Chapter Text
Hissing Wastes | 13:4 Prism, Present Day
The charges on the door go off and before the smoke can clear, Ellana ducks in. Bull follows closely behind, his rifle aimed high and ready. The concrete basement is cool and dark, and their footsteps sound like drums in the open, empty space. Empty.
"Are we too late?" Dorian says tightly as he looks around, gun pointed in shadowed corners, still expecting the worse to jump out at them. He chances a look towards Bull, a confused crease in his brow. Bull meets his eyes and wordlessly gestures to keep his guard up. A feeling of wrongness overwhelms him and adrenaline floods his system. There was supposed to be a group of terrified kids here, but the lack of bodies confirms a heavy, terrible suspicion in his gut. His grip on his weapon tightens, and he would have heard its protesting creak if it wasn’t for the blood pounding in his ears.
“Mother fuck-” Bull hears El start to mutter, no doubt coming to the same conclusion as Bull, but she doesn’t even get a chance to finish when light bursts from the darkness, blinding him and his companions. Bull doesn't even flinch, his body already moving without conscious thought to his left, his center. Dorian.
The deafening sound of bullets explode before he can even shift his footing, his arm shooting out to block Dorian's body from the onslaught but it's too late-
Pain, white hot pain .
The barrage of bullets rip through his armor, through his muscle, and it tears him to shreds. It was all pain, then suddenly numbness. As if caught in one of Dorian’s time spells, Bull feels like he's wading through molasses as he collapses to his knees, then his front. Hot, thick blood pools under him slowly, his ears filled with high pitched static.
Is this it?
He remains conscious for half a second longer to watch Dorian crumple like a rag doll next to him - slow, so slow , and it hurts even worse than the bullets because he couldn't stop it, could only watch. Dorian's silver eyes dim, and the only thing that reaches for Bull's outstretched hand is his blood.
Half a second to think:
Fuck no, not like this. Please not like this.
Then, nothing.
-
Val Firmin | Present Day
Bull watches Dorian from where he's bent over the coffee table, preparing tea. Dorian is pacing, one hand behind him and the other drumming against his chin in a nervous rhythm. Despite his pinched expression and the fact he's been bustling for the better part of an hour, his appearance remains immaculate; his shirt is crisp and his light pants pressed and tailored to perfection. His hair is coiffed artfully, and his makeup and piercings accentuate his best features. It looks effortless, but Bull knows it's anything but. He knows because he was there this morning and he was watching then, too.
"You think she'll go for it?" Dorian asks eventually.
Bull laughs and straightens up. "I don't know, kadan. Now will you sit your pretty ass down? She'll be here any minute."
Dorian makes an annoyed sound, but he complies anyway and throws himself on the plush couch. Bull walks around the coffee table and stands before his husband with a serious look, hands on his hips. Dorian rolls his eyes before Bull can even speak. "You know what you're gonna say?"
"Yes, Bull." Dorian smirks and adds, "How can I forget when we practiced all night?"
"And you're gonna do that thing with your tongue?" Bull ignores the tease and wiggles a finger in front of his mouth to emphasize his point.
"Yes, Bull," Dorian groans.
"I got money on this, Dorian. I wanna believe in you."
Dorian looks up at him sharply, unimpressed. Uh oh.
Dorian stands slowly so they're shoulder to shoulder - well, chest - and places a delicate hand on his bicep, bright silver eyes lined with kohl drilling into his. "Is that doubt I hear in your voice, amatus?" He asks sweetly, tilting his head slightly.
"Absolutely not." Bull answers immediately.
Dorian bats his eyelashes and curls his lip just how Bull likes it, and butterflies flutter in his stomach.
"Are you quite sure, Bull?"
Bull nods his head vehemently.
Dorian smiles, small but bright. Bull can’t help but think of himself as twine wrapped around a dark, elegant finger and he feels nothing but delight about it.
"I thought as much," Dorian chirps happily, "Now what are you doing still standing around here? Get the door, will you?"
Half a second later, a soft knock resounds from their hotel door. Bull huffs an amused breath and plants a kiss on top of Dorian's head. "Show off," Bull mutters and steps away before Dorian can swat at him.
Bull opens the door to Ellana Lavellan and Maxwell Trevelyan.
"Boss!" Bull calls out affectionately, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame and twirling her in the air. El laughs and pats him on the head, right between his horns. He sets her down and takes the chance to inspect their leader.
Ellana is almost three full heads smaller than him, but her frame is lean and sturdy, a testament to the strength and swiftness that she wields. Her dark hair is chopped short, and messily parted to one side. Her large, warm green eyes are content for now, but Bull’s seen them glitter dangerously like sharp emeralds. Her vallaslin is of the same color, and drawn in the pattern that represents Mythal.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes, boss.” Bull says with a grin.
"It's good to see you, too, The Iron Bull." She responds warmly.
Bull turns to Max, holding out a hand for him to shake, pulling him into a side hug as soon as he takes it. "Five hundred, Max." Bull says smugly, waggling his brows as he gestures to El and Dorian with a nod.
"Not this again, Bull." Max sighs, but pulls out a wad of cash and hands it over obediently.
"This is the one, I'm telling ya."
They look over just in time to see Dorian pull El into a warm hug. "Ellana," Dorian greets, his voice soft but pleased. "We missed you," Dorian continues, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes.
"I missed you, too, Dor."
Dorian grins and his eyes flick towards Bull before settling on the smaller woman again. "In fact, I missed you so terribly, I absolutely have to fill you in on what Bull and I have been up to…" He says mischievously, his voice dropping in volume and tone as he leans in to whisper in El's ear.
Bull watches Dorian spin his tale, and he knows exactly what he's saying. Bull imagines Dorian's voice, low and smooth like honey, with just a hint of roughness that feels like a physical touch. He imagines how close Dorian is and how his moustache would brush against skin every now and then. Bull knows these things so intimately that even if Dorian is performing for El, the moment his smokey gaze narrows in on Bull's, he feels entranced all the same.
Bull swallows audibly, and is sorely tempted to adjust his pants when his body flushes with pleasant warmth.
Before the situation down south can escalate to awkward, Dorian pulls away abruptly and takes El's face in both hands, eyes squinting as he observes her expression closely.
"Fenhedis , El, nothing?" Dorian exclaims in disbelief.
Bull groans loudly at the same time Max makes a triumphant noise, snatching back his money from Bull's hand, then happily accepting Bull's own.
El shrugs easily. "Sorry Dor, but I've been there, done that. Multiple times, in fact." She laughs and moves to sit on the couch. "You're going to have to try something else to crack me."
Dorian throws his hands up in defeat, muttering obscenities in Tevene. Bull moves closer to put a consoling hand on the small of his back. "You did your best, big guy." He responds in the same language.
"She looked bored, Bull. Her face wasn't even remotely warm. " Dorian says, reverting back to Common, wide eyed and dazed.
Bull can’t blame him for being dumbfounded, to be honest, since that particular tale was at the top of their highlight reel: a marathon week in Orlais of expensive booze, amazing food and filthy, energetic sex during their year long break. They've been saving that story for a while, so confident that it would break El's cool facade and make her pale face red as a tomato.
Apparently, not only was it ineffective, it wasn't even impressive , and Bull would voice his admiration if his pride wasn't more than a little bruised.
"Now that that's out of the way," Max declares and claps his hands together before gesturing for the both of them to sit as he settles next to El. "It's a job, guys."
Bull sits on the wide armchair across from them and Dorian perches on the armrest to his left, one leg tucked underneath him. They all look to Ellana.
Her expression sombers and she watches each of them in turn, before landing on Max.
Max takes it as his cue and briefs them with the broad strokes:
The job came from a retired contact of Max's from the Templar Order, Rylen Robbins. A group of young students from the University of Orlais were on a research trip to the Hissing Wastes when they were ambushed and taken hostage by terrorists based in the region. It’s been days since they’ve been last seen, but Rylen’s intel says they’ve finally found where they’re being kept and they need to move quickly.
"Absolute scums," Dorian seethes, and Bull can’t help but grunt in agreement.
Ellana shakes her head skeptically. "I don't know, guys."
"I know you needed a break, boss." Bull says sympathetically, leaning back to drape an arm over the back of his seat. "But it's been over a year, and we need to get back into the game."
She sighs, "Sure, but a job from Rylen? You know we don't do repeats for a reason, Bull. It's too risky."
"Yes, but the gains outweigh the risks this time." Dorian adds. "This is what we do, El. We can do some good."
"Don't you guys get it?" Ellana stands, frustration coating her calm tone. "It doesn't matter. We do one job and there's a hundred more we miss. We're not doing shit."
She faces the window and misses the concerned look the three men exchange. Ellana's been struggling with this for a long time now, and the break was meant to clear her mind, get things straight again. Seems to Bull like it hasn't done as much good as they were hoping.
But Bull isn't worried. They've all gone through this feeling: this overwhelming helplessness when faced with their enormous responsibility. No matter how long it takes, they always come back. Always.
"Ellana, they're hostages." Max finally weighs in. He sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. "Let's at least talk to Rylen. If you still don't like it, then we drop it."
She deliberates for a while, but eventually says, "Set it up."
-
Dorian follows Bull into their perch for the next hour or so while they wait for Rylen to show up at the meeting point. It’s a small studio on the fifth floor of a rundown hotel, and despite being cramped and stale, it boasts the clearest view of the bustling bazaar below them, by Dorian’s estimation.
As is their rote, El and Max scope the area out from below, while he and Bull watch from above. They’ve done this song and dance so many times before, that they set their respective gear up in complete silence and in perfect tandem: Dorian rests his suitcase on the small, single bed and assembles his custom made sniper rifle, screwing in all the necessary pieces with perfect precision. Next, he finds a suitable enough armchair and pushes it towards the steel barred window and settles himself on the back of the chair, his boots tucked between the cushioned seat and armrests. Finally, he rests the head of his gun on one of the rusted rungs, adjusting the bipod and scope exactly to his liking.
Without turning, he knows Bull has finished laying out his surveillance set up, as well. The soft chatter coming from his headset - modified so it clips onto his horns so it can sit on his pointed ears comfortably - is a near identical echo of the noise from the market, only half a second off. Bull remedies that by adjusting one of the devices next to him, and after a bit of fiddling, the sounds are crisp, clean and without delay, almost as if they were amongst it themselves. A faint hum then starts near Dorian’s cheek, letting him know that the pairing rune on Bull’s laptop is tapping into his scope, thus linking them together and allowing Bull to see what he sees.
They work in comfortable silence for half an hour, Dorian the eyes and Bull the ears, systematically scanning the crowd for hidden threats or vulnerabilities, making sure it’s as safe as can be for El and Max to walk into. It starts to drizzle softly, thunder rumbling in the distance, and the haze from the humid heat distorts the scenery. They check the mismatched stalls and the gathered crowds carefully. They plot the easiest escape routes and the most convenient choke points. Dorian relays all this information into his own earpiece, which is on a private frequency that Bull’s made sure only the four of them can access.
"You know how hot it is watching you work, kadan?"
Dorian looks over his shoulder. The room is dim, but the light from the window slants enough that he can make out Bull's shape as he leans against the wall. His thick arms are crossed, biceps flexing attractively, and the top half of his face is shadowed mysteriously while his thin lips crook upward into a rakish grin. It’s annoyingly charming, damn him.
Dorian rolls his eyes and returns his attention to his rifle, adjusting the scope before peering through it once more.
"Bull, we're working." Dorian reprimands, although there's no heat behind it. Ellana and Maxwell aren't set to arrive for another five minutes, and they've combed the place top to bottom at least three times already. If Bull is playing footsie, it's because he knows he can.
"What, I can't tell you you're hot?" Bull complains.
"By all means." Dorian drawls, shifting in his seat not so subtly. "If your filthy paw finds its way anywhere near my ass, however, I will not be responsible for what happens."
Bull lets out a pleased rumble at the display, no doubt looking his fill. Even with Dorian's full attention on the scenery below him, the weight of Bull's gaze warms him up like a thick blanket on a cold winter day.
"I like my odds." Bull doesn't move from his position, but the room feels smaller all of a sudden. Nothing's going to happen, of course - because they're professionals - but it's been proven to take much less than flirtatious banter to get them both going, and there is a bed - no matter how tiny - which is already more than they usually have to work with, so maybe just a little…
"Do we have to talk about how to mute comms again, boys?" El's voice comes through the receiver in his ear and he can hear Max chuckle quietly. They walk into his line of sight and Dorian catches the sly look El throws his way from down the street.
"That was one time," Dorian grumbles.
"Wasn't an accident, either." Bull adds under his breath.
Max hides a grin behind a cough, but El doesn't even flinch at the casual mention of their exhibitionism in bed.
Dorian mouths worth a try at Bull, and Bull just clicks his tongue and shrugs.
Being the one with the widest view, he spots Rylen Robbins first. He’s tall, tanned and well built, his dark hair slicked back to frame his tattooed face. He’s wearing a light suit, clearly well tailored and appropriate for the sweltering weather. Dorian sweeps his view down slowly, checking for hidden weapons, and can’t help but linger on the way his shirt tightens across his broad chest when he settles into his seat.
Dorian and Bull hum appreciatively in unison.
A few minutes later, Max and El arrive, and Rylen stands to offer a hand.
“Mr. Trevelyan,” Rylen greets, a small smile on his lips.
“Mr. Robbins,” Max returns the handshake with a smile of his own, before turning to introduce El.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ellana.”
She nods amicably before taking a seat. The two men follow suit.
“So, Mr. Robbins, why did you leave the Order?” El ventures, her voice calm and sure.
Never been one to mince words, our El, Dorian huffs a silent laugh, watching the entire exchange through his rifle. It’s a simple strategy: catch the other person off guard with a blunt question and you’ll be able to tell exactly who you’re dealing with.
Rylen darts a look at Max, but he doesn’t hesitate when he answers “My wife got sick.” Rylen looks down, struggles for a moment before he meets Ellana’s eyes again. “It was the Blight. She was a rare case and didn’t respond to treatment.”
Dorian leans back from his position with a suppressed gasp, hands tightening on his rifle. Blasted, bloody illness. The thought tugs on his mind and calls upon a long buried memory. He shakes his head, refuses to bring it forth, and refocuses his attention back to the matter at hand.
“She died two years ago. I… I just haven’t found my way back yet.”
Ellana studies Rylen, but it doesn’t take her long to see the genuine remorse in his expression and decide that he’s worthy of her time, at least.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” El offers sincerely.
“Thank you.” Rylen accepts graciously. After a beat, he straightens his posture and discreetly slides a slim tablet towards Ellana.
“As you already know, two days ago, a research group was ambushed in the Hissing Wastes. The people responsible executed the chaperones, and twenty students were abducted at gunpoint and taken hostage. Normally, something like this would be the Orlesian government’s responsibility, but the climate in the Western Approach has been tumultuous, at best. They won’t say it, but they’re hesitant to step in and cause an even bigger scandal if they fail. They reached out to the Order, but the current administration’s policy is to deny aid to non-strategic allies.” Rylen shakes his head in thinly veiled disgust. “Some of my ex-colleagues feel differently. They reached out to me, and now I’m reaching out to you.”
Ellana finally takes the tablet and looks through the gathered intel. From what Dorian could see, It’s not much, marked maps and heat signatures on potential buildings they could be keeping the students. The last photo is of the missing group: they’re crowded around a dig site, their dusty, sweaty faces split in half with big, bright smiles.
Maker, they’re just children, Dorian thinks. He studies El’s stony expression, and he’s known her long enough to know that in that moment she decided to take the job.
“We think they’re moving them soon. They’ll most likely be separated, and the probability of finding them...” Rylen trails off, but they get the idea.
Ellana puts the tablet back on the table.
“This has to be done quickly, by the best, and your team is the best I’ve ever seen.”
Ellana remains quiet, thoughtful.
“Money is no issue. You can name your price.” Rylen adds, a hint of desperation in his voice.
She gets up then, glances at Max briefly, before nodding once towards Rylen.
“We’ll invoice you when it’s done.” And with that, she walks away.
Max rises from his seat and gathers the tablet in his hands, gives Rylen a nod farewell, and follows Ellana into the crowd.
Rylen sits there for a moment, stunned, before he slumps in his chair and heaves a sigh of relief. He looks around, searchingly, before his dark eyes land directly in Dorian’s sights. Rylen tilts his head and raises his brows indulgently, giving Dorian a small wave to let him know he’s aware he’s being watched.
Dorian grins, shaking his head as he leans back. “Handsome and cheeky. Might be time for me to trade you in, amatus.”
Bull barks out a laugh.
“As long as I get to watch, kadan.”
-
Hissing Wastes | Present Day
Sebastian’s heart is pounding in his chest, and he takes a few deep breaths to steady his hands. He’s crouched against the wall, shoulder pressed into the cold concrete, one gloved hand on his gun, and the other standing ready to flick the switch on the flood lights in front of them. The hand on his shoulder flexes in anticipation as the minutes tick by.
There’s twenty of them here, all professionals and the cream of the crop when it comes to guns for hire: two groups of ten on opposite ends of the small basement, neatly organized in two rows. They’re huddled close behind a collapsed half wall, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible, everyone deathly still and just as quiet.
He doesn’t know the specifics - it's all very hushed - but their objective is to take out a hostile group, and their employers came up with this trap to lure them in. They were instructed to treat their targets as extremely dangerous and to use overwhelming force to subdue them. They must be one hell of a team if they warrant this much manpower to capture.
Which makes it all the more surprising when the doors blast open and only four figures in loose formation emerge from the smoke, their postures tense and alert.
“Are we too late?” A smooth voice whispers, heavily accented. The guy on the left, Tevinter? Next to… Sweet Maker! Sebastian’s seen his share of Qunari soldiers, but he’s never seen one so large. The oxman shares a brief look with the ‘Vint before they continue to sweep the area.
Sebastian catches the eye of the soldier in front of him, and releases his gun to count them down slowly.
One…
The targets fan out cautiously, creeping more and more towards the center.
Two…
The elf, who appears to be the leader, stops abruptly, head tilting to the side as if listening.
Now!
They flick the light switch in unison, and the small room is flooded with blinding light. His team erupts from their hiding spot, immediately open firing on the group in front of them as they rush to fan out. He’s one of the last to emerge, and before he could even take position, all four targets are down and unmoving. Despite this, the men continue to empty their entire clip into their mangled bodies, the wet thunk of flesh drowned out completely by the explosive sound of gunshots.
Eventually the rattle dies down, and the residual ring of empty casings hitting the floor is all that's left. Their team leader takes point and approaches the bodies cautiously to check for signs of life.
Why even bother? Sebastian thinks, but dutifully keeps it to himself.
The man turns and nods his head once, confirming what they all already know.
Sebastian feels rather than hears a collective breath of relief, and everyone's posture softens as they congratulate each other on another job cleanly executed.
"Bit overkill, hey?"
He looks over and spots Gabriel, a colleague he's worked on a handful of jobs with. Sebastian huffs a laugh and nods. "More like anticlimactic. I was expecting a shootout, to be honest, but it's more like shooting fish in a barrel, innit?" He shakes his head, then gestures to the pile of bodies. "What's up with that, anyway?"
"Dunno, but I fucking hate it when they give us intel that's worth jack shit."
Sebastian hums in agreement. He is suddenly distracted and his eyes transfix to the gruesome scene in the center of the room.
Did one of the bodies just…?
"No mug shots, no names, no nothing." Gabriel spits.
He squints, unable to process what he's seeing; The elf's fingers twitch sporadically. The Qunari's massive horns shift.
"Tell you what, though, these sons of bitches must have seriously pissed off someone important. Heard they've been laying this op down for months, waiting for them to bite…"
Fear like a cold, clawed fist clenches around his heart, and he can do nothing but gape in horror as what could only be a nightmare unfolds in front of him:
One by one, the bodies on the floor shift and groan. He can hear their bones grinding and shifting; he can see their deep wounds reknitting and pushing out countless bullets from their skin. They clatter to the ground noisily, like grotesque wind chimes, and it finally attracts the attention of his comrades.
"What the…"
"Maker help us!"
"Reload! Reload, now !"
The demons - what else could they be? - rush forward like a plague.
They fight like nothing Sebastian's seen before, moving as if they were only extended parts of a whole, entirely aware of one another. They move with one purpose, and that purpose - much to Sebastiam's terror - is to wipe them out completely.
He watches the fair skinned human duck and weave, shrugging off point blank shots to the torso with nothing more than a flinch. He aims his gun expertly, eliminating three men with headshots in rapid succession.
Seventeen...
Sebastian turns to the left side of the room, finally snapping out of his trance. He aims his gun at the ‘Vint, firing off a stream of bullets that would have hit him square in the chest if it weren't for the blast of force that topples two soldiers to intercept it.
Magic?! Impossible!
The ‘Vint reaches for the wicked glaive strapped to his back and slits their throats in one clean swipe.
Fifteen…
Without pause, he throws the glaive towards the Qunari, who catches it neatly and severs the leg of two more soldiers, blood gushing and spurting like a burst pipe.
Thirteen...
Stunned, Sebastian realizes his gun is now empty, clicking repeatedly as his finger continues to squeeze the trigger. He can't remember when he fired the rest of it, or where he was even aiming.
His eyes land on the elf and the five other corpses around her riddled with bullet holes.
Eight…
She continues her determined stride while pulling out a pair of slim, long daggers. She moves with such grace and precision, it's hard not to compare it to a dance. Together with her team, they execute the remaining offenders in what seems like choreographed ease.
All except...
One…
The last thing he sees are her blazing eyes before she buries her dagger up his chin.
His vision fades and he doesn't get back up again.
-
Dorian groans, clenching his eyes shut as he waits for the pounding in his head to subside. With the Veil thickening as each new Age passes, it's getting increasingly harder and more taxing to cast even the most basic of spells.
Not as spritely as I used to be.
"Everyone still with me?" El calls out.
Max grunts in confirmation, head bent between his knees as he catches his breath.
"I'm alright," Dorian sighs, voice still pinched as he massages his temples.
He turns to Bull, but El beats him to the punch.
"Bull?"
The Iron Bull has his hands on his hips, head thrown back and eyes closed as he heaves slow, deep breaths. A calming exercise. His jaw works for a second before he spits out a fully intact bullet, the resounding echo loud as it bounces off the floor.
Maker only knows where that's been.
"Pissed off," Bull grumbles. He straightens his posture and meets Dorian's gaze. Bull's body softens, like a sigh, before he closes the short distance between them and bends to touch his forehead with Dorian's.
Dorian meets him halfway on tiptoes, and pats Bull's cheek affectionately before he pulls away and turns to El.
"The children?"
Max checks the bodies while El and Bull walk around the perimeter. Dorian can see the cogs turning in their heads as they look at each other tellingly. Whatever conclusion they come to, Dorian knows it's not good.
"There were never any children," She fumes, walking towards the farthest wall where the lights are set up.
Higher up on the wall, a small surveillance camera blinks down at them.
"We've been set up." Ellana takes one of her short knives and throws it with more force than necessary, impaling the device with a sharp crack.
Well, at least I was right.
-
Val Royeaux | Present Day
Rylen leans back in his seat, fingers steepled in front of his face. He takes a few grounding breaths before he reaches out again to hit play on his laptop.
He watches with bated breath as Ellana, Maxwell, The Iron Bull, and Dorian die to hundreds of bullets - through their chest, their head, their limbs - only to shake it off, get back up and systematically execute a team of expertly trained mercenaries, all within a span of minutes.
"It's true. They're real ."