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The worst part was Dorian wasn’t even surprised.
Before he felt panic or even concern there was just resignation. He hadn’t expected what he and the Bull had to last forever but he had hoped its end would be some time in the future and to be under very different circumstances. Of course the universe had other plans and would rip the Bull away from him before he was ready and part of him had been waiting for it; that was just how things were.
It was Lavellan screaming the Bull’s name across the battleground that finally broke him from his daze and he took in the full situation. He threw a barrier up around the Bull’s prone form instead of himself and Solas, leaving them both vulnerable. He barely even noticed as Solas took up the slack, without so much as a comment.
Dorian, twisted his staff in his hands and threw fire at the enemy with less control that he would normally allow but he was far more concerned with killing these men and killing them now than worrying about his form. He was panting ever so slightly as they finished up and he took out the last man with the blade on the end of his staff, splattering blood up onto his robes.
Lavellan was already kneeling by the Bull’s body by the time he got there standing several paces away, watching anxiously. The Bull lay motionless on his side a large gash of red along his uncovered shoulder and chest, blood pooling on the ground beneath him.
“Solas,” she called, “Ride back to camp and get some help.”
Solas nodded, even sparing Dorian a comforting hand on his shoulder as he dashed past to where they had left the horses. Dorian had never seen the Bull felled in battle before and unnerved Dorian to see him this way. Normally the Bull laughed off wounds and boasted about the scars they would leave while Dorian rolled his eyes and called him names.
“He’ll be okay, Dorian,” Lavellan insisted, swiftly applying make-shift bandages and then pressure to the gash.
He wrung his hands still standing yards away. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed her.
---
Dorian took longer than strictly necessary dealing with first his horse and then the Bull’s, removing their tack and brushing them down, even going as far to hunt down three apples, one for each of the horses and one for himself. They nuzzled him, grateful for the attention, while he stroked their noses. He didn’t finish his apple, finding it sitting heavily in his gut in a way that made him feel a little sick. The two horses were more than happy to finish it for him.
He left them alone when he could no longer pretend, even to himself, that he wasn’t just avoiding finding out what was going on.
He hovered near the healing tent until one of the medics shooed him away, though not unkindly, saying she would let him know as soon as they knew anything. He slipped away without complaint.
“The healers say he’ll be all right, you can see him now if you’d like,” Solas said, finding Dorian pacing restlessly on the edge of camp some time later.
“Thank you,” Dorian said but didn’t move in the direction of the healing tent. Solas’ assurances didn’t do much to ease the apprehension coiling in his gut. He had seen injuries like that take sudden turns for the worse and he was unable to completely believe that the Bull would be completely fine; anything from the wound becoming infected to the healers missing some deeper wound could still lead to the Bull’s unfortunate end.
And even if he was fine, what about the next time it happened? It had been a long time since Dorian had anything of worth to lose. After giving up his homeland, he hadn't expected to find anything else that could hurt him so much. Trust the Bull to be the one to prove him wrong.
Solas looked at him carefully but didn’t press the matter. He left Dorian to his cowardly avoidance and went to join Lavellan by the fire.
Dorian wanted to go to the Bull’s side but seeing him unresponsive was distressing in a way he didn’t want to dwell on and the idea of sitting by the Bull’s sit as he lay unconscious made him feel a little nauseous. So ignoring the guilt at putting his own feelings first when it was the Bull who had almost died, and still could die, he crossed the camp to his own tent on the opposite side to where the Bull was recovering.
He settled on his bedroll, pulling out one of the books he insisted on dragging around Southern Orlais with him and set about convincing himself he wasn’t distracted. It was an interesting book but he found himself wishing he had brought some lighter, like one of Varric’s books that Cassandra had tried to convince him to read. It would be easier to loose himself in that ridiculous nonsense than to focus on the complex early political history of Antiva.
He found himself reading the same line over and over he was aware he would have to reread this section later if he hoped to remember any of it. However, frustrating though reading was when his attention was split between the text and the Bull laying across the camp it was preferable than any attempts at sleep.
It was hours later and the sun had set completely by the time he was interrupted.
“You know,” the Bull’s voice rumbled as he ducked into the tent, middle and shoulder rapped in clean white cloth. “I had images of you waiting by my side ready to nurse me back to health.”
“Shows what you know,” Dorian said, laying down his book, schooling his face and voice to hide his relief.
The Bull huffed but didn’t quite conceal a wince as he settled down next to Dorian.
Dorian reached out to help him before realising there was nothing he could do leaving his hands hovering awkwardly between them. He struggled to voice some of what he was thinking and after a few moments of failing to arrange his feelings into words he gave up and settled back on the familiar irritation.
It was easier to appear petulant than to risk being honest when his thoughts were such a mess.
“You need to be more careful,” he snapped.
“What’s that?” the Bull asked, incredulous and Dorian felt a little guilty; trust him to make the Bull almost dying about him.
“You need to stop throwing yourself into danger so readily. Frankly I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to get hurt; you are about as subtle as a Druffalo’s breath, which is to say, not at all,” Dorian continued, waving his hands around unnecessarily.
The Bull sighed in that way that meant he had figured out what Dorian was really thinking and tugged Dorian half onto his lap, wrapping his good arm around him. Dorian was never certain if he was grateful for the Bull’s perceptiveness or angered by it.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” He said, idly carding his fingers through Dorian’s hair.
“Yes, well. Quite,” Dorian muttered, leaning against the Bull but carefully so as not to hurt him more than he already was.
He tugged at the Bull’s horn, but more gently than he might have done normally, and kissed the corner of his mouth. The Bull looked at him with far more tenderness than Dorian felt he deserved and he turned away from the Bull, extinguishing the lamp he had set up for reading, conveniently hiding his face.
He pushed at the Bull’s chest who lay down without resistance. He grunting slightly in pain but he wrapped an arm around Dorian’s waist to pull him flush against his side.
“I didn’t like seeing you like that, I couldn’t look at you like that,” Dorian admitted to the darkness. “I thought,” he paused, “I was worried you weren’t going to be okay.”
“Awh,” Bull said, grinning too widely for a man had almost died that morning, “you do care!”
Dorian very gently elbowed him in the side.
“Krem’s the same when anyone gets hurt, won’t be near them until they are okay,” the Bull said, suddenly serious, easing away anxiety Dorian hadn’t known he’d been carrying. He hated the thought of the Bull thinking he had stayed away because he didn’t care. “Maybe it’s a ‘Vint thing.”
“Who knows?” Dorian said, still aiming for flippant but aware he was missing it by miles. “I’m going to turn you into the healers tomorrow, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
The Bull let out a dramatic sigh.
“But you’ll let me stay the night?” He asked.
“Yes,” Dorian said, “But only because you’re warm and you’d probably fall over something trying to navigate the camp in the dark.
“And you’ll get me breakfast in the morning and hand feed it to me before you kick me out?” The Bull teased.
“Perhaps, just this once. Don’t get used to it.” Dorian said, hiding his smile against the Bull’s skin.
“Used to you being nice? I would never.”
“And if you bleed on me in the night I’ll see to it they never find your body.” Dorian said, fingers trailing lightly over the Bull’s skin.
The Bull chuckled softly and they both pretended not to notice the wince that followed the motion.
******
Dorian, for all his loud commentary during battles, be it woops of adrenalin fuelled enjoyment, that he would immediately deny when it was later brought up, or calls for aid, buried under layers of indifference or sarcasm to hide that he was actually in need of help, he managed to stay uncharacteristically silent when he was actually injured.
This normally meant him limping away from fights with his mouth set in a hard line, brushing off concern but convincing absolutely no one that he was fine. The Bull wasn’t surprised by this reaction, Dorian was after all a very proud man, and could hardly fault him considering he tended to respond in a similar fashion, albeit with a little more bragging about future scars.
Unfortunately he was equally quite when he was seriously injured.
The Bull was carefully checking the bodies for anything worth selling when he saw Dorian standing stock still off to the side, facing away from the others.
“Dorian,” the Bull called cheerfully, sauntering over towards Dorian was, fully expecting to find him fussing over a stain or tear in his robe. Dorian didn’t turn to face him however, or raise his voice to include the Bull in his complaining. The Bull placed a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and Dorian stumbled as the Bull tugged Dorian around to face him.
Dorian was horribly pale, one arm wrapped tightly around his middle, while he held the other out in front of him, his staff tucked into his elbow, staring at his hand. It was sticky with blood, the same blood that was seeping between the fingers of the hand gripping his waist.
“Dorain?!” The Bull cried, his other hand coming up to grab Dorian’ other shoulder to steady him. Dorian looked up at him and gave a nervous smile before his legs gave out. The Bull shifted his grip again to catch Dorian and hoist the man up into his arms, holding him too tightly against his chest.
Lavellan cursed, appearing beside the Bull. She looked back at Sera who was sitting a little way off, tying cloth around her leg to bandage her own injury.
“Camp isn’t far that way,” She said, undoing one of the belts across Dorian’s chest and pulling it lower. She bunched up part of Dorian’s robe, gathering it over the wound and tightening the belt over the top, reapplying the pressure lost when Dorian’s hands had fallen limp. The Bull realised he should have thought to do the same.
She returned her hard gaze to the Bull. “Can you carry him or should I run and get a cart.” She was practical as always, only a slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes giving away that she was concerned, and exactly the steadiness the Bull need even as he felt panic rise in the back of his throat.
“I can carry him,” The Bull said, tightening his grip on Dorian.
“Then go,” She was already turning away from the Bull, “we’ll join you as soon as we can.”
The Bull didn’t wait for anymore permission before taking off back to camp.
He moved as quickly as he dared, hyper aware of how every jostle caused Dorian wound to bleed slightly more heavily. He pushed himself hard though, cutting through rough undergrowth to avoid the long way round. It was quicker certainly, but noticeably more work. His bad knee started to ache as he treated it so carelessly but he refused to allow it to slow him.
He ran into a scout only a half mile from the camp. He took one look at the Bull and his burden before turning on his heal.
“I’ll let the healers know you are coming,” the scout called back over his shoulder taking off at a run.
“Come on you fucking ‘Vint,” The Bull muttered, “Just hold on a little longer.”
The healers were already waiting when the Bull arrived at camp and he was lead to the healing tent. They pulled Dorian out of the Bull’s arms but he followed them into the healing tent, towering in the corner.
“You should leave, watching isn’t going to make this easier for anyone,” one of the healers said, an elf that the Bull recognised from his own brush with death months earlier; she had rolled her eyes and turned a blind eye when he has escaped to find out why Dorian hadn’t been waiting for him to wake up.
“I’d rather stay,” the Bull said. He felt a little bad at ignoring what had clearly been an order phrased as a polite suggestion but not enough to leave.
The healer shifted and glanced at the others but none of them seemed willing to challenge the Bull on this point.
In the end they just did their best to ignore him as they worked over Dorian, striped him of his ruined clothes and pouring over his wound. One of them kept leaving and returning with clean water and rags in an attempt to keep the area clean of blood.
Dorian made a pained noise seemingly without waking and the Bull took an unconscious step forward, making a concerned noise the back of his throat but it mangled in his mouth and came out as more of a growl. The healer closest to him flinched back and fell into the man next to them and they all stared at the Bull with wide eyes.
“Bull,” Lavellan warned from the corner, “Let them work.”
The Bull hadn’t even seen her enter and he would find time later to be concerned about how blind Dorian could make him.
The Bull fully intended to step back and return to being an unwanted looming presence but just then Dorian cried out, eyes flickering for a moment before he slumped back into unconsciousness. The Bull had taken another step forward, lip curled in a snarl before he even realised it, thoughts too focused on Dorian and protect to be aware of much else.
The elf stepped forward, not getting between the Bull and Dorian but clearly making a statement, fear flashing in her eyes before she hastily covered it with determination.
“We can’t help him if you won’t let us work,” She said firmly.
The Bull straightened up to his full height.
“Bull, control yourself!” The Inquisitor ordered, having no qualms about stepping in-between the Bull and the healers and between the Bull and Dorian. She glared up at him, arms folded across her chest, solid stance making it very clear she would forcibly remove him if she thought it was necessary. Before he realised a growl half formed in his throat but as he met her narrowed eyes he bite it back. Instead he nodded and took a step back, close enough to watch carefully without looming over the healers.
Lavellan gave him another look over before turning her attention to the healers.
“Let me know if you need anything,” the warning clear in her voice. She spared Dorian a glance as she left the tent and the Bull couldn’t help but be envious of the easy control and steady calm she projected that he had found so hard to mirror since he had gone Tal-Vashoth.
The healer the Bull recognised looked cautiously at him out of the corner of her eye as she dropped back to Dorian’s side.
“Sorry,” he muttered, fully meaning it. Now that he had forced himself to return to his normal calm he felt ashamed of how impulsive he was acting. He wondered if this had more to do with being Tal-Vashoth or Dorian himself.
“It’s fine,” She said, not looking up from Dorian, “I understand this must be hard for you.”
They worked in silence over Dorian for another few hours before she straightened up and faced the Bull.
“That’s all we can do for now but it’s looking good. If you’d like to stay with him that’s fine, I’ll be back to check on him soon but call me if his condition changes or if he wakes up,” she said briskly.
“I will. Thank you.”
She smiled and while it was only a small curl of her lips, and she still kept a careful distance, it was also genuine.
Then the Bull was alone with Dorian. He settled on the ground next to the cot and carefully smoothed down Dorian’s hair. Sweat clung to his forehead and his skin had a slightly pasty quality to it. He trusted the healers, he had seen them pull people back from worse than this but it was hard to envision Dorian recovering quickly when he looked like this.
The Bull gathered one of the remaining cloths and wiped some of the moisture away from Dorian’s skin.
He shouldn’t have let this happen.
He should have been paying more attention to what was going on and not allowed his blood lust to cloud his mind. It was his job to make sure the others, especially the mages, were protected during battle, a takes he rarely struggled with due to his size. He knew Dorian would have bristled at the suggestion but the human wasn’t built to take hits in the same way the Bull was.
The Bull reached out and took one of Dorian’s hands in his own found its warmth comforting even if it was unresponsive.
He wasn’t entirely sure how long he sat watching Dorian while he played over the fight in his head trying to pinpoint exactly where he went wrong.
He had no intention of letting this happen again.
Dorian groaned as he came to, face creasing into a grimace, free hand coming to rest on his gut over his wound. The Bull pulled his hand from Dorian’s, but not before Dorian’s eyes landed on their clasped hands, and he left Dorian’s side to poke his head out of the tent and call the healers back.
Dorian watched, eyes slightly unfocused as they checked him over and asked him questions on how he was feeling. He mumbled answers, frowning as the words didn’t come out quite the way he intended. The healers didn’t draw attention to it and after a short time they shuffled out leaving just the elf.
“You look like you’ll be fine,” The elf told him with the typical cheer of the healers with good bedside manners. “We gave you a lot of elfroot for the pain so you’ll be drowsy until that’s out of your system but the worst of that will fade after you’ve been a awake for a another few minutes.”
Dorian nodded, hands twitching to return to his injury so he could inspect it but he dutifully kept them by his side while the healer remained.
She looked over to the Bull still addressing Dorian but her words were for him. “I’m sure the Iron Bull will be happy to get you anything you need so you won’t have to exert yourself.”
She hesitated, only for a second but the Bull noticed even if no one else might have, before she placed her hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Then she ducked out of the tent leaving them alone again.
Dorian was mostly silent for a while, testing his limits by shifting on the cot and brushing his fingers across the bandages, wincing with every careless motion in a way that almost had the Bull on his feet to stop him. He forced himself to remain still however until Dorian was satisfied and had shaken off the worst of the side effects of the elfroot.
“I don’t suppose they said anything about how the scar would look?” Dorian asked at last, aiming for light-hearted and only just missing it.
“Awh,” The Bull said, going for the same tone, “worried if you lose your good looks I won’t want you anymore?”
“Please,” Dorian said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’ll always be pretty and you’ll always want me.”
The Bull made a noise of agreement.
“That’s it?” Dorian asked and give an exaggerated, and frankly rather insulting, impression of the noise the Bull had made. “No telling me how beautiful I am and how you worship the ground I walk on?”
Dorian’s eyes were tight though and the Bull could tell he was worried on his behalf.
“It’s just…” The Bull trailed off, knowing full well Dorian wouldn’t let him get away with it.
“Just what?” Dorian demanded.
“This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”
“You shouldn’t have let this happen?” Dorian asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“It’s my job to protect you!” The Bull said, regretting the words almost instantly. He was angry with Dorian’s dismissal of his guilty but that didn’t mean he wanted Dorian angry because the Bull implied he couldn’t take care of himself; he knew Dorian was more than capable.
Dorian, damn him, laughed and the Bull bristled at Dorian not taking him seriously. Dorian’s laughter turned quickly to a groan as his injury rebelled against the motion. Dorian waved off the Bull’s concern and beginnings of a sentence while he recovered enough to talk. He curled in on himself slightly, and his breathing evened out.
“Would you look at us,” He said at last.
“Oh?”
“Acting like fools over each other. I couldn’t even look at you when you were unconscious and you based on the way that elf looked at you I’ll bet you’ve been obnoxious in your protectiveness,” Dorian explained.
The Bull couldn’t help but smile.
Dorian sighed and shifted against his pillows to try and snuggle deeper.
“I’ll admit, I didn’t see us ending up here when I first fell into bed with you.”
The Bull was silent for a moment before he let out a soft chuckle. He would have beat himself up if this had happened to Krem or any of the chargers but Dorian squirming his way into that place in his heart was entirely unexpected. It seemed he had something of a weak spot for snarky ‘Vints; likely no one who had met Krem would be surprised.
“Come and keep me warm,” Dorian demanded, shifting over in the cot inch by pained inch until there was just enough room for the Bull to climb in beside him. The Bull remained very still while Dorian shifted next to him until he was comfortable before the Bull tucked the blankets around them both, doing his best not to jostle Dorian.
“Our dear Inquisitor is going to give you a tongue lashing for acting like a fretful spouse, likely terrifying the poor healers.” Dorian said into the part of the Bull’s pectoral he was using as a pillow.
The Bull sighed, “She already did.”
He kindly chose not to comment on Dorian referring to them as married, however indirectly.
Dorian snorted ineloquently.
“Good, I’m sure you deserved no less.”
The Bull couldn’t disagree.
They were silent for a while and the Bull almost thought Dorian had fallen asleep until he reached across and took the Bull’s hand in his own again.
“I think we should both agree to try and avoid being stabbed in the future.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” the Bull said.
“Of course it does,” Dorian said, “I came up with it.”
The Bull laughed until Dorian nudged him in the side and complained that the Bull’s moving made him a poor pillow.