#sachabull

[perkeleen-lavellan]

God, the line where Bull is genuinely surprised that the Inquisitor wants to dance with him continues to live in my head rent free.

Not just because what would the people think, but because the man has a bum leg. Like yes, he clearly still has mobility. He is right there in the field fighting with you. But still. Dude needs a brace for his ankle and has probably been standing around all evening and he still remembers how much the Inquisitor wanted to dance with him, so he comes to them and offers to dance with his bum leg to something nice and upbeat after a grueling night of both of them being thoroughly judged by snobs who didn't deserve to get their lives saved by them but they did it anyway.

And I think that's beautiful.

[neokoo]

Watching Sacha brush his hair before they go to sleep is one of Bull's favourite pasttimes, even when it has him faced with the visual reminder of the time he failed in his duty as Sacha's bodyguard, and Sacha's largest scar.

(During the Inquisition Erimond once kidnapped Sacha, and 'stole' the magical tattoo from his back via flaying.)

[perkeleen-lavellan]

"You never ask me to play chess with you," Sacha blurted out over the collection of reports he was currently arranging on the bed. Bull had been counting the moles visible on his neck while the ice Sacha had spelled for him slowly melted inside his waterskin.

Bull was used to hot environments, he had grown up in a tropical jungle after all, but the dry heat of the Western Approach after years living in the milder temperatures of eastern Orlais was something else. No one was immune, even Sacha had taken to practically stripping just to his underthings while resting inside his tent and waiting for the sun to set. They moved at night when the air was practically freezing. Trying to get expeditions done in day time here was a complete waste. Everyone just sweated out their hydration in the first hour of moving, and they'd end up wasting precious water. That was the difference between this forsaken desert and the jungles back home. In Par Vollen the nights were only mildly cooler than the days, and the humidity easily fooled you into thinking you weren't dehydrated.

"Are you listening?" Sacha turned his head towards him.

Bull closed his eyes slowly then opened them.

"Yeah, I heard you."

"Well?" the elf prompted impatiently.

"I thought you were trying to focus," Bull glanced at the ignored papers and teased.

"Clearly it's not working," Sacha huffed, and turned fully to crawl over and sit in front of him. He looked irritated. Heat and overwork. The Venatori presence made Sacha unable to relax even in a camp as well guarded and hidden as theirs. It was an unfortunately familiar sight to Bull. In enemy territory you could never truly relax.

"Jealous?" he asked casually.

"Please," Sacha scoffed. "Of Solas?"

He was. That primal part of his brain no doubt had him asking why Bull would pick Solas for his games, a reportedly self taught apostate, instead of a schooled man like Sacha.

"I didn't think you'd enjoy chess," he said simply.

"Why wouldn't I?" Sacha asked, childishly indignant.

Bull smiled. "Let me rephrase. I didn't think you'd be able to play it without getting way too competitive. Like you had to prove something by winning."

"Is that not the point?" Sacha said, lips curving dangerously as he leaned closer to his face. Bull would not be cowed.

"They taught you chess in the Circle didn't they?" he asked while ignoring the nails that came to rest on his thigh. Not pressing down but threatening to, should he misspeak. "What for?"

"Because it's etiquette. It hones the mind-"

"And when you were in the Circle they made you play against each other?"

Sacha's brow twitched. "Of course."

"And you liked winning?"

"Of course," Sacha repeated annoyed. "Bull, if you have a point-"

"So when you lost, did you feel like you had just lost at a game, or did it feel like you lost more than that?"

Sacha pursed his lips.

"Did it make you angry?"

"So what if it did? No one likes losing."

"No. But especially not when their future is part of the stakes. Feel free to correct me, but everything you've told me about the Circle has given me the impression that you were always competing against your peers there. And not like the friendly rivalry you find among soldiers. Your lives were literally dependent on how you performed, and I know you noticed that, because you learned to play that game. So I didn't think you'd enjoy playing chess with me just for the sake of it. You'd be unable to take the loss as just a loss."

Sacha retreated back a few spaces, his hands settling firmly on his own lap. The sensation his touch left behind was only the faintesd tingle. "You're assuming I'd lose," Sacha said accusingly.

Bull only raised his brow as if to say, 'see?'

"Fine," Sacha snapped and rolled his eyes. Then after a moment, in a quieter voice he asked, "So it's not because you don't think I'd be a challenge?"

Bull sighed.

[perkeleen-lavellan]

Sacha wears long sleeves and high collars so often it gives Bull a pavlovian response to seeing even a little bit of Sacha's wrist bone, or heaven forbid a shoulder. Bull, used to living in places where people regularly go shirtless, forced to feel edged over seeing an elf's forearm.

[perkeleen-lavellan]

The Herald of Andraste became a recluse after the disbanding of the Inquisition. It was rumored he returned to his magical studies, now protected by the Amaranthine Wardens and funded by the Divine Victoria. Sometimes, if one was lucky, one might catch sight of the Herald in a certain Kirkwall restaurant, where he would always be accompanied by the one-eyed mercenary captain Iron Bull.

[perkeleen-lavellan]

He's just a little bit in love.

[perkeleen-lavellan]

Sacha's side of the bed is on the left so Bull can see him easily when he wakes up. This is how Bull avoids mistaking Sacha for an enemy when he's half awake from a nightmare.

[perkeleen-lavellan]

wip whenever

@mocha-writes tagged me in a challenge to find the words “day,” “love,” or “truth/true” in my wips. Surprisingly rare words in my Dragon Age writing at least, but as it happens I did find truth in this scene I have written for my eternally unfinished story of Sacha’s Inquisition.

"Did you hear that?" Sacha asked.

"What? You mean the ominous whispering in gibberish," Dorian started. "I thought that was just Bull's stomach."

"Haven't eaten any mages recently, so no," said the gruff man behind them. Though he was joking there was an unnerved quality to Bull's voice. Solas ignored them.

"Solasan enan…" Sacha muttered to himself, trying to make sense of the cacophony. "Something about pride…"

"You understood that?" Dorian asked, Solas looked intrigued as well, while Bull remained outwardly impassive.

"No, it was," Sacha paused. The truth of it almost slipped. That was unlike him. "A feeling," he lied lamely.

"A feeling," Dorian repeated unimpressed. "Well that makes it good science then!"

"It is, in this instance," Solas finally piped in. "That sounded to me like ancient Elvhen. No one speaks that dialect anymore so it's difficult even for me, but in a place like this where the veil is frayed I'm not surprised you'd be able to understand the intent behind the words, even if the language is foreign."

Sacha met Solas's eyes. He was grateful for the excuse, though he had to wonder at his luck. What Solas said was true of course, but Sacha couldn’t say it was what had really happened. No, it was simply something of Retribution that made him recognise that one word. Then he realized, "That's your name too." Sacha looked at him dumbfounded. "Your parents named you pride." Funny how he never noticed it before.

Solas blinked, taken aback. "I- yes. Yes, I imagine they thought me their pride, or perhaps it was simply something they wished for me."

Dorian and Bull looked at the two of them interested. "Funny," Sacha said, "considering."

"Yes," Solas agreed dryly.

"Ok what, you've piqued my interest," Bull said and came to stand by them. Sacha looked up. He smiled beatifically and explained.

"Pride is the most dangerous demon. More than any Pride is smart. It's seductive, and it's something everyone needs. If you talked to Pride once you'd begin to doubt whether it was a demon at all."

"And perhaps it isn't," Solas said. "Demon and spirit are simply words we use to describe forces of nature. The negativity of anything comes from either its lack or its excess."

"If it wants to steal your body it's safe to say it's a demon," Dorian pointed out.

Sacha opened his mouth but Bull interrupted him, "Yeah alright. Forget I asked. You three can talk demon philosophy later, how about we just go check out the horror death trap temple now?"

Sacha stared at the retreating backs of his companions, rolling over those words in his head. 'If it wants to steal your body.'

What about if it asks for it, and you agree to give it?

"Boss?" Bull turned back. Sacha gave him a reassuring look and followed them inside the Solasan.

Poor Bull. He gets along with Solas, Dorian and Sacha separately, but if the three of them start talking magic Bull starts running a reel of top 10 cringe things Krem has done drunk in his head or something.