Chapter Text
The carriage ride back from the Winter Palace was a quiet thing, aside from Dorian snoring, leaned against the Bull’s shoulder. The sky was turning gray with approaching sunrise as they passed through the empty streets of Halamshiral. Lavellan was dozing off as well, curled up on the bench across from them, while Vivienne sat beside her, gazing out the window.
The empress was saved, the civil war ended, and the Bull was exhausted. Dorian had been in a bad mood all night, and he couldn’t get a straight answer out of him about it. After all the dramatics were resolved, he’d tried his best to give Dorian a nice evening. They’d danced in a quiet corner to the faint distant music, snuck off into the garden for blowjobs, watched the nobles and made fun of them in languages only Dorian and the Bull spoke, slipped away into an empty room to fuck against the back of a couch. But all the while, as soon as the Bull stopped talking, Dorian would slip into melancholy and irritation, a crease between his brows, a distance in his eyes.
He’d asked Dorian about it, of course. He always thought it was best to be upfront about things. Dorian thought the exact opposite, so it was little surprise that Dorian had brushed him off every time. He traced his fingers in a slow circle over Dorian’s shoulder now, wondering when might be a good time to bring it up again.
When the carriage passed onto a smoother stretch of road, Lavellan’s eyes slipped closed, and her breathing evened out. Vivienne watched her for a moment, and then turned to the Bull.
“Iron Bull, my dear,” she said, “my contact came through.”
She pulled a small velvet satchel from her coat and passed it to the Bull. He took it carefully, so as not to wake Dorian. A grin spread across his face as he felt the satchel’s contents through the fabric: a heavy pendant on a chain.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, with a polite nod. He knew she would appreciate understatement more than anything else, but still it hardly felt like enough. She had gone out of her way to help him with this, and it was something he’d been trying very hard to do for Dorian.
Vivienne was studying him intently, and he did his best to stay stoic, though he always felt halfway like a child under her gaze. “Forgive me, I know this is very forward,” she said, “but this doesn’t seem like the type of gesture one makes for a passing fancy. I take it you’re quite serious about him?”
“Guess so,” he said. He looked down at Dorian, curled against his side. Even in sleep, his brows were drawn tight and furrowed. The Bull desperately wanted to rub his thumb over them, smooth out the crease, wipe away whatever worries were following Dorian even there. He wouldn’t, though, not with observers. Likely, Dorian would already be embarrassed enough that he’d fallen asleep on the Bull in front of the others; even if the Bull wasn’t going to wake him, he wasn’t going to push it any farther.
He was—serious about him. They were falling into rhythms with each other. He was finding things he’d never imagined having, and he knew Dorian was as well. This, taking Dorian home from a party, knowing they’d fall exhausted into bed together, and wake up together the next day, and the days after. Not every day after; that simply wasn’t in the cards for them. But for a while, at least. It was something he’d never imagined for himself.
“Well, I wish you the best,” Vivienne said. “You seem quite happy with each other.”
“Yeah,” the Bull said, looking down at Dorian, and then back to her. “I think we are.”
She gave him a sad flicker of a smile.
Dorian woke groggy, headachey. His eyes burned from too little sleep, though he had less of a hangover than he’d earned. The Bull was already awake, of course; Dorian could hear him moving about the room, packing up their things.
They’d have to be on the road soon enough. Josephine had arranged a departure of noon the day after the ball, a speedy retreat if things had gone poorly at the Winter Palace, but enough time for at least a few hours of sleep after an all night party. Judging by the light cutting through the windows, it was mid-morning, a couple hours at least until they had to be on their way.
The Bull sensed Dorian was awake almost immediately, and his movements stilled only a moment or so after Dorian became aware of them.
He appeared beside the bed, blocking the harsh light from Dorian’s eyes. “Morning, kadan,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
Blearily, Dorian caught his hand and kissed the side of his thumb. Then he burrowed back under the blankets, dragging the Bull’s hand along with him.
“Guess you don’t want breakfast, then,” the Bull said.
Dorian groaned, and released him. He pulled the blankets over his head, and listened to the Bull laugh, and move about the room. There was a clatter of dishes, water pouring, and then the Bull’s footsteps coming back towards the bed. All small and ordinary sounds. He loved a good party, but the night before had not been a particularly good party. He was glad to be done with it, surrounded by mundane things again.
There was a nudge at Dorian’s shoulder. “Come on, I’m not gonna pass food to you under the blankets.”
“And why not?” Dorian said. “I do believe I deserve to be waited on hand and foot.” He was quite enjoying his warm cocoon, sheltered from the garish Orlesian decor, all the inescapable reminders of where they were.
The Bull pulled the blanket off him, and he was hit with a blast of cold air. He swore, and glared at the Bull as he begrudgingly sat up, tugging the blanket along with him to wrap around his shoulders.
“There you go, eat up,” the Bull said, grinning, as he placed a tray carefully in Dorian’s lap.
Dorian stared down at the breakfast. Dainty crepes with powdered sugar, a bowl of fruit preserves, a steaming cup of coffee. It was the hotel’s standard fare, but the Bull had gone out of his way to have it ready and warm, waiting for him when he woke. He looked back to the Bull, who was casually resting a hand against the bedframe, and had an expectant kind of smile. Something twinged in Dorian’s chest, sharp and uncomfortable, like a pulled muscle, and he had to look away.
“You’re too good to me,” he said. He cleared his throat, trying to find his decorum again, and patted the spot next to him. “Here, come and keep me company.”
The Bull came around and sat on the bed beside him as he started in on his breakfast. Dorian slumped against him, and felt very aware of how undignified he must look. Sometimes, with the Bull, he could start to forget things like that, but not after a night surrounded by Orlesian nobility.
Still, the Bull wrapped an arm around his shoulders and worked his fingers at the stiff muscles of Dorian’s neck. After a few sips of coffee, the headache started to fade as well.
Dorian looked around the hotel room. It looked so much like the Winter Palace, it was almost as if they’d never left. And the trouble with the Winter Palace was it was so much like all the worst parts of Tevinter that, again, it was almost as if he’d never left.
“You know, I never imagined I would look forward to leaving high society,” he said. “Especially not to travel to Fereldan of all places. And yet, I’ll be terribly glad to be rid of Orlais.”
“Can’t say I’m going to miss it either,” the Bull said.
Dorian had lost count of how many crude terms for Qunari he’d heard around them the night before. He’d done his best to retaliate however he could, making sure those people overheard his own veiled insults directed at them as he whispered to other partygoers. But deriding fashion choices was a poor response to outright cruelty, not even comparable.
He couldn’t imagine it had been easy for the Bull to shrug it off either. And the Bull also couldn’t have missed how many times Dorian had been called maleficar.
He couldn’t make up his mind if he preferred it to the things he’d been called in Tevinter.
The Bull smoothed a thumb across his brow and Dorian couldn’t keep himself from flinching, at once startled and overwhelmed by the gesture.
“Oh shit, sorry,” the Bull said, quickly drawing back.
Dorian sighed, and pulled him back in. “No, no, my apologies,” he said. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”
He ate in silence, finishing off the last of his breakfast. The Bull let him be, thankfully not pushing it further, not asking any more. It had felt incessant the night before, the Bull constantly checking in, asking if Dorian was alright every time no one was listening. Dorian had become paranoid, constantly second guessing his facial expressions, trying to ascertain what slips the Bull was picking up on, because the Winter Palace was the last place he wanted his facade to crack.
He tried to remind himself the Bull’s intentions were good; he simply didn’t move in the same circles Dorian did. He didn’t understand that place the way Dorian did. The Bull got to exist separate from all that. Dorian tried not to let jealousy well up inside him at that thought.
He downed the last of his coffee and set the tray aside on the nightstand. When the Bull tugged a little, Dorian let himself lean heavily against his shoulder. He tried to remind himself again that the Bull’s intentions had been good.
The Bull was only concerned about him, after all. The Bull cared for him, even if sometimes that was so overwhelming Dorian thought he might vomit, or, even worse, cry.
“How long have we got until we have to be on the road?” Dorian asked, casting about for any topic of conversation, anything to distract him from his own thoughts.
“Couple hours,” the Bull said.
Dorian rubbed his face on the Bull’s shoulder. “Hmm, it looks as if you’ve already done our packing,” he said. “Whatever shall we do with all that time?”
“Don’t you need that long just for your hair?” the Bull asked, though his hand was already trailing down Dorian’s side, wrapping around his hip and pulling him closer.
Dorian elbowed him as he tried not to smile. “You know full well my hair only takes an hour,” he said.
“Plenty of time then,” the Bull said, leaning in to kiss at Dorian’s neck. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
Sighing, Dorian let himself melt into the Bull’s touch. He leaned back against the headboard, stretching his neck out long, giving the Bull all the space he could want. His kisses were all gentle lips, a silky wet brush of tongue here and there, and Dorian took hold of his horns to pull him in closer.
Sex was easy between them. The Bull was always happy to pull Dorian out of his own terrible thoughts for a while, guide him into this space without worries. The price to be paid was that inevitably, later on, he’d start asking Dorian how he was feeling again. Sex was easy, while the rest of their relationship felt as if Dorian was blindly fumbling in the dark.
The Bull slipped his fingers beneath the hem of Dorian’s sleep pants. He teased over Dorian’s hip bone, and then reached back to grab his ass. “You got anything in mind, kadan ?” he asked.
To be called “ kadan ” was always a fluttery thing in his chest, and he allowed himself a pleased little hum as he leaned against the Bull. He’d come across the definition by chance, in a book he’d been reading on Qunari culture when he and the Bull were first starting to become friends. He’d said it to Dorian in whispers at the party the night before, a secret held only between the two of them. To hear it said openly again was lovely.
Dorian stretched, and leaned his hips forward, letting the Bull get a better handful of his ass, knead it in his fingers. The Bull’s touch always brought him back so easily into his body, into the present moment. He thought for a moment that it might even be worth having to talk about his feelings, though he was certain he would change his mind later.
He met the Bull’s gaze, let his tongue sneak out across his own lips. “Use my mouth,” he said. “I don’t want to think of anything besides you for a while.”
The Bull cupped his face, and traced a thumb across his cheekbone. “Yeah? You want that?” he asked, his lips twitching in a smile.
“Yes, please,” Dorian said. He leaned in to press a kiss to the Bull’s mouth, and felt his smile.
“You being sweet for me this morning?” the Bull asked.
“Never,” Dorian said, though he didn’t even bother to pretend offense.
He spread his hand across the Bull’s stomach and then trailed his touch downward until he could grasp his cock. He cupped it through the Bull’s pants, squeezing gently, watching the way the Bull’s head leaned back as he let out a long breath.
He tugged at the Bull’s waistband. “Now, get these off so I can get a taste of you,” he said.
“Bossy,” the Bull said, though he was already shuffling out of his pants, the only thing he was wearing.
“You love it,” Dorian said.
The Bull shrugged. He tossed his pants aside and sat back so Dorian could see all of him, thick and soft and scarred, bathed in the pale winter sunlight. His cock rested half-hard against his thigh and Dorian’s mouth watered.
“Hey, I’ve got a gorgeous guy in my bed asking to suck me off,” the Bull said. “Not going to complain if he wants to boss me around a little.”
“Well, then, get over here,” Dorian said. He quickly pulled off his own clothes before he slid down the bed so he could recline against the pillows. Then he took the Bull’s hand, and pulled him over.
Careful but eager, the Bull straddled his chest. Dorian ran his hands over the Bull’s thighs, and gazed up at him. He towered over Dorian from this angle, his bulk and his muscle filling his field of vision, already doing a decent enough job of being all Dorian could think of.
Dorian leaned up to kiss at the insides of his thighs. The Bull wrapped a hand around the back of his head and let out a little hum at each kiss, idly running his fingers through his hair. Dorian took the Bull’s cock in his hand and stroked him, firm and slow, savoring the feeling of him growing harder. The Bull’s fingers tightened in his hair and his breathing deepened.
Dorian kept kissing him, inching higher. He pressed his face into the crease at the top of his thigh and breathed in deep, where the smell of his body was thick and heady. The Bull groaned and pulled him in even closer. Dorian licked at his skin, then sucked hard enough to bruise. With a rush he imagined, sometime on the journey back to Skyhold, the party might stop to bathe in a river, and perhaps someone would catch sight of the marks he’d left on the Bull’s thighs.
He trailed his kisses further inward, still slowly working at the Bull’s cock with his hand. He was entranced by the Bull’s heavy breaths, his own cock growing hard against his stomach. He licked at the Bull’s balls, groaning at the way the Bull gasped, and at the strong taste of him on his tongue.
He rubbed his cheek against the Bull’s cock. The delicate skin was hot and soft against his face, and the Bull knotted his fingers in his hair. A small sound escaped from Dorian’s throat.
Then, he held the Bull’s gaze as he licked up his length. He went as slow as he could, torturously slow. The Bull went utterly still; he didn’t even breathe. When he reached the tip, Dorian closed his lips around the head and sucked gently, lightly tonguing at the slit, tasting the bitter precum starting to leak from it. The Bull moaned, a real proper moan.
Dorian pulled off with a pop and grinned up at him.
“Fuck,” the Bull said, voice shaky.
Dorian flopped back against the pillows and beamed at him, quite proud of himself for being able to ruin him so quickly. “Darling,” he said, “would you like to fuck my face?”
The Bull’s eyebrows raised. “Shit, Dorian,” he said. “One of these days you’re gonna kill me with the way you talk.”
“Only a little death, I hope,” Dorian said with a smirk.
He propped himself up again, and took the Bull’s cock back into his mouth. The Bull groaned and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, braced his other hand on the headboard. Dorian sighed at the fullness of the Bull in his mouth. He sucked on it, rubbing his tongue over the thick vein on the underside.
He wrapped his arms around the Bull’s thighs, dug his fingers into the flesh just beneath his ass. Dorian adored the Bull’s thighs—the thick, rock-hard muscle was a reminder of how strong he was, but it was hidden beneath a layer of soft fat perfect for laying his head on, perfect for grabbing.
The Bull was groaning above him, and Dorian started to bob his head, working over what he could fit in his mouth. His lips glided so nicely over his cock. The Bull was leaking a steady trickle of precum over Dorian’s tongue. He was rocking his hips ever so slightly, clearly holding himself back.
Dorian pulled off, holding the Bull’s gaze as he licked at the head again. The Bull groaned, and the faintest tremor shivered through his legs. Dorian drew back, letting a string of saliva stretch between his tongue and the Bull’s cock. When it broke, it dripped down his chin.
Shakily, the Bull murmured a curse in Qunlat.
“Now, come on and fuck me,” Dorian said. He wrapped his lips around the Bull’s cock again and pulled at his hips, urging him on.
With a growl Dorian could feel all through his body, the Bull tightened his grip on his shoulders and started to thrust properly into his mouth. Dorian moaned, and let himself go limp, let the Bull move him wherever he wished.
“Shit, Dorian, your mouth…” the Bull said.
Dorian hummed, pleased. He was so hard it ached and dripped, and his hips rocked of their own accord, in time with the Bull’s thrusting. His grip on the Bull’s thighs was so tight, though, that the thought of moving to touch himself hardly crossed his mind. The Bull’s body beneath his hands was grounding, and his thighs pressing tight against Dorian’s ribs kept him in place there, keeping him from drifting off in his worries.
He took a deep breath and swallowed around the Bull’s cock, letting him down into his throat. The Bull swore again through grit teeth, and gathered him in close. He rocked against Dorian’s face, and Dorian swallowed and swallowed, until he was pressed flush against the Bull’s body.
The Bull let out a long moan, and Dorian swelled with pride. It had taken a lot of practice to take the whole thing in his mouth. He never felt as full as he did with the Bull’s entire length down his throat.
He slid his hands upward and grabbed the Bull’s ass. He kneaded the flesh between his fingers, spreading him open before he slipped his touch inward to tease over his hole. The Bull grunted, and his grip on Dorian’s shoulder tightened.
“Oh, fuck, baby,” the Bull gasped, gritting his teeth.
He pulled back from Dorian’s throat for a moment, giving him a chance to breathe more fully, before pushing all the way back in. He felt his throat stretch around him, and when he moaned it came out choked and muffled.
Dorian flickered his gaze up to meet his eye. He felt the Bull’s breath catch, and his cock twitch inside his mouth. Dorian knew he was a wreck—flushed, hair damp with sweat, eyes watering from fighting past his gag reflex, face smeared with spit. He held the Bull’s gaze, and circled his fingers against the Bull’s hole.
The Bull’s thighs tensed around him. He was moaning, low and constant, as he fucked hard into Dorian’s mouth. Dorian could feel the moans reverberating through his body, a deep hum moving through both of them.
Gentle as he could, he worked a finger inside the Bull’s body. Not far, not without oil, just enough to tease. The Bull’s eye slipped closed and his mouth hung open. Dorian could tell he was getting close.
He pulled back a little, and immediately the Bull loosened his grip, letting Dorian pull all the way off.
“On my face,” Dorian said, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper.
“Yeah,” the Bull said, “fuck yeah.”
He carefully let Dorian down to rest against the pillows. Dorian stretched out, still keeping his rigid grip on the Bull’s thighs. The Bull took himself in hand and started to stroke, firm and fast, while Dorian kept teasing at his hole.
Dorian gazed up at him, and thought what a lovely view it was. The Bull was washed in the winter sun, a faint sheen of sweat on his face, his cock dripping wet with Dorian’s own spit as he pumped it in his hand.
“ Kadan ,” the Bull murmured, “I’m about to…”
Dorian closed his eyes and opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue. He was almost certain that was what pushed the Bull over the edge. The Bull’s thighs tensed and he let out a quiet grunt. His cum fell in stripes across Dorian’s face, wet and hot, bitter and wonderful in his mouth. Groping blindly, Dorian grabbed the Bull’s cock and closed his lips around the head, sucking the last of it straight from him.
The Bull trembled and swore. Dorian felt the moment he went slack, and the effort it took him to keep himself upright.
Dorian released him and fell back against the bed. He cracked one eye open, and grinned up at him as he licked the Bull’s cum from his lips.
“Shit, you’re gorgeous,” the Bull said. He ran the back of his fingers across Dorian’s cheek.
“Oh, I’m certain I look lovely right now,” Dorian said with a smirk. He wasn’t going to deny it; he knew the Bull loved this as much as he did. He’d gotten used to being called things like that in bed, at least.
The Bull stretched out alongside him, and tangled their legs together. He grabbed Dorian’s knee and pulled him in close, pressing his thigh against Dorian’s cock. Dorian gasped at the pressure, sudden and overwhelming after how long he had been ignoring his own arousal.
The Bull cupped Dorian’s face gently in both of his hands and started to lick the cum from his skin. He went slowly, almost reverently. His movements were careful, caring, his broad tongue tracing the contours of Dorian’s face as if he had known every curve and plane of it for years, and as if he were exploring it for the first time.
“Fuck, I love you, Dorian,” the Bull said.
Dorian grabbed his horns and moaned, and rubbed against him. It was too much to repeat it back just then. He loved the Bull too, he knew he did. But he had wanted to be fucked hard and told he was a good boy and all the silly praise the Bull usually liked to shower on him. To be treated so delicately and spoken to so plainly was too much. He would lose himself in sex while he could, and later he could force himself to say difficult things.
He was certainly distracting himself already. His cock was achingly hard, and the Bull’s thick thigh between his legs felt so good, waves of arousal spilling through him.
He wrapped his legs tight around the Bull’s thigh, and ground against him. “Bull,” he whined. “Please.”
The Bull hummed, and licked a lingering trace of cum from his jaw. “How do you want it?” he asked, and bit lightly at Dorian’s throat.
“Quick and dirty, if you’d be so kind,” Dorian said. “But not too quick.”
The Bull laughed a little, and traced his hand slowly down Dorian’s chest, over his stomach. He took hold of Dorian’s cock and started to stroke him, not too fast, not too hard. “Like this?” he asked.
Dorian moaned, and stretched back into the pillows. “Yes, please,” he said.
The Bull grinned and worked him over with a steady, slow pace. Dorian melted under his touch, every breath coming out in a moan, his thighs starting to tremble. It was unhurried, indulgent, almost like something sweet Dorian could taste in his mouth.
The Bull watched him intently, first focusing on his slick, parted lips, but then moving up to hold his gaze. Dorian could only bear the full weight of the Bull’s attention for a moment before he brought his arm up and buried his face in the crook of his elbow.
“Aw, hey, kadan ,” the Bull said softly, “c’mere.” He wrapped his arm around Dorian’s shoulders and pulled him in close as he continued to stroke him. Gratefully, Dorian pressed his face into the Bull’s chest.
They held tight to each other, Dorian panting against him so hot and heavy he could feel the Bull’s skin getting damp with it. His mouth tasted of the Bull, all he could smell was the Bull. The Bull stroked him, steady, firm. It built quickly, dizzyingly, and then suddenly Dorian was tensing, back arching. He moaned, high and wavering, as he spilled over the Bull’s fist.
The Bull stroked his cock through the shudders as they faded away, and then just held onto him as Dorian caught his breath.
“Gorgeous,” the Bull said again, peppering little kisses along the side of his face.
Dorian let out a long sigh, feeling the sated weight settling in his limbs. It was not enough to wipe away the night before, or the weeks leading up to it, but he wanted to hope it was a start. He desperately wanted to hope. He wanted to stay with the Bull in this wordless moment as long as he could.
They had to get up soon enough, though, to prepare for the day, pack up the last of their things. It was a relief to be back in his own clothes, see the room cleared of their belongings, as empty as they had found it.
On their way out, they stopped in the doorway to look over the room one more time and make sure they hadn’t missed anything. The Bull traced his fingers over Dorian’s bare shoulder, and Dorian was glad to have him at his side, to be leaving this place together. He tried not to think of the future when he would have to come back to rooms like these, when he would not have the Bull at his side.
They walked side by side, with the large Inquisition party leaving Halamshiral. When they were in the field with Lavellan together, Dorian would always walk on his blind side, but here in the safety of the big group, Dorian stayed on his right, where they could see each other properly.
The Bull kept a watch on Dorian as they moved down the road, as the city fell away below the horizon, sinking into the gently rolling hills. As they put more distance between the Winter Palace and themselves, Dorian seemed to relax, a tiny fraction at a time.
It was hard to watch Dorian struggling and not know how to help him. He knew it had put Dorian on edge to be around all the nobles, but he was still puzzling over what part of it had gotten to him so badly, and Dorian had made it very clear he was not going to offer any clarity. The Bull was good at reading people, but in the end it was all guesswork, and the Ben-Hassrath had not trained him how to guess what his lover might be upset about or figure out how to make it better.
Dorian was still glum, still quiet, his eyes drifting to the horizon when he thought the Bull wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t looking behind them; he was looking north.
If Dorian was clamming up while they were alone, he definitely wasn’t going to talk about anything substantial while they were surrounded by other people. The Bull could offer distraction, at least. The best form of distraction wasn’t something they could do surrounded by other people, either, but there were other topics of conversation.
He bumped his arm against Dorian’s. “You got exciting research plans when we get back?” he asked.
Dorian gave him a flicker of a smile. “You know, for a spy, you have absolutely no subtlety.”
“Eh, I’ve always been more of a ‘hiding in plain sight’ kind of spy,” the Bull said.
Dorian flicked his shoulder. The Bull pretended to be thrown off balance, feigned clutching his arm in pain. It got a bigger smile than before.
“Very well,” Dorian said. He brushed his fingers along the Bull’s wrist, and took his hand briefly before pulling away again. “I’ll play along, but just know I see exactly what you’re doing. Yes, Dagna has been working on some focus crystals while we’ve been away that I’m quite excited to check back on.”
He carried on as they walked, explaining it to the Bull and mulling over pieces for himself. The Bull loved to listen to him talk; Dorian’s voice was always strong and confident, and when he talked about his work he took on an edge of brilliant life. He moved his hands, his hips; his whole body became part of the conversation when he really got into it.
“I’ve been stuck on how to arrange the runes to channel it properly, though,” he was saying. “The patterns I’ve tried don’t seem to be containing it properly. That was usually the part that Alexius did the primary work on. He always had such an eye for those layouts.”
A sudden cloud came over Dorian, and the Bull held himself perfectly still instead of cringing. It was no secret that Alexius was still at Skyhold—his old friend, his old mentor, who had betrayed him, used his own research to try to kill him—but Dorian never breathed a word about him.
“I suppose there’s nothing stopping me from… speaking with him,” Dorian said. “I hear he’s been quite reasonable, when others have brought their research to him.” His voice was quieter, and it wavered slightly.
The Bull felt as if he were suddenly picking his way over broken glass. “Is that something you’d want?” he asked, cautiously.
Dorian shook himself, and the Bull could almost physically see his walls coming back up, his shoulders straightening, his body stiffening. “No, I don’t suppose it is,” he said. He laughed, bold and confident. “There are plenty of other mages around who can help me if I can’t get it sorted on my own.”
“Okay, big guy,” the Bull said. He was trying for supportive, but he knew he missed the mark. Something flashed across Dorian’s face, too quick for him to catch. He just hoped it didn’t come across as condescending.
“Anyways, I’ve had some thoughts on the runes myself,” he said. “I’ll be interested to see if I can work it out when we get back to Skyhold.”
He went on again, falling back into his rhythm, but the life didn’t come back to his words.
Dorian was still out of sorts when they made camp for the night. They were pulled into a long meeting with Lavellan and her advisors, going over the details from the ball, laying the groundwork for what plans would come next. Around them, the soldiers were pitching tents, making dinner. It rankled the Bull to see other people working and be stuck talking politics when he could have been helping them.
It made him feel even worse to see the resigned exhaustion plain on Dorian’s face and be unable to do anything for him. Dorian was listing to one side, leaning heavily on his staff to keep himself upright. He spoke brightly as ever, but he was only agreeing with the others. He didn’t offer a single contrary remark, and that had the Bull more worried than anything else.
The first chance the Bull got, he cleared his throat. “Boss, I don’t think we’re gonna get this resolved tonight,” he said. “I think dinner will do us more good than planning right now.”
Leliana agreed, and cut off the meeting there. He knew Lavellan and Cullen were willing to run themselves right into the ground alongside Dorian, so he was grateful that someone was around to back him up.
He led Dorian over to one of the fires at the edge of camp, where it was quieter, where there were less people around. He got them each a bowl of stew, and sat down next to Dorian. His ankle ached badly as he lowered himself to the ground and stretched it out, but it was dim in his awareness.
Dorian hunched around his bowl of stew and stared down into it. It was twilight, and his face was gaunt in the purpley sunset and the deep shadows thrown by the fire. He looked bruised.
“You should eat, kadan ,” the Bull said, as gently as he could. He had already started on his own dinner, though he was hardly paying attention to how it tasted.
Dorian waved him off, but he did at least eat a spoonful. “You don’t need to fuss over me,” he said. “Maker, I don’t know why I’m so tired.”
“Walked all day,” the Bull said with a shrug. “Spent weeks playing the Great Game in Orlais.”
Dorian groaned, and they ate in silence for a while. A faint few snowflakes started to fall around them, probably the last of the winter down here in the lowlands. Dorian glared up at the clouds and pulled his hood over his head.
The Bull felt the little satchel tucked in his pocket with a growing awareness. He couldn’t wash away all of Dorian’s worries. He couldn’t smooth out that wrinkle between his brows. But there was one thing he knew had been troubling Dorian, and he had the solution in his pocket.
He went back and forth with himself for a moment. Usually he was decisive. He wanted to do something, so he did it. But this time, he had to work up the courage to speak, and that was not at all a feeling he was used to.
“Hey, kadan ,” he said, finally, feeling strangely off-balance, unsure of himself. He closed his hand around the satchel. “I picked something up for you in Halamshiral.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow at him, and then smirked. “Mm, you always find such fun things for me to play with,” he said. He trailed his fingers down the Bull’s arm, and looked up at him from beneath his eyelashes.
“Oh, shit, it’s not like that,” the Bull said.
Dorian leaned back a little. “Books for my research?” he asked, still smiling. “You shouldn’t have.”
Before he could second-guess himself further, the Bull handed Dorian the satchel. “Here, just open it,” he said.
Dorian took it curiously. His brows knit together as he felt the weight of it, and then opened the drawstring pouch. He tilted it over and the heavy pendant thunked into his palm, followed by the slithering chain, which slipped through his fingers. He stared at it, frowning. In the thick shadows it had a terrible weight to it, the snake etched into the metal like a badly healed wound.
“My amulet,” he said, flat and quiet.
The Bull had not taken it out of the pouch, and seeing it in Dorian’s hand now, he realized he had made a mistake. It was a gaudy piece of jewelry, old and worn and weighted with history, and it oozed Tevinter like a dripping acid. Dorian’s knuckles were white around it.
“Bull,” Dorian said. “Where did you…”
He slid it quickly back into its pouch and pulled the drawstring tight. He considered it a moment, looking at the outside of the pouch as if it were contaminated, before shoving it deep into the pocket of his robes and folding his arms tightly over his chest.
“Why would you do that?” he asked. His voice was like flint, sharp and dry and one wrong move away from starting a fire.
The Bull rubbed his own neck awkwardly, going for casual, trying to diffuse the situation. He didn’t dare touch Dorian. He was floundering, more scared of a social situation than he could recall ever being before. It was a tight knot in his stomach. “Eh, Red mentioned she’d heard something about it,” he said. “I thought, you know, you have so much else to worry about, so maybe I could handle this one thing for you.”
“I can handle my own affairs,” Dorian said sharply.
He wouldn’t look at the Bull, and the Bull found himself too tense to turn towards Dorian. They both faced the fire, a terrible silence between them. The Bull stared deep into the center of the burning logs, where things were charred and brittle, glowing hot and ready to fall at any second. He had blundered into something far more precarious than he had guessed.
“I know you can,” he said. “I just thought you could use a little help. I should have asked you first, I guess.”
Dorian snorted. “You guess,” he said. He rummaged in the pack at his hip, and the Bull cringed when he heard the jingle of coins. “How much do I owe you?”
“What? Nothing,” the Bull said. “It’s fine.”
“How much?” Dorian repeated. “I know that scoundrel didn’t part with it cheaply.”
“Really, don’t worry about it,” the Bull said. He only just held himself back from reaching for Dorian, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. But he knew that would only make things worse. “Vivienne was the one who got it from that merchant.”
He was going to say more, offer a full explanation of how Vivenne’s contact had procured the amulet, gotten it to her at Halamshiral. But Dorian cut him off abruptly.
“You brought Madame de Fer into this?” he hissed.
Now he turned to face the Bull. He was truly angry, in a way the Bull had never seen up close, and he couldn’t help drawing back from Dorian’s fury. The weight of it fully directed at him was intense, a blast of heat rolling off an inferno.
The Bull raised his hands up, placating. “Hey, Dorian, it’s not like that, okay?” he said. “She was happy to help. Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t do this the right way at all.”
Dorian stood sharply, grabbed his staff and planted the end of it so firmly the Bull could feel the shock of it striking the frozen earth. “You certainly didn’t,” he said.
The Bull got to his feet as fast as he could, slowed by his ankle, which protested the movement with a stabbing pain. “ Kadan , hey,” he said.
“Don’t,” Dorian said, raising a palm, halting the Bull as effectively as if he’d done it with a spell. “Don’t follow me.”
He turned on his heel and strode out of camp.
The Bull watched him go, quickly growing small with distance as he made his way down the sloping hill and towards the distant treeline. His white robes seemed to glow in the falling night, the last traces of light glittering off the crystals on his staff. He was ethereal, fading, dancing out of sight.
It was as safe a place as any for Dorian to go wandering alone. The Inquisition and the Orlesian monarchy had a firm control on the area, and there were scouts all around the camp. If there was anything dangerous nearby, Dorian would be more than capable of handling it on his own.
And there he was again, trying to judge what Dorian could handle without asking Dorian himself. He wondered if he was being overbearing, if that was what had set Dorian off so badly.
“Fuck,” the Bull muttered. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, as if blocking out the world would give him enough distance to think.
He had known returning the amulet wasn’t a proper gift, not something Dorian would throw his arms around the Bull’s neck and kiss him senseless to thank him for. He had even expected Dorian would be prickly and ‘Vinty about it. But he had not been expecting Dorian to be angry enough to storm off over it.
The Ben-Hassrath had trained him how to read an enemy combatant on the battlefield—guess which way someone might feint before striking a blow, or what a general backed into a corner might order their troops to do next. They’d trained him how to extract information from people without their ever noticing. They’d trained him how to listen in on conversations and piece together which nobles were cheating on their spouses with which other nobles.
And still, even severed from the Qun, he relied on that training so heavily. And it had done nothing to help him preempt this.
He sat down heavily and waited for Dorian to reappear, and then resigned himself to the fact that Dorian wouldn’t be returning any time soon. He thought briefly about going after him to make sure he was okay, and then decided that would likely make this even worse.
He combed over the information he had in his head. Dorian had spent days surrounded by nobility, which was something he loved and something he hated at the same time. He had brought up Gereon Alexius of his own accord, which probably meant he was thinking too much of home already. And then the Bull had gone and dropped his family amulet right into his hand. Of course Dorian was pissed.
He almost wished Cole were with the party, so he could pop in and give the Bull some clues about how to piece everything back together and fix it. The kid talked in riddles, but at least the Bull knew what to do with a riddle.
Eventually, when it was getting late and Dorian still had not returned, the Bull went to find Leliana and ask her to keep an eye out for him. She already had the scouts watching him, of course. She assured him that Dorian was fine, that they knew exactly where he was.
The Bull crawled into their shared tent alone, lit the brazier, and found himself entirely lost. He hadn’t gone to bed alone in months now, not since a couple weeks after he and Dorian had first gone to bed together. It startled him, almost, how quickly he had gotten used to something so ephemeral, that he could hardly imagine being without it. He knew what they had with each other wasn’t something that could last, that Dorian would have to go home when this was all over. But being in their tent alone left him feeling unmoored.
He got undressed, shaved his head and trimmed his beard, rubbed balm on his horns, wrote up a few lines about the day in the logbook he kept. It didn’t feel right at all to go through his nightly routine without Dorian there. Usually, he did this with Dorian all over him, trying to climb into his lap, kissing at his neck, impatiently waiting for him to be done.
It went faster alone, and then he banked the brazier alone and got in bed alone. It felt terribly empty.
He didn’t get cold the way Dorian did, but he missed the warmth of Dorian pressed against his side as they fell asleep together. He realized he didn’t want to imagine a life without Dorian at his side.
Sleep eluded him. Even with every Qunari meditation and breathing exercise he could recall, it remained far out of his reach. The thoughts endlessly ran through his head. There was guilt that he had upset Dorian, fear that he had fucked things up, a desire to make things right but no sense of how to do so, and above all the burning idea that he could not imagine a life without Dorian in it.
He remembered Dorian that morning, back at the beginning of this endless day. Dorian trusting himself so fully to the Bull, letting him cup his face in his hands and lick him clean. He knew it frightened Dorian to be so open, and still he trusted the Bull enough to try it anyways. The Bull felt a sickening twist in his stomach, wondering how badly he had broken that trust.
Dorian did not return until after the watch changed. He came in with a huff, and said nothing as he stripped and crawled under his own blankets.
The Bull shifted, making it clear he was awake. He had been ruminating for hours on what to say when Dorian returned and now found no words at all coming to his mouth. He hesitantly reached out a hand.
“Don’t,” Dorian said.
The Bull withdrew. Dorian rolled away from him and pulled the blankets over his head.