Chapter Text
It had seemed like a moment. Or it had the potential to be one, if they were real and not just something nauseating used to pad out those books that Cassandra likes so much. Something significant that Dorian didn’t know what to do with. Didn’t know if he even wanted it at all, whatever it was.
Shoving at Bull’s arms the comforting solidity of them fell away without any resistance against being pushed. Dorian lurched up to his feet with about as much grace as the Inquisitor’s reanimated corpse had had.
His eyes of course strayed towards the corpse in question, sucking in a harsh breath then struggling to expel it Dorian clapped his hand to his mouth as exactly what he had done overwhelmed him.
“I’ll take care of her,” Bull spoke from behind him, his voice softer than normal as if he thought he might spook the mage, as it seemed he already had. Dorian appreciated the lack of platitudes.
He couldn’t watch him pick up the body, see her arms swing loose and languid as if she were merely sleeping. Convincing enough if not for the mess of her head. There was a lot of blood but that wasn’t that unusual for any of them in recent times. The memory of their last conversation held within the library chose that moment to make itself known to him, the one where he had jokingly offered to raise her a tailor from the dead. A choked laugh caught in his throat as it mutated into a sob. He’d raised her something all right, just not a fucking tailor.
Nervously his eyes darted to the side and spied the departing halla herd. A few of the injured appeared to be being supported between healthier individuals, they seemed to have a destination in mind. The local Dalish camp if their direction was clue enough. Off to tell tales on them no doubt. Perhaps they’d need a mediator.
Many dead halla also littered the area. They should be burned, his fingers itched with uncalled fire. Never mind that it would be a waste, use could be found for the pelts and other things. Was it just the light of the setting sun or did one of the bodies look golden? Huh.
Later, around a hastily erected campfire Dorian sat alone. Sour thoughts clouding his mind that neither of the others had made much attempt to keep him company, never mind that he had rebuked them when they’d tried. Huddled beneath a too thin blanket hanging sloppily off one shoulder Dorian prodded listlessly at the contents of his bowl. Halla stew of course, what else?
No scouts were in sight, not even a requisitions officer to hover around after the corpse. A corpse currently enjoying its very own tent, such extravagance. They had elected against returning to one of the main camps between their recent misfortune and upcoming return to Skyhold. Varric though had been dispatched earlier to send off a discrete bird to Leliana in order to break the bad news. He had returned not too long ago, Dorian trusted he had done a decent job lying to the scouts. He’d certainly had plenty of practice. Calling it bad news was a bit of an understatement. If Dorian were feeling more himself he would have inserted himself into the writing of the letter but as it was he had no idea how tactfully his part in the whole affair had been written. Dorian’s mouth twisted subtly as he wondered if his already shaky welcome had been worn out.
Actually it was the Iron Bull that had made the call on keeping quiet about the Inquisitor’s death for now. Dorian hadn’t felt like arguing, never mind that Bull had made a convincingly sound argument to justify it. Morale was a powerful thing, especially in regards to people looking up to someone being referred to as the Herald of Andraste whether she had accepted the title or not.
The log that Dorian was seated upon rocked slightly, startling him from his thoughts with a jump that almost had him falling back off his perch if not for the hand suddenly at his back steadying him. That done it drew away and the owner of the hand made no comment as Dorian would normally have expected of the Bull. The mage’s brows arched as he studied him, was the Qunari tiptoeing around him? He normally seemed so sure of how he should be treating the mage however much Dorian liked to disagree with his assessment. It was strange to see him being tentative.
“Ah, so this is where you ask me how I’m doing.” As the Inquisitor would have done he appended on mentally with some bitterness. Each word came out clipped and precise as finally he discards the uneaten meal and resettles his blanket around his shoulders. A chill that the fire was refusing to alleviate had dug its claws in and did nothing for his mood.
“Have we never talked before now?” The Bull scratched at the rough skin just below his eye patch, slipping a finger under to readjust the patch slightly.
“I’d be offended if you could forget any conversation with me. Except that one. Whatever you’re thinking. You may forget that one.” Dorian narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Qunari seated besides him.
Bull affected an affronted look, he had a feeling he was copying the motions from himself. It was unnerving how much attention the man paid to the most useless mannerisms. Dorian was sure he pulled it off better in any case.
“I didn’t think your stink eye could get any better,” the Bull said as he helped himself to Dorian’s discarded bowl.
Dorian dug his elbow into the Bull’s side, they weren’t as pointy as his mothers but they got the job done. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Bull shot him a look, “how about-“ Dorian cut him off before he could continue that sentence. “Don’t.”
“You going to keep on doing that?”
Dorian shrugged and glanced across the fire to see that whilst Varric was still there he wasn’t paying them any attention.
“How can you even eat that?” He wrinkled his nose as he eyed the stew.
Bull tilted his head to the side, mindful of his horns and Dorian’s head. “Yeah, you’re right. Needs some spice. That demon halla maybe? That would have given it a real kick.” Dorian stared at him incredulously before catching on that he was joking. Shoving at the man’s side Dorian attempted to dislodge him from the log but he only succeeded in frustrating himself with the Qunari’s lack of movement.
“Things were going south. Don’t beat yourself up about today.” The sudden change of subject took Dorian by surprise. He had been tense, expecting to be made to talk about it but Bull had still managed to catch him with it in an unguarded moment. Whatever expression appeared on his face he banished it immediately but probably not soon enough. Tilting his chin up the mage folded his arms imperiously; it didn’t really work with Bull seeing as how he was taller than himself.
“The Iron Bull has spoken. I no longer need worry about having morals.” Dorian scoffed and moved to slide further along the log, realising this would take him further from the other’s warmth he ends up awkwardly shuffling instead and ends up closer than he had been in the first place. Kaffas.
Finishing the stew Bull casts aside the bowl and seems to take Dorian’s movement as some sort of acceptance because he moves his hand to rest on the log behind where Dorian’s seated, the mage’s back now braced against his sturdy arm.
“Eh, I did say it was creepy as shit didn’t I? But you know…. Mages. You knew that you were going to be kicking yourself afterwards, right? You didn’t even pull out the worst thing you could have from your sleeve.”
Dorian snorted. A few things came to mind and a few particular people.
“Right. You see? I didn’t notice the Inquisitor with any fangs or nothing.” The Bull shrugged. “You normally have those… see through guys running around, why?”
“They smell better?”
“Uh, huh. So, tell me. Is that easier or harder to do than to have the corpse up and dancing around?”
“Harder. Normally… I didn’t really do it properly with the Inquisitor so it was a bit more complicated.”
“Why not properly?”
“It didn’t belong there. I wasn’t about to shove a spirit in there without any precautions against it deciding it wanted to stay.”
“You’re terrible at being an evil Vint.”
“I….Yes. I suppose.”
“Fuck it,” Bull’s hand disappeared inside his voluminous trousers without warning and apparently no shame.
“…Is that appropriate?” Dorian gawped at him.
Bull grinned coyly and raised his chin. Oh great, he was copying him again. “I’m appalled, Dorian.” Without further ado his hand reappeared clutching a scratched looking flask. He waggled the flask under the mage’s nose letting him catch a whiff off it even before it had been opened.
“Vishante kaffas, what do you have in there?” Dorian asked somewhat suspicious of anything offered to him by Bull in a tankard let alone a dodgy looking flask.
“Boss found it. She wanted to give it to Solas to see if it would strip the paint from the walls but I figured that was a waste.”
“Is that supposed to make it sound appealing?”
Twisting off the cap Bull took a swig of the contents before holding it out to Dorian. “So, you don’t fancy a drink?”
Dorian eyed the man, he hadn’t cringed when tasting it but that didn’t really tell him much. This was the Iron Bull.
“Oh, give it here.” He paused with it almost to his mouth, “I’ll thank you if I survive.” He knocked the thing back letting the liquid run down his throat. He blinked, handing it back to the Bull. “That… wasn’t what I was expecting.” Dorian had been expecting to at least lose the use of his throat but despite the bizarre smell he felt warmth running through him.
“Me neither to be honest. Bit disappointing really.” The Bull shrugged before placing it down within Dorian’s reach. “You’re not dead I see.”
“I’m getting there….” Dorian sighed before helping himself to the flask once again, perhaps he was a little disappointed as well. The mage held it aloft and grinned lopsidedly. “To not being as big an asshole as I could have been.”
Taking a deep swig he deposited the flask on the floor before glancing briefly to the other side of the fire to ascertain that Varric had disappeared into his own tent at some point. Reaching up Dorian grabbed at one of the Qunari’s horns to encourage his head down towards him. Little urging was needed and in short time Dorian was pressing a kiss to the corner of the Bull’s lips. He spoke aloud there in case the silent thanks hadn’t been obvious enough, lips fractionally against the skin as he spoke. “Thank you, Bull.” For more than just the drink, he thought he would understand that though.
The Qunari grinned softly, capturing the mage’s lips for a more thorough kiss. Dorian eventually pulled away to settle against the Bull’s side. “No problem, no problem at all” Bull said before ruining it all. “Just keep that shit out of the bedroom.”
Dorian’s magically charged shove did push him off the log that time.