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He could feel himself flying backward, and tried his best to relax so he’d hit the wall with maybe less organ damage, but the moment seemed to be extended much longer than it should have been, so it felt less like being thrown and more like falling, and then he hit something, but it was really more like falling onto a wooden floor from a ten foot balcony. The wind rushed out of his lungs, and he was, for a moment, completely disoriented- how had he landed on his stomach?
He was on a wooden floor. He had been in a rocky cave. He was in the shitting Fade again- or had somehow been thrown through one of those fucking mirrors- or some even weirder magical crap had happened. Vashedan .
Whatever had happened, he needed to get on top of things, fast. He braced his palms against the wood underneath him. It felt like real wood, sun-warmed, high quality with a wax finish. Smelled like pine, maybe. And there were other smells- old books, incense, the acrid tang of lyrium. It was bright, too, so much brighter than the cave that he had to blink his eye a few times to see. Warm afternoon sunlight, hot on his back.
He pushed himself up onto his knees. His axe was nowhere in sight. He appeared to be in a library. He could see quite a few shelves crowded with books, but some of them had apparently been pushed back to clear the space he now found himself in. The room itself had the previously noted nice wooden floor and what looked like somewhat faded plaster walls, and sun was streaming in through a high window in the wall behind him. In front of him was a kid, fourteen or fifteen, skinny and jangling with jewelry, an ornately carved staff in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other.
“I did it,” the kid breathed, in very posh Tevene, and then he dropped the chalk, raised his staff and started chanting in what Bull thought was probably Old Tevene, which Bull definitely was not fluent in. “Te nunc invoco Luxuria, te in mea potestate defixi-”
“Woah, hang on, kid,” Bull said, trying to get to his feet. His knee twanged, and he winced a bit. Maybe he hadn’t gotten crushed into powder, but that fall hadn’t done his middle-aged bones any favors, either.
“Be silent, demon,” the kid said, haughtily, but there was a whole mix of emotions on his little pointy face. Pride, exultation, a bit of fear. “You’re just here to satisfy a little, uh, an experiment. Then I’ll let you go back to the Fade. But you can’t trick me, so don’t even try.”
“Okay, I know you humans are weird about the horns, but I really don’t look anything like most demons, come on. I’m not that ugly.” The bookshelves were maybe three feet away on either side. The kid was a few feet in front of him. He couldn’t see an exit. Must be behind one of the bookshelves. Maybe the window was big enough to get through, but he couldn’t tell without turning his back on the kid, and he hadn’t survived this long by turning his back on nervous mages.
“Hah,” the kid snapped. “An obvious ploy. I know very well that certain spirits of desire take on a form unique to the mortal they attempt to ensnare. You may appear in the shape of one of the barbarian ox-men, but your essential nature-”
Bull chuckled. “Wait, wait, you think I’m one of those sex demons? Ha! You like ‘em big and gray, huh, kiddo?”
The boy flushed, brown skin darkening. “Enough of this bantering,” he said. “I summoned you here for a reason, so let’s get to it.”
“You’re a bit young for me, sorry,” the Bull said with a shrug. “It’s been nice but I gotta get out of here.” Where was he? It was so hot. It had been winter, at the villa, and cold in the cave. The kid was obviously Tevene, but it was hard to tell any more than that from his current surroundings. He needed to be careful, get his bearings but cautiously. He needed to find a way out of this room without the boy alerting anyone or trying to attack him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the boy commanded. “I, Dorian of House Pavus, am your master, and I-”
“Oh, crap,” Bull said.
It was so obvious, now that he was looking. The boy was a good foot shorter than the Dorian he knew, and probably weighed like half as much, but he had Dorian’s looks, the features that would make him handsome when he was full grown. He had Dorian’s dark hair, grown so long it curled at the ends around his shoulders, and Dorian’s gray eyes, and Dorian’s look of exasperation. An armband in the shape of a snake coiled around one bare forearm, and he was wearing robes of green and purple. And his voice- yeah, that was what Dorian would sound like, half an octave higher.
“Kid,” Bull said, “I’m sorry to interrupt- whatever you were doing here- but I’m really not a demon, and I’m not sure how I got here, but I don’t think it’s going to be easy to send me back. Are you going to get in trouble if someone finds me here?”
“What?” Dorian said. His grip on his staff tightened.
Bull slowly eased his way sideways. He saw for the first time that there was a chalk circle inscribed on the floor. Slowly, gently, he stepped over it, holding his hands out nonthreateningly in front of him. Dorian’s narrowed eyes followed him.
“See?” Bull said. “Not a demon, not bound to your will or whatever. Jeez, you magisters really are kinky about this crap. Yeah, yeah, you’re not a magister, I know. But seriously, what happens if someone finds a Qunari in your room?”
“I- I’ll get privileges revoked, if I’m caught doing an unauthorized summoning,” Dorian said, and waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not worried about that, so don’t try to manipulate me with fear.”
“That’s really not what I’m doing. Look, how can I prove to you I’m flesh and blood?”
Dorian stared at him, eyes narrowed. He was wearing a lot more makeup than Bull ever remembered seeing on him as an adult. Ah, teen fashion. “Bleed,” he said, finally. “If you drip blood, and not ash, I’ll believe you.”
“Okay,” Bull said. There was a tiny meat knife in his belt pouch. Slowly he opened the pouch, and drew out the little blade. He hesitated, before pressing it against his palm. A large part of him was screaming that it wasn’t happy with the idea of shedding blood for a Tevinter mage. He overruled it with the ease of practice. This wasn’t any Tevinter mage. This was Dorian, even if it wasn’t the Dorian he knew. The love and trust was still there on his side. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d bled for it.
But there was also a part of him that thought, what if, what if somehow the kid was right, he was just a demon who thought it was Tal-Vashoth, thought it had a life and people it loved- he shut that part up too. Not as easily, but easier than it would once have been, after years learning exactly who he was, where he fit into the world.
He pressed the blade into the flesh of his hand, put the knife back in its pouch, and squeezed his hand into a fist until blood dripped down and onto the wooden floor.
“Fasta vass,” Dorian breathed. “You’re real? I summoned an actual Qunari into the Tower?” He sounded somewhere between amazed and appalled.
“I don’t think you summoned me,” Bull said. He explained about the strange magic in the cave, time magic, Dorian himself had said. “You were there too. Future you. Maybe that has something to do with why I’m here. We can figure it out after you tell me if anyone’s likely to come in here any time soon.” If one Tevinter nobleborn apprentice was here, there were likely a lot more Vints nearby, ready to do horrible things to a Tal-Vashoth found somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.
“I- wait,” Dorian said, and he took a step back, against the plaster wall, and raised his staff, gripping it tightly with both his small hands. “No, I don’t think I will tell you anything. I think you’ll do exactly as I say.” His staff crackled, and Bull felt a familiar wave of dread roll over him, buckling his knees, sending him thumping back onto the floor. Aw, crap, crap.
“Dorian, come on,” Bull groaned. “Don’t be a dick.”
“I am not being a dick,” the kid snapped. “I’m being smart. You speak Tevene very well, for an ox-man. You’re clearly some kind of spy.”
“Seriously?” Bull muttered. He was trying to think of options. The fear really wasn’t that bad, only a shadow of what grown up Dorian could summon, but Bull didn’t know of a strategy to disrupt it that didn’t involve hurting a teenager, who Bull knew was really a good kid inside even if he sounded and acted a lot like a dick. “You know there are a lot of Tal-Vashoth who are born in Tevinter, right?”
“Shut up,” Dorian said. “I’m trying to think. Stay there.” He slid sideways along the wall, bending down to rifle through a bag before pulling out a coil of rope. “I’m going to bind your hands.”
“That’s really not necessary,” Bull said, but he obediently put his hands out in front of him, and the kid, not being trained police, didn’t insist on binding them behind his back. He also didn’t notice Bull tensing his muscles as he tied the knots. Bull reckoned he could have his hands free in ten seconds as soon as Dorian took his eyes off of him.
“If you really did travel in time I should tell the First Enchanter,” Dorian said, in the tone of someone trying to convince himself.
“But you won’t,” Bull said. “Cause then you’d get yourself in big trouble.”
“I can’t just let you go,” Dorian said. “We’re on the tenth floor of the Vyrantium Circle. You’d cause a panic.”
Ah. So much for escaping out the window, unless he could find a lot of sheets to tie together.
“Okay,” Bull said. “What’s your plan?”
“Who says I’ve got one?” Dorian countered.
Bull grinned. “I know you, big guy. You’ve always got a plan.”
The boy blinked, stared at Bull, eyes to eye. “How exactly am I acquainted with a Qunari… whatever you are?”
Might have been stressful if Bull hadn’t been anticipating this question for the last two minutes. “Mercenary,” Bull said. “We’re friends. We met in Ferelden, and we’ve known each other for ten years now.”
“Ferelden?” Dorian said, sounding both suspicious and perplexed. “What was I doing in Ferelden?”
Bull shrugged. “Not sure I should tell you. Probably not a great idea to know your own future.”
Dorian scowled. “That’s idiotic,” he said.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“All right,” Dorian said, adolescent voice projecting authority. Bull wondered who he used that tone on, here. Other kids? Circle slaves? “Tonight is the first night of Satinalia. We can’t get you out of this tower looking like… that… but I bet we can sneak you out tonight as someone in a stupid costume. I’ll look around to see what I can scrounge up.”
“Sounds good,” Bull said. “Smart thinking.”
Dorian frowned at him. “Speaking of which. One moment.” He bent down- he was so small. Bull remembered Dorian had used to look small to him, but at some point Bull’s perspective had shifted, and Dorian was just… Dorian-sized. This version, though, he was tiny. His long hair flopped into his eyes when he bent down. Bull watched him place his palms flat on the wooden floorboards. White frost spread out from his fingers, forming swirling patterns in a six foot wide circle around Bull.
“Try to step over that,” Dorian said, “you’ll regret it.” He was a little out of breath, but pleased with his own cleverness.
“That’s unnecessary,” Bull said. “I’ll be good.”
“Forgive me for retaining some caution,” Dorian said. “Uh. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Bull sat on the floor, and watched the sunbeams that speared through the high window lengthen and turn orange. It had been a while since he’d been somewhere this quiet, by himself, with nothing to do but think.
Dorian was fourteen or fifteen, maybe a year or two more in either direction. It was sometime around 9:26 Dragon, or 295 by the Qun’s calendar. Over on Seheron, sixteen schoolchildren were still alive.
Vasaad was still alive.
No. He couldn’t start thinking about that. He’d come to the realization years ago that things had ended on Seheron the way they were always going to, that nothing he might have done could have changed anything in the long run. He’d squared with that fact. But if he thought about it too much now, he might convince himself otherwise, and then he’d be tying bedsheets together to climb down the side of this tower and swim to Seheron or die trying. Probably die trying. And he couldn’t do that when the villa was somewhere in the future waiting for him. When he needed to get back to Dorian. His Dorian.
The Dorian who wasn’t his Dorian returned about an hour later, judging by the progress of the sunbeams along the frosted floorboards. Bull had been interested in the idea that the sun might melt the glyph, but the lines were still all pretty visible by the time the kid returned. Bull was doing stretches, as best he could in the confined space of the circle. The kid’s return was heralded by a lot of banging and clashing sounds. Bull finished up his stretches, because it was always good to appear calm and unconcerned, and when he looked up, the boy was staring at him. His arms were full of dark green fabric and a tarnished steel helmet that looked like it might have belonged to a Templar at some point.
“Not sure how to break this to you,” Bull said, eyeing the helmet, “but these horns on my head don’t detach.”
“Have a little faith,” Dorian said, a little breathy, like he’d just run up a flight of stairs. He dropped everything in his arms to the floor. “All right,” Dorian said, and touched a finger to the floor. The lines of ice shivered and melted away. He stepped closer, and gestured at Bull’s hands. Bull presented his wrists, and Dorian undid the very unprofessional knots. Then he picked up the green fabric and handed it to Bull, who wrapped it around himself without complaint. When Dorian then gave him a wreath of fabric leaves and a large wooden thing which might in a bad light resemble a harp, Bull raised an eyebrow at him.
“You’re supposed to be Andoral,” Dorian said, and blushed. “It’s supposed to look stupid, right?” he snapped.
“Yeah, yeah,” Bull said, and settled the wreath around his shoulders. “Hey, Dorian,” Bull said, as Dorian crouched down to pick up the helmet. “Where are we? What is this room?”
“A disused storeroom,” Dorian said. “This Circle has been suffering declining enrollment for years. There’s plenty of space no one bothers with. I’ve been filling this one with books from the libraries for months and no one’s noticed.”
“Any of your friends know about this place?” Dorian was silent. Bull adjusted his tone, tried to be a little more gentle when he said, “You got any friends here?”
“There are a few students who tolerate my presence,” Dorian said. “Does that count?”
“You got a boyfriend?”
Dorian looked at him sharply, like he was trying to search out some hidden meaning. Then he laughed, a short snort of a sound. “If I did, I would not be up here trying to summon a desire demon, thank you.”
“Oh, right,” Bull said.
Bull was a realist when it came to his own body. He knew its novelty held attraction for a lot of people. He also knew he was no great beauty, with his scars and badly weathered skin and the large belly he’d acquired in the last few years, since he’d started making some lifestyle changes.
The idea that a demon would take on his appearance to seduce a horny teenager was unbelievably funny, and yet at the same time it was kind of a sweet thought.
“Anyway,” Dorian said. “Now the helmet.”
The boy turned the helmet right side up. He held a palm over one side of it, and his eyes closed, his little face tensing in concentration. Bull watched a circle of red draw itself in the side of the thing, and then a disc of metal separated and fell to the floor.
“Crap,” Bull said, impressed. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“It’s not very impressive,” Dorian said, dismissively. “An artisan’s trick. Someone’s got to make all that shit the Circle sells the army, I suppose, but I’m destined for better things.”
“Yeah,” Bull said, feeling himself smiling a little. “You are.”
Dorian blinked up at him, momentarily silent, and then he muttered, “Fasta vass,” and turned back to the helmet, carving out another horn-hole on the other side. Finally he sliced the helmet neatly down the middle, and handed the two halves to Bull, who began sliding them over his horns.
“You better not seal me into this thing,” Bull warned.
“I’ll tape it,” Dorian said. “After all, we want you to look stupid, right?”
“Great,” Bull growled. “You really think this’ll fool people?”
Dorian snorted. “The enchanters always see what they want to see.”
“I hope you’re right,” Bull said, and then froze as the crystal hanging around his neck started to glow and vibrate.
Dorian grabbed his staff. “What is that?” he demanded, but Bull ignored him, clutching at the crystal like a drowning man clinging to a piece of mast.
“Kadan?” Bull said.
“Oh, sweet merciful Maker,” said the disembodied voice of Dorian- his Dorian- in Common. “Are you by any chance in Vyrantium? Because I followed your temporal signature here, and I’m skulking in a wineshop, and it appears to be Satinalia, even though it was Nubulis yesterday, although perhaps the citizens of this fair city are just dressing up and getting drunk at five in the evening for the novelty of it, who am I to argue, but I could have sworn this ugly statue of Tidarion was torn down five years ago-”
“I’m in the Circle Tower,” Bull interrupted. “I’m, uh, I’m with you. Young you. Twenty-five years ago you, I think.”
Twenty-five years ago Dorian was staring at the crystal in amazement. “Is that- me?” he whispered. “And how is the crystal doing that? This is the second bit of magic that shouldn’t possibly exist that I’ve seen in one day. I wish I could write my capstone paper on it.”
“Andraste’s undergarments,” older Dorian said, through the crystal. “Are you in danger? Do you need help?”
“Nah,” Bull said. “We’ve got a plan. Can you meet me in the square outside the tower in twenty minutes?”
“Certainly,” Dorian’s voice said, “if I survive the crowds. Ugh, there’s a reason I’m usually with you or at Mae’s during Satinalia these days.”
“I believe in you, old man,” Bull said, feeling himself smiling goofily, and he let go of the crystal.
“That was me,” Dorian said.
“Yeah,” Bull said. “You understand what he was saying?”
“Yes,” Dorian said, in the tones of someone who definitely hadn’t but wasn’t going to admit it.
“Cool,” Bull said. “We’ll meet him when we get outside the Circle, then. I think you’ll be pleased, you’re gonna get a lot taller.”
“You are so weirdly stupid,” Dorian said. “All right. Follow me, and let me do the talking. You may speak Tevene surprisingly well, but you certainly don’t sound like one of us.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Bull said, ducking his head deferentially.
“And don’t try anything, or you’ll have twenty staves pointed at you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not that weirdly stupid.”
The trip down the tower was not the most relaxing fifteen minutes of Bull’s life, but at least he didn’t actually see most of it, since Dorian insisted he keep the visor on his stupid helmet closed. He knew when they reached the last downward step, and felt it when they passed through a large echoing hallway, a breeze blowing in through a huge open set of doors, bringing the smells and sounds of an enormous port city.
“Are we past the templars?” Bull whispered. “Can I look now?”
“Yes, yes,” Dorian said, with an exasperated snort, and Bull flipped his visor up.
The square was enormous, framed by the looming tower at his back, and the spires of clocktowers and Chantries around him. It was full of people, loud, jostling, laughing, shouting people. Almost all of them were wearing masks, and most of them had some kind of costume on. Some pointed at him and made laughing comments, and he grinned and waved at them absentmindedly, but his eyes kept scanning until, directly across from the tower, they latched onto a figure in a dark purple cloak, his handsome, strong-featured face unmasked and wearing a matching expression of searching.
Bull waved, and saw Dorian see him, and saw Dorian’s face change, and saw him start to shove his way through the crowd. Bull grinned, and started muttering, “excuse me, excuse me,” and making his own way forward, but he’d only gotten a few feet when six feet of Magister Dorian Pavus crashed into him, engulfing him in a tight hug. Then hands were grabbing at his helmet, pulling off the tape and pulling apart the two pieces so that Dorian could put his hands on either side of Bull’s face and kiss him thoroughly.
“Wow,” Bull said. “How come I don’t get that more often?”
“No one knows us here,” his kadan said, smiling a beautiful dazed smile. “This is my one opportunity to kiss you in the middle of an Imperial street. I had no intention of wasting it. Besides, it’s Satinalia. We’re only participating in time-honored traditions. Look around you.” He took his own advice, casting a casual look across the plaza, and then Bull watched his face freeze.
Bull turned. Dorian was staring at himself. The kid had caught up with them, and was staring at them with a face so full of emotion it hurt to look at, and there was a fireball growing in his fist.
There were gasps from the pedestrians around them, people stepping back, ducking for cover. Dorian said, “Sweet Merciful Maker, was I ever really that short?”
“All right,” the kid said bitterly, “you got me. I fell for it. You can laugh as much as you want, just quit it.”
“Kid,” Bull said.
“Shut up,” the kid said. “A qunari, really? Whose brilliant idea was that?” There were tears forming in his eyes. “I don’t care who you are. I bet Titus and Florian were involved, but I suppose you could be anyone. Just let me wake up now, please, or things will get unpleasant.”
“Dorian,” Bull’s kadan said. “Remember what Father said on our twelfth birthday?”
The fire died. Young Dorian folded his arms over his chest and stared at himself. The tears were starting to run down his cheeks.
“‘Consider where you are and who you are,” his older self continued. “Ground yourself in that knowledge and no illusion can contain you.’ What part of this feels unreal to you?”
“The part,” the younger Dorian said, bitterly, “where you- where you and he-”
“I know it can be difficult, to say the word ‘love’,” older Dorian said, “but I promise, it won’t hurt you. And it’s real. You might not believe me now, but there are very good things in your future.”
“You’re right,” Dorian said, “I don’t believe you.”
“I understand,” Dorian said, his voice full of compassion. “We’ll get out of your way in a moment. I’m afraid, though, that I’ll have to erase your memory of this encounter. Before I do, though, there’s something I want you to try to believe, and remember.”
He leaned in close. Young Dorian, clearly locked in an internal struggle, seemed to force himself to stand still while older Dorian whispered in his ear.
Stepping back, older Dorian said, “Thank you for helping Bull. You’ve done yourself a great service, even if you don’t know it yet. Shall we return, amatus?”
“In a moment,” Bull said. “Hey. Dorian.”
The boy looked at him with wariness and anger and pain in his face. Bull held out his arms. “Hug?” he said. “Only if you want one.”
Slowly, the boy stepped up to him, and slowly, warily, wrapped his arms around the Bull’s waist. Bull hugged him back, very carefully. He felt so tiny, so fragile.
Bull stepped back. “Thanks for the help,” he said. “See you in fifteen years.”
“You didn’t want to tell him what’s coming?” Bull asked, later, as they walked back from the cave to the villa.
“Of course I did,” Dorian said. “There are so many things I would do differently, if I had the opportunity. But I couldn’t risk the fate of the world on it- the chance that I might do something differently and Corypheus might not be defeated. And, rather more selfishly, I don’t wish to ruin my own happiness.”
“Aw,” Bull said, “you’re happy?”
Dorian sighed. He stepped closer to Bull, leaning against his side, and Bull put an arm around Dorian’s shoulders.
“I could be happier,” Dorian said, “but yes. This present state of the world is a great deal more pleasing to me than many, many others I can envision.”
“Glad to hear it, kadan,” Bull said.