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Bull had gold in his ears.
It was the first thing Dorian noticed, after the intense wave of relief of seeing him there in the first place. Val Royeaux was a lot less welcoming when one was an ambassador from Tevinter and not a member of the Inquisitor’s personal retinue. Bull was the first friendly face he’d seen in… far too long.
Letters hadn’t been enough. They hadn’t been enough since the first reached him in Minrathous, carrying only Bull’s handwriting and none of his sound, his smell, no image of him beyond Dorian’s memory. Now, with barstools and Orleasians as the only obstacles between them, Dorian wasn’t able to take a step closer.
Bull hadn’t noticed him yet. He was leaning on the bar, talking to someone Dorian didn’t recognize. Dorian watched the way he turned his mug in his hands, how he tilted his head to watch the person talking to him, how he smiled. Maker, Dorian had missed his smile.
Bull’s seat in the bar was strategic, Dorian could tell. Back to the wall, every entrance in his line of sight, even allowing for his limited range of vision. It was surprising that he couldn’t see Dorian leaning on the doorjamb where he was. In fact, it was nearly impossible that Bull didn’t know he was there.
Perhaps he didn’t recognize Dorian. He’d grown his hair out, allowed some artfully rugged scruff to take up residence on his face. He felt older, more distinguished. Or he had, until the very moment he saw Bull. Bull who seemed entirely unchanged, aside from the gold ring in his ear.
It was such a small thing, so insignificant and ultimately unimportant, but it locked Dorian’s breath in his throat like a spell.
That was his ring, the one he was sure he’d lost that last night in Cumberland, before he sailed back to Minrathous. He’d bought it on a whim years ago, but it had been a bit too big to wear comfortably, and he hadn’t mourned its loss overmuch.
He was sure it was the same ring, though. He could see the glint of the tiny emerald set into the band, and he could sense the faint shimmer of his own magic that tended to rub off on things he owned for long enough.
Bull had to know. He had to have changed the ring, to wear it like this.
Bull sees him before Dorian has shaken the anchors off his feet. He claps the person beside him on the shoulder and stands. Dorian takes a step towards him, but Bull crosses the space between them in a few long strides, and sweeps Dorian up in his arms.
It’s achingly familiar. Bull smells like leather and sword oil and a little bit like lavender, and he feels so real and solid that Dorian could weep. He buries his face in Bull’s shoulder and clings to him. Why did he ever leave this man behind?
“You’re back!” Bull crows, and Dorian nods. He can feel a besotted grin spreading across his face.
“I am,” he agrees, making Bull laugh. Dorian’s toes leave the ground for a moment as he wraps his arms tightly around Bull’s neck. “I missed you,” he whispers, not sure that Bull can hear him. He knows, though. He must.
Everyone in the room must know, and the gossip will spread quickly, but Dorian doesn’t care. What will they say, that there are scandalous trysts among Lady Adaar’s inner circle? Judging by the tenor of Sera’s latest letters, most attention will not be focused on his dalliances.
Perhaps they will simply observe two lovers reunited. Orlesians are constantly parting and reuniting and writing poetry. They understand.
Bull’s smiling back at him now, his face bright and open. Dorian has to kiss him-- he simply can’t do anything else. It’s chaste, they needn’t give the people here a show, but there’s something magnetic about it. Bull is in front of him, and he hasn’t been kissed in far too long.
His hand lingers far longer than his lips do, and he touches the curve of Bull’s jaw just to touch him.
“I missed you,” he says again, and Bull does hear him this time, because his smile softens. It’s a look Dorian knows well, and brings to mind warm blankets and candlelight, Bull’s hands in his own, and how damnably long it has been since they’ve been together.
“Me too, Kadan.” Maker, Dorian has missed the sound of his voice. Reluctantly, he takes his hand away from Bull’s face. The earring glints as a lamp flickers, and Dorian’s eyes are briefly drawn to it.
“Do you want a drink?” Bull offers, seeming to remember that they’re not alone.
“I’ve just arrived,” he admits. “I really ought to change out of my riding clothes before I track dust all over the Winter Palace.”
“You came here first?” Bull asks, smile widening.
“I thought that you might be here,” Dorian says. “And once I came through the gates, I-- well, I came here first, yes.”
“Do you even know which wing we’re billeted in?” Bull leaves the little tavern. “I’ll show you.”
Josephine sent him an extremely detailed itinerary, so he does know, but he hurries to catch up with Bull all the same. They walk close together through the gardens, in a meandering path that might, eventually, lead to the guest wing.
“You came to see me first,” Bull chuckles quietly to himself.
“Of course.” They are, ever so conveniently, alone. Dorian makes his way over to a balcony that overlooks the picturesque Orlesian countryside. They might have a minute before another couple comes here seeking privacy. “I thought it would be unkind to deprive you of even one moment in my presence.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.” Bull kisses him again. Damn the Magisterium, Dorian was a fool to ever leave.
There’s a new scar on Bull’s shoulder, and Dorian moves his hand across it as he relearns the feeling of Bull’s mouth against his own. It travels up his neck, and tapers out underneath his ear. Dorian would kill the person who caused it, if he weren’t sure they were already dead. Bull’s hands are gentle as he cups Dorian’s face, one thumb brushing over his cheek.
He has to ask, though. He’d prefer to be fully present for all of this, and the question will hound him until he finally knows. “Is this my ring?” He touches the lobe of Bull’s ear softly.
Bull opens his eye with a show of reluctance. “Yeah,” he says.
“I’d thought I lost it, you know.”
Bull looks out over Dorian’s head. “You left it behind. Figured you wouldn’t miss it.”
He watches Bull’s face, examining the way he shifts his weight on his feet, the way his eye skitters downward, the way his cheeks flush, just slightly. Dorian bites his lip to stop from grinning.
“Do you like it?” he asks instead.
“Yeah.” Bull’s smile is bashful. “It reminds me of you.”
Warmth bursts in Dorian’s chest. “You’re a terrible sap, do you know that?”
“Probably.” Bull kisses him again.
“You could have mentioned it.”
“I could have,” Bull agrees. “But I wanted to-- to talk to you about it. About us, I guess.”
“Of course, amatus.” He wants to soothe whatever is making Bull so nervous. Because he is nervous. It’s written in the hunch of his shoulders, how he grinds his heel into the ground.
“I never really thought I would-- I mean, you know that I’m in--” Bull clears his throat. “I just-- I want to talk about my feelings, Dorian. For you. Letters are good for some things, but they’re… not enough. I wanted to be able to tell you in person.”
“I’m listening,” Dorian prompts as Bull trails off and looks at something over his left shoulder. There’s only a wall behind his left shoulder. He checked. “And I’m desperately in love with you, if that helps.”
Bull’s gaze snaps back to him in an instant.
“I have been for a while, of course,” Dorian continues. His heart is rushing but his voices is surprisingly steady. “There was a time I was worried that you might not feel the same way, but--”
“I do,” Bull says. He starts to smile again as he says it. “I do love you.”
Dorian pulls him down into another kiss, because he simply can’t do anything else.