Chapter Text
“Glad to see ya back.”
Bull chuckled at Cabot’s growl as the man slammed a tankard full of ale in front of him. “You just miss the gold the Chargers send your way when we’re not here.”
This time it was Cabot who laughed, more of a bark really. “Like I said, glad to see you back.”
Smiling, Bull headed toward the Charger’s table, motioning for the barmaid, Ilsabeth, to bring another round before sliding into his customary chair at the head of the table. Krem raised his tankard and tapped it against Bull’s with a nod of his head, but the rest of team ignored his arrival entirely, focused on the tale Varric was weaving at the other end of the table.
“So, before Cassandra could even get her shield up there went the Inquisitor, racing past her, screaming as she swung her axe in a circle, Cassandra’s growl chasing her down. The giant grabs the closest thing to him which just happens to be a forty foot tree, uproots it and throws it at both of them. The Inquisitor stumbles to a stop, Cassandra slams into her. They both hit the ground just as Sparkler throws this ice/fire bolt combo that freezes the tree solid then shatters it into a million burning pieces, leaving only ash to flutter down on the barrier he’d thrown over the Inquisitor and Cassandra. It was brilliant.”
“What about the giant?” Dalish asked, her eyes wide with something between curiosity and admiration.
Varric shrugged, rubbing his nails on his shirt before adding, “Are you kidding me, after that it was easy. Hack, slash, arrow to the eye and he was down.”
Bull shook his head, unsurprised that Varric would downplay his own part in the story. Bull had noticed that for all the attention the dwarf sought out he rarely wanted it focused on his own deeds. What Bull hadn’t yet figured out was why Varric was constantly talking up the ‘Vint. And there was no doubt that ever since Dorian had joined the Inquisition that’s exactly what the dwarf had done. Bull initially thought perhaps it was that Southern mages were more subdued with their abilities versus their Northern counterparts, making Dorian a preening peacock among sparrows, but Varric’s stories went beyond flash and flair into the incredulous.
The spy in him wondered if the tales were Varric’s way of gaining Dorian acceptance with the Inquisition. Not that Dorian seemed to have any trouble with that within the Inquisitor’s inner circle, in fact the Inquisitor rarely left on a mission without the handsome ‘Vint by her side. But Bull had seen the way the rest of Skyhold seemed to maintain a discrete distance between themselves and the Tevinter mage; Bull himself had done much the same. Oh, he’d spoken to Dorian certainly, Skyhold was only so big and eventually you ran into everyone, but if Seheron had taught him anything it was that when it came to ‘Vints a little extra caution went a long way toward staying alive.
Still, caution didn’t mean Bull was blind to the fact that while most of Skyhold was content to ignore Dorian, there were some people who seemed to go out of their way to antagonize the mage. An image of the old quartermaster, Seggrit, came to mind. The incident had happened before this last mission of Bull’s and he had been headed down to see if Blackwall wanted to join the Chargers for drinks that night. In Bull’s mind the man spent entirely too much time alone in the barn, but before he’d been able to issue his invitation, he’d come across Dorian and Seggrit in the lower courtyard. With night falling, the usually bustling location had been surprisingly empty and Seggrit’s words had carried far too easily to where Bull stood in the shadows.
“Not sure why the Inquisitor keeps you around ‘Vint. Got no use for mages, ‘specially not your kind.”
“My kind? I assume you mean devilishly handsome…”
“Fucking Imperium. Blood mages, the lot of you."
“I assure you…”
Dorian’s words had been interrupted by Seggrit spitting on him and stalking away. Bull could still remember the way his own spine had stiffened, his entire being waiting for the magic he was sure would be released in retaliation. He had watched Dorian’s hands warily, not certain if the mage would attack with ice or fire, but when no tell-tale flair of magic flowed over him Bull had realized his attention was on the wrong feature. It should have been on Dorian’s shoulders and the way they had curled slightly in defeat. The mage hadn’t even bothered to wipe his face off before sighing heavily and heading back into the keep through the kitchen entrance.
That had marked the start of Bull actually listening to Varric’s stories. Some of them plausible, certainly requiring a mastery of the craft, but Bull had seen the evidence of what a skilled mage could do time and time again in Seheron, including the casting of spells from multiple schools of magic like the ice/fire one Varric had just described.
But others, well Bull had trouble believing that Dorian had actually taken out an entire troop of red Templars by himself or that he was responsible for bringing down Hivernal, even if the dragon was vulnerable to Dorian’s preferred fire magic. Mages just didn’t do that. They didn’t draw the ire of dragons or wade into the middle of a group of trained warriors. Not that Bull thought them incapable, it’s just that even the best mage was just so squishy.
Tipping his chair back so he could rest his feet on the edge of the table Bull smiled when the barmaid brought another round, resulting in cheers from the Chargers and a grateful nod from Varric. And when the dwarf launched into another tale Bull couldn’t help thinking he might have to ask the Inquisitor to let him join them on a mission sometime.