There are times when, for the greater good, one might choose to lose a bet. This is one of those times.

"You turned," Adaar said, "into a fucking dragon." It was good that she said it, because someone should, and to be honest the Bull was feeling a bit beyond actual words at that exact moment. "A small dragon," Dorian said, as though this was somehow relevant. He was quite a small dragon, it was true—he stared down at them now, but most of that height was the arch of his neck, the curve of it covered in shimmering black and gold scales. "A small dragon! Who saved your life!"

Slight AU. Dorian and The Iron Bull have formed something of a comfortable friendship until an unexpected demon encounter threatens to ruin it all.