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The lights outside were comforting for the eyes inside the tent. The young human had accepted that part of travelling would be sharing a tent with Bull most of the times. It made sense- in case something happened, he was the best bodyguard out there, plus he was big and she was small and that way no one ended up without tent over their heads.
This night was no different. They were laying already, Trevelyan turned to face the tent fabric and Bull probably looking up, she couldn’t tell.
She.
This was one of those days. It burned in the worst places, it took… her? Air out of her lungs and her nose stung with the cold. Would it truly be easier this way, to just say woman and lady and girl and move on? It should be easier, this path, no conversations, no threats, focus on the Inquisition, not on the Inquisitor. But why did it hurt so much then. Why did it only grow worse.
Wouldn’t it be counterproductive to just talk to himself in a different way. Accept who he is and not tell anyone. What if- no. No, their friends could be easily overheard by others, and Josephine would ask questions, and nobles would ask and they wouldn’t get the support they needed and it was essencial. Simply no.
It was too risky, really. It was just some days, afterall, he could deal with that. Imagine the “he’s” on the bad days, that would be fine, just like he’s doing now.
If he didn’t look down, he could almost not feel them, not feel the burning. For this night he could pretend. Just like the night before.
But for how long could this pain stay?
It didn’t matter. They had a world to save.
A full. World.
He could feel his nose stinging, and not from the cold. A quiet tear falls from and traces a trail on the Inquisitor’s face, falling on the fabric under his head. He wonders- no, he knows- Bull knows of this.
Of the tears, of the wonders of the mind. Maybe not what the mind wonders about, but that there are dreams, he knows.
“I’m sorry.” Travelyan quietly whispers. “For my humor the past few days.”
“It’s alright.” Bull answers. A silent moment passes before he adds: “When we get back you should meet with the Charges. It’s about time you have a proper drink with them.”
And they fall into silence again.
The Charges. Did Bull think he was being sneaky with that or was it his intention to be obvious?
The Inquisitor had spent time with the charges before. Perhaps not all of them together, but they had a few talks. Especially with Dalish, who the same arching skills as Travelyan. She explained the life of a dalish… archer, to the mage, and in return he explained what the circles looked like.
And with Krem, of course. Quite a lot, prior to this expedission. Krem had told his story, why he left Tevinter, how he met the Iron Bull.
Trevelyan said nothing, however. He wanted to, he would kill to do so, but with so many ears nearby, it wasn’t possible. With so many possibilities, it wasn’t possible.
But he assumed Krem saw something in him to share that information. Perhaps the slouched posture, the way… something. Hair? The smile he couldn’t help when Krem opened up? The hands, the eyes, the words he’d choose, the titles?
“Am I that obvious?”
Another moment.
“No.”
“Bull.” Trevelyan called, needing an answer.
“Not unless you have a trained eye.”
“Do you think the others can notice?”
All of those uncomfortable moments, they must’ve noticed, right? The way they started using his last name or titles, the armour troubles, the- the something, right? Something. They must know something, anything and maybe they are already familiar of the idea of their Lady Inquisitor being a Lord, maybe they’ll say “I saw this comming!” And Varric will ruffle his hair and call him kid, an Solas will give one of those rare knowing smiles, and Sera will laugh and Dorian will be dramatic and give him a hug and Bull-
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Bull will not mind.
A few more tears fall on the ideas of what could be and what probably won’t.
Trevelyan turns around, now facing Bull’s arm. He hugs it, holding with strength and letting the tears and noises out, muttering how sorry he was, unsure of which reasons and to who exactly was he apologizing to.
Bull puts a hand to his should, almost cradling the human.
Time passes, and eventually the tears tire and the hands fall and he sleeps. He’ll think again in the morning about this, but under a different light this time. Perhaps another conversation with Krem would be nice. Perhaps he wasn’t as alone as he thought.