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Bull first sees her during the fighting.
She’s smart. That’s the first thing he notices. She catches every opening, chooses the perfect counter for every faulty strike. The next thing he notices is the shield. That’s about as big as you can go without making it a tower shield. Made of metal, too. That’s gotta be heavy. She swings it like it’s a buckler.
The third thing he notices, after the fighting’s done and she’s removed her helmet, is her hair.
Redheads. Every time.
He rips off half a tabard from the nearest corpse to clean off his axe and goes to find Krem. “Hey.”
“Hey, chief. Skinner, what are you doing to that poor bastard?”
“Lost my knife. Gotta be in here somewhere.” She’s elbow-deep in a dead soldier’s gut.
“Oh, for—we can get you another one!”
“It was my lucky knife!”
Krem makes a noise of resignation and turns. “What d’you need, chief?”
Bull nods at the woman with the shield, who’s a few yards away giving orders. “Who’s the redhead?”
“Think that’s their guard-captain, chief.”
“Hmm.” Bull polishes his axe-head, still watching her.
“Think she’s married, chief,” Krem says pointedly.
“Come on, you know how I feel about multiple partners.”
Bull can practically hear Krem’s eyes rolling in the response. “Don’t think she’s that kind of woman, chief.”
Bull nudges him with an elbow. “It was a joke, Krem.”
He heaves a long-suffering sigh. “If you say so, chief.”
“I’m going to go talk to her.” He slips his axe into the harness on his back and walks across the battlefield.
She’s still delivering orders, so he waits, hovering, until there’s a break in the stream of soldiers coming up to her. Then she turns to him. “Yes?”
“Hi. The Iron Bull.” He holds out a hand. “Commander of the Bull’s Chargers.”
“Guard-Captain Aveline Hendyr.” She shakes. “The Chargers are yours, are they? Then I suppose I should be thanking you. Without their help Starkhaven might’ve overwhelmed us.”
“Well.” Bull grins. “If you really want to thank me…”
She narrows her eyes and grasps the hilt of her sword.
“Whoa, hey.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I was just going to say I’d love to spar with you sometime.”
“You—oh.” She releases her blade. “Spar with me? Why?”
“Saw you on the battlefield. You’re one of the best sword-and-shield fighters I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen plenty.”
She seems bemused by the whole thing, but after a moment’s consideration she nods. “Well. That’s kind of you to say. All right, a sparring match is the least I can do. Would you mind if we did it at the training grounds, so my guardsmen could watch? I think they could learn from it.”
“Uh—yeah!” He’d been half-expecting her to refuse. “When do you want me to come by?”
She exhales. “Maker, I don’t know. There’s still a lot to clean up here. But I’ll get in contact with you when I’ve got a moment free.”
“Thank you.” He gives her a respectful bow. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
——
The sun is bright but the air is cool, and a light breeze picks up swirls of dust that blow away into the grass.
Bull swings the axe a few times. Not quite as heavy as he’d like, but it’ll do. It’s a training weapon, the edge blunted. Aveline’s sword is the same way.
“Don’t hold back,” she calls, from across the ring of dirt. “It’s important they see what a real fight looks like.”
He knows better than to ask if she’s sure. She looks like an experienced warrior, one who’s very aware of just how much she can take. He won’t ask her to hold back for his sake either. Bruises and cracked bones are fine, now that the threat to Kirkwall has been stopped. If he’s limping tomorrow, he can spend the day resting and recovering. And eating.
“All right.” Aveline slides her foot back, taking a defensive stance. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Bull hefts the axe again, then twirls it a few times for the singular purpose of showing off. None of these humans can spin a greataxe like this. He scans the gathered soldiers as he does it, notes which ones flinch back, which ones stand firm. He’ll buy the latter group a drink after this.
Then he pushes off, the dirt indenting beneath his boot, and charges.
Aveline waits for him, patient and still. Shield-fighters don’t dodge. They deflect. Bull holds the axe low at his right side, sprinting forward. The faster he goes, the faster his weapon goes, and the harder it is to stop.
When he reaches her he plants his feet and swings.
A sideways slash from her left, parallel to the ground. Blocking will still throw all that forward momentum straight into her, put her off-balance at least. She could deflect it, but she’d have to be—
—really strong, and she catches the blade on her shield, lifts it above and in front of her, sloughing the force of it off into thin air. Her sword thrusts, so low Bull might miss it if he weren’t expecting it. He bats it down with the end of the haft, then jabs. Her shield’s already in place again, and the blow rings off. Another thrust, low again—shit, she’s got him pegged—again he bats it down. His power comes from his shoulders. If he keeps having to bring his weapon low to deflect her sword, he can’t depend on his size advantage to win this.
That’s fine. He’s not all brute strength. There’s a pretty quick mind in there too, and a couple decades of experience.
He slams the middle of the haft into her shield. She pushes back, as expected, and he uses it to slide away and put distance between them. Time to adjust his strategy. A second’s reconsideration, and his axe becomes a two-ended weapon, his hands sliding up closer to the blade.
“What your opponent does with their body gives away what’s in their head!” Aveline shouts to the gathered guardsmen. “See how he’s changed his grip? Lower down on the haft, and he’s looking for momentum. Higher, and the weapon’s easier to manipulate. He can use the end to try and open up my guard, or even flip the weapon over if his angle’s bad! When you see your opponent using a new tactic, you’d better respond in kind!”
Bull grins and falls a little deeper in love. Then he charges again.
The same opening move as the last time. Almost. He swings the axe-head, watches her shield come up to catch it. Then, just before the moment of impact, he yanks his leading arm back. The axe pivots, the end of the haft sweeping toward her helmet
She isn’t going to dodge it—can’t track it well enough with that helmet blocking out her peripheral vision—but she moves with it, at least. It’s a short blow and, with her compensation, not very forceful, although Bull thinks he sees the glimmer of blood as the wing of her helmet cuts into her cheek.
But of course now the haft is trapped over her shoulder.
He swivels back. He’s got long legs, but Aveline extends. A dangerous move normally, but she’s banking on him not being there to take advantage. The foible of the blade thumps into the leather band around his middle. Ow. He rotates his hands, flipping the axe, and swings the head down, hacking at her sword-arm. She twists, her shield smacking the blow away to the outside. Shit. That’s shield’s going for his face next.
So he ducks his chin and headbutts it.
The stretch of bone between his horns is thick, and the impact only sends a mild buzz running through his skull. He hauls the axe in again, holding it vertically, and his vision’s still spinning some but he feels the haft shiver as her sword thwacks into it. He slides it forward until he feels it catch the guard of her blade, then pushes the locked weapons out to the side. There. An opening. He turns, puts his shoulder down and slams into her, pumping his legs.
She puts her shield up between their bodies and backpedals. Strength won’t do her any good here—she just isn’t heavy enough to stand against him like this. She tries to slip to one side, but he feels the shield tilt against his bare skin—that’ll show the assholes who laughed at his single pauldron—and follows her. The pressure of her sword’s guard against his haft shifts, but he follows that too, tilting the axe, keeping their weapons locked together. Hard to see past the edge of her shield, but with how far that lock feels from their bodies, the sword’s got to be at an awkward position.
He takes a chance and flicks the haft out.
A disarming attempt. Two options. She lets the sword go, or she holds onto it and lets herself be tugged in that direction, when she’s currently circling back the other way. He feels the resistance, feels the shield shift against him. She’s holding onto it. He sneaks a foot between her legs, hooks it behind her heel, and pulls.
She doesn’t fall on her ass, which is impressive in itself. Instead she goes hard to a knee. With a roar Bull hikes his axe up above his head, loosening his grip so he’s grasping it by the end of the haft now, and hammers it down.
Can’t roll away from it. She leaves a leg sticking out, it’ll get cut off (well, not with a training weapon, but it’ll hurt). So she’s going to block. And the block will break, because no human can block a blow like this, and then he’ll have her. The axe descends as she puts up her guard.
The blade crashes into her shield. The block holds. The massive impact jars Bull’s weapon all the way down the haft, sending vibrations straight through his palms and into his bones. It’s like when Sera stuck a nest of bees inside that training dummy, except now the bees are inside his arms. He manages not to drop the axe, which is fucking impressive, but his arms are nerveless and devoid of strength. Aveline rises, and her sword thrusts out, jabbing into his ribcage.
Above the leather band. Ow. That’ll bruise. He curls reflexively, and her shield bashes into his face, snapping his head back. Blood fills his nose, bursts into his mouth. Then there’s a blunt steel edge pressed to his exposed throat.
He lets the axe slip from his fingers and raises his arms, grinning with split lips. “I yield.”
The roar of cheering.
Clapping and stomping. The guardsmen are on their feet. Bull wipes his mouth, still grinning. To see their guard-captain take down an oxman twice her size? That’s got to be pretty great .
Aveline tosses her sword down and shouts for silence. They quiet immediately. Well-disciplined.
“Let me be clear.” She isn’t even breathing very hard. “Never block an overhead swing. Especially not if your opponent’s seven feet tall.”
“Seven and a half,” Bull murmurs.
A shrill cry of “Aveline!” It’s taken up, circulating around the training ground, until all the guards are cheering again. She heaves a sigh and unbuckles her shield, letting it fall to the ground and rubbing her arm.
“Sorry,” Bull says. “Is it broken?”
“Think so. Not to worry, we’ve got healers in the guard now. Could probably do something about your face, too. Sorry about that.”
“Guard-Captain.” He bows deeply. “It was an honor to have my face smashed in by your shield.”
She laughs at that. “It was an honor to fight you too, Iron Bull. You’ve got a few tricks up your sleeve, haven’t you?”
“Well.” He shrugs modestly. “I like to think so.”
“If you’d ever like a rematch, you know where I’ll be.” She offers her hand.
He shakes it. “You know, I might just take you up on that.”