glass. You have the outside view, you tell me what I need to focus on.”
She gave Cabot a smile that could have dazzled at Orlais, if she’d been another woman, when the bartender brought her a flagon of ale. She sat down beside Bull and drained some of it, then pointed at him, a little unsteady.
“It’s my Inquisition. They gave it to me, so I’m going in as the Inquisitor and…” She dropped her head to the table and buried her face in her arms. “And the Inquisition can’t look like a backwoods fool,” she muttered to the scarred tabletop.
"I'm not wearing frills."