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The Bull's Pen	By : LadySummerisle Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4591 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Inquisition, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
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- 8
Malika woke to the sound of loud knocking on her door. Her eyes creeped open to see the yellow-painted walls of her Val Royeaux hotel room. Glancing towards the window, the glare caught her eye and she recoiled. Her head was pounding and her stomach lurched. What is this? she thought...and then she remembered. A hangover. This is what a hangover feels like.
   “Fasta vass!” said the voice behind the door, “Inquisitor? Are you even in there!? I swear if you got kidnapped by some--”
   “I’m here!” said Malika, running to get the door. Once it was open, she groaned and fell against it, holding her head,
   “Are you alright?” said Dorian, “You look...pale.”
   “I--I’m fine, just…”
   “Long night?” he said. She looked up to see his eyebrow cocked, “All that shopping you’ve been doing is taking its toll?”
   “There are wine shops…” Malika was not in the mood to make up stories and in even less of a mood to tell Dorian who she had actually been with, but she let him in. It was better than talking in the hallway where anyone could overhear.
   “So the Inquisitor’s a closet boozehound, is she? I suppose that makes sense, I’ve never seen you at the Herald’s rest. You ought to invite me up sometime, I’ll find us some proper Tevinter wine, none of this backwashed vinegar they serve here.”
   “Thanks for the offer, Dorian.” she said, sitting back down and holding her head in her hands, “I’m not sure I’m going to want a drink for a while, though…”
   “That bad?” Dorian walked to the sink and brought her back a cup of water that she took and stared at with wide eyes. It was true, she never went to the tavern. She hardly ever drank, but she couldn’t turn down the Iron Bull and once they arrived it was shot after shot after shot.
   The first one went down like fire and almost came right back up. She swallowed hard and coughed.
   “I know, right?” said the Iron Bull, giving her a hearty pat on the back, “Put some chest on your chest.” He took another drink.
   “I wish I’d been there to see it…” he said after another cough.
   “Do you want to?” said Malika, happy for an excuse not to drink again, “I have a video.”
   “What?! You do?”
   “Yeah,” she said, taking out her phone, “We were doing research for this draconologist...we wanted to catch it feeding...but it kind of just ended up attacking us.”
   She started the video and handed her phone to the Iron Bull who grabbed it eagerly. He held it close to his face and watched the entire thing, cheering in Qunlot and pounding the table with his fist during the good parts. Malika blushed and sunk low into the booth, worried the other patrons of the tavern might wonder what the hubbub was about. Luckily the tavern was loud enough that no one noticed. When he finally finished, he shook his head and handed her back her phone.
   “That little gurgle before it spat fire? And that roar. What I wouldn’t give to roar like that! Taarsidath-an Halsaam!” he paused thoughtfully then said, “You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred. Well, as much as we hold anything sacred--here, your turn.”
   The Iron Bull refilled Malika’s tankard with a bottle the serving girl had left.
“That thing you just said. You said it when I first arrived today, too. What does it mean?”
“Oh, Taarsidath-an Halsaam? Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later while thinking about this with great respect.’”
“You said that while you watched it breathe fire on me?” said Malika, her blush deepening.
“I know, right!?” he said and let out a satisfied grunt and pushed her tankard towards her.
The first drink had already started to go to her head, but she steeled her will, closed her eyes tight and drank the second down, exploding in a fit of coughs right after,
   “Yeah!” said the Iron Bull, shaking her by the shoulder, “The second cup’s easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one!”
   Malika giggled under her breath at the thought of what one might do with a throat full of dead nerves. She was loosening up and next to her was the Iron Bull...so large and warm and close. She so desperately wanted to touch him, to reach under the table and see if the dragon fight had turned him on as much as his battle cry lead on, but she didn’t. Instead she sunk down onto the table and listened as the Iron Bull continued.
   “Ataashi.” he said, “‘The Glorious Ones’ That’s our word for them. Ataaaaaaashiiii”
“It’s a shame we had to kill the dragon…” said Malika, noticing herself slurring the end of her sentence. She was such a lightweight, “An embarrassment to the ancestors.” her brother used to tease.
“Damn good fight.” he said reassuringly, “Dragons are the embodiment of raw power, but it’s all uncontrolled, savage…”--Malika took in a shaky breath as she saw him pour her another shot--“So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos. Have another drink.”
This is going to be embarrassing...She thought, but she did it’ bringing the glass to her lips, letting the burning liquid down her throat and letting out another loud cough.
She heard the Iron Bull laugh as she felt the alcohol hit her even harder.
“Nice! To dragons!” he said and drank down his own shot,
“To the Iron Bull!” slurred Malika, drooping onto his arm. He laughed.
“And the ass-kicking--” he paused for a moment then finished, “To you.”
The rest of the night was a blur, but there were a few moments she could remember. They talked for a long time about Qunari culture and Malika had asked him if the rumors that Qunari don’t marry are true. He told her how having sex for Qunari is like going to a healer and she replied with some ridiculous statement about never making love with both body and soul. Maker, she was such a sap when she was drunk. After that, she could remember being carried. She must have been too wasted to walk. Her hood was up over her head and her face was buried in the Iron Bull’s shoulder. She could smell him, all sweat, musk and booze. With all self control inhibited, she had started to kiss up his neck...Not only kiss, but lick and bite. Sitting on the edge of her hotel bed, she cringed as she thought about it...Her lips traveling up his taut flesh, licking and sucking up his neck until she reached the bottom of his earlobe and nipped at it. That was when he made a noise, a soft, almost inaudible moan...it was also when they reached the car.
He sat her down, buckled her in then turned away, but she grabbed his hand. It couldn’t have been that hard, but he did stop. When he turned around, there was an unmistakable look of worry on his face. In her stupor, all she could do was whine. He looked away, but then knelt next to her and put his hand up to her face, pulled himself close and gave her a kiss on the cheek so close to her lips that for a moment she thought he’d missed. He hadn’t. He stood up, closed her door and turned away. Her bodyguard in the driver’s seat took off.
A goodbye kiss, she thought. She felt for certain she had stepped over the line. The Iron Bull had been right, inviting her out was a bad plan, all it did was allow her to make a fool of herself and make him uncomfortable. She felt like a stupid, silly little girl only now she had no master to punish her for it. She wouldn’t at all be surprised if she never even heard from him again,
“Drink up, Inquisitor.” said Dorian, shaking her from her trance of self-loathing, “I’ll pack your things.”
   Malika bolted up. Dorian would most certainly not be packing her things! There were things he did not need to see and, more importantly, no wine or any other shopping to speak of. She sent him back out and told him she’d be down soon. She would pack on her own and then they would be off. For once she was relieved to be leaving Val Royeaux.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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The Bull's Pen