Chapter Text
Melora raised her face to the sky, staring into the storm, droplets falling toward her in dizzying patterns. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, rivulets streaming from her hair to her robes, soaked to the skin. Her body's heat and the clinging damp had warmed the old sweat and dried blood held deep in the padded fabric, simmering her in the smell of far too many fights since they'd left Haven two weeks earlier. The journey to the Storm Coast had been hard fought, but for the moment, they were all still in one piece.
The rain had started before dawn, weather shifting from mist to halfhearted drizzle in between torrential downpours. The black clouds above them seethed in an indecisive and sullen mood. Melora longed for a hot drink, a bath, and a clean change of clothes. But she knew that this day was not over, sighing as she stood on a rocky outcropping overlooking the beach.
Melora glanced behind her, at her companions who looked about as done with this shit as she was. Solas's pale face was impassive, but his thick wool cloak was drenched and he smelled like a wet sheep. Varric and Cassandra wore matching scowls, Cassandra's lips set in a thin line and Varric's eyebrows knotted with annoyance. "Should we go?" Melora asked, and Cassandra gave a curt nod.
Cassandra led the descent, with Melora close behind, Solas and Varric in the rear to watch their back. The group was silent then, as they often were on these long marches, each set of eyes alert for danger, the only sound their breathing and their movements across the landscape, dulled by the patter of falling rain and the roar of the waves.
It was slow going making it down to the beach. The loose, rocky soil gave way under their feet, threatening to send them tumbling down the hillside. With so many boulders, scattered branches, and gnarled, scrubby trees littering the approach, avoiding a fall was imperative, so in the steeper places, they were forced to sit and scoot down the hill, asses in the dirt.
Melora stayed close behind Cassandra, stepping where Cassandra had stepped, the dirt compacted and easier to traverse. She could hear Solas and Varric behind them… or rather, she could mostly hear Varric's muttered swearing.
When they finally reached the rocky beach, stepping over the bleached driftwood at the high tide line, Melora scuffed her hands against the bottom edge of her robes, skin sore from the sharp rocks and cold dirt. There was still grime caked thick under and around her fingernails, and she walked to the water and swished each hand in the brine, which at least took off most of the dirt. She shook the water from her fingertips, and looked down at her hands, trying not to look too closely at her left palm, at the gash across her skin through which seething green light flared and crackled. She curled her fingers into a fist, and looked out over the waves, a roil of grey crowned with white foam.
She followed Cassandra, her companions close behind, and they walked together up the beach in silence. It was difficult to read the ground here on this rocky beach beneath their feet, a carpet of mottled stones worn smooth from the relentless motion of the waves. Footsteps were hard to discern, and one couldn't read their freshness as on a beach of sand. Here and there, Melora's gaze would catch on something: a piece of wood that hadn't yet been whitened by the salt and sun, a plant clinging to the ground in the lee of the boulder, or…
Up ahead, a large, dark shape lay upon the beach at the waterline: a shipwreck. And nearby, she could just make out smaller shapes, moving across the beach. People. Then the sound came to her, over the rush of the waves: the clatter of steel against wood, the clang of a mace hitting plate armor, shouts… the unmistakable sound of battle.
Cassandra turned back, quirking an eyebrow. "I think this is the place," she said in her usual dry tone, and quickened her pace to a jog. Melora kept up as best as she could, the others right behind. It was impossible to go any faster, laden as they were with packs and armor, feet sinking into the pebbled beach.
As they approached, they shrugged off their packs and lay them aside next to a gnarled, bleached tangle of deadfall. Melora twisted her neck one way, then the other, readying herself, and they crouched low to watch. From here, they could see the battle. Tevinters, judging by their clothing, fighting a large group of… Melora wasn't quite sure. Bandits? Too well outfitted to be bandits. Mercenaries, then.
And in the center of the fray, Melora saw a massive… ogre? No, but almost as large as an ogre. A qunari, and the biggest one she'd ever seen, a colossal mountain of a man. He had horns, as most qunari did, but unlike the qunari she had seen before, this one's horns were not small and backswept, but stretched out to either side almost as wide as his shoulders, upturned at the tips. He was nearly bare to the waist, wearing a leather pauldron over one shoulder, the rest of his thickly muscled torso exposed and shining silver in the rain. He wielded a massive axe, swinging it with practiced ease, and as Melora stared, he gave a shout, whirling, and knocked several Tevinters flat. Even from this distance, she could hear the sound of bones being crushed and the screams of agony.
Keeping low to the ground, Melora crept closer, ignoring Cassandra's hissed protest from behind her. She was close enough now to see the network of pale scars crisscrossing the qunari's skin, shifting atop huge muscles as he swung his axe. His craggy face was set in a resolute glare, one eye covered but the other shining bright as he felled another foe.
"Maker's breath," Melora whispered to herself in awe, just loud enough that Cassandra, scrambling along behind her, paused to stare in curious amusement.
The band of mercenaries seemed to have the battle well in hand, and there was a rhythm to the way they fought together, well-practiced steps punctuated with the crash of flashing steel. Melora dragged her eyes from the qunari, watching the others. They were almost as skilled, each in their own way, and the tide of the battle was clearly turned in their favour.
"Shouldn't we...?" Varric suggested, crouching behind a boulder, crossbow at the ready, his thick fingers idly stroking the polished wood.
"They seem to have it well in hand," Cassandra replied, and just as she said so, the last few Tevinters crumpled onto the rocky beach.
"I think we've found who we were looking for," Melora said, staring at the qunari, at the way his nostrils flared as he whipped his head around, looking for any more enemies to cut down.
"We should speak with their commander," Cassandra said.
"We?" Melora's voice was small.
"By we, I mean you. You should speak with their commander," Cassandra replied, and though she did not roll her eyes, her tone seemed to do it for her.
"Um… can you come with me?"
Cassandra made a disgusted noise but stood, extending an arm toward the bloodied beach. "After you," she said to Melora, and then she turned her head to address Varric and Solas. "You two stay here, but be on your guard. There are many bare blades about. If need be, you can cover our retreat back the way we came."
Melora waited, sticking close to Cassandra's side, picking their way around the fallen bodies and pools of blood.
The qunari surveyed the battlefield, eyeing the dead, and then he lowered his axe. "Chargers, stand down!" His voice boomed over the beach, deep and rough. He held out a huge arm, gesturing to his people, and then he turned to speak to the closest of them, a dark haired young man in plate and chain armor. Melora recognized him as the one she'd spoken to at Haven about this meeting. "Krem! How'd we do?"
"Five or six wounded, chief. No dead," Krem replied.
"That's what I like to hear. Let the thoatcutters finish up, then break out the casks."
Then, the qunari turned to Melora and Cassandra, striding toward them. His wide shoulders rolled loosely as he moved, almost a swagger. "So," he rumbled, addressing them with a crooked smile, "I'm guessing you're with the Inquisition. Glad you could make the party. Drinks are coming." He gestured toward the casks strewn along the beach, the wood rimed with seafoam. His manner seemed more a charming host than someone who had just killed half a dozen men and still had their blood streaked across his chest.
"That was rather impressive," Cassandra said, glancing at the heaps of Tevinters laying on the beach. There seemed to be quite a lot of them. "You are the Iron Bull, are you not? We hear you are looking for work."
"I am," he nodded. "Not before my drink, though." He walked over to a boulder, lowering his massive bulk with surprising grace. He rested his forearms on his knees and raised one calloused palm toward his left. "I assume you remember Cremesius Aclassi, my lieutenant."
Melora glanced over, where Krem stood close by. She gave Krem a nod of polite acknowledgment.
"Good to see you again," Krem said to her, and then turned to the Iron Bull. "Throatcutters are done, chief."
"Already?" He shot Krem a doubtful look. "Have 'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away." Then he grinned, his thick lips twisted by a pale scar running from beneath the patch over his left eye to the corner of his mouth. "No offense, Krem."
Krem smirked back. "None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you qunari, right?" Krem turned to walk away, speaking back over his shoulder, a cheeky tone in his voice and a spring in his step.
The Iron Bull snorted, but he was still smiling. He watched the work with the casks, and then rolled his shoulders in a shrug, changing his mind about business before drinks. He looked back at Melora and Cassandra and said, "So, you've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it, and I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us."
Melora gave a little nod and then looked down at her feet, shifting nervously on the gravel. Cassandra cleared her throat and nudged Melora's shoulder.
"I, um… ah…" Melora frowned, eyes darting, trying to figure out what an appropriate question would be to ask in this moment. "How much, exactly?"
"Wouldn't cost you anything personally, unless you wanna buy drinks later." He gave her that same fiendish, lopsided grin. "Your ambassador… what's her name? Josephine? We can go through her to get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don't you worry about that. All that matters is that we're worth it."
Melora raised her gaze from the ground to look around at the mercenaries on the beach. Some were patching up minor wounds, others cleaning the blood from their weapons. They seemed at ease here, despite the corpses. "They seem… um… nice?" she said, struggling to come up with a reasonable response.
The Iron Bull laughed, shaking his head. "Nice? I dunno about that, but they are a damn fine company." He made no attempt to conceal the pride in his voice. "But you're not just getting the boys. You're getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I'm your man, whatever it is. Demons, dragons? The bigger the better."
His voice went fierce and rough around the edges, just finished one fight and ready for the next. He grinned at Melora and then stood, and Melora looked up at him… and up, and up, having to crane her neck and step back just to look him in the face. He knew exactly how impressive he was, and wasn't afraid to loom over her to make his point clear to her, too.
He walked a little ways away and then turned to look down at her. "There is one other thing, though. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?"
Melora squinted, thinking. She'd read everything she could get her hands on, and the library at the Ostwick Circle had quite a lot about the qunari, including one huge tome with all kinds of information. She'd spent many hours staring fascinated at the volume, filled with history and drawings. "I, um… maybe? It sounds familiar… They're like the city watch for the Qun?"
He gestured with his hands as he spoke, small waves of a palm or a shift in his stance, always in motion, the leather of his pauldron and boots creaking. Melora tried not to stare at the blood splattered across his chest, slowly running down beneath the upper edge of his wide leather belt. "I'd go closer to 'spies' but yeah, that's them." He paused a breath and added, "Or, well, us. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what's happening." He spoke plainly, as relaxed as if he were telling her what he'd had for breakfast.
Melora stared up at him in blinking disbelief, lips parted, and watched him as he continued. "But, I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."
Melora shook her head a little and said, "You're a spy for the Qun, and you just say so? Just like that?"
"Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it's bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed." He looked her directly in the eyes. "So whatever I am, I'm on your side."
"But you didn't even try to hide it?"
He gave a rich, easy laugh from deep in his chest. "From something called the Inquisition? I'd have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me."
Cassandra took a step forward to ask, "What, exactly, would be in these reports you'd send back?"
"Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that'll compromise your operations. The qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send them word of what you're doing, it'll put some minds at ease. That's good for everyone."
"And in the reports we'd get from you?" Cassandra asked.
"Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It's a bit of everything. Alone, they're not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she'll put 'em to good use."
Melora looked to Cassandra, who was regarding the Iron Bull dubiously. Cassandra gave a slight shrug and said, "All reports are run past Leliana before sending. Nothing gets sent that she doesn't approve." She fixed him with a resolute glare. "If this turns out to be a trick, or if anything in those reports compromises the Inquisition, I will eat you alive."
The Iron Bull grinned. "Is that a promise?"
"It's a threat, if that somehow wasn't clear." Cassandra crossed her arms, scowling.
He gave a respectful nod. "Alright then. Fair enough." He turned and raised his voice. "Krem! Tell the boys to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!"
There was a whine in Krem's yelled reply. "What about the casks, chief? We just opened them up. With axes."
The Iron Bull shrugged, smiling. "Find some way to seal them. You're Tevinter, right? Try blood magic."
Melora squinted at the casks, at the stamps on the side. "Um, wait?" she said, too quietly to be heard at first, and then she spoke louder. "Hang on… That's good booze. Too good to waste. And we just made a deal. I say we drink on it. Possibly several times. Stay and warm up a while, maybe, um, find a spot on the beach that's not quite so… corpsey?" She looked to Cassandra for approval.
Cassandra sighed wearily. "Fine."
The Iron Bull gave a crooked smirk, speaking to Krem as he did. "Get 'em a drink, and get me one too." Then he clapped Melora on the shoulder, his huge hand covering most of her back, the blow hard enough to knock the wind out of her a bit. She made a small uff noise, stumbling forward half a step, and then turned to him wearing a bewildered expression. He laughed and said, "Yeah, I think we're going to get along just fine."