Chapter Text
Krem was the first to have the honor of meeting the girls properly. He got his chance the morning after, when they’d already had their first bottles, preceded by their first early-morning-screaming-wake-ups. Dorian fed them, after whispering that, no, Bull was the one that needed to rest and he would strap the great man down to the bed if he did anything otherwise. Bull chuckled, daring him to do so, but he obeyed.
The babies fit comfortably in Krem’s arm’s. They were thicker than Dorian’s, and able to hold a lot more. “I have to admit it, Chief,” he said, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Thought you only had one, but I guess you had a little more.”
Bull sighed, frowning when he heard Dorian laughing. “What? That was clever,” he admitted.
“Damn Vints, conspiring against me,” Bull grumbled.
Sera was next, showing up at the house entirely uninvited but not at all unwelcome. The look on her face when she first saw the girls was a magnificent mix of adoration, excitement, and long-term-plotting.
“You had twinsies!” she said.
“Yep, we sure did,” Bull said.
“Are they gonna be all, y’know, identical and stuff?” Sera said, standing on her toes to peek into the crib they currently shared. “They’re kinda squishy-faced right now, yeah? Can’t tell.”
“Probably not,” Bull replied. “Cordula’s got horn-buds, but Ursula doesn’t. But maybe that’s all it’ll be.”
“Aww, is that what you’ve named them!” Sera said. “Real proper-soundin’. Bet they were Dorian’s idea.”
“They were, thank you,” Dorian said.
Sera made a dismissive, affectionate noise. “Psh! Just as long as they aren’t raised to be all snooty and stuff,” she said. “I’m not worried with you lot, though.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Sera,” Dorian said.
Sera lapsed into a short fit of giggles, and rested her arms and head on the side of the crib. “Oh, you two are gonna be so much fun,” she murmured, though not to anyone in particular.
It was largely Sera’s involvement that got the news to spread across the Skyhold compound that there were two new arrivals instead of the expected one. Adaar showed up with a bit of egg still left on her face, very much interrupted from her breakfast by Sera’s news.
“Ohh, this one’s not going to have horns!” she said, before they could tell her their names. “That’s good luck, my mother told me.”
Bull made a strange gesturing shrug, as if to say “What’d I tell you?” Dorian frowned and rolled his eyes.
“I’m really happy for you two,” she continued, later. “I’m, uh, not very good with kids or anything, but, y’know, if you need the help. I, uh, got… connections. And things.”
“We’ll let you know, Boss,” Bull said. Adaar spent a few moments more cooing over the girls, before returning to her duties for that day.
The rest of the inquisition filtered through like so many aunts and uncles and cousins, here and there, when they had time, and always insisting on holding one or both of the girls at some point. Dorian acted as host for most of the day, since Bull was tired and went back to bed early, emerging once or twice for food.
“I’m not even going to try and understand how you two did this,” Blackwall said, holding Cordula with a surprising degree of tenderness, “but you got this far, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
(He denied that he wanted more time with her when somebody else wanted a turn, and spent the rest of the afternoon in the stables, chipping enthusiastically away at a block of wood.)
“Y’know, I can’t help but feel an idea coming on. Plucky girl adventurers.” Varric was one of the few that insisted on holding both of the girls at once, since, he claimed, he couldn’t see into the crib without a stepping-stool. He had to get his glimpses where he could. “The Terrible Twins of Tevinter. That’s got a nice ring to it.”
“Please, don’t,” Dorian said.
“Dear, tell me,” Vivienne said, standing authoritatively over the crib, refusing to hold either of them, “will you have them in coordinating outfits until they can dress themselves?”
“Matching outfits?” Dorian said, laughing slightly. “Is this some ironic Orlesian trend?”
“Coordinating, my dear. Matching is for themed balls and the unimaginative,” Vivienne said. “They each need a signature color. Red for Ursula, I think. She’s got a warmer complexion.”
“She’s only a day old! Everything about her is red right now.”
“Trust me, darling. Red. With accents in gold and black,” Vivienne said.
The visitors petered out as the day went on, and the girls lapsed in and out of sleep in between. When Bull and Dorian finally settled in together for the night, they were, themselves, so exhausted that they were both asleep within minutes.
When one of them woke, late, late into the night, Bull was the one that rose, mumbling to Dorian that he needed to rest, what with all the socializing he did that day, while Bull had just lounged. Dorian chuckled a little as Bull’s breath and mouth touched his ear, but he turned back over in sleep regardless.
As Bull neared the nursery, however, he heard the cries fading away. He saw a figure in the dark crouched over the crib. For a half-second, he tensed, ready to retaliate, until his eye adjusted to the light and he noticed the hat.
“Cole.”
“Hello!” he said, softly.
Bull rubbed his eyes, his whole body feeling stiff. “What are you doing, Cole.”
“She was hungry.” Cole had Cordula in his arms, along with a bottle of milk for her.
“I’m sure she was, but… let me handle that?” Bull said.
“You should sleep,” Cole said. He was swaying, slightly, not exactly rocking but definitely soothing. “Blood in your belly, bruised, bones bent almost to breaking. You hide your hurt so that he won’t worry. I can help.”
“...yeah, I’m sure you can, kid, but…” Bull sighed. “How about you wait until morning, and see how Dorian feels about you helping his kids?”
“He won’t mind.”
“You should still ask. People tend to get a little tense when you pick up their kids without asking,” Bull said. “Like bears. You know about bears, don’t you, kid?”
Cole tilted his head in confusion. “Yes, but… Dorian is not a bear.”
“It’s a metaphor, kid.”
“Ah, a metaphor,” Cole said. “They mean things, except when they don’t. Words that know what they are, until they aren’t.”
“...yeah. Words. Can you put her back down, now?”
“Okay.” Cole did so. “You should sleep, The Iron Bull.”
“I will, kid. Goodnight.”
In the space of a blink, Cole was gone. Bull yawned, taking a moment to look in the crib at the calmed children, already nearing sleep again. A little milk was still on the corner of Cordula’s mouth, and he wiped it off with his thumb. She suckled at the air.
They were so small. Delicate. Precious, Dorian had said.
Bull did not fear Cole, but the spirit made him uneasy, as all spirits did. Him being consistently benign hardly helped with that.
But if Dorian trusted the spirit with his children, Bull could as well.
--
“Wait, if I’m to understand you correctly… you’ll go and check on them if they wake up in the middle of the night?” Dorian was half-naked in his dressing-gown in the kitchen, interrupted in the making of his morning tea by Cole.
(Bull told him he could ask in the morning, Cole said. It was now morning. Hello!)
“I can feed them before they have to cry. Yes.” Cole had his hands eagerly held in front of him, but he was looking at the floor. “In silence, everyone sleeps better.”
“Well, no arguing there,” Dorian said. “You, er, know where all the milk-draught is? That Bull made.”
“I looked and learned along with you, in the kitchens,” Cole said. “And I... think I understand how diapers work.”
“...let’s just have you stick with the milk, for now,” Dorian said. “We’ll all work on the diapers together.”
“Yes,” Cole said. “I do want to learn. The Iron Bull won’t get better if he can’t sleep.”
Dorian paused. “Is Bull… hurting, Cole?”
“His… body hurts, but he heals,” Cole said. “He made life, and in the making unmade some of himself. I’ve felt it before, in the infirmary, families forming from these lives, unmade.”
“...so, is he all right, or isn’t he?”
“He will heal,” Cole said. “Making a new person is like an illness, but a happy one.”
“If you say so,” Dorian said. “Now, if you please, I need to finish…”
One of the girls began to cry. Cole disappeared.
Dorian sighed, pouring himself a cup of tea, at least, before he continued on to the nursery.
Cole was feeding Ursula, this time, who had calmed significantly in his arms and with the milk he’d brought. His technique was almost textbook, the bottle tilted at just the right angle so that it wouldn’t flow too hard. And none of this was taking into account whatever passive hurt-absorbing he was doing by simply touching her.
“I know you aren’t a bear, but please don’t attack me for holding her,” Cole said, not looking at him. “I know I didn’t ask.”
“Of… course not, Cole,” Dorian said. “Do… feel free to feed the girls when they’re hungry. At night. You have my explicit permission.”
“Thank you,” Cole said. “This will help.”
“So you really trust him to take care of them?” Bull said, after Dorian had settled back in and told him what had happened.
“Well, I’ll have to see how he is with anything else that might wake them up in the middle of the night,” Dorian replied. “Diapers, particularly. Should probably make sure he knows about those.”
“Seems reasonable,” Bull replied. “You think he’ll try anything else, though?”
“Like…?”
“I don’t know. Weird spirit crap.”
“If I were to bet on a demon trying to possess one of our children, I highly doubt it would be Cole,” Dorian said. “And, besides, he has that… amulet that Solas gave him. He’s not a danger.”
Bull shrugged. “Well, hey. If it means we get to sleep more, why not?”
“Promise me you will, though?” Dorian said. “Sleep, I mean.”
“Of course, kadan. I’ll sleep all damn day if you let me.”
“Let you? I’ll bar the door to the bedroom myself if that’s what it takes to get you some rest.”
“Mm. Sounds hot,” Bull said. “Strap me down, too, like you said this morning?”
“Please. I’m not some Orlesian torture-master. That’d be terribly uncomfortable for the both of us.”
“I dunno, I’d be up for trying,” Bull said.
“When you’re recovered,” Dorian said. “In the meantime, I’ll think of other ways to keep you in bed.”
“Like…?” There was a teasing, hopeful upturn in Bull’s voice.
“Breakfast in bed. And lunch. And reading. And maybe I’ll kiss you, if I’m feeling up to it.”
“No complaints here,” Bull said, and Dorian settled into his place beside him, looking as pleased with himself as a cat in the sun.
In the nursery, Cole held the second-born, Cordula, half-humming an old, old song that had lived on in the dreams of a friend.