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Chapter Text

Dorian spotted the small boy, five or six years of age, on the edge of the Summerday festival crowd, just beyond the booths and stalls that lined the streets. The child was crouched in the shaded doorway of a shop closed for the holiday, out of the way of the seasonably hot sun. By all means, Dorian should have ignored the boy, a Tevinter national approaching a lone child in the middle of a Fereldan Summerday celebration might cause a stir, but two things caught his attention.

First, without an adult or older child in sight, the boy looked like he was alone. He wiped at his eyes repeatedly with the back of his hand, his lips were fixed in a permanent, trembling frown, and his dark eyes were darting back and forth, peering into the crowds of happy families, searching for someone. And second, the boy looked Tevinter origin. The name ‘Cremisius’ on the back of his soccer club t-shirt, revealed as the boy twisted around to look to one side, further confirmed Dorian’s suspicion of their shared heritage.

A spike of longing pierced through Dorian at the thought of his homeland, of the Summerday festivals of his childhood in the humid Tevinter summers. He remembered sticky caramel stuck in his teeth, the heavy aroma of slow roasting meat in the air, the croon of the song of street performers, and the allure of a small wooden duck on little wheels, sitting in the vendor’s stall and tempting Dorian with its bright yellow paint and shiny blue marble eyes.

Shaking off his memories, Dorian walked up to the boy, Cremisius, whose dark eyes turned upward at Dorian with the glint of the harsh sun reflecting off of their watery sheen.

“Are you lost?” Dorian asked, keeping his voice even and friendly, not entirely sure how he should speak to a child he didn’t know.

The boy drew himself up from his protective crouch immediately, his little hands were balled into fists, the tremble in his lips was suddenly gone and he boldly furrowed his brow at Dorian.

“No,” the boy declared with absolute resolve, “and I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Oh,” Dorian started, then paused to take a breath.

Leaning against the other side of the doorway, Dorian looked out into the throng of people, the population of Skyhold was diverse, but it still felt stiflingly exclusive. Dorian could have been a Qunari and be more warmly accepted by the city’s people than as an unapologetic human mage from Tevinter.

“My name is Dorian and I’m lost,” Dorian said, his eyes still fixed on the meandering people.

It was true, he became separated from his friend, Ellana, and her family and had yet to find them, despite her vague text messages of ‘We’re by the place with the deep-fried candy bars,’ as if there were not twenty such stands. With her husband Cullen and three children in tow, Dorian imagined that the group did not stay in one place for long.

“I got separated from my friend, Ellana,” Dorian explained, “and now she will surely yell at me for causing her grief.”

Cremisius blinked up at Dorian and curiosity got the better of him, causing him to ask, “You’re a grownup, how can you be lost?”

“It’s very easy to become lost as an adult,” Dorian assured the boy, though he quickly questioned if such a sentiment might bring the child any comfort. Still, he continued to fill the silence, “I was supposed to stay within Ellana’s sight, but I wandered off and now I don’t know where she is. She’s the one who brought me here, so I need to get back to her to go back home since I live outside of the city.”

The boy scuffed his small red sneakers against the concrete stoop, his shoelaces were shockingly blue and his brown shorts showed off a bright pink band aid on his knee adorned by tiny nugs. “My dad won’t yell at me. He never gets angry at me, even when I make a mistake or break a rule.”

For some reason, Dorian was unreasonably pleased to hear that. “Then you are quite fortunate. I am sure Ellana will grab me by the ear and drag me away, and I most assuredly won’t get that ice cream cone I wanted. But what am I to expect after disobeying her instructions?”

“Are you bad a lot?”

That simple question tore into something deep, old, and only half healed. Dorian shifted, “I’m often told that I am and that I am a deviant.”

His statement seemed to strike a nerve in the boy as his face crumpled into a scowl and he crossed his skinny arms in a huff, but his ire wasn’t directed at Dorian. “People said that to me, but my dad says that I’m not. He says just because I’m different, that doesn’t mean I’m bad.”

A small smile made its way onto Dorian’s face. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”

“He is! And I bet you're not bad all the time, I don’t think you act bad,” Cremisius said passionately.

“Unfortunately, not many people share your superior opinion of me,” Dorian lamented, he kept his tone light, but the words felt heavy on his tongue. “I’ve often been called a deviant due to my behavior and because I am different.”

“People who say that are stupid!”

Dorian chuckled softly and warmth bloomed in his chest, oddly refreshed by the boy’s earnest insistence. “Well, it seems that wisdom runs in your family.”

He beamed up at Dorian, his grin was large and toothy. “I hope so, I wanna be just like my dad!”

A sharp barb was caught in Dorian’s heart, he remembered having such sentiments before. He managed to keep a smile. “It sounds like your father is a worthy role model.”

“He’s the best dad! People think he’s scary, because he’s big and tall and has scars, but he’s not scary at all. He’s the nicest, smartest person ever!” The boy’s grin got even bigger, but it disappeared as he seemed to remember his predicament. “I wandered off too, that’s why I’m not with my dad,” Cremisius confessed, kicking at an invisible rock with his shoe.

“Do you know your father’s cell phone number? You can use my phone to call him.”

The child brightened considerably, “That’s a great idea!”

His hands, sticky from sugar and smudged with cheap and colorful paints, reached up as Dorian took out his phone and unlocked it for the boy. Dorian didn’t need to explain how to use the phone, the boy instantly knew and was quickly poking at the screen to dial in the numbers. The phone was nearly the length of the boy’s face as he held up to his ear, his smile transforming into a frown at each shrill of the ring.

“Dad, it’s Krem! Pick up the phone!” he snapped at the voicemail with renewed frustration, fresh tears formed in his eyes, but stubbornly refused to fall. Cremisius held the phone back up to Dorian and needlessly explained, “He didn’t pick up.”

That wasn’t surprising considering the noise of the festival and the panic that the boy’s father must be experiencing, it would be easy to miss the phone’s ring or vibration.

“I’ll leave my phone out in case he calls back,” Dorian promised as he turned up the volume on his phone.

Cremisius bobbed his head in agreement as his forehead creased in thought and his previous distress was quickly forgotten. Squinting at the people and craning his head up, he declared, “I can’t see anything! If I could get somewhere high, I bet I could find my dad! He’s real tall, so he’ll stick out.”

After a couple of seconds of internal debate, Dorian knelt on the ground and motioned to his shoulders. “Hop on, let’s see if we can spot your father.”

Soon, tiny feet were digging painfully into his spine as Cremisius scrambled up Dorian’s back and swung his short legs over Dorian’s shoulders, his small hands clung onto Dorian’s head and undoubtedly ruined his perfectly styled hair. Moving carefully and making sure the boy was well balanced on his shoulders, Dorian stood up, giving the child a better view of the festival. Unsatisfied with the singular view, Cremisius commanded Dorian to move left to right, commands that Dorian found himself obeying without protest.

“There he is!” Cremisius suddenly cried, pointing to the left. “There’s my dad! The one with the horns!”

Dorian looked in the direction the boy was pointing to and was startled to see a one-eyed Qunari about a dozen feet away, with a scarred face, wide horns, and was at least a head taller than the rest of the festival attendees. The Qunari’s head moved back and forth, his single blue eye sweeping the crowd before settling into a rather shocked expression at the sight of the boy on Dorian’s shoulders.

Cremisius was busy climbing down, not waiting for Dorian to help him, and promptly vanished into the sea of people before Dorian could utter a word. Panic seized him as the child disappeared, but it was quickly alleviated when he spotted the Qunari’s face lit up and he suddenly swung Cremisius up in his muscular arms with a bright and kind smile. Dorian’s eyes lingered on that smile and his whole being ached.

There was something so utterly charming about the sight of Cremisius reunited with his father. Even though he was nothing like Dorian imagined, Dorian found the sight of him rather magnetic. All of the sweet and admiring things Cremisius said about his father was a lovely juxtaposition to the tough look of the Qunari. The man intrigued Dorian in more ways than one.

Then Cremisius pointed in Dorian’s direction and that ache turned into embarrassment and a prickle of apprehension. His previous concern over being a Tevinter mage seen with a child returned in force, especially when the father wasn’t one of his countrymen, but quite the opposite. Dorian would have liked to have disappeared into the crowd, but the Qunari made quick work of the distance between them with his long legs.

With Cremisius in one arm, the Qunari reached for Dorian with his free one. The act happened so quickly that Dorian couldn’t react until he found his face pressed against the bare skin of the Qunari’s chest and wrapped securely in an embrace.

While the Qunari had the decency to wear a tank top, Dorian managed to faceplant into the area where the shirt cut off, much to his horror and embarrassment. He was in such close proximity to the stranger that Dorian could make a decent guess about his brand of soap, which Dorian actually rather liked. A lot. And the grey skin under his cheek was smooth and warm, but Dorian’s face felt even hotter, especially as he found himself thinking about how that one arm could easily pin him down.

“Thank you,” the Qunari’s voice rumbled, the vibrations going through Dorian’s body. “Thank you for helping my son.”

Then Dorian was released from the embrace, allowing him to stumble back a step and try to regain some dignity. But the illusion of any dignity shattered the moment the Qunari reached out and smoothed down Dorian’s hair. His heart annoyingly fluttered at the gesture.

“Sorry, dad habit,” the Qunari instantly withdrew his hand with a nervous laugh.

“Uh, yes, don’t worry yourself about it,” Dorian insisted, unsure if he still wanted to flee or to be back in the Qunari’s strangely comforting grip. “I’m Dorian, by the way.”

He held out his hand and it was immediately engulfed in a firm and warm handshake.

“The Iron Bull, but you can just call me Bull. And thanks, again, I really can’t thank you enough.”

“Dad,” Cremisius chirped, “Dorian is lost too. We need to help him find his girlfriend or she won’t get him ice cream.”

“No ice cream, huh?” There was laughter in Bull’s voice.

“Ellana is just a friend,” Dorian found himself correcting them rather quickly and earnestly, wanting to make sure there was no misunderstanding. “I came here with her, her husband, and their children.”

“Oh?” Bull smiled. His single eye moved up and down, not so subtly examining Dorian’s hands and the lack of rings on his fingers. “You’ve got someone waiting for you at home then?”

“Just my cat, Archon,” Dorian admitted. Seeing no ring on Bull’s fingers and no partner at his side nor a mention from Cremisius about another parent, Dorian dared to say, “My friend did promise me ice cream, but I don’t mind if someone else takes me.”

That was probably the lamest opening Dorian ever presented, it was actually rather humiliating. But perhaps the Iron Bull was used to such lame attempts at flirting, maybe being a father meant that he was out of practice and willing to take what he could get, because a huge grin broke out across the other man’s face. Not the kind of grin one might have before hurling insults, Dorian was used to that, but the genuine kind when one was happy to seize at an offering.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of the crowd. There’s a shop a block from here, they’re open all day, we’d love to take you,” Bull suggested as Cremisius gave an enthusiastic cheer of agreement. “I think I owe you several sundaes for helping out Krem.”

Dorian lifted an eyebrow, “I don’t think I could eat several sundaes.”

Bull grinned again, it softened the harshness of his scars and the starkness of his eyepatch, making him very nearly handsome. There was such an expression of openness and acceptance that Dorian just wanted to sink into let, wrap it around himself, and never let go. He wished that others would look at him with half of the easy acceptance that Bull did.

“I suppose I’ll have to take you out again and again.”

Dorian smiled, flattered.

“I suppose you will.”

Chapter Text

Dorian’s eyes were dry and gritty as his eyelids fluttered open. His eyelashes dragged against the dirty, rough blindfold tied tightly over his face, keeping him in perpetual darkness. For long and disorienting seconds, Dorian remained on his back, unable to see anything, and with no idea why he woke up so suddenly. He was tempted to close his eyes again to force himself back to sleep and away from the misery that his existence was narrowed down to, but the noises that reached his ears were far too alarming.

Straining against the coarse bonds that kept his wrists tied in front of him and the chains that shackled his ankles together, Dorian struggled to rise from the wooden bed of the supply wagon he was thrown in. But his body was too weak and tired, too abused and drugged for the movement, and he was resigned to lay there and listen.

There was the screech of panicked yelling that rang in his ears, along with the high twang of the metallic clash of swords. There was an accompaniment of a rush of magic, the whoosh of fire and crack of lightning that Dorian could both hear and feel, the Fade prickling across his skin in goosebumps. Dorian bit down on the thick rag between his teeth, longing to reach for the Fade and draw it to him, but his magic was stifled by the thick collar around his neck and the bitter taste of magebane across his tongue.

It had to be an ambush, Dorian thought, keeping himself deathly still and silent. His captors would have never willingly risked launching an attack so close to their precious cargo. He wondered who could be attacking the Venatori with such force. Not mere bandits, Dorian concluded, as he had heard enough of them cut down by the disciplined cult members.

As the fighting waged on around him and terrified of what the near future may bring him, Dorian allowed himself a brief and quiet fantasy of being saved by mercenaries hired by Maevaris or Felix. Of dashing and roguish men cutting down the Venatori in waves, all with the hopes of rescuing Dorian.

Great, now I’m delusional.

At least there was the stench of burnt flesh and the copper tang of blood to keep him grounded in reality and to dispel his foolish thoughts. Dorian waited through the violence in the supply wagon, listening as the last lingering cries of pain and mercy, in both Common and Tevene, were finally silenced. Then there was the clamor of unfamiliar accents and voices, replacing the ones that Dorian had grown accustomed to during his captivity.

Dorian heart nearly stopped when he heard the scrape of crates and barrels being moved in a nearby cart. A new deep dread filled his body. There was a canvas stretched over the wagon that kept him hidden for the moment, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he was discovered and at the mercy of whomever attacked the caravan.

“Looks like Sister Nightingale’s information was correct, Chief. Several of these carts are filled with elven artifacts and tomes written in ancient Tevene,” an unfamiliar Tevinter voice reported crisply in Common, far too close for Dorian’s liking.

“I’ll have to thank Red for the tip,” a much deeper male voice chuckled, Dorian couldn’t place the accent. “This job was getting boring.”

“Never happy unless you’re hitting something,” the first voice complained and Dorian could almost hear what was surely the accompanying eye roll.

“Hey, you can’t tell me that you were having fun escorting a bunch of farmers through a swamp. Come on, let’s wrap this up and head back to Skyhold, the boss is going to like this.”

There was more rustling nearby, the sound of wood being dragged and items being tossed about, handled with little care. Dorian could picture a great deal of what was in those carts, priceless and ancient artifacts, amulets of great magical significance, and books that belonged on the shelves of the great libraries in the Imperium. Dorian nearly shuddered at the thought of mercenaries throwing the items around and selling them for a profit.

But Dorian had little time to worry about artifacts and books as he heard footsteps near his wagon. There was a heavy grunt and the stressed creak of wood as someone climbed into the back of wagon. Dorian’s jaw began to ache from clenching down on his gag, his teeth worrying the sour fabric in his mouth. While he nearly stopped breathing all together, Dorian was certain that the person in the cart could hear his heart thrumming in his chest.

Something was shoved out of the way, a crate or barrel tumbled out of the wagon with a loud thud. Then there was a sharp and shocked gasp of breath.

“Aw, fuck!” the deep voice from earlier exclaimed in distress, rattling Dorian to his bones. “Krem!” the voice barked. “Go get Stitches, now!”

The wagon shook as the man crawled forward and Dorian could not stop the tremble in his body. He didn’t know if this moment was his salvation or his doom, if he was to live to see the next day or if he was to be slaughtered at that moment, or worse. Large, rough hands gently cradled his face and soft words were spoken to him, though Dorian was in no state to understand anything that was being said. Those hands then moved to the back of his head, thick fingers fiddled with the knot of his gag before it was suddenly removed and Dorian felt like he could finally take a real breath of air.

“There, that’s better, right, big guy?” the man crooned in his deep and rumbling voice, much softer than it was before. “Now let’s get that blindfold off.”

Those fingers moved upward and pulled the blindfold over Dorian’s head, tugging on his ears and pulling his hair. Dorian blinked rapidly at the sudden flood of light into his eyes, watering from the sting and realization that he couldn’t remember the last time the Venatori bothered to take it off. But nothing came into focus, just blotches of light that brought him pain.

Blinking rapidly, Dorian’s lips quivered as panic began to grip him. “I can’t see,” he rasped quietly, his voice like sandpaper against soft wood. “I can’t see.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not permanent. Just give your eyes a moment to adjust, big guy.”

A hand petted his hair gently and with a kindness that made Dorian want to sob. The last kind touch Dorian could remember was the tight embrace Felix gave him as they met in secret at the outskirts of Redcliffe countless nights ago, less than a day before the Venatori caught Dorian camping in the hills. For a man who was stricken with the Blight, Felix found the strength to wrap his arms around Dorian and cling to him as if they would never meet again.

Which may very well be the case and the world, and time itself, might be doomed because of it.

That thought did make Dorian cry. A pitiful sob escaped from his lips as hot tears streamed down his useless eyes and a full body shake overtook him. For weeks the Venatori abused and tormented Dorian, neglected and starved him, and while he could not hold back his cries of pain, he did not give the Venatori the satisfaction of his tears. But just a simple touch, a moment of kindness and the memory his friend, made Dorian crumble.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” the voice said, the hand still petting his hair as the man shifted Dorian so his head was resting in his lap, pillowed against strong thighs and his tears soaking the fabric of sturdy pants. “Just let it out. No one is going to hurt you again. Our healer is going to help you and once you’re better we’re going to help you find your people.”

Dorian stopped fighting his sobs, letting them come out as his mind circled in a depressing manner. Who knew how much previous time was lost? Did Felix warn the Herald about Alexius’s trap? About the danger lurking in Redcliffe? About the dangerous time magic his former mentor was using?

After what seemed to be an eternity, the tears slowed down and Dorian’s sobs turned to quiet hiccups. Soon after he calmed down, the opening of a water skin was pressed gently to his dried and cracked lips. Without thinking, Dorian opened his mouth to take long swallows of the offered liquid.

“Easy there, big guy, take small sips so you don’t make yourself sick.”

Dorian struggled to obey, but the water was a welcomed relief that soothed his parched throat and filled his empty stomach. The water was tepid with the faint taste of leather, but there was no deathroot mixed into it, no magebane, or other herbs to weaken him. It was the first swallows of water that Dorian didn’t fear since his captivity.

The water skin was slowly taken away and a calloused thumb brushed away a drop of water that rolled from the corner of Dorian’s mouth, smearing the dampness across his cheek before it evaporated against his skin. Strong fingers carefully massaged at his oily scalp and a continuous stream of soft words brought Dorian the only comfort he had known in a long time. He laid there, soaking it in as they waited for the healer.

Long minutes stretched on and Dorian found that his blurred eyesight was coming into focus as promised.

“I think I can see again,” Dorian whispered, blinking rapidly in an effort to speed up the process.

“See, I told you it would be ok, sweetheart.”

The blotches of light began to form coherent shapes and colors, giving Dorian his first look at his prison and his rescuer. The first thing Dorian noticed was an excessive amount of grey and the widest set of horns he’d ever seen. It took awhile for Dorian’s sluggish brain to comprehend that the scarred and one-eyed face looking down at him with warmth and compassion was not human.

The proper emotion at that moment should have been fear, Dorian acknowledged, but instead hysteria bubbled up in him. Because short of the world ending, this was probably the single worst possible outcome.

Dorian was now in the custody of the blighted Qunari of all people.

“Oh,” Dorian slurred, feeling lightheaded and his tongue was suddenly thick in his mouth as laughter involuntarily forced up from his throat, “you’re much larger than my last captor.”

The Qunari warrior blinked in surprise at his statement and Dorian had the dramatic flair to faint.

Chapter Text

Dorian woke up too warm and in a half panic, he just barely managed to control himself before he woke up the Iron Bull. He wasn’t good at sharing a bed, he did it so rarely that he got too sweaty from the shared heat, startled at every shift and noise, and his body tensed as if it was preparing to flee at any moment.

For all the times they tumbled into bed together, Dorian had yet to actually spend the night. He didn’t mean to fall asleep in Bull’s bed, but the other man had taken particular care that night to fuck him senseless. Honestly, after four orgasms wretched from his body, there was little else Dorian could do but to pass out as Bull cleaned him up.

Managing to scoot away from the oppressive heart rolling off of Bull, Dorian’s body cooled to a comfortable temperature, enough so that he started to gravitate back towards Bull. Dorian laid in bed for a few moments in the dark, staring up at the gaping hole in the ceiling and listening to Bull’s deep, even breathing and the occasional snort and snore. The sound nearly lulled Dorian back to sleep, but he knew better of it and blinked hard to clear the comfortable fog of sleepiness. Bull was kind to him and was a more than generous lover, but Dorian didn’t want to wait around for Bull to ask him to leave in the morning.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and the moonlight trickling in through the ceiling, Dorian could easily see Bull’s face lax in sleep when he propped himself up on an elbow. He looked oddly naked without his eyepatch, in stark contrast to earlier that night when Bull was far too confident for his own good. Dorian recalled Bull’s smug grin as he took Dorian apart over and over again, as he touched Dorian like he was something to be worshipped and kissed him like he was someone precious.

Dorian sighed to himself and shook his head at his own foolishness.

Without thinking about it, Dorian touched Bull’s cheek, his fingers brushing over rough stubble and warm skin. Then he leaned down, lightly kissing Bull’s forehead before getting out of the bed to gather his clothes off of the floor. The cold air of the room hit Dorian hard, goosebumps broke out across his skin, but Dorian was stubborn enough to ignore it.

“Stay.”

The raspy whisper almost caused Dorian to jump out of his skin.

“Stay,” the Iron Bull repeated. “I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning.”

Dorian slowly turned around to look at Bull, clutching his robes in his hands. Bull was still sprawled out on his back and his eye closed, but with a small smile on his lips.

“Why?”

Bull’s voice was sleepy, but clear. “Because I want to find out how much sugar you put in your porridge, if you put milk in your coffee, and if you prefer ham or sausages.”

“Why?” Dorian repeated, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Because then I'd know how you take your breakfast.”

“I can’t sleep, you’re too warm,” he objected uselessly even as he shivered in the cold of the room.

Bull finally opened his eye, propping himself up on his elbow. “That’s rich coming from you,” he teased and patted the empty spot on the mattress. “Stay, because I want you to.”

Dorian swallowed, barely noticing as his robes slipped from his hands, and climbed back into the bed.

Chapter Text

Pain consumed the Iron Bull’s world as he woke up, sprawled out naked on a bed and the morning sun warming his skin. A steady dull throb of his head convinced him that he had been poisoned until reason slowly asserted itself and reminded him that he was the one who poisoned himself.

Bull sat at the bar with his fourth pint of beer curled in his hand and a frown staring up at him from the reflection of the amber liquid. A hand, a mixture of softness and callouses, cupped his shoulder as a Tevene accented voice asked, “What’s wrong? You look rather put out, is it because I’m not dancing tonight?”

A smile spread on full lips, little crinkles circled silver eyes filled with seduction and mischief. Dorian Arida was in admittedly more clothes Bull had ever seen him in during their short acquaintance, but he was stunning. The dancer looked beautiful wrapped in teal robes that brought out his eyes, but it did nothing to lift Bull’s spirits.

“Tomorrow is my last day in Val Royeaux,” Bull lamented. “My job’s done with and my men and I are leaving for work further north.”

It wasn’t the first time Bull left a lover after a job and there was always twinge of disappointment, but nowhere near the current melancholy he was in.

Those little crinkles around pretty eyes instantly disappeared, but the smile stayed firmly in place. “Well, then we’d best make the most of our last night together.” An elegant hand waved down the bartender. “A bottle of wine please, my usual. Leave the cork in.”

“Make it five,” Bull corrected.

Bull let out an agonizing groan. His eye was dry and crusty, making it feel like sand was scraping his eyeball as he pried open his lids, which he immediately regretted. The single window in the room faced a full east and a flood of summer sunlight brightened the space and blinded Bull’s single eye, causing the dull throb in his head to turn into a stab of agony.

His mouth was dry and tasted like stale cheap wine and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His lips were swollen and chapped, stinging slightly as he licked his lips, and his jaw ached at the motion. It seemed that there wasn’t a part of Bull that wasn’t in some sort of pain. Except for his left arm, which was numb under the weight of his bed partner.

Dorian was cuddled up to his side, his head cradled on Bull’s shoulder, and puffs of breath dragging across Bull’s skin. The blanket was wrapped around him, falling just below his shoulder and obscuring a large bite mark. Unconsciously, Bull grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it up over Dorian’s shoulder just as Bull’s heart unexpectedly skipped a beat and something both sharp and gentle caught in his chest. For all the time he spent in Dorian’s bed in the past week, he never actually saw Dorian sleep, nor did he ever see Dorian without his mask of seduction and aloofness.

The carefully lined kohl around Dorian’s silver eyes was smeared away, the light gold powder that had graced his cheekbones was mostly on the pillow, and the glossy sheen on his lips had long been kissed off. His carefully styled hair and mustache were in disarray, most of the product in his hair was gone, and his dark locks were beginning to curl. Bull liked the look on Dorian, a lot. If he had the strength or if his dick wasn’t sore from overstimulation, Bull would have been tempted to wake the man up for another round.

Bull rubbed at his eye, wiping away the bits of crust, and slowly untangled himself from Dorian, careful not to jostle him too much. He sat up, which only served to increase his aches and a sudden rush of pins and needles attacked his once numb limb once it was free of Dorian’s weight. But pins and needles in his arm were the least of Bull’s worries as he also felt a metal object slide around on his chest as he moved. Furrowing his brow, Bull looked down and found a silverite ring attached to a fine and sturdy white gold chain around his neck that wasn’t there previously.

Closing his eye, Bull tried to remember the night before. He remembered leaving the bar with Dorian, laden with multiple bottles of wine, but that was about it. He did have a vague impression of going out again, the echo of their unsteady steps in an alleyway, the heavy dampness in the air from an oncoming summer thunderstorm, and Dorian’s strong shoulders under his arm. He couldn’t quite grasp the memory, couldn’t figure out why they were out, the only thing he could clearly recall was Dorian’s laughter.

“Maker, what are we doing? Are we really doing this?” A full laugh rang out and sent a pleasant shiver down Bull’s spine. “We’re doing this, we really are.”

Looking back down at the ring on the chain around his neck, Bull suddenly thought to check Dorian’s left hand and saw a matching ring gracing one of his slender fingers. It took far too long for it to process in his mind and when it did, Bull’s lungs squeezed in panic.

Sometime the night before, the Iron Bull married a dancer he knew for barely a week.

What the fuck was he going to do with a dancer?

I don’t need to figure it out, because Krem will kill me before we even hit the road, Bull thought with a surge of mania and had to clench his jaw to keep from laughing aloud.

“Chief, no.”

Those were Krem’s exact words when Bull first saw Dorian at the bar the Chargers visited the first night of the job, released from their guard duty for high level negotiations for the evening. Dorian, who, with the slightest hesitation, introduced himself as Dorian Arida, was dressed only in silk blue pants and black dancing slippers.

Bull didn’t listen.

Dorian slowly woke up as Bull thought of all the ways that Krem might murder him. The other man stretched his limbs and a smile curled under his mustache, his silver eyes looking up at Bull through long dark lashes.

“Good morning, amatus,” he said around a yawn.

Bull was rusty on his Tevene, but he was confident Dorian just called him love.

“What’s with that expression?” Dorian asked as he sat up, sounding rather bright and chipper, and then he answered his own question, “Ah, probably hungover, we did indulge quite a bit last night, didn’t we? Let me make us some coffee and a little something to eat.”

The thought of food made Bull’s stomach turn, but he didn’t protest as Dorian rose from the bed, revealing the bites and bruises Bull had pressed into his skin the night before. Bull had a moment to admire his work before Dorian grabbed a dark cotton robe hanging off the headboard and wrapped himself in it before moving towards the tiny kitchen area in the corner of the room.

Huffing in disappointment, Bull took in his surroundings. It was the first time Bull really looked at the single room Dorian rented. The space was well lived in with small items were scattered all over various surfaces. Cosmetics and piles of books lined the top of a dresser, a wash basin and more cosmetics occupied the short kitchen counter, and a pile of laundry sat on the small dining table with a sewing kit. A pair of Dorian’s dancing pants and his serving uniform for the bar sat in the pile of mending, things that Bull tore previously in the week. The bed was the main piece of furniture in the room and Bull observed, with no small amount of guilt as he rubbed one of his horns, that there were fresh scratches in the headboard and more than one torn pillowcase.

He caught sight of a jewelry box on the nightstand and an odd sense of deja vu overcame Bull as a stray memory floated in his mind.

Dorian was digging around the jewelry box, the sound of metal soft clinking filled Bull’s ears as something small and circular dug into the palm of his clenched hand.

Pulling an ornate and peculiar looking amulet from the box, Dorian looked at warily. Then he let out a snort, “I don’t need this thing anymore.” He removed the amulet from its white gold chain before holding the delicate necklace out to Bull.

Touching the necklace around his neck, Bull wondered what kind of amulet was attached to it before.

“We’ll get you something stronger later,” Dorian said, catching Bull’s gesture. “I can’t imagine that little chain will last long with the kind of work you do. It’s a shame that we couldn’t find a ring that would fit you, amatus.” Dorian made his way back to the bed in a few long strides and kneeled next to Bull, taking Bull’s left hand with the stubs of his fingers and placed a tender kiss on what was left of his ring finger.

Bull just swallowed down the lump in his throat and watched as Dorian rolled off the bed and moved towards the kitchen again. He took in the shape of Dorian’s long limbs and how wonderfully debauched he looked in the morning.

“I only have bread to offer you,” Dorian explained as he started slicing into half a loaf after lighting a fire in the tiny cast iron stove. “I didn’t work yesterday so I couldn’t get any leftovers from the cook, but I think toast will do fine considering the night we had, hm? I believe I have just enough coffee for the two of us, though it might be a touch weak.”

Dry toast and coffee were served to Bull in bed in chipped dishes, and Dorian didn’t offer any jam and butter to go with the toast or any milk for the coffee. Dorian sat cross legged on the bed next to Bull, balancing his plate on one knee, holding his cup of coffee, and his robe hung open in a rather distracting manner.

“This is a rather inelegant meal for our first breakfast as a married couple,” Dorian observed lightly, sipping on the watery coffee like it was a high-end tea and nibbling on his toast. “I’ll give you something better to eat next time, amatus,” Dorian promised with a filthy grin.

“You haven’t disappointed before,” Bull returned the grin, thinking about how Dorian tasted, and his hand automatically slid inside of the robe, reaching between Dorian’s legs.

“None of that!” Dorian smacked Bull’s hand playfully. “We have no time for that today, but I promise to make it up to you later. I need to pack first.” Dorian bounded off the bed, completely forgetting his breakfast and opened the top drawer of his dresser. “Maker, what does one pack when he’s the husband of a mercenary captain? I suppose I won’t need these anymore.”

A pair of billowy, pale blue, silk pants were thrown out of the drawer, the same pair that Bull first saw Dorian in.

“Hey, whoa, let’s not get crazy here!” Bull protested. “You’d definitely need those.”

Dorian turned his head towards Bull and scrunched up his nose in that adorable way Bull liked. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Bull nodded solemnly.

A coy smile spread over Dorian’s face. “I guess it won’t be all work.”

Dorian picked up the pants from where he threw them on the floor and laid them on the bed, as if to save them later. A small frown formed on Dorian’s features as he also picked up teal robes and a supple leather belt from the floor. The belt was a total loss as the leather was torn and there were several missing buttons and tears in the fabric.

“I might be able to salvage this,” Dorian murmured to himself.

“I’ll replace them,” Bull promised, he couldn’t remember destroying the pretty robes the night before, but a teal thread caught in one of his long nails proved his guilt.

Dorian’s head jerked up as if he had forgotten that Bull was there. “I suppose now I have a husband to shower me with gifts,” he brightened up. “You’ll have to save your coin to buy me another set of robes, but I’ll let you choose the color.” He scrunched up his nose again and Bull had to resist the urge to kiss it. “Within reason. I know you have a terrible fondness for pink, amatus.”

Bull figured he had enough money to buy Dorian a new wardrobe, which, by the things Dorian was pulling his dresser to pack, he would have to if he was going to take Dorian with him. There were several shirts and tunics that must have been considered nice once, but they were worn and carefully mended, and many trousers in the same condition. There were no other sets of pretty robes and the only other things Dorian had to add to the pile were more pairs of his dancing pants, socks, and underwear.

What was he going to do with a dancer? Bull bit back a sigh as Krem’s angry face floated up in his mind.

But he did have to admit that Dorian did have a delightful variety of smalls that just the sight of them made Bull hard again. They were in different colors, some were silky to the touch, others made of lace, and one pair was a lovely shade of pink and trimmed with satin.

“This will not do for a life on the road,” Dorian sighed and moved towards the closet, the door right off the foot of the bed. Digging into the small space, he took out a couple of cloaks and sets of winter clothing that were more appropriate.

Looking at his options, Dorian shifted his weight from foot to foot and said, “If you lend me the money to purchase some sturdier clothing, I promise to work it off. I can do more than dance and take drink orders.”

A sense of relief crashed over Bull when Dorian brought up the topic. “What can you do?” he asked evenly.

There was a beat of hesitation. “I’m decent at alchemy, I can mix an excellent healing potion, and someone taught me how to make a grenade using bees, though it’s really best not to ask about that. I’m educated and I can read, write, and more than capable with arithmetic. A lot of the dancers and servers have me count their earnings and tips to make sure the owner doesn’t stiff them. I’m also pretty good at mending clothes and know how to set up and break down a camp.”

That was better than nothing, Bull thought. Stitches could use an assistant, if Dorian wasn’t squeamish about blood, and Rocky might like learning about that bee grenade thing. If Dorian could read and write, then he might be able to help some of the boys who couldn’t so they could write letters home. Though he seriously doubted Krem would let Dorian anywhere near their accounting books or wages.

“What about cooking?”

There was another little delightful scrunch of Dorian’s nose. This time Bull didn’t resist the urge to kiss it, earning him a small laugh and smile.

“I would not put you through my cooking, amatus.”

“I don’t know, you toast a nice piece of bread.”

Dorian snorted, but his lips twitched upward. “That’s all I would subject you to and we’ll leave it at that.”

Dorian disappeared back into the little closet, presumably sorting out what to take with him and Bull closed his eye, desperately trying to remember the night before. Leaning against the headboard, Bull suddenly recalled the feel of the headboard on his back and Dorian bouncing on his lap, his arms and legs wrapped around Bull as Bull babbled all sorts of drunken things.

“Oh fuck, don’t wanna leave you, sweetheart, don’t wanna ever leave this fucking tight body of yours,” Bull declared, his words slurring together.

“Well, aren’t you a romantic?” Dorian laughed breathlessly, his cheeks glowed with the exertion and alcohol.

“Yeah, I am,” Bull replied, he rolled his hips upward and Dorian’s breath hitch pleasantly in Bull’s ear. “Come with me when I leave.”

Dorian’s arms tightened and he pressed his face into Bull’s neck, but he didn’t say anything.

The memory left Bull feeling oddly ashamed of himself. He wondered what kinds of things he promised Dorian in the heat of the moment and he wondered what possessed him to do so. He liked Dorian, he knew that much. He thought Dorian was pretty, he liked the way Dorian laughed, his wit, and the little expressions he made when he thought no one was looking.

Sighing loudly, Dorian flopped down on his stomach onto the bed, his robe hitching up provocatively and another memory from the previous night washed over Bull.

Dorian was sprawled out on his belly on the bed, moaning into his pillow as Bull leaned over Dorian, worrying a bite into the perfect skin of his shoulder. He didn’t want to leave the next day, he didn’t want to leave Dorian behind. He was a fine bed partner, a great drinking buddy, a sharp and funny companion, and Bull didn’t want to let go.

As he nuzzled Dorian’s long neck, Bull’s alcohol muddled mind reached for what kadan might mean in Common.

“Husband,” was what popped into Bull’s mind and apparently out of his mouth. “My husband. Be my husband.”

And Dorian, with a smile curling under his mustache, whispered, “Yes.”

“Maker, there is so much to do in one day!” Dorian complained, jarring Bull out of his foggy memories. “I need to write to my friends to announce my nuptials, give notice to my landlord about my departure, and quit my job, which will be a great pleasure. My friends will be most dismayed for not being invited, but I’m sure they’ll be understanding.”

As Bull forced himself to be realistic, he knew he couldn’t let this go on for much longer. There was a large and purely selfish part of him that wanted to take Dorian with him. He wanted Dorian to travel with him, to listen and laugh at Bull’s stories, to bicker with him, and keep him company at night. But he knew that would hardly be fair to Dorian. The life of a mercenary was hard work and being on the road grew old fast for those unused to it. It was a dangerous life, not one for a dancer from the city.

And beyond being a glorified servant for the camp, Bull couldn’t imagine what Dorian would do while traveling with the Chargers besides warm Bull’s bedroll. Though that last thought was awfully appealing, and heat curled in the pit of Bull’s stomach at the image of him coming into his tent and Dorian lying on his bedroll, hot and needy for him.

Pushing aside that tempting thought, Bull cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, about that. Before you go quitting your job …” Bull trailed off as Dorian’s expression completely shifted.

There wasn’t any anger or shock, but just quiet disappointment on Dorian’s face. It struck Bull that someone as pretty as Dorian must receive several offers to be taken away, though they were probably not serious, or they were ones that had strings attached. It was strange then, that Dorian would have agreed to marry him, even as drunk as they both were last night.

Stranger still, was the ease in which Bull thought of Dorian as his kadan.

“Ah, yes,” Dorian straightened up, his smile still on his face, but those lines that crinkled happily along his eyes were gone. He twisted the ring on his finger. “I have gotten carried away, haven’t I? I do like to prattle on. It was a nice little fantasy while it lasted, yes? The dashing mercenary who sweeps a beautiful dancer off his feet to live happily ever after, but our lives don’t work out that way, do they?”

Bull could hardly stand to look at Dorian, knowing that he caused that fake smile.

“I will admit to being fonder of you than I should, you do have a magnificent cock and you certainly know how to use it. Oh, and here, I do believe you paid for this last night.” Dorian’s voice was painfully casual as he pulled off his ring and pressed it into Bull’s palm, though his last words were quieter as he added, “I will notice that you’re gone.”

“Why did you agree to it?” Bull asked, suddenly needing to know, but regretting the question instantly at the way Dorian’s face crumpled before quickly becoming mildly pleasant again.

“Besides we were both terribly drunk? It’s a stupid reason,” Dorian said reluctantly, but he continued. “When was it? The second, no, third time we slept together, I said that watchword you gave me, and you stopped. You stopped, like you really didn’t want to hurt me, like you cared about me and ... Well, it’s all terribly sentimental, it’s best not to bring it up again.”

Bull blinked and stared at Dorian before it sank in.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Bull wasn’t sure if he meant back when Dorian said the watchword, because Bull was pulling on his hair too hard, or if he meant right at that moment. Probably both.

“I know.” The words cracked painfully, and Dorian turned away, occupying himself with putting his clothes away.

He should leave, Bull thought as he turned his head away to look out the window, Dorian’s ring in his hand. Then something caught his eye. The curtains drew Bull in, a soft patterned grey curtain that was singed and stained with the remnants of fire and smoke.

It knocked a memory loose from Bull’s brain.

Dorian was laid out on his back, his legs sprawled on either side of Bull’s waist as Bull pounded mercilessly into Dorian. He was stretched over the length of Dorian’s body and pinning his hands above his head so he couldn’t touch himself.

“Please, please touch me, please, oh Maker, Bull, I need you, please,” Dorian babbled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he tried to thrust his hips up to gain any friction against his poor neglected cock.

“Come on, come on, you can do it,” Bull growled and must have shifted his next thrust in just the right way, because Dorian came with a loud and devastating wail, without ever being touched. Right at the same time, the curtains burst into flames.

Bull opened his mouth and blurted out, “You’re a mage!”

Dorian nearly flinched and turned to face Bull with wide, panicked eyes, but Bull didn’t feel any of Dorian’s distress as excitement raced through his body.

“Are you any good? Are you trained at all? Are you experienced in combat?”

The panic disappeared from Dorian’s face as he straightened his back and looked both offended and regal despite his state of dress.

“I am a full ranking Enchanter,” Dorian declared firmly. “I am very good and a dangerous opponent in battle.”

An Enchanter. That was something Bull could work with, more so than half assed alchemy skills or fixing clothes. Even if Dorian wasn’t adept at combat, he could be kept safe on the backlines and Dalish could teach him how to cast a formidable barrier and to dispel traps and other enchantments. Or maybe he could use his magic to help Stitches. A mage had a place in a mercenary company and Bull convinced himself that it would be better for Dorian as an apostate to be on the move with people he could trust rather than living alone in a city crawling with Templars. He wouldn’t be putting Dorian in anymore danger than he was already in, he’d be safer in fact.

Bull could convince Krem that this was a good idea, he was sure of it.

All the guilt and reservations Bull once held at the thought of taking Dorian away from Val Royeaux were instantly gone. He got up, grabbed Dorian’s hand and giving him back his ring. Then he snatched up Dorian’s bag and started shoving the remaining clothes laid out on the bed into it.

“We’ve got a lot to do,” Bull reminded Dorian. “We need to get you new gear, get your affairs wrapped up, and then I’ll introduce you to my men.”

Dorian froze up, his eyes questioning as his hand clutched the ring in a tight grip. “You want me to go with you?” his voice thick with disbelief.

“Of course! We’re married, right?” Bull leaned over, closing the gap between them with a kiss.

A smirk pulled on Dorian’s lips, “Yes, we are.”

The sun was beginning to set when Bull finally made his way to where he had instructed his men to camp outside of the city. The Chargers had enjoyed a whole week of hotels and soft beds, but Bull knew that they would have a better start the next morning if they were already out of the city. Tents were erected and fires were already roaring as the Chargers were getting settled in for the night.

Bull carried Dorian’s bag slung over one shoulder, considerably heavier with new travel clothes packed in with more delicate pieces, and his free arm draped over Dorian’s shoulders.

“Your men look like a charming bunch,” Dorian said brightly as the camp came into sight.

“They’re going to love you.”

“Your second did not seem to approve of me before,” Dorian countered lightly.

“Give Krem time. He’s used to being my only vint, it’ll take a bit for him to adjust. Hey, kadan,” Bull suddenly stopped, Dorian forced to stop as well, still in Bull’s grasp. “What’s your real name?”

“You called me that a few times last night, that word, kadan,” Dorian said, instantly changing the topic. “I thought it might be someone else’s name, but ...”

Dorian was sprawled out on top of Bull, his weight comfortable on Bull’s chest and his head resting under Bull’s chin. He ran his fingers through Dorian’s hair, waiting patiently for Dorian to recover so they could go another round. But Bull didn’t mind waiting, his alcohol fuzzy mind appreciated the quiet and he honestly just liked cuddling with Dorian.

“Kadan,” Bull mumbled.

“Who is kadan?” Dorian asked quietly, almost timidly.

“You.”

Bull kissed the top of Dorian’s head. “The literal translation is ‘where the heart lies.’ My heart.”

“Oh,” Dorian’s voice was faint, but pleased.

“So, are you going to answer my question? I bet it’s your family name that’s different,” Bull hazard a guess.

“Does it matter?”

“Nah, it doesn’t,” Bull agreed with a lopsided smile.

Krem emerged from the camp, standing on the outskirts with his arms folded and his eyes on Dorian. There was a look of disbelief and exasperation on his features as he shifted his glare to Bull. But Bull was sure he’d be able to persuade Krem that this was a good idea, that Dorian belonged with the Chargers, and he was equally sure Dorian would be able to charm his lieutenant. As a married man, Bull felt rather optimistic about the future.

“Anyway, you should change your name now that we’re married! Dorian Bull? Dorian Iron Bull? Or maybe a play on the Bull’s Chargers, you could be the Bull’s Kadan! What do you think? Dorian? Dorian?”

The Chantry sister looked tired, her robes hastily thrown on and her hair sticking out from under her habit, but she also appeared thoroughly amused at the pair who stumbled into her Chantry in the middle of the night. The Chantry was dark except for the soft glow of candlelight casting long shadows and Bull thought Dorian looked amazing in the light. His face was aglow with a flush, hair somewhat orderly, and his teal robes haphazardly thrown on. Bull had to ball his hands into fist to prevent himself from tearing off Dorian’s clothes right then and there.

“Do you, Dorian Arida, take the Iron Bull as your husband?” the sister asked Dorian.

“I do,” Dorian beamed, and his smile was bright even as he had to prop himself up on a column to stay upright.

“Do you, the Iron Bull—”

Bull felt almost jittery with a rush of excitement and impatience over the whole exercise. He just wanted Dorian to be his kadan, to leave with him in the morning. Before the Chantry sister could finish, Bull blurted out his enthusiastic answer.

“Fuck, yeah!”

Chapter Text

“I’m not asking you if you love me, just if you can,” Dorian explained. “I gave everything to Felix, knowing that he could never return it and knowing that he was going to die. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do it or else I might not have anything left.” He paused, taking a moment to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I understand if you can’t love me, especially with the way you were brought up in the Qun. If you can’t, I’ll go to Kirkwall to be under the protection of Mae’s friend, you won’t have to worry about me. But if you can …”

The Iron Bull shifted next to him, his hand reached up to Dorian’s face and brushed away a tear that Dorian didn’t notice rolling down his own cheek.

“Let me tell you something,” Bull started.

Dorian nodded silently.

“I told you that I left the Qun because of my men, but that isn’t the whole truth.” Bull’s expression twisted into something like longing. “At that time, I was with someone, the first relationship I ever really had. Her name was Ellana Lavellan, an elf that hired us once to protect her clan and then she just never left us alone. She’s a snarky rogue, stabs people so fast they hardly notice they’re dead, and she was ready to see the world beyond her clan. We started sleeping together and we just didn’t stop.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Laughing in agreement, Bull continued, “She was on that job with me, the one where Gatt asked me to sacrifice my men. She was at my side.”

Bull trailed off, looking away from Dorian.

“Lavellan was the one who told me to call the retreat. I knew if I didn’t, that I’d lose her too, and it was too much. I couldn’t give the Qun both the Chargers and Lavellan.” Bull exhaled loudly and managed a smile when Dorian laid his hand over his. “I called the retreat, because I couldn’t make that sacrifice. I loved her and my men too much.”

After a long stretch of silence, Dorian asked, “What happened to Lavellan?”

“In the end, I wasn’t what she needed,” Bull’s smile turned sad. “Now she’s married to a ridiculously handsome former Templar with great hair and they have four stupidly adorable kids. I’m happy for her, she needs someone like that in her life. So, to answer your question, yeah, I can love like that.”

The Iron Bull was like no one Dorian had ever been involved with and that was probably a good thing. Felix never approved of any of his lovers, but he liked Bull, and had all but given Dorian his blessings before he died. There was something in the Iron Bull that Felix saw, and Dorian could only guess at what it was. Perhaps it was his kindness or maybe it was Bull’s general concern for the wellbeing of others. Whatever it was, Felix obviously thought that Bull could make Dorian happy.

And surprisingly, Dorian thought so too.

He would never love someone like he loved Felix, but there was always something artificial about loving someone from afar, someone you’d never catch. That person would always remain perfect and unblemished by the complications of a relationship. But he knew he could have something real with Bull.

“I don’t know if I love you like that now,” Bull admitted, “but I do know that I want to be what you need. Now and forever.”

Dorian leaned against the Iron Bull, closing his eyes and soaking up his warmth. “You are. You are what I need, amatus.”

Lips brushed against Dorian’s forehead with a soft whisper of, “Kadan.”

Chapter Text

“Maevaris said this place is safe.”

The Iron Bull watched Dorian from the bed as the mage stood at the window, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the glass. Even without his usual makeup and styled hair, dressed in the muted tones of his travel robes, Dorian still looked like a young lord. It was problematic, though not as problematic as a Qunari traveling through Tevinter.

He should be tired after such a long day, Bull thought warily, observing as Dorian fidgeted, energy rolling off him in waves. He was continuously twisting the bracelet on his wrist, a cheap trinket Bull bought him at a street market. And his left leg bounced ceaselessly, squeaking the floorboard under his foot.

This could be a problem.

“This place seems pretty safe,” Bull conceded.

Liar.

“Maybe we can stay here for a couple of days and get some rest. It’s been a long journey.”

Bull leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The next stop is the border and then we still have a long way to go.”

Dorian closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Don’t remind me.”

“Hey,” Bull straightened up and held out his arms, beckoning Dorian to him. “Come here.”

The mage peeled himself away from the window and crossed the room, perching on Bull’s knee and leaning into his embrace. Dorian’s head rest against Bull’s, his breath coming in warm puffs on Bull’s cheek. Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I thought you’d be used to this,” Bull teased lightly. “You told me you’ve run away several times.”

“This is different, and you know it,” Dorian protested with a small laugh. “I rarely left the city when I disappeared, and I’ve never tried to flee Tevinter with the guard my father hired to keep me under his thumb. A Tal-Vashoth guard at that.”

“Do you regret it?” Bull asked quietly.

“Not at all, amatus, and I’ll tell you again to stop asking me that,” Dorian answered without hesitation, making Bull’s heart feel surprisingly light. “I only regret that this might be the last real bed I’ll sleep in for a long time.”

“You better take advantage of it while you can then.”

“Honestly, I’m so wound up, I’m not sure I’ll sleep much at all.”

A deep chuckle rumbled out of Bull’s chest. “Maybe I can help you with that, kadan.”

His hands tightened around Dorian’s waist and the mage’s breath audibly hitched. Bull smiled hungrily before capturing Dorian’s lips, sure that he could fuck the jitters out the mage.

If not, then there was a vial of tasteless sleeping draughts in his pack.

Dusty travel robes and knee-high boots ended up in a heap on the floor and Dorian was sprawled out naked on the bed. His body was soon pinned under Bull’s, immobile as the straps of Bull’s leather harness and the rough fabric of his pants dug into tender skin. There was little Dorian could do while trapped under Bull as calloused fingers wandered his over the expanse of his dark skin, pinching, tickling, teasing before finding their way inside, stretching and preparing.

Bull didn’t even take off his clothes, barely pulling down his pants to free his cock to slick it up and push in. Dorian gasped, legs spreading wide, and hips tipping up to meet Bull’s relentless thrusts.

Lips moved against Bull’s, whispering, “Love you.”

“Love you,” Bull whispered back.

He didn’t drag it out, didn’t keep Dorian teetering on the edge like he usually would. Despite Dorian’s energy, Bull could tell he was physically tired and being edged wasn’t what he needed. But Bull made it good, knowing exactly how to angle his hips, the pace of his thrusts, the force to hold Dorian down with to push him over the edge.

Dorian’s hands gripped Bull’s shoulders, fingernails digging in and pulling him in as he shook apart with a loud cry, clenching hard.

I did that. I did that to him. Beautiful.

That was all Bull needed to come.

The fidgeting was gone, leaving behind only a tired shell as Dorian laid boneless on the mattress and his eyes half open as Bull went through the motions of cleaning them both up. He settled back onto the bed at Dorian’s side, cock barely softening after having come too quickly, but he was contented just to see the sweet drowsy expression on the mage’s face.

When Dorian’s thumb hooked into the waist of Bull’s pants, he immediately pushed the mage’s hand away. A strangled noise of protest escaped from Dorian’s throat before Bull cut it off with kiss.

“Don’t worry about me right now, kadan,” Bull told him. “Just get some sleep, ok?”

Dorian gave him a little sigh. “I know what you like. I’ll rest my eyes for a bit, then I’ll take care of you properly.”

Bull’s lips curled into a smile. “I’m sure you will. Do you want a draught to help you sleep?”

Dorian shook his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a half smile. “I don’t need them now. I just need you to lie down with me.”

Complying with Dorian’s demand, Bull laid down and let the mage curl up to his side, head cradled on Bull’s wide shoulder and arm elegantly draped over his chest. Dorian mumbled all the wonderful things he’d do with his tongue on Bull’s cock, but his dirty talk had little effect in between yawns and incoherent ramblings that eventually trailed off. Bull laughed softly, fingers combing through Dorian’s hair.

“Sleep, kadan.”

There was a grumble of protest, but in a few short minutes, Dorian was snoring. Not the gentle, cute snores that often came out of Dorian and which he vehemently denied, but loud and tired snores that rivaled Bull’s. He still found them adorable.

Bull laid in bed, under Dorian’s comfortable weight, waiting for Dorian’s breath to deepen and even out. Waiting for him to sleep soundly enough for Bull to slide out from under him without notice. Bull paused for a moment as he stood, as Dorian made a soft, unconscious objection. But he didn’t wake up. He didn’t stir as Bull’s lips pressed against his temple and tucked the blankets around him.

Bull watched the mage sleep, face laxed and unguarded, with an assuredness about his own safety. Dorian slept with unflinching trust. A trust that Bull didn’t earn.

Turning away, Bull left the bedroom and stepped out of the little cottage. During the day it was warm under the Tevinter sun, but in the darkness a chill swept through. Summer was coming to an end and there was a wicked deception to a Tevinter autumn with pleasant days and plunging temperatures at night. Bull would need to keep that in mind on the road with Dorian in tow.

He had to hand it to Dorian, the cottage and grounds were a discrete place in the woods, well hidden from the main road but not suspiciously so. The cottage was humble, comfortable looking, but not so extravagant that one would think it served as a magister’s getaway. Most magisters weren’t subtle, but Tilani was. It could be a secure place to rest for a while as Dorian suggested, but the Iron Bull knew better.

Bull avoided the traps Dorian laid around the perimeter of the cottage, the glow of ice mines barely visible even in the night. His steps were light, hardly making a sound as he walked up to a small iron gate in the stonework walls surrounding the grounds, more decorative than secure. The gate groaned as Bull pushed it open, the rusty hinges protesting as the gate pushed against the overgrowth of weeds and grass on the other side of the wall.

Needing to twist his body sideways and duck his head, Bull stepped through the little doorway, outside the illusion of security of the walls and out into the woods. Only a few steps away was a hooded figure, obscured by the darkness of the night and extra shadows cast by towering trees. But Bull immediately knew who the Ben-Hassrath sent as his backup.

“Gatt.”

The name fell from his mouth, sounding light and pleased even as Bull’s stomach turned.

“Hissrad.”

Gatt stepped forward, pushing back his hood with a smirk.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Bull said easily.

Liar.

“Though I’m sorry they sent you back to Tevinter.”

“I’m not,” Gatt’s smile turned sharp. “I’m looking forward to meeting your altus.”

I won’t let you touch him.

Bull let out a derisive snort. “He’s a handful.”

“I bet.” There was a dangerous eagerness to Gatt’s voice that made something within Bull curdle. “Does he suspect anything?”

“Nothing. He trusts me completely.”

“Perfect.”

“Did you bring anyone else?” Bull asked with quiet earnestness. “He’s a lot tougher than a pampered vint should be. Could be trouble when we transport him.”

Gatt shook his head. “Couldn’t risk it in Tevinter, even this close to the border. But I brought enough magebane to bring down the Magisterium. He won’t be a problem for us.”

“Good.”

That single word didn’t mean what Gatt thought it did.

Bull suddenly jerked his head, his gaze narrowing on something behind the elf as his hand moved to the dagger on his belt and hissed with urgency.

“Gatt!”

The elf’s face seized in alarm, hand reaching for the sword on his hip, and turned. His feet remained stationary, but his head and back twisted around, turning away from Bull. He turned his back, just as Bull knew he would, because Gatt trusted him. There was nothing behind Gatt, nothing beyond Bull’s swift and brutal betrayal.

Bull made it fast and painless, his hands moving quickly and seizing Gatt’s head to cleanly snap his neck. There was only a short noise of surprise, not even fully formed before Gatt’s body crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

His heart plummeted as Gatt’s body did. It wasn’t regret, but grief over a life and a friend lost. A life that he saved many years ago and now took with little effort and no hesitation. Bull dropped to his knees.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t have him. Not his father, not you, not the Qun.”

Bull took in a deep breath, the air cold in his lungs.

“Dorian is mine.”

There was no reply, only the rustle of wind in the trees, and there was no protest as Bull searched Gatt’s pockets, taking every scrap of paper he could find. He found his own letters, copies of orders, and half penned correspondence. Nothing to suggest that someone else came with Gatt, nothing to suggest that the Ben-Hassrath were particularly interested in Dorian other than the opportunity Bull had presented.

Relief eased the tension in his chest as he shoved the papers into the pouch on his belt to be burned once he had a chance.

They can’t have him. He’s mine.

“Amatus?”

Dorian’s voice echoed in the darkness, coming from within the walls and colored in panic. Bull got back up onto his feet just in time to see Dorian appear at the gate, his silver eyes widening at the sight before him. It was then that Bull wondered if Dorian had ever seen a dead body before. Probably not, Tevinter wasn’t a soft place, but Dorian was gentle and kind, not yet hardened by life.

Dorian knew pieces of Bull’s violent past and he’d seen Bull rough up more than one person, but he had yet to see this. He had never seen what Bull was fully capable of. And now there was a stark fear twisting up Dorian’s pretty features, paling his lovely bronze skin.

Bull wondered if the romance of their flight was dashed to pieces with the reality of what was to come.

He thinks I’m a monster now.

“Amatus, what happened?” Dorian was rushing towards Bull, hardly taking a glance at the body on the ground as his hands pressed against Bull’s chest, fingers hooking onto his leather harness. “Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

There was real distress in Dorian’s voice, concern in his eyes as he searched for nonexistent wounds on Bull. It wasn’t fear of Bull, but fear for Bull. It was rather sweet though unnecessary.

“I’m fine, kadan.”

The concern in Dorian’s eyes didn’t fade, but he nodded, accepting Bull’s truth. Bull wrapped his arm around Dorian’s shoulders, drawing him back to the cottage and away from Gatt.

Dorian stopped as once they were inside the house, lingering in the front parlor where he had lit the fireplace, probably while searching for Bull. Shadows were cast wildly around the well-furnished room, but Bull was focused on Dorian’s eyes as they roamed over Bull’s body. Still checking for wounds.

“Maker, Bull, what happened?” Dorian asked again breathlessly. “Was it one of my father’s men?”

“Bounty hunter,” Bull lied. “I thought someone might have followed us. I was right, but I got him by surprise.”

“You should have told me.”

“Hey, it’s my job to protect you, right?” Bull smirked as Dorian rolled his eyes with a tired chuckle.

“We should leave immediately,” Dorian insisted, trying to hide the tremble in his hands as he twisted the bracelet on his wrist, “in case there are more who followed us.”

“Go back to bed while I pack our things,” Bull agreed, “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.”

Dorian shook his head. “No, I don’t think I could sleep now.”

“Worried?” Bull asked needlessly, pulling Dorian into his arms and holding him tightly as if he was afraid Dorian might slip away. “Is that why you woke up? What were you doing out there anyway? You know that I’m here to take care of this kind of stuff.”

“What was I doing out there?” Dorian repeated with outrage, partly muffled from where his face was pressed against Bull’s shoulder. “I woke up and you were gone. I was afraid you left …”

There was that insecurity under all that bluster. The uncertainty that Bull used to get close to him, to make Dorian see him more than the muscle Magister Pavus hired. Just a little praise, some flattery, and acceptance and Dorian trusted him, loved him. It was ridiculously easy. He meant to lie to Dorian, but saying the words made them real to Bull. Dorian made them real.

You’re beautiful.

So perfect.

My good boy.

You’re mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

The more Bull praised him, the deeper Dorian fell. And the Iron Bull fell even further, falling so far that now he was Tal-Vashoth. At least that was no longer a lie.

I became Tal-Vashoth that first night when he let me have him. I became his.

His hand reached up to cup Dorian’s perfect jawline, tipping up his chin so their eyes met.

“I’d never leave you, kadan, I promise. For as long you’ll have me.” That also wasn’t a lie.

“Well then, it seems that you’re stuck with me forever, amatus.”

I’ll never let anyone take you away from me.

Chapter Text

There was an irritating nagging in the back of Dorian’s mind when he woke up, which was telling him something different was going to happen that day. He couldn’t tell what would happen and the feeling surprised him as very little changed in his day to day life. Ignoring it, Dorian got ready for his day, dressed in dark red and black robes and went through the motions of grooming; shaving the slight stubble on his face, putting on his makeup, waxing his mustache, and styling his hair.

He smiled when Felix’s pale face appeared over his shoulder in the mirror. His old friend had a habit of hanging around the house, haunting Dorian with his judgmental presence ever since he died a few years ago.

“You know, when you said you’d be with me always, I didn’t think you’d mean it so literally,” Dorian snorted.

Felix only narrowed his eyes at Dorian.

“I know, you hate this shade of kohl.”

Going into the kitchen, Dorian started a fire in the stove and brewed a pot of coffee, preparing himself for a long day. Felix frowned at him when he sat down at the table with just a cup of coffee.

“I’ll eat something in between clients,” Dorian sighed, he knew that he’d do anything for Felix’s approval, even after Felix had died. “Time to open up for my adoring public.”

He finished his drink and moved towards the front room of his house to light a fire in the stove that heated the front room, open up the curtains over the windows, flipped the sign in the front window to read Open and unlock the door.

The front sitting room of the house served as Dorian’s shop where he saw clients, gave readings, and sold potions. The shop was cluttered with tall shelves filled with old books on magic and necromancy, vials of elfroot potions, runes, and focus crystals. The empty spaces on the walls were decorated with tapestries from his homeland, along with some of his fancier looking staffs mounted on display, and warm woven rugs lined the floor. There were a couple armchairs next to the bay window with a small table between them where he could serve tea to clients. Towards the back of the room was a table and chairs where Dorian did readings with tarot cards for clients, predicting their futures and love lives.

Behind the shop was the kitchen and his bedroom. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Dorian. He didn’t usually have guests beyond his clients and the spirit of his departed friend. The house sat outside the walls of the town and far enough away that people needed to go out of their way to see Dorian. The situation worked out for both Dorian and Haven’s townspeople.

In the morning, his first clients were farmers asking about the rapidly approaching winter. Those weren’t the most exciting readings as weather prediction was often boring. But his readings usually satisfied his customers and he wasn’t one to turn down their coins.

The afternoon was when the more interesting clients turned up. Young ladies and men hoping to learn more about potential loves, husbands and wives whispering questions about spouses, and merchants wanting to know about their prospects in riches. Dorian read their fortunes, applying his magic to his well-loved stack of tarot cards and untangling their futures. He couldn’t see that far into the future, but most people were satisfied having their immediate needs addressed.

It was late in the afternoon when Cassandra, the second in command of Haven’s guardsmen, appeared in his shop looking uneasy. Dorian frowned and wondered who complained about him this time, it wasn’t unusual for people to accuse him of being a maleficer. But Cassandra didn’t look annoyed like she usually did when she was forced to follow up on the accusations, this time she looked nervous.

“Lady Cassandra, to what do I owe the honor of your company?” Dorian asked as she came into the shop.

“I, uh, I was hoping … Could you, um, couldyoureadmyfortune?” The last words came out so rushed that Dorian almost didn’t understand her.

He wondered if this was the cause of the nagging feeling he was having, because this was certainly different. In the entire time Dorian lived in Haven, Cassandra never asked him for a reading. While she wasn’t hostile towards him and treated him with respect, she approached his abilities with suspicion.

“Of course,” Dorian said graciously, knowing not to push his luck with Cassandra by teasing her. “Take a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

She shook her head and sat down at the table, taking out a small wrapped bundle from the pocket of her coat. “I, uh, I wanted to know about, um, a man. About my future with him.” She pushed the bundle towards Dorian when he sat down across from her, her cheeks bright red. “I was told that having an item helps you.”

Unwrapping the bundle, Dorian couldn’t help but smile at the fountain pen she brought. He knew immediately who Cassandra was asking about and it wouldn’t take a reading to tell Cassandra that the man in question adored her. But he went through the motions, feeling the pen before grabbing his cards and shuffling the deck.

Laying out his cards, Dorian gave his reading. “You’re uncertain about him, he talks, but says nothing. He has a past love and old hurts, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a future with you. His feelings for you run deep, but you must give him encouragement or else his heart will grow cold.”

He probed a little more, pushing his magic further as he fished out details where he could. Normally he didn’t show off so much, but Dorian did want to impress Cassandra and from the look on her face, he was doing a good job. She looked elated when he told her of roses and a book, and something about a sword and a shield, that got kind of fuzzy to Dorian, but it meant something to Cassandra.

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cassandra actually smiled at him.

As Cassandra reached for the coin purse attached to her belt, Dorian quickly stopped her and gave her his own smile. “No charge, Lady Cassandra.”

“But—”

“You’ve done enough for me in the past by keeping me out of trouble. This is the least I can do.”

Cassandra hesitated before nodding. “Thank you again. And, uh, I’d appreciate … discretion in this.”

Dorian’s smile became brittle, but he wasn’t surprised. Many people didn’t want others knowing that they were associated with him. “Of course, my lady.”

“No, it’s not like that, I just … I don’t want people poking into my affairs, I don’t want them to know about my … infatuation.”

“Certainly, I understand,” Dorian replied sincerely, understanding her meaning. “If anyone asks, you were here for some elfroot potions.”

After he saw Cassandra out, Dorian flopped down on one of the armchairs and grabbed the throw blanket that was hanging off the back of it, wrapping it around himself. His mana was running low after his session with Cassandra and a headache was building behind his eyes. To make things worse, the nagging feeling that was bothering him all day hadn’t left.

Felix sat in the other chair. He didn’t look happy at Dorian for pushing himself.

“I know, I know,” Dorian murmured at the spirit. “I was showing off to Cassandra, but she is very nearly a friend.”

Felix was unimpressed.

“I promise to eat a proper dinner and go to bed early.”

When Dorian finally got up to close the shop, the silver bell attached to the door chimed cheerfully and the largest Qunari that Dorian ever saw stepped into the room. The Qunari had one eye on his scarred face, a few missing fingers, and his horns were so wide that he was forced to turn his head a bit as he stepped through the doorway. He wore only a weathered leather harness on his chest and a pair of atrocious green striped trousers, along with heavy black boots.

Dorian froze and his heart seized, but he managed to relax to at least appear welcoming.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” Dorian greeted the Qunari, flashing a cheerful smile.

The Qunari’s single eye looked Dorian up and down, lingering on his body longer than necessary. “Heard you’re a seer.”

“Indeed I am. Dorian Alexius, at your service.” He bowed deeply.

“The Iron Bull,” he held out his hand and Dorian shook it.

A sensation of warmth and comfort washed over Dorian at the touch of the Iron Bull’s calloused palm and fingers against his own and he instantly knew that the man was no threat to him. The feeling left Dorian lightheaded and nearly giddy. He had only ever felt anything like it once before when he first touched Felix and even that wasn’t as intense.

“My mercenary company is wintering in Haven and to help with the bandit problem. Your guard captain, Cullen, hired us,” the Iron Bull continued, snapping Dorian out of his haze.

“Ah,” Dorian nodded. “I do recall Cullen mentioning something about that.”

“I was told that you’re the person to see if I wanted my fortune told.”

“You are correct.” Dorian motioned for Bull to take a seat at the table. “Would you like some tea? I was just about to make some for myself.” Dorian started going through the motions of making tea, glancing briefly at Felix, still seated in the armchair and scowling at the Iron Bull. The strength of the glare made Dorian wonder if the mercenary could sense it.

“Thanks, I’ll take a cup.” Bull sat down at the table and watched Dorian. “Don’t see many Magister seers.”

The water Dorian poured into the kettle sloshed too loudly. “First, just because I’m a mage from Tevinter doesn’t make me a Magister. That just makes you sound like a barbarian, which I suspect you aren’t.”

Bull smirked but didn’t say anything.

“And second, I’d imagine that there’s virtually none. It’s a very rare gift and not a respectable trade for any upper class Tevinter,” Dorian said evenly. “Thankfully I am not a Magister or an Altus, I’m just a humble citizen of Haven.”

“Though not exactly, huh? You live outside the town walls.”

“It works out better for all involved.”

Leaning back in his chair, Bull hummed thoughtfully and asked with slow caution, “So, how does this work? Do you need my blood or something?”

Dorian’s spine went rigid and with thinly veiled disgust, he hissed, “This is not blood magic.” Letting out a long breath and steadying himself, he continued, “You tell me what you want to know about your future, and I do a reading from my tarot cards. Give me any item you have related to what you want to know about, it helps me as a focus.”

“You don’t use one of those crystals?” The mercenary looked over at the crystals on the bookshelves.

“Those are for channeling magic on a staff.”

“Not for aiming arrows?” Bull asked, chuckling to himself as if remembering a joke.

“It’s an old elven trick, you wouldn’t understand,” Dorian replied automatically, not sure where the statement came from, and shook his head as Bull went quiet. “That … rarely happens.”

An awkward silence filled the room, the Iron Bull was looking around the shop and Dorian finished brewing the tea. Sometimes he picked up the strings of people’s pasts, but it was rare and was often more unsettling. Seeing into the future was one thing, the future was uncertain, and clients had to take Dorian at his word, but people often felt startled or even threatened when he plucked out a memory that he shouldn’t know.

Bringing the tray with the teapot and cups to the table, Dorian apologized again as he poured the tea. “I’m sorry, I know that can be startling, but I suspect you’ll survive the shock. I sometimes pick up memories from people, but as I said, it’s rare.”

“Yeah, that was creepy.” Bull accepted the drink and blew on it gently, then took a tentative sip. His eye fluttered closed and he very nearly moaned with pleasure after tasting the tea. “This is fucking great. Can’t usually get this kind of tea down south.”

“I do like to splurge to get it imported every once in a while.”

They sat in silence again, but this time it was more comfortable. Bull was taking his time to sip the tea and Dorian took a moment to take in the sight of wistful happiness on Bull’s face. He wondered if Bull was from the north, since it was usually people who lived further north who truly appreciated spiced foods and drinks, and it was apparent that Bull properly enjoyed the tea.

“Can you see your own future?” Bull asked in between sips.

“No, not really. I get impressions, inklings of something that might happen to me, but I never get visions of my own future.”

“Really? Why not?”

“It’s hard to explain. I guess it’s sort of like how you can see everyone else just fine but can’t see your own face.”

“Can’t you use a mirror?” Bull smirked.

“Yes, I suppose, but that would involve blood magic and possibly demons.”

“Oh, well shit. Don’t do that.”

“Yes, I will keep that in mind. Anyway, shall we get started then? What did you want to know about your future?”

Bull looked Dorian straight in the eye. “I want to know if I’m going to go mad.”

“If you’re going to go mad?” That was different. People usually wanted to know if they were going to be rich or if they were going to get married, not if they were going to go insane.

The mercenary grunted. “Am I going to snap and hurt innocent people?”

Drawing in a breath, Dorian held out his hand. “May I?”

Without hesitation, Bull placed his hand in Dorian’s. The same feeling of warmth and comfort came over Dorian, but it was gentler and less of a shock. Squeezing Bull’s hand, Dorian familiarized himself with Bull’s aura before letting go to move onto his tarot cards. He could have held onto Bull’s hand all day and happily drown in the emotions that the man provoked in him. It had been such a long time since Dorian felt so much and so intensely. But he forced the distance and concentrated on his reading, which brought him greater enjoyment than he anticipated.

In his reading he couldn’t see any sign of madness from the Iron Bull, though he never looked for signs of insanity before. He saw Bull breaking up fights in town, fighting bandits, and a rather intimate moment with a red-haired man, but nothing alarming.

“You won’t be going mad anytime soon,” Dorian summarized. “In the next few weeks, you’ll kill some bandits and stop some drunkards from bashing each other’s heads in at the tavern. Appears quite routine for someone like you.”

Bull didn’t look satisfied. “Can’t you tell me something more long term?”

“The further I look the more unclear my readings become, and they don’t tend to be very helpful. But on the bright side, you will sleep with a red-haired man within the next couple days.”

“Oh!” Bull perked up. “That server at the bar?”

Closing his eyes, the picture of the man became clearer. “The one with the crooked nose, yes. He is rather lovely.”

“Uh, did I just make this awkward for you?”

Dorian laughed, “No, no, trust me, he has no interest in me.”

The Iron Bull gave him a disbelieving look.

“You aren’t the only one worried that I am using blood magic,” Dorian explained with a half-smile. “If you do come back, you must tell me how he was.”

“Sure thing,” Bull nodded and placed a silver coin on the table as he got up. “And thanks.”

The sight of the coin almost offended Dorian, it seemed to belittle the feelings he experienced when touching the Iron Bull. But it also grounded him, it reminded him that the encounter was just a business transaction.

“It was my pleasure, the Iron Bull.” Dorian gave the mercenary a sweeping bow as he rose from his seat.

Dorian closed the shop once he saw Bull out the door and nearly collapsed in one of the armchairs, his knees giving out, his head spun, and his heart pounded in his chest. The irritating feeling of something new approaching was finally gone, along with most of his mana. It was immediately replaced with a longing to see the Iron Bull again.

Felix just stared disapprovingly from his seat.

“I know,” Dorian rasped at the ghost. “I know, I’m just asking for disappointment.”

Chapter Text

It was a miserably cold night as rain pounded the windshield in a steady pattern as the wipers swayed back and forth to clear the drops away. Dorian hated how early the darkness set in late autumn, bringing gloom to the area and a damp chill that sank into his bones that not even his thickest sweaters could ward off. In contrast to Dorian’s dour thoughts about the rain, Felix hummed cheerfully as he drove, not at all put out by the dreadful weather. Then, one hand slipped from the wheel and cradled Dorian’s kneecap, and he felt a little less cold.

A small smile tugged on Dorian’s lips and his eyes slid over to his husband, his profile as striking as ever in the passing streetlights. He knew when his husband was trying to dress to impress, Felix was wearing a soft dark red cashmere sweater with a button up collared shirt underneath. Dorian was just as conscious of his appearance that night, wearing a tight black dress shirt and dark form fitting designer jeans.

“You know, amatus,” Dorian started casually in the darkness of the car as he laid his hand on top of Felix’s, “Bull and Adaar aren’t expecting an answer anytime soon.”

Felix squeezed Dorian’s knee and his mouth curled into a smile. “But we do have an answer for them, so we might as well tell them.”

“I just want you to know that I’ll follow your lead, amatus. Whichever way you want to play this is good with me.”

“Oh?” Felix’s voice pitched up in curiosity. “Are you implying that I’m having second thoughts, amatus?”

“Maybe,” Dorian answered teasingly, “you are wildly jealous of anyone who gives me a second glance.”

A quiet chuckle escaped from Felix as he began to slow the car as they came upon their destination. A cozy cottage like house glowed warmly in the night, the lace curtains were pulled away from the windows and spilled out the light from within, welcoming its visitors. Felix withdrew his hand from Dorian as he began to park along the street when Dorian clicked his tongue at him.

“It’s pouring rain, amatus, just park in the driveway.”

“I don’t want to block them in.”

“It’s not like they need to go out anywhere.”

Felix huffed. “Ok, ok. But if they need to run to the store, you’re moving the car.”

Pulling the car into driveway, Felix turned off the engine and released his seatbelt, but didn’t move to grab his umbrella or open the door. Despite the dissipating heat and the creeping cold, Dorian remained seated and waited for Felix to move or to say something.

“I want to do this,” Felix admitted, and a blush began to bloom across his cheeks, just barely visible in the darkness. “You know I thought about it a lot, and … With anyone else, the answer would be an instant no. I wouldn’t be able to stand it. But this seems right.”

Dorian’s hand sought Felix’s, their fingers intertwining. “I feel the same way. I just wanted to make sure.”

“I know.” Felix leaned over, brushing his lips against Dorian’s in a light kiss.

Felix smelled warmly of the sandalwood scented cologne Dorian bought him and of fresh soap and shampoo. Dorian leaned in closer, briefly deepening the kiss despite knowing that he was probably smudging his own makeup.

As their lips pulled apart, Felix murmured, “Love you, my beautiful amatus.”

“Love you, amatus.” Dorian pulled away with a soft smile lingering. “Come on, let’s go. I bet Adaar is hovering at the door.”

They shuffled out of the car, hurrying through the rain to reach the shelter of the front porch while clutching a bottle of wine and a cake for dessert. Dorian hardly raised his hand to knock on the door when it was pulled open and Adaar was on the other side, happily greeting them with a large smile on his face.

The house was blissfully warm once they stepped in, probably more for the benefit for the Tevinter guests than the Qunari hosts. Dorian was thankful that the Iron Bull was conscious to crank up the heat whenever he and Felix visited. Once they toed off their wet shoes, their coats hung in the closet and their offerings put aside, Adaar wrapped each into a hug and pressed fleeting kisses on their cheeks. Adaar claimed it was a habit from when he used to live in Orlais.

“Bull is in the kitchen,” Adaar explained needlessly, ushering Dorian and Felix to where Bull was busy finishing dinner.

The kitchen smelled wonderfully of tender lamb stewed in a variety of vegetables and spices, and a loaf of freshly baked bread and fluffy steamed rice sat on the island. Dorian and Felix were decent enough cooks but coming over to Bull and Adaar’s house for dinner was always a treat. Bull was an exceptional cook and was generous in his use of northern flavors that satisfied Dorian and Felix’s cravings for a taste of their homeland.

“Right on time! Dinner is ready,” Bull announced from where he was hovering by the pot on the stove.

Bull stepped away from the stove and scooped both Dorian and Felix into a bone crushing hug. Despite the chilly weather, Bull neglected to wear a shirt like usual and Dorian found his face planted straight into Bull’s bare chest. Dorian’s face was still burning when Bull released them and leaned down to give both kisses on their cheeks. Unlike Adaar, Bull didn’t make excuses for kissing them and his lips landed teasingly close to the corner of Dorian’s mouth.

“Shall I start bringing things to the table, kadan?” Adaar asked.

“If you would, boss,” Bull nodded.

Dorian and Felix didn’t need to ask what they needed to do. Immediately, Felix fetched a serving dish for the lamb from the china cabinet and Dorian opened the bottle of wine and took out glasses for their drinks.

“Fereldan or Free Marcher, Bull?” Dorian asked as he opened the refrigerator door and found a place for the cake.

“Free Marcher,” Bull answered.

Dorian grabbed a Free Marcher ale from the refrigerator and poured everyone else a glass of wine. Soon dinner was on the table and everyone was seated. It was just like any other meal with Adaar and Bull. They praised Bull for the meal he made, chatted about the week they had, their work, and made promises to spend time with Adaar’s parents and Felix’s parents when they came to visit for the upcoming holiday.

But as they talked, Adaar fiddled with the cloth napkin in his lap and his eyes kept darting to Dorian and Felix. Bull’s features remained pleasantly neutral, but Dorian noticed him taking Adaar’s hand underneath the table.

Dorian snuck a glance at Felix sitting next to him. Their eyes met and Dorian gave Felix a slight nod. Across from them, Adaar stopped breathing and Bull watched them patiently.

Setting down his fork, Felix began, “So, you made us a proposal.”

“And we respectfully decline,” Dorian finished, his eyes sliding over to Felix again and crinkling in secret mirth.

Adaar’s face fell, though Bull’s expression shifted from neutral to intrigued.

“We would like to propose a counteroffer,” Felix amended.

Adaar brightened immediately and Bull chuckled in amusement, urging them to continue, “Let’s hear it, big guy.”

“Not a foursome, but a threesome,” Dorian offered.

Felix took Dorian’s hand as he added the details, “I would like to watch you two with Dorian.”

Bull and Adaar looked at each other, a silent exchange going on between them. Adaar gave a nod to Bull, who just grinned wildly in return.

“I think we can accommodate that compromise,” Adaar answered diplomatically with thinly veiled excitement. “Though I have to admit that I’m surprised that you’d only want to watch. You’re pretty much jealous of anyone who brushes past Dorian.”

Dorian chuckled as Felix rolled his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”

“You really are,” Bull laughed along with Dorian.

Adaar smiled. “You gave Bull terrible electric shock for checking out Dorian’s ass.”

Felix blushed furiously. “I didn’t know Bull back then and how was I supposed to know that he flirted with everyone? Anyway, I trust both of you, enough that I trust you with Dorian. I know that you two wouldn’t have propositioned us casually and that you care about us.”

“We adore both of you,” Adaar gushed.

“We’re quite fond of you two as well,” Dorian admitted with a little grin.

“And I wouldn’t just be watching,” Felix corrected, clearing his throat in a bit of nervousness. “I want to tell you what to do to Dorian, how to touch him, how to make love to him.”

Bull’s sudden hungry smile sent pleasant shivers down Dorian’s spine and Bull rumbled eagerly, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Chapter Text

“Father would not have wanted this for you.”

The Iron Bull gazed idly out the window from his seat with his chin resting in his hand, looking out at the gardens behind the villa. He was admittedly disappointed that his son did not think to bring his children with him. He would have liked a visit with his grandsons and granddaughter, the weather was getting cooler and it would be an ideal time to spar with them outside. Little Dori was still a bit young to fight his grandfather, but he did like to watch and cheer his grandfather on or ride on Bull’s shoulders, tormenting his older siblings with sparks of lightning and fire.

“Dad, are you listening to me?”

All the grandchildren liked to run around the orchard this time of year, chasing each other through the trees and picking the ripening fruit hanging off the branches. Even his eldest grandchild had yet to grow out of the games they played, despite being on the verge of leaving for the University of Orlais. But this year, all of Bull’s children were busy and the orchard rows remained empty beyond the workers who tended to the trees.

“Dad? Are you listening?”

The whole villa felt empty, despite the people who were constantly moving in and out of it. There was the bustle of servants who felt more like friends than employees, neighbors from the town coming by for tea, and old friends who made the occasional surprise visit. Even with the ebb and flow of people, Bull missed having every bedroom filled with his children, the patter of their feet echoing from the hallways and shouts of joy as they played with each other. He really wished Felix had brought the children or that one of his daughters would visit with their families.

“You should’ve brought the kids,” Bull admonished his son gently, almost mournfully. “Sara would’ve brought her kids if she came over.”

Felix let out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and he squeezed his dark eyes shut. “You can see the kids all the time if you move in with us. You’ll be closer to all the grandchildren. Like I’ve been discussing for the last half hour.”

A fond smile curled on Bull’s lips as he turned away from the window and looked at his son. He grew up to be a fine man, born in Tevinter and adopted not long after his birth. Felix stood with purpose, as if he was the most important man in the room, and as a renowned scholar and formidable Enchanter, he often was. Carefully dressed in silks and velvets, Felix was just as vain about his appearance as his father was, but he was warm and generous under all that bluster, also like his father. These days, it sometimes made Bull ache just to look at him.

“You’re just like your father,” Bull smiled broadly, “you can have an entire conversation without needing anyone to say a word.”

Felix’s hand dropped away from his face as he opened his eyes, his expression crestfallen. “You’re not going to move to Cumberland, are you?”

“I’m getting by, imekari.”

“I’m going to tell Mal that you’re being difficult.”

Bull shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he insisted, “There’s no need to get your big sister involved.”

Felix smiled sharply. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“You know Leliana keeps her busy. Besides, I’ve still got things to do.”

“The Divine can spare Mal for ten minutes to yell at you over the sending crystal,” Felix replied smugly. “And the only thing you need to do is to get fat at my estate and watch the children. You know that anything you need I can provide for you in Cumberland. You can even split your time with Sara and Mae if you can’t stand the thought of living with me.”

“You know that this isn’t about you,” Bull told his only son with fond exasperation. “I love you just as much as I love your sisters.”

Felix’s lips curled into a small smile as he teasingly accused, “Mal’s your favorite.”

“Sara is,” Bull corrected lightly, “she gave me the most grandchildren.”

Bull’s eye wandered from his son’s face to the large family portrait that hung over the hearth. It was the last one the whole family sat for and it took the entire summer for the artist to finish as the kids came home and left with their families at different times throughout the season. The painting included all the grandchildren, including Sara’s youngest who was born at the villa during that summer, the baby small and fragile in her arms. Dorian sat in the middle, surrounded by their four children and their spouses, and the nine grandchildren. Bull stood behind him, towering at least a head taller than the rest of the group, with his large hand engulfing Dorian’s shoulder.

“I have stay here for now, imekari. I have a promise to your father to keep.”

Any retort on Felix’s tongue instantly died and defeat swept over his strong Tevinter features. “What do you have to do for Father?” he asked softly as he gracefully dropped into the chair next to Bull.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Bull replied gently.

“When will you be done with this promise?”

Bull shook his head.

Felix let out a long breath through his nose, the same thing his father would do when he was losing his patience. “Everyone will be coming up in a few months for your birthday. Fulfill your promise to Father by then because we will not leave without you.”

Bull closed his eye and nodded. “Fair.”

The orchard was heavy with fruit, perfuming the air with the cloying scent of overripening apples under a surprisingly warm sun. The rows should have been filled with workers, picking the apples for sale at market and to give to the needy in town. This year though, Bull dismissed the workers with the season’s worth of pay and was shamefully letting the leftover fruit go to waste. It left the orchard empty and lonely, leaving Bull as the only soul occupying the vast stretch of trees.

In Bull’s hand was a letter, crumpled and creased from frequent readings, with instructions that Bull promised Dorian that he would follow. He remembered holding Dorian’s thin hand, cradling it gently as his kadan laid in their bed and quietly rasped, “There’s a letter for you in my desk, amatus. Promise me you’ll read it and do as I say.” Bull remembered his earnest answer, “Of course, kadan, I promise.”

It was a promise that Bull admittedly didn’t understand. All Dorian left him was a date and three words.

Don’t fight me.