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Raion wanted nothing more badly than he wanted to have died in the explosion at the conclave.
He didn’t deal with stress well, unfortunate because of his position as the Keeper’s First. Had they a second he would have gladly stepped down for them. Let him be under someone else’s charge, he can take orders, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was give them.
So when Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra looked to him for his decision on who to seek aid from - mages or templars - he wanted to cut his damn hand off. He did his job, he closed some rifts, he proved that he wasn’t a threat. Sure he agreed to help, but he never agreed to make decisions like this. Let them use him as a weapon, a tool, he didn’t care. He never wanted the mark, and now it was putting him in positions he couldn’t even begin to fill.
Cassandra said she didn’t want to put it all on him, but that’s exactly what they were doing. While they fought over who they should ally with, he was ultimately the one who was going to make that decision. If he sided with the mages, Cullen and Cassandra wouldn’t be happy. If he sided with the templars, Leliana and Josephine wouldn’t agree.
Rai wanted to run, but where could he go? Would his clan even take him back with the mark on his hand? He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to wash his hands clean and be done.
Instead he found himself in the trees, curled around himself and trying to steady his breathing as he counted the number of times his fingers tapped his leg unable to stop. This happened more than he’d like to admit, him getting caught up in his head, obsessions taking over. His mother used to swat his hand every time he tapped. Used to yell at him every time he started counting the thumps of the birds as they pecked into the wood of the trees. Used to smack him when he got stuck repeating the same words over and over again. Stand up straight. Stop talking. Smile, nod, don’t talk, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in your clothes, stop counting, don’t cry, be perfect, be mamas perfect boy. You’re useless. You can’t do anything right. I regret having you. I should have drowned you in the river the moment you came into this world.
He found himself thinking of her often as the anxiety of what he was a part of got too much to handle and his compulsions became inescapable. It was like she was still here, still controlling him, and he could hear her hissing in his ear.
It got worse at night, when the day had quieted down and he was left with only himself. He’d pick at the loose strings of his quilt until they came unraveled, unable to sleep knowing they were there. He’d fold and refold his clothes, straightening out creases. Straighten the books, wipe off the dust, there’s splinters in the door and they need to be gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone, gone….
Imperfections. Just like him.
He’d lay down to rest after, counting the number of breaths he took and tapping his fingers restlessly. It got worse when he closed his eyes. He had nothing to focus on except everything that was wrong. His breathing got quicker, numbers got more frantic and panicked, and the tapping got faster until he worked himself into a anxiety attack. He could almost hear his mother screaming at him, throwing things, but he couldn’t stop because it felt so wrong and that sense of doom would crush him, make it impossible to breathe because it was so heavy on his chest and the only way to make it go away would be to start tapping again, start counting.
Raion would fall asleep, eventually, worn out from panicking, only to repeat it the next day.
His Keeper used to help him work through it. If he needed to count help she’d help him stop his numbers at a good one, a multiple of five, as she worked him away from what was making him count. She’d let him repeat his words and count them off for him, stopping him at a good number so he could continue without feeling sick to his stomach. When he got dirty and needed to clean she’d be right there making sure he didn’t scrub his hands raw. But she wasn’t here now. No one else could help him with this.
He should have left, Leliana told him he could. He should have grabbed his staff and walked right out of the chantry. But to go back home with that curse on his hand, to see the scared faces his clan would make as they saw it glow from his skin, he couldn’t do it. If he stayed maybe he could find a way to make it go away.
Yes, things would have been easier if he’d died at the conclave.
Rai hadn’t really meant to go out and find this “Iron Bull”. When the man at the front of the Chantry told him about him, he really wasn’t all that impressed, and he really didn’t want to leave to find him himself. Leaving meant more fighting, more cuts and scrapes on his skin that he’d sit and pick at because it wasn’t perfect mama’s perfect boy.
Curiosity got the better of him though, and he found himself taking Varric, Cassandra, and Solas out with him. He’d never seen a Qunari, all the trades his clan made with outsiders were either dwarves or humans. And then he saw him fight, no hesitation in his body as he protected his men with a grin across his face. He was covered in scars, missing an eye, but he carried himself like he wasn’t missing anything. Like he wasn’t marred.
That’s the kind of person the Inquisition needs, not me.
“Alright, you’re in.”
He tried to pretend the grin the Qunari gave him didn’t make his chest flip.
Rai found himself sitting on the fence next to the Iron bull, asking him questions, curiosity getting the better of him. The Qunari was open, more so than he thought he’d be for a supposed “spy”. He couldn’t complain though. He liked to hear him talk.
And when he closed his eyes, focused on the stories the Bull weaved, he found he could keep his leg from bouncing, his fingers from tapping. His numbers though, they never seemed to want to leave him alone. Sometimes he was fine, other times the rhythmic clanging and banging of weapons and armor being made just beside them had his mouthing his numbers.
Bull either didn’t notice, or didn’t mention it, and Raion was betting on the latter. It wasn’t until an excursion out to the hinterlands, after they had run out of potions, did Bull really see the full extent of his compulsions.
They had finally made camp, one of the inquisition workers messing with elfroot on a table to restock them on potions. Raion had disappeared into the tent, been in there an hour, fingers picking at the scabs and dried blood on his arms. He wished he could say it had just been a day, but it had been awful the moment he stepped out of Haven. At least there he had more privacy when his head drove him crazy.
He winced in pain when fingers ran over a particularly deep gash in his arm. He had been low on mana, managed just to stop the bleeding so he could keep on fighting, but it was going to need stitches. Elfroot potions only did so much and he was far too tired and too inexperienced with healing magic to try and mend it himself.
The flap of his tent opened then, Bull tossing a potion at Rai. He caught it with bloody fingers and hoped to gods Bull didn’t notice that he had reopened most of his wounds.
“Varric and Cassandra doing alright?” Rai asked.
Bull grunted, “Better after the potions. We’ll be ready to set out in the morning, Boss.”
Rai sighed out through his nose. No reason to have a healer come over then. They might as well finish up what they started before they headed back. It seemed he was going to be picking at his skin quite a bit the next couple of days.
“Your arm needs stitches,” Bull told him.
Rai looked down at it with a frown. Fantastic, more things to pick at. More imperfections. He could practically hear his mother shrieking in his ear. “Yeah.”
Bull pulled his head out from the tend and Raion thought he might be gone for good for the night. He was shucking off his robes, left bare chested and cold, when Bull reappeared with a flask and a small bag in his palm. Raion was grateful his darker complexion and the low lighting hid the sudden flush in his cheeks. If he tensed up Bull didn’t say anything.
“Give me your arm,” Bull said, sitting beside Rai on the bedroll and putting the items in his lap. If the elf wasn’t covered in goosebumps before he certainly was now.
He gingerly lifted his arm towards the Qunari, a large hand taking hold of his elbow to hold him steady. Rai suppressed a shiver at the warmth of the man’s palm on his skin. Bull tipped the flask over the gash in Raion’s upper arm and he hissed in surprise. Alcohol burned the wound.
“Wine?” Rai asked, an eyebrow raised.
“It’s not foolproof but it will keep out any nasty infections.” Bull told him. “Probably.”
“Well I’m probably going to smell like a drunkard.”
Bull snorted at him, pulling out a needle and thread from the pouch on his lap. “Better smelling drunk than smelling of infection. Number of stitches?”
Raion swallowed hard and looked away. So the Qunari had noticed his problem. “Anything by fives.”
Bull was surprisingly gentle as he sewed the gash in his arm up. Raion counted every time the needle punctured his skin, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…. He could feel the thread pulling at his skin and already he wanted to rip them out.
Bull stopped at thirty. Rai breathed a sigh of relief. He expected the man to leave then, and wasn’t entirely sure what to think when he heard the ripping of fabric. He looked over and watched Bull wrap the cloth around his arm.
“You don’t have to,” Raion started.
Bull grunted, interrupting him. “You’ll pick at your stitches if I don’t, Boss.”
Rai pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. Bull was right after all.
They took the first watch of the night, it was easier to stay awake in pairs. Raion stared out into the darkness, his eyes reflecting the moon’s light making it easier to see, and counted the bounce of his leg anxiously. He really wanted nothing more then to curl up and try to sleep. The longer he stayed up the easier it was to fall right to sleep however.
One hundred and seven, one hundred and eight-.
A large hand settled on his thigh, stilling it. Raion tensed up immediately with panic. He hadn’t even noticed Bull sitting beside him. If he couldn’t sense a hulking qunari near how was he supposed to watch over the camp?
“How many more times to you need?” Bull asked roughly.
“Two more,” Raion choked out.
Bull let him bounce his leg twice more before holding it still. His hand was so large it was dangerously close to his crotch and as anxious as Rai was he couldn’t help the way his stomach flipped and his face heated up. He cleared his throat and looked out into the distance.
“It’s more normal than you think boss.” Was all Bull said, before he shooed him back into his tent with promises he’d take the rest of the shift.
Raion fell asleep with visions of large hands and his mother screaming about him being worthless. When he woke up though, set out with Bull keeping pace at his back, for the first time in a long time he didn’t completely loath the mark on his hand.
After all, surviving the explosion at haven led it to The Iron Bull, didn’t it?