The Heart of a Dragon (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

With a Little Help

It was harder to be out without the Iron Bull than Ren had expected. Or maybe just as hard as she'd thought it would be. They had had to leave without Blackwall, because at the last minute he couldn't be found. Ren had been concerned, had set Leliana to find him, but hadn't been able to delay the trip. Fortunately Dorian had appeared at just the right time—or the wrong one, depending on who you asked—and had agreed to come along instead.

Which left Ren doing her fighting in front with Cassandra, and Vivienne and Dorian in back. It was a far cry from what Ren was used to. Cassandra was an extremely good fighter, but she didn't have the Iron Bull's physical presence on the battlefield, drawing the focus of their foes, which meant Ren couldn't fight from the shadows as much as she was used to doing. It had taken some getting used to.

They appeared to be just about done on the Plains, now, though. They were making a hasty camp along the river, not far from the Dalish clan who dwelled there. Vivienne was doing something in her tent with the heart of the snowy wyvern, and Cassandra was practicing forms. Dorian had been trying to perfect some new spell he had picked up from a book in Skyhold's library. Ren decided to go fishing, see if she could catch dinner. But instead of casting her bait into the water, she ended up just taking a stroll, listening to the rush of the river going by. Being near water always made her feel better.

Except for today, because on top of the rush of the water came a familiar smell—spindleweed. It grew thickly all along the edge of the river, and it made her homesick for the estate outside Ostwick ... and it made her think of the Iron Bull.

She reached down and plucked a plant from the ground, bringing it to her nose. Maybe it should have been a clue as to how far her feelings had gone when the same scent began to symbolize both home and the Iron Bull. But of course, by that point it had been too late anyway. Ren wondered if she could have stopped it if she'd seen it coming, chosen someone else to warm her bed and kept the Iron Bull as just a companion?

But of course, she'd never wanted him as just as a companion—she'd been attracted to him from the start. And she'd thought of him as safe, as someone who wouldn't ask more than she was prepared to give. She had never thought that she might be the one asking for the moon and the stars.

It had never really occurred to Ren to think about what she wanted. It seemed to her, looking back at it, that her life had bounced from one place to another largely under the onus of other people's wishes for her, rather than her wishes for herself. Her mother's death when she was a baby had left her to grow up largely unattended; Gawen's death when she was thirteen had in its turn put an end to that by bringing her father's anger and disappointment down on her head. Brandt's desire for her led him to teach her how to fight in order to get close to her; the arranged marriage to Hector Pentaghast gave rise to Brandt's bright idea that they should run away and be mercenaries. Brandt's death and later Dooley's death and her arrest put her back in her father's study facing his threats, which sent her to the Conclave. The Conclave blew up, which landed her in Haven, and then Corypheus came after her and the Anchor, which put her firmly in the Inquisitor's seat. In all of that, Ren had been largely content to go where she was sent. As far as she could tell, the only decisions she had ever truly made for herself were her refusal to submit to either of her arranged marriages, and her pursuit of the Iron Bull as a bed partner. So perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised that her feelings for the Iron Bull ran as deeply as they did. She had wanted him enough to go after him, after all, and that was more than she had ever done for a man, or for anything, before.

But what did it matter what she wanted now? She was the Inquisitor, bound to the Inquisition until Corypheus was defeated—or she died, whichever came first—and the Iron Bull was Qunari born and Ben-Hassrath bred, and falling in love was the last thing either of those pieces of his background left room for. And even if somehow he did, look at what had happened to Brandt. And Gawen. And her mother. And Dooley. Sooner or later she'd be bound to get the Iron Bull killed, too.