Chapter Text
The order was given. Save as many people as you can. Get them out of Haven and follow the path away from the impending destruction. Bull didn't necessarily agree with the self-sacrificing plan that would put the Herald right into harm's way, most likely destroying their only chance at sealing the rifts that were still popping up all over the damned world. But it wasn't his call to make. He was used to giving orders, not taking them, but he signed up for this shit, and he was going to do the best damned job of it that he could possibly do. Which was why he was ordering people through the chantry now, out the back, to find their next target. Commander Cullen would guide them to the next checkpoint and so on. One thing he found was that no one said no to a Qunari who was shouting at them to move their asses.
He scoured the last room, then stopped, suddenly realizing. "The damned dungeons."
With a grunt of frustration, he kicked open the door leading down the damp and the dark, all the candles doused at the moment.
"Anyone down here?"
From the darkness, a voice. "Here. What's going on?"
Of course it would have to be the thrice-damned magister. Bull tried to withhold judgment most of the time, and he wasn't particularly biased against Tevinter magisters. Assholes came in all shaped and sizes, after all, usually stemming from having just too much power. It just happened that this brand of power bred quite a few more assholes than the rest. He approached the cell, and saw the man inside back up somewhat dramatically.
"Yeah, yeah, get over it, unless you want to die here under thousands of pounds of rock and snow."
He reversed the grip on his sword and slammed the pommel against the lock once, then once again, and heard it the rusty iron break.
"You can use your magic?" Bull asked. Not that he really wanted this guy to be able to zap him with lightning or set him on fire the second his back was turned, but they might need the extra firepower.
"No." He held up his wrists so Bull could see the cuffs that Cullen had specially made for mage prisoners.
Bull grabbed his wrist, inspecting it, and growled in annoyance when he realized there was no way he could get them off. Not right now anyway. "All right, come on. Stay behind me."
"What's going on?"
"Your damned Elder One has a damned dragon and they're set on bringing down the damned mountain just to stop him."
Perhaps realizing his irritation, the magister fell silent, and followed Bull back up the stairs. The next checkpoint was empty, and Bull assumed Cullen went on ahead. He had half a mind to go back for the Herald, but there was little he could do to help, and he had to think of the others ahead who would need him. Still, he liked the Herald, and it was a shame to lose such a good person. Maybe their Maker would look out for them. Bull scoffed. And maybe dwarven ale would stop tasting like nasty sludge.
They hiked quickly and in silence, and Bull was glad when the magister didn't complain about the pace. For an old guy, he kept it pretty well enough, and Bull was grateful for the silence. Patches of snow with dirt and grass turned into all snow, light and powdery and up to his calves. Luckily the mass exodus from Haven left a solid trail that Bull followed easily.
"We shouldn't be more than an hour or two behind them," Bull informed the magister. "What's your name?" He didn't want to keep thinking of the guy as 'the magister'. It would likely breed contempt. Not that he wanted to get to know the guy, but no one deserved to die alone in a dark cell. Even assholes.
The magister drew himself up, chest slightly out. "Gereon Alexius." And he eyed Bull warily. "And yours?"
It was a restrained politeness borne from years of proper etiquette training. Bull decided he was okay with this. Fakey pseudo manners were better than outright rudeness. "The Iron Bull."
"Fitting."
Bull scoffed. "Yeah, well."
"I was under the impression that Qunari didn't take names."
"We don't have to have a conversation, you know."
"Very well."
Bull looked back at him, eye narrowed. Just when he thought he had the measure of the man, the game seemed to change. There was a definite quiet sadness about Alexius. Maybe something to do with his son. He'd been there when the boy collapsed, and saw the way Alexius reacted. The kid would be dead in six months tops, Bull gave it. Not that he was a healer or anything, but he'd seen enough illness and death in his day to somewhat accurately guess. He wasn't about to tell Alexius that, though. Still, someone who cared that much about his family? Enough to join a doomsday cult and a crazy as fuck Elder One darkspawn thing to save his son?
Couldn't be all that bad, could he?
-
They walked for hours through the dark, Bull quickly losing the trail. "This isn't going to work. If we keep going, we'll freeze to death." Or you will. Bull wasn't particularly bothered by the cold. Or the heat. But Alexius seemed to be flagging a little, and after the third stumble, he decided to stop for the night. "We'll pick it up again in the morning. Let me see your cuffs."
Alexius, who had his hands buried inside his cloak, brought them out. His fingertips were freezing as Bull took them, turning his wrists this way and that.
"Damned enchantments. But the hinges are iron. You got a brooch or a pin or anything fancy?"
Alexius frowned, then reached inside his robes and unhooked a family crest brooch in the shape of a dragon before handing it to him.
"Might break it."
"I've others," Alexius said quietly.
"Course you do." Bull pulled up his sleeve, noting the scars on Alexius's arm. Not an idle, fat magister who let his slaves do all his dirty work, then. Yet, they didn't seem like scars from battle either. What kind of work was he into that would leave marks like that?
He carefully worked the hinge, burning his fingers on the runes when they protested against his strength, and popped the pin out. The iron fell away on one, and Alexius flexed his wrist at once, the joint popping in the otherwise silent night. Bull grunted satisfactorily and worked the other one just as quickly.
"…Thank you."
"Yeah, you can repay me by not stabbing me in the back. Metaphorically or literally."
"Agreed."
"I'll get some wood and you can start a fire."
The branches of the trees were wet, but Bull knew they would burn with magefire. He grew up learning to be wary of magic, but after so many years of meeting all sorts of people, he knew magic wasn't the problem. Just like how swords weren't the problem. The problem came from when people who wielded the magic or the swords thought they were better than the other people who couldn't. There were perfectly decent mages, as there were perfectly decent sellswords. He returned to Alexius, who melted a large circle of snow, leaving bare – albeit wet – ground.
"Here." He dropped the branches into a pile, and watched Alexius light them on fire effortlessly. "Not much in the way of food," Bull said, digging out two ration bars from his pack. He tossed one to Alexius, who caught it against his chest. "You gonna run off in the middle of the night? You'd die."
Alexius knelt down near the fire, and Bull saw through the orangey light that he was shivering. "No."
"We find the others, they're gonna lock you up again. You okay with that?"
"My fate hardly matters now."
"…Y'know, I know magisters are supposed to be all grim and depressing and shit, but you're something else."
Alexius looked at him, and Bull saw a tired man, one who lost his fight. Maybe there was nothing left for him.
"That other guy. Dorian."
Alexius looked away, and unwrapped the ration bar. He settled down further in the damp grass, staring at the fire.
"He was your student or something? He's alive, you know. He made it out."
"I am glad to hear it." But his voice was hollow.
"So what's your deal with him?"
Alexius cleared his throat. "I believe you stated that we didn't need to have a conversation."
"Well. Sure. Fine. Just trying to be friendly."
"I've never known a Qunari to be 'friendly'."
"Yeah? Met 'em all?"
Alexius stayed silent, slowly consuming the ration bar. Bull sighed, and ate his own, watching the fire pop and crackle. Minutes passed like hours, and Bull felt restless. But it would be stupid to go wandering off in the dark now.
"Should find some shelter. Don't want to freeze to death."
"Death is not the worst thing."
"Your death or your son's?"
"Do not speak to me of my son!"
It was the first time Alexius showed any real sign of life, his voice rising above the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the wind. His expression was livid, glaring at Bull. But behind that, Bull saw the hurt, the pain.
"All right," he relented. But curiosity got the better of him, and after a minute, he asked, "Why did you come with me if you would've rather died in the cell?"
"Felix is not dead yet," Alexius said, tossing the wrapper into the fire. "Not that they would let me write to him."
It seemed a little ridiculous that he wasn't even allowed to write to his son. "I'll talk to Cullen." Letters weren't harmless, but their people would never let anything out of camp that would potentially harm the operation. Bull knew that. And he doubted anything Alexius would have to say would hurt the Inquisition.
"I'd rather not be indebted to a Qunari."
"Suit yourself. I'm still gonna talk to him."
Alexius looked back at him, expression carefully blank. "Suit yourself," he enunciated, mocking him.
"Ah, you know what? I don't even know why I'm trying to be nice to you. You're really not helping the stereotype that all Vints are bastards, though."
"I've nothing to prove to you, Qunari."
"Guess I deserved that one," Bull relented. He settled back close to the fire, using his pack as a pillow. "We should be able to catch up with the rest tomorrow. Best get some sleep now."
Alexius said nothing, but then Bull didn't really expect an answer. Figuring even if Alexius did try to kill him in his sleep, Bull could probably subdue him, he closed his eye and tried to rest.
-
The morning was warmer at least, though when you were this high in the mountains, that was little comfort. There wasn't much energy for talking, their breath coming out in puffs of white as they trekked through the knee-deep snow. He caught Alexius twice from falling, and received a perfunctory, 'Thank you,' both times. Better than nothing, but it was clear he wasn't happy. If it was Bull's call, he might have just let him go. No one knew he'd rescued him, and he did seem fairly harmless. But alone in the mountains? He'd die.
They paused in the afternoon along a frozen stream. Alexius melted a portion of it, and Bull had to admit that magefire was pretty damn useful. He could mix his own chemicals to achieve almost the same effect, but it wasn't as precise or as quick. He filled his water skin, drank, and handed it to Alexius. To his credit, he didn't wipe off the mouth of it before drinking as well. They sat for a few minutes in silence to rehydrate, and Bull filled the skin to the top before leading on again.
"What will your Inquisition decide to do with me?" Alexius asked, finally breaking the hours-long silence.
"Dunno," Bull admitted. "Lock you up again, I guess. Maybe exile you back to Tevinter."
"My son will inherit my rank. I am likely no longer a magister there. And my house will fall to my next of kin once…"
Bull frowned. Qunari didn't worry about things like that. You were born into what you were good at doing. If a business owner died, someone else took over. There was no worry about lineage and houses and all that. He didn't know what to say to comfort Alexius, and the odd thing was, he wasn't sure why he even wanted to. While he deserved whatever punishment was fitting – Bull heard the story of what the Herald went through, though it was a little unnerving to think about it – he didn't deserve to lose his son.
"Even if you go back, they won't let you back into their club, huh?"
"Once the Archon publicly disavows all knowledge of the Venatori, and the Elder One proclaims himself as a rising god, those magisters declaring themselves in his service will be stripped of their titles. Myself included."
"Better than being killed by some crazy guy who wants to be a god."
"Quite."
Bull glanced back at him. He'd been expecting an argument, and the easy agreement didn't make sense. "So… you joined him to take over the world or something?"
"No."
"So…"
Alexius sighed, pulling his cloak tightly around himself. "I was involved in magical research and education. The Magisterium wants to focus on the war between our nations. I disagreed with breeding a country of soldiers."
"Smart. No society works like that. You need people of all kinds."
"And what kind are you?"
Bull scoffed. "I'm not part of the Beresaad if that's what you're asking. But I do like to fight."
"Hence your colorful name. The Iron Bull."
"It makes me sound like a weapon."
"A torture device."
Bull cocked an eyebrow. "Say what?"
"The Iron Bull," Alexius said, squinting in the sunlight reflecting off the snow. "Or the bronze bull. Honestly the name is a misnomer, as it often was made of different material."
"Never heard of it."
"A statue of a giant bull, hollow in the middle, under which sat a large fire. Prisoners were-"
Bull threw a hand up to stop him. "Yeah, yeah I get it, okay. Not exactly what I was going for."
"Obviously."
"You making fun of me?"
"One must find one's amusements somewhere."
Bull wondered if it wasn't just better to have left the damned Vint in his cell.
-
The days wore on, and while Bull was positive they were still on the trail, stumbling over the campsites as they hiked farther up the mountain, he had no idea where they actually were. They would have to come to the end of the mountain chain eventually, right? But he thought maybe traveling down it would be better. The sun set to their left, so he knew Orlais was that direction. Which meant Ferelden was east, and likely a better chance of getting help. Another day of traveling and he would take them east. According to his mental maps, he knew Orzammar was around somewhere. While he couldn't imagine dwarves would be too thrilled to entertain them, they would have something useful for trade.
"Time for a break," Bull ordered.
He wasn't particularly tired, but Alexius was flagging again. While Bull had him pegged properly as a magister who hadn't idled, he was still older. Not as fit as the people Bull was used to ordering around. And he appeared to be getting sick, if the cough was any indication. They built up a small fire, and Bull yanked an old blanket from his pack, tossing it at Alexius.
"Keep warm. I'm going to scout ahead."
Without waiting for an answer, he hiked away from the fire. It wasn't the trail he was looking for, but the familiar plant with the heart-shaped leaves. He spotted a clump near the base of a large rock, and pulled them up, roots and all. He only hoped it was enough to make Alexius well enough to travel without getting sicker. The last thing he wanted to do was to walk up on the Inquisition's camp with a half-dead magister in his arms.
"Here," Bull said, dropping the plants down at Alexius's side.
"Elfroot?"
"For your cough."
Alexius covered his momentary surprise with a smirk. "Keeping me alive so I can survive my execution? How kind of you."
"I don't think they're gonna execute you. Better not," Bull grunted, kneeling by the fire. "Not after all the trouble I went through to keep you alive. All that wasted effort."
"You wouldn't mourn me."
Bull looked at him. "No, but I'd be pretty fucking pissed off if they decided to take your head after I dragged your ass up a mountain."
"Perhaps they'll make you my keeper. How fitting."
"Pass," Bull said, feeling annoyed now. "Look, the Herald isn't a bad person. I'm sure things'll work out."
"Spare me the false platitudes. We're not friends enough for that." Alexius began separating the leaves from the other parts of the plant.
"Fine. Cullen will want justice. But I don't think anyone will call for an execution."
"Even after what I've done?"
"What did you do?" Bull said. "Cause I've heard a lot of crazy ass stories, but nothing really adds up. All the things you were supposed to have done? In some fucked up future that never happened. People died but to punish you for shit you didn't even do? That's harsh. That's not the Inquisition's style."
"If the Herald remembers it. If Dorian-"
Bull watched the lines in Alexius's face deepen as he frowned. "What's the story with you and him anyway?" He remembered the way Alexius clammed up the other day when he brought him up the first time. To Bull, Dorian was just an arrogant little prettyboy Vint with daddy issues. He wondered if Alexius contributed to that.
"He's a student of mine. I failed him."
"You sure it wasn't the other way around?"
Alexius smiled sadly. "When my son fell ill, my research shifted dramatically. Dorian followed me because he wanted to help. I should have concentrated on furthering his education, and spending what time I had left with Felix. Not chasing dreams."
Bull wanted to let the subject drop for now. It was clear it was hurting Alexius to talk about it. And any rate, he wasn't the man's keeper. But his Ben-Hassrath training, the years that shaped him into what he was, knew this was a man who wasn't built to give up. He just seemed lost. Much like they were.
"Do you have a pot for boiling water?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure." Bull pulled a small cooking pot from his things. The rest of the utensils were in Rocky's pack, and he gave a passing thought for his boys now. Krem helped with the evacuation. He trusted his lieutenant to keep the rest of them safe. Likely they were more worried about him right now than he was about them. They were safe, he knew it.
Alexius gathered quite a bit of snow and let it melt over the fire, then began to boil the elfroot leaves. He cleared his throat and started to cough. Bull had to take the pot from him to avoid spilling it into the fire as he devolved into a fit, wheezing heavily at the end. Bull watched him spit in the snow, a trace of red dotting against the white.
"Ah, shit."
"I'll be fine," Alexius said, clearing his throat. "The pot."
Bull handed it over. He watched Alexius cool the water and pluck the leaves from it, placing one delicately on his tongue.
"Does that work?"
Alexius raised an eyebrow in a look that clearly said, "If it didn't, why would I be doing it?"
"Okay, good point," Bull conceded. "Bet it tastes like shit though."
Alexius smirked. Another minute passed and he swallowed. "It does, rather. But it'll be enough to stop the cough until it can be properly attended to. Thank you."
"Er, yeah. You're welcome."
"Not used to manners?"
"Not from your kind. No offense," Bull added.
"I imagine not. The way I see it, however," Alexius said, pulling out another leaf, "is that you and I are stuck with one another for now. And silence isn't always golden." He placed it on his tongue, and closed his lips around his fingers, licking the tips rather obscenely for a man of his status.
"Guess so," Bull agreed. "Once we get wherever we're going, though?"
Alexius made a quiet noise that Bull wasn't sure how to interpret. He waited for him to swallow the next leaf. "You're an intelligent young man for all your claims to be a violent brute."
Bull shrugged, unused to that sort of compliment. He didn't think he was particularly smart. At least, not in the way Josephine or Solas or any number of the Inquisition members were smart. He knew what he did because he practiced at it, and he had an innate sense about people. Just because you were empathetic and compassionate didn't mean anything but that. He was trained to know people. And he knew them well. And Alexius… for all his nobility and the stiff upper lip stuff, he was pretty broken. Probably lived his life wanting nothing more than to have a happy family, and now that it was gone?
Sometimes Bull hated being able to psychoanalyze people.
"I guess so, sure. I still like hitting stuff."
"Your blade. May I see it?"
Bull grunted and unsheathed it, handed it over, pommel first. Alexius took it carefully, stronger than he looked as he hefted the large two-handed sword and laid it across his lap. He examined the metal and the hilt, little crackles of electricity sparking from his fingertips, interacting with the sword's latent magic.
"It needs sharpening. But it's good quality." Alexius handed it back.
"Yeah, well. No whetstones out here." Bull took it and slid it back into its sheath. "Thinking of getting an axe, double-headed."
"Do you find it easier to wield?"
"Yeah, I'm more about the swinging than the thrusting."
Alexius smirked.
"Hey! That wasn't dirty!" Bull insisted. He paused, thinking. "It did sound dirty though. I'm about both the swinging and the thrusting if we're talking about that. Anyway, you don't strike me as a guy who'd find innuendo funny."
"Don't I? I suppose I give off the stern upper-class noble air instead."
"I'm not saying nobles can't find innuendo funny. Just never met any that actually laughed at it."
"I was a teenager once."
"Doesn't mean you are anymore," Bull said.
"No. In my experience, we all must grow up at some point. However, that doesn't mean losing one's sense of humor. And everyone enjoys a good phallus joke now and again."
Bull laughed, surprised at the unexpected topic of conversation, and more so at Alexius's easy humor. "You know, you're all right. How'd you get mixed up with an asshole like that Elder One guy?"
The smile slid from Alexius's face and he fished out another leaf from the pot, contemplating it a moment. "He promised me a way to save my son if I could perform a task for him. Removing a person from history. Make it so that the Herald wasn't at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to begin with. I thought, 'What's one life in exchange for my son's health?'"
"Ehn. You start putting price tags on people's heads like that, you start going down a path you can't turn from."
"Says the mercenary?"
"Hey, I'm not Tal-Vashoth. I'm nothing like those…" Bull broke off with a grunt. "Never mind."
"My apologies. I meant no offense."
Bull looked sidelong at him. "You are one strange Vint."
"I've been called worse."
"Yeah," Bull said, as he watched Alexius place another leaf on his tongue. "Says the merc. I'm not Tal-Vashoth, but my mission involves a lot of merc shit. Swords for hire. Gather intel." He shrugged. "It's not like the Inquisition doesn't know why I'm here. But yeah. You start saying one life is worth more than another and all that…" He broke off again. "You own slaves."
"Ah." The word was rounded and slightly lisp-like around the leaf.
"Yeah. So. I guess it's easy for you."
Alexius swallowed, then licked his lips delicately. "As much as I'd love to engage in a debate on slavery, I believe this is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion."
"It's wrong. There's nothing to discuss."
"Tevinter has a very long history of slavery, and I acknowledge its faults-"
"Like, everything?" Bull said, prodding the fire. They really should have started walking a while ago. They should pack up now and get moving before night fell.
Alexius took a steadying breath, pulling the blanket that Bull gave him around himself. He sat up straight, as if steeling himself for an argument that Bull just didn't want to hear. "While there are things inherently wrong with slavery, the majority of landowners who also own slaves-"
"Spare me the nugshit," Bull cut him off. "It's wrong. You know it's wrong. And you do it."
"I'm not interested in trying to change your views. Any more than you seem to be interested in converting me to the Qun."
"Oh you are not comparing the Qun to slavery." He'd heard enough of that from Solas.
"No system is perfect, The Iron Bull."
The use of his full name, article and all, gave Bull pause. No one ever did that. Not that he minded, but it was weird to receive this type of respect, especially from a Tevinter magister. Alexius kept him on his toes, that was for sure.
"Doesn't mean it's right."
"I never said it was." Alexius drained the water, rolling up the remaining leaves, and tucked them inside a pocket.
"But you do it anyway."
"You kill people for money."
"Some people need killing."
"And some men can't find jobs so they sell themselves to feed their families."
"Oh and that's what you do? Take in the less fortunate ones?" Bull grabbed up the pot and shoved it his bag, waving off the blanket that Alexius tried to hand to him. "Keep it."
"And those orphaned."
"You don't bleed 'em." Bull watched Alexius douse the fire with a spell, and they started off together, the unconscious decision to continue made.
"No. I don't practice any form of blood magic."
Bull frowned. He was really good at telling when someone was lying to him. Nobles were easier because while they thought they were being sneaky with their words or relaxed body language, there were always certain tells. Alexius hadn't lied to him yet, and he wasn't now. And really what did he have to gain by lying anyway? It wasn't as if Bull had a say in what happened to him once they caught up with the Inquisition.
"I find the practice rather abhorrent," Alexius stated. "It's an anathema to quite a lot of magic, and a quick fix or simple answer. Like bandaging a gaping wound with one layer of linen when it needs stitching."
"That's a pretty gruesome analogy."
"But apt."
Bull huffed.
"Have I offended?" Alexius asked, sounding slightly amused.
"No. Just…"
"You're not like most Qunari I've met. I'm not like most mages from Tevinter you'll meet."
"People are people," Bull muttered. One of Sera's favorite phrases, and it was appropriate here.
"Indeed."
"Maybe under a different set of circumstances, I'd buy you a beer and we could discuss philosophy and crap."
Alexius laughed, and thankfully did not devolve into a cough. It seemed his remedy worked. "And perhaps under a different set of circumstances, I would accept."
Stranger things, Bull decided, had happened.