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The Herald was unusually late. Her travelling companions — only a small selection of former templars and conscripted men — had already arrived in Haven and scattered to the inn or their barracks. Nobody had asked them questions beyond confirming her return; the Herald had a way of inspiring the most wild and misleading tales in the men and women who followed her.
Blue snow flakes drifted through the air. A crust of ice glittered on old snow-banks. The air was as sharp as a thousand paper cuts in the back of their throats.
Irregular hoofbeats sounded up the mountain pass. By rough unspoken order, some of the inner circle took turns waiting at the head of the road; for the past hour it had been Iron Bull with the ever-present Sera. The elf girl paced in tight circles, turning the snow beneath her to dark mulch.
Finally, the weighty horse of the Herald turned the bend in the road and heaved onwards. The Herald herself was wrapped up like and old woman, snow speckling her blanketed shoulders, her long auburn braid matted and woolly. Her battle axe was dark with dried blood.
“Geez, finally,” Sera said, relief tinging her sarcasm, “Could you have taken a bit longer, perhaps?”
The Herald’s dark eyes skimmed over her girlfriend and landed on Iron Bull. “Come here.”
Iron Bull stepped quickly forward, and the Herald leaned over the side of her saddle. She had something wrapped up in her blankets and the Iron Bull felt warmth under there. He immediately shifted his grip into a gentler one.
“What is it?” Sera asked, darting forward. When Iron Bull shifted the fabric aside, she stared down into the bundle, completely lost for words.
“A child,” Iron Bull murmured.
The Herald dismounted gingerly. She touched her bruised thighs.
“But you weren’t gone that long,” Sera protested.
“It’s not mine,” the Herald muttered. “He’s my nephew.” Even after dismounting, she wasn’t eager to take the child back. Instead she began to lead her horse up to the stables.
“Where are its parents?” Sera asked.
“I buried them,” The Herald said, tiredly.
Sera hesitated. “Why did you bring the baby here?”
The Herald raised a shoulder in a shrug. “I can’t take him anywhere else.”
Iron Bull looked down at the little bundle. The human baby was soft and fragile-looking, so unlike Qunari babies. The child reminded him more of a baby bird, or a wolf cub, eyes still closed and hands balled into little fists. Iron Bull tried to see the family resemblance, without much success.
The Herald led her horse into the stables. Sera was wringing her hands, glancing at the baby and quickly looking away.
“So, that’s it?” Sera asked, finally. “You’re just going to raise him here? At camp? In the middle of a civil war?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Sera,” The Herald said.
“No! What the hell? You’re not going to talk to me about this?”
“Not right now,” The Herald said, approaching Iron Bull. He put the baby back into her arms. “I will, later, I promise.”
“When?! Wait — ” Sera yelped, but Iron Bull put a hand out to block her way.
“Let her rest a while, pipsqueak,” Iron Bull said. “She’s had a hard journey.”
Sera curled a lip at him, but didn’t try to push past. She leaned on his arm, watching. The Herald didn’t even turn, trudging through the heavy snow to her quarters, her child tucked under her arm.
*
Sera, apparently, took Iron Bull’s word quite literally. It was only a short while until the couple were squabbling in the inn.
“I just don’t get why it’s your responsibility,” Sera said, “There are hundreds of war orphans, are you going to adopt them all?”
“This is different,” Herald protested.
“Why, because you’re related?” Sera asked. “You didn’t even know about this kid until you got there! You’ve never even wanted children!”
“My brother is dead, Sera,” Herald hissed. “He doesn’t have anyone else.”
“So what?” Sera shot back. “Don’t try to guilt me — orphan, remember?” She jabbed a thump into her chest.
“God, you’re fucking impossible sometimes,” Herald shook her head. She marched out of the inn, tailed closely by her snapping girlfriend.
The bated-breath silence hung in the inn for a moment, before careful talk resumed from the rest of the patrons. Despite not being technically the leader, the Herald had a strange emotional magnetism about her. The mood of the entire company was pulled by her tides. If she was happy, everyone in camp felt lighter and more hopeful; but if she was troubled, everyone else felt her storming even when she wasn’t in the room.
“Ah… peace,” Varric muttered.
Iron Bull sat next to her. He had been carefully watching-but-not-watching the fighting couple. “Where is the child?”
“With the Lady Seeker,” Varric said.
“Oh? She doesn’t strike me as the most motherly,” Iron Bull said.
“I don’t know, Cassandra has her soft side,” Varric said. “Besides, you don’t have to a Holy Mother to be more motherly than our Lady Herald.”
*
The nights in Haven were a deep, rich blue. It had stopped snowing and the air had turned frigid. Stars glowed softly above the dark tree-line. The Herald sat near the fire, her boots defrosting gently, propped above the stone firebreak.
“Do you want me to hold him?” Iron Bull asked. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”
“Thanks,” the Herald said, immediately lifting her bundle up to Iron Bull.
The child was murmuring and bubbling, shaking his tiny fists. Iron Bull arranged the blankets to tuck them closer around the little body. The baby’s skin was smoother then polished stone, and almost impossibly soft.
“Must be tough to be so little in this cold weather,” Iron Bull said.
“Hmm, I guess so,” the Herald said. Her eyes fell shut. The skin under her eyes was dark and her hair was still thick with knots. She yawned. “The munchkin is Trevelyan, after all. Used to the sunny south, I suppose. Made of softer stuff than the rest of us.”
“Aren’t you Trevelyan?” Iron Bull asked.
“By blood,” she admitted.
The Herald leaned on her knuckled, eyes closed, like an old statue of a thinker. Her face looked heavier than Iron Bull had seen her in years. This was the same woman who grappled demons and battle-hardened Templars and ferocious Mages without even flinching. Her punch could crack solid rock, and Iron Bull was occasionally very grateful that they were allies not enemies. She was truly a frightening woman.
He had never seen her look so defeated.
“Is this the little cub?” Krem asked, leaning over Iron Bull’s shoulder.
“The Mushkin,” Iron Bull said.
“No — ‘Munchkin’, and that’s just his nickname. It means small. His real name is Ellington Lysander Romeo Trevelyan,” Herald corrected without opening her eyes.
“Wow, what a name,” Krem said. He held out a finger and smiled when the baby closed a fist around it. “Why do nobles give their children three different first names, eh?”
“I have eight middle names,” Herald said, dryly. “My brother is actually quite conservative. Ellington’s names are his father’s, and grandfather’s.”
“The Qunari child names are similar — to track genealogy,” Iron Bull said. “Although it isn’t a name we ever use.”
Krem raised an eyebrow. It was rare to hear his boss speak about the Qunari culture. He rubbed a crooked fingers over the baby’s soft cheeks. The baby made a soft noise.
The Herald opened her eyes. “He likes you more than me. I couldn’t get him to stop crying, but he falls right asleep when you hold him.”
“You’re holding him too tightly,” Iron Bull said. “And your scale armour is cold and uncomfortable, even through the blankets.”
The Herald didn’t reply. She stared into the fire.
“Is it true that you never wanted children?” Iron Bull asked.
“Boss,” Krem muttered, warningly.
“It’s fine,” Herald said, holding up a hand. “It’s… kind of true. I’m a lesbian. I never thought that was an option, and to be honest, I never missed it.”
“Isn’t the Trevelyan family large?” Krem asked.
“It is,” The Herald said. “I suppose I could deliver him to my cousins.”
“These are the same cousins you threatened to execute if they kept invoking your name to bully the other noble houses?” Iron Bull asked.
“Ah… you see my dilemma,” The Herald said. She stretched out her hands to the fire.
Ellington mumbled and Iron Bull pressed his face close and nosed the baby’s soft skin. He smelled like milk. The baby’s tiny hands pressed against Iron Bull’s leathery skin, exploring his stubble, the pockmarked scars. Iron Bull chuckled softly.
With a sigh, the Herald rose. She brushed frost from her dirty armour and extended her arms towards Iron Bull. The Qunari gently passed the child over, waiting until he was properly supported before releasing him.
*
Two days passed. The Herald quarelled loudly with her lover, followed by tense, stormy silences which were almost worst to be present for. The child appeared in strange places; in the stables he laid in an old padded trough, and in the war room he was laid between the Fereldian-Orlais border.
On the third night, when snow was falling and the darkness outside was heavy and frigid, someone stumbled into Iron Bull’s cabin. They let the wind in with them, and the cold stirred him faster than the noise.
Iron Bull had his dagger in his hand, before he realised the shape that was lumbering towards him was familiar.
“Can you hold him?” The Herald asked, bluntly. Her voice was rough and thin.
Iron Bull’s fire was burning low, and the dim orange light illuminated the snags and tangles in the Herald’s wild hair. The baby in her arms was fitting and squalling, a constant mumbling complaint.
Wordlessly, Iron Bull kicked his sheets off and stood. He eased the child out of the Herald’s arms.
When the child was taken, strength seemed to drain out of the Herald’s body. She sagged and dropped to her knees, and then sat on the floor with a heavy clank of her armour.
Iron Bull returned to his sleep-warm bed, the child tucked against his chest. Finally, the babe began to quieten, eyes falling shut. He stopped struggling and lay still.
The cabin door opened again with a whistle of cold, and Krem stepped inside, a heavy iron pot filled with snow under his arm. He shut the door behind him.
“Krem,” Iron Bull rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. “What the hell happened to my security? The Herald just wandered in here.”
“Well, I knew it was her, so I thought it would be fine,” Krem said. He dropped a few more logs on the fire and set the iron pot above it. “Besides, if she really wanted to kill you, there’s nothing either of us could do about it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Iron Bull grumbled. But quietly, he wondered. In any other circumstance, he might agree — the Herald had always been a formidable force, faster than him and at least as strong — but sitting on his floor, streaked with mud, she looked weaker than he’d ever seen her.
“Sorry to appear out of nowhere,” the Herald said. “You’re the only one who can get him to stop crying. He doesn’t like anyone else.”
Iron Bull felt a twinge of pride, which he squashed down.
“Have you been wearing that armour since you arrived?” Krem asked. “It’s been days.”
The Herald grunted non-commitally, and Krem rolled his eyes. He knelt behind her and brushed aside her messy hair so that he could reach her buckles. The well-made fastenings released with a click and he set the breastplate aside. The Herald lifted her arms so Krem could roll up her crimson scale armour and set it, jangling, to one side.
“I guess I’ve just been so…” The Herald trailed off. “It’s easy to forget to wash up when there’s so much going on. Or at least, I always forget when things get hectic.”
“Can I help you with the rest of it?” Krem asked, laying his hands across the filthy gambeson over her shoulders.
“Please,” The Herald said, weakly.
Krem took her boots off, unfastened her red mail greaves and set them on top of the rest of her armour. The gambeson and cloth wrappings he set to one side. They were almost black with dirt and dried blood.
“You would’ve made a decent squire, you know.” The Herald smirked.
“You stink like a horse,” Krem said. He peeled off the remainder of her small clothes with the brisk efficiency of a soldier. Even with the roaring fire, her bare skin grew bumpy with the cold.
The Herald’s chest was sturdy and barrel-like, her breasts and biceps were large, and her ankles and wrists were thick and mottled with scars. Though her shoulders and hips were narrow, her body was tough and solidly muscled, and she carried a sleek layer of fat under her skin like an otter.
By now, the snow had all melted in the iron pot above the fire, and Krem set the steaming pot next to them. He dipped a cloth into the hot water.
Iron Bull watched the Herald with mild interest. Unlike most humans, the Herald had never been hesitant about nudity. He remembered times when the Herald had stripped to nothing to wash in streams when they travelled too far from a village — much to the consternation of the Inquisitor’s Grey Warden. There was something about that which Iron Bull found appealing, a mulish rejection of false modesty. She often reminded him more of a fellow Qunari than most human soldiers he knew.
“What’s that?” The Herald asked, pointing across the room at a modified wooden chest.
Iron Bull hesitated slightly, although he wasn’t sure why. He cleared his throat. “It’s a cot. For Ellington.”
“Ahh,” the Herald said, as if that explained more than just the carved chest.
Krem squeezed warm water over her hard shoulders. “What happened at the Trevelyan manor house?”
“You didn’t read the report?” The Herald asked.
“You were brief,” Iron Bull said, tilting his head. He was also curious about it.
“Well, what else do you want to know?” The Herald asked. “I travelled there after I heard raids were being enacted by the fragments of the old Templar order. But by the time I got there, the fighting was all done…”
Krem washed the back of her neck. Her skin was a shade paler after the dirt was wiped away. Thick whitish struck down her shoulder-blades — the marks left by arrows which had once lodged there.
“It was weird. I was never there when I was growing up, apart from some of the Holy days, but I was always intimidated by the place,” the Herald said. “But when I went there after the attack, I wasn’t scared of it. It was just another empty house.”
Ellington mumbled in his arms, and Iron Bull ran a thumb over the baby’s soft, round cheek. The Herald’s dark eyes flicked to the child.
“Ellington was the only survivor of my family’s branch,” The Herald said, her eyes refocussing. “He was at the city doctor’s house, and that saved his life. The Templars didn’t stop at my immediate family; they killed the servants and the animals and burned the forest too. Seeing all that… it wasn’t like they were trying to get back at me… it was almost like they were trying to burn out an infection.”
Iron Bull watched her carefully for a long moment. He looked away. “I’m sorry.”
The Herald only lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.
Krem worked the wet rag into the stitches in the Herald’s lower flank. Cleaning away the dirt broke the scabs and it wept a little bright blood. He pressed a clean square of gauze to her skin and wrapped it in bandages.
“Have you talked to Sera about this?” Krem asked.
“She wants me to give him up, but I can’t,” the Herald said. “Everyone in the land knows he’s my blood. If he joined the war orphans at the Chantry, he would be kidnapped and ransomed for every coin the Inquisition has.”
“If we took him abroad? Somewhere he wouldn’t be recognised?” Krem pushed.
“It wouldn’t work,” the Herald said. “I owe him more than that, besides. It’s my mistakes that cost him his family.”
“What do you mean?” Iron Bull asked, sharply.
“I didn’t read their letters. They were always so demanding and upsetting, I stopped opening them. If I had, then I would have known about the attacks in time, I could have sent Cullen to deal with them,” the Herald said. “But I didn’t.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Iron Bull said. “It isn’t your fault.”
“Maybe you’re right,” the Herald allowed. “But I still had a duty to them. And now I have a duty to Ellington.”
Krem gathered up her long hair and began to pick through the mess of snarls. Dampness made the auburn of her hair shine like polished wood. Beads of water gleamed brightly in the firelight.
“It’s a sad thing,” Krem said. “When raising a child is a solemn duty rather than a blessing.”
“It’s not like I disagree with you,” the Herald said. “But what choice do we have?”
Iron Bull looked down at the bundle in his arms. The child was asleep. His body was a perfect miniature, tiny eyelashes and tiny eyebrows, tiny fingers and a tiny nose. He slept like a kitten, head back and tummy exposed.
“With your permission,” Iron Bull said. “I can raise him.”
The Herald stared at him from under wet sheets of her hair, utter disbelief in her eyes. “Wait… what was that?”
“I can raise him,” Iron Bull repeated.
The Herald brushed her heavy hair out of her face. “I… That’s a very generous offer. I don’t know what to say. Are you serious?”
“I am.”
The Herald nodded to herself. She combed her clean hair with her fingers and gave it a quick braid while she thought. “Maker… it’s been a long night. Let me think about it. Can I borrow some clean clothes? I’ll come back for the armour.”
“Sure,” Krem said, digging through the trunks to pull out some spare robes.
The Herald dressed in the spare robes and pulled her boots back on. “Why don’t you take Ellington tonight? I can let the wet nurse know he’s here.”
“Thank you,” Iron Bull said. “Sleep well.”
“Yeah, I’ll try,” the Herald said. She closed the cabin door after her.
Krem stoked the fire and bright embers swirled in the grate. He emptied the dirty water outside and put the used washcloths into the laundry pile. He massaged his eyesockets.
“Boss… can I ask a personal question?” Krem’s voice was a little high and strained.
“I can’t stop you,” Iron Bull said.
“Have you been kicked in the head by a horse recently?” Krem asked. “Eaten any weird mushrooms? Developed a very strange sense of humour?”
“I’m serious about this,” Iron Bull said.
“Why?” Krem asked. “I mean, I know you’re the type to jump into things both feet first, but have you really thought this through?”
Iron Bull’s expression grew hard.
“Look, you won’t be able to raise this kid and lead the Chargers too, you realise? He can’t come on missions with us,” Krem said. “He’s a full time obligation, for at least a decade, probably more. Human kids are much squishier than Qunari, you know, we don’t start swinging battle axes at six years old!”
“I know what I’m getting into,” Iron Bull said, stonily. “I know I have to relinquish my command and give up my gender to raise this child.”
“Your…” Krem frowned and said nothing for a long moment. “Your gender?”
“I cannot raise him as I am. Men do not raise children, so I must become an Aqun-Athlok and live as tamassrans do. As a woman.”
Krem watched his boss intensely before he looked up at the ceiling, chewing on his cheek. It was clear he was cycling through a few complicated thoughts before he decided to voice any of them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I… I guess the main thing is, I don’t know what the Chargers would do without you.”
“You would lead them,” Iron Bull said.
“Right… you make it sound so simple,” Krem said. His voice broke slightly. “So, you’re serious about this?”
Iron Bull’s mouth formed a thin line. She didn’t like having to repeat herself so much. “Yes.”
“And female pronouns from now on,” Krem summarised.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Iron Bull said.
“Of course I don’t mind,” Krem said. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. “I… this is a lot. And it’s about one in the morning right now. So let’s talk tomorrow. But… I’ll support you. Whatever happens.”
The Iron Bull beckoned him closer, and the lieutenant obediently bowed so that she could put a hand around the back of his neck and pull their foreheads together. The broad sweep of her horns filled his peripheral vision.
“You’ve always been a fine soldier, Krem,” Iron Bull said.
For some reason, Krem had a bizarre urge to cry. He put it down to the late hour, and the barrage of lifechanging news. The baby in her arms shifted slightly in sleep, babbling a little.
“Get some sleep,” Iron Bull said, releasing Krem.
“You too, Boss,” Krem said.
When he left the cabin, he was glad for the slap of cold air and the bitter frost. It woke him up and stirred some sense into him. It was so dark that he had to feel along the cabin walls, his fingers sticking to the frozen wood. Snow squeaked under his boots.
Krem fumbled his way up the camp. Quickly, the bracing nature of the cold became heavy and unpleasant. He had left his gloves back at his Boss’ cabin, but he didn’t want to return. His thoughts buzzed around in his head.
A small, selfish part of him wanted to dislike his boss. She was being selfish. She could throw away the Chargers so easily, but who could replace her as a leader? Krem blew on his hands to warm them. His heart was heavy.
“Loving, loyal, left-behind,” a voice as soft as mushroom skin murmured to his right. “She cares too much, not too little. Who waits for the warrior to return? She wants an anchor, a dependent, a child.”
Krem stared into the falling snow, at the pale shape of the Inquistor’s demon. Cole’s face was so pale he almost glowed in the night.
“Who are you talking about? The Herald?” Krem asked. Did that warrior want her nephew after all?
“The Iron Bull,” Cole clarified, with a slight frown.
Krem huffed. Of course the wily spirit already knew. He wanted to ask if Cole had been listening in, but remembered that the strange fellow could read minds, so it seemed like a moot point. “She wants to settle down all of a sudden?”
“Not sudden. Her lonely heart’s desire,” Cole said.
Krem broke through the crust of snow. Cold water was trickling inside his clothes, close to his skin. He shivered and breathed deeply, letting the cold reach the deepest part of his lungs. He could hardly feel his hands anymore.
Iron Bull had always been able to change on a dime; throw away all plans and start afresh, forgive like the wind changing, or turn on a former ally like a viper. It was what made her such a gifted spy. But it also had a way of making Krem feel like his life had been upended.
Krem breathed out in a swirl of white. He trudged through the fresh snow. “Did you catch the Herald’s thoughts? What do you think she’ll say — will she let the boss raise the child?”
“She has trusted her, with her dreams and faith, with her secrets and her body,” Cole said.
“I guess you’re right,” Krem said. “I have a feeling that kid is in for a hell of a mother. I’m almost jealous.”
It was only starting to sink in. The Bull Chargers might not be disbanded, but they wouldn’t have their boss anymore. Would Krem be able to make it on his own? Would anyone follow him, a narrow-shoulders human soldier, after their formidable Qunari warrior left the group?
And, it wasn’t Krem’s business, but why hadn’t she asked him? How had she been able to drop them so easily?
His mood was bitter. He reached his cabin, but when he stretched out a hand, Cole touched his elbow.
Krem glanced at the spirit, surprised. He had almost forgotten the boy was still following him.
“She loves you,” Cole said. His voice was so gentle, it was almost lost to the wild winds.
Krem softened. His heart was very heavy. He swallowed. “Yeah, I know. Thank you, Cole. Have a good night.”