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Bull comes to the villa with strange things sometimes. Dorian’s past the point of questioning it; there’s a little shelf in their room that has an assortment of oddities interspersed with Dorian’s books. A few pretty, peach colored shells from a beach, some old fossils he’d correctly assumed Dorian might like and other random knick knacks that he picked up either from vendors or just along the way.
So, when Bull comes ambling down the road with the Chargers behind him, and has a little bundle in his arms, Dorian snorts. “Maker, what is it this time,” he calls, no heat in his voice, just amusement. He’s carrying it awfully careful, whatever it is. “A particularly marvelous rock?”
Bull’s grip shifts on the thing, and distantly, he notes that a few of the Chargers are holding back what looks like laughter, or at the very least, grins. Marvelous, that’s not ominous at all. Krem’s face is terribly, terribly blank which is really all the more terrifying. “You’d better not have brought-” Dorian starts, shoulders squared, and it promptly doesn’t matter what he was going to say because he takes a look at it and pauses.
There’s something there, alright, but wrinkly and grey, too small for some sort of expensive statue that someone nicked. Without thinking, he eyes the others and then the thing again briefly before turning to peer up at Bull, dubious. “Something that looks what I imagine a grey potato would look like? ” he asks wryly, and this time there is definitely laughter, open as the Chargers file past them to the guest house that was added a few years after purchase, to attempt to accommodate everyone.
Bull shifts his grip again and grins, looking equal parts sheepish and faux-offended, even as Krem rolls his eyes at the two of them. “Hey! He doesn’t look like a potato, or a rock.”
“I-- he.” That statement is all fine and good until it registers and Dorian jerks forward, tugging at the cloth that it’s wrapped in, staring at the chubby, wrinkly face of what is unmistakably a qunari child, tiny horns just barely beginning to show, still under the skin. What Bull, of all people, is doing with a child is utterly beyond him, words utterly failing him for the moment. Weakly, he manages, “Why do you have a child-- a qunari child?”
“He followed us home, Chief thought you might want to keep ‘im,” Krem chimes in helpfully, looking for all the world like he’s the most innocent man on the planet. The child shifts, squirms and kicks at its swaddling, opening a tiny mouth to yawn hugely. Big eyes open for a moment and Dorian sees them both tense, but the child doesn’t do more than make a disgruntled, burbling noise and settle. “Could put him on your shelf with everything else.”
“Enough help, Krem,” Bull drawls, and shifts his grip one more time, the child looking ridiculously small in the huge curve of his arm, dwarfed by the giant hand that tugs the blankets up gently. “We’re watching him for right now, til his folks come to get him. He wouldn’t let any of the other boys hold him.”
It really raises more questions than it answers, but Dorian can make an educated guess. Their talk the night before, Bull had mentioned they’d overheard idle chatter in a tavern about Tal-Vashoth lurking about. They’d gone to look into it, just in case, and judging by what was going on, they’d clearly found them. Where they were, though, was another question entirely, but presumably they were alright enough to come fetch him at some unspecified point.
“Good taste,” Dorian hears himself say rather faintly, still caught up on the image of Bull standing there at the gates of their home with a child. It takes two tries to shake and then he reaches over impatiently, curling his fingers at Bull’s free wrist to pull at him. Bull moves, though Dorian has no illusions that it’s because of his tug; him trying to pull or push at Bull is often like trying to push at a mountain. “I- you do realize that this house wasn’t furnished with a child in mind?”
He doesn’t need to look over to know the look that’s on Bull’s face; he recognizes the tone, the slow, easy warmth to it, intimately knows the soft smile that’s on his lips. “You do realize at this age, they just eat, shit, and sleep?” he asks, the teasing mostly lost with the way he’s clearly gone absolutely soft over the child.
“Isn’t that the dream, Chief,” Krem says as he slides neatly past them with a quick, easy arm clasp and shoulder grab with Dorian before heading off to the guest housing to assist the others with raiding the liquor, no doubt.
“Something we should all aspire to,” Dorian murmurs, opening the front door as quietly as he can manage and shutting it just as much so. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, torn between touching Bull, wanting that assurance that he is so greedy for every time they’ve been away so long, and wanting to peer at the child again, utterly baffled. He opts for neither; instead, he starts digging through one of the spare rooms as quietly as he can manage, searching for something to put the baby in, something the prior owners might have left. “They might do that, but he can’t sleep on the chaise, now can he?”
Bull pauses, leaning against the doorjamb with the child still tucked away in his arm. The shiteating grin is audible in his tone, the bastard. “I dunno, he doesn’t move that mu-”
“Bull. We are not letting your-- stray child sleep on the chaise, with our luck, he would fall.” And they certainly can’t have him sleep in the bed; for as large as qunari get, the child is terrifyingly small.
Interestingly, there is something to put the child in, an ancient crib left over in the mess from its prior owners. It’s trapped under a half dozen items, but he manages well enough to get it rolled creakily into the hallway. Dusty though it is, he knows they can get it cleaned and neatened up well enough, along with a nursemaid of some kind fetched to help them for however long this takes. It’s passable, for the time being. One of the house’s servants comes by to grab it; one of the Chargers must have tipped her off, which meant he didn’t have to worry about figuring out everything a child would need. Small blessings.
Once back out in the hall and with the crib taken care of, Dorian finally gives into the urge to touch him, moving seamlessly into Bull’s space, against his chest, under an arm. It’s opposite the child and again, the view staggers him, leaves his breath hitching awkwardly in his chest. The steady thud of Bull’s heart is a thousand times more soothing than anything else right then. “I never thought I’d be truly grateful that the last owners left so many ridiculous things down there.”
Bull’s hand slides down, stroking over his shoulder to hold him while they walk down the hall to their room, the rest of the house quiet save for their footsteps. “Shouldn’t need it for too long, either. Day or two at most.” He’s got more scruff on his chin than normal; Dorian wants to lean up and press a kiss to it, but he can’t without disturbing the child. Instead, he settles for reaching up and cupping his face a long moment when they’re in their room. Playfully, he tugs at a longer bit of it, then curves his hand up, feels Bull tilt his head into the touch. “Look at you, giving Blackwall a run for his sovereigns.”
Bull gets that look on his face again, like Dorian hangs the fucking moon, and then promptly ruins it by kissing and then licking Dorian’s palm. And then, nonchalantly, “I don’t see you complaining, kadan.” Because of course he does, because of course he would opt out of being the ridiculous idiot who nearly breaks bones with his hugs and would lick his hand instead. Of course.
“Void take you-- Bull, you absolute child,” Dorian holds down a yelp, hissing accusingly as he yanks his hand back and then quite maturely back wipes his hand down Bull’s arm to smear the spit on him. All it takes is a moment to process what he’s done and then he slowly raises his other hand to his face, dragging it with a groan. “I cannot believe anyone could ever think we could be responsible for a child -- let alone a qunari newborn.”
He hadn’t the faintest idea what sort of danger it was to have a new child away from its mother but Bull didn’t seem concerned, so Dorian tries his best not to dwell. “Hey, we’ve made it this far. From the door to our room is pretty good for us and Potato.”
Of course he would. Dorian levels a look at him that has made men in the magisterium shudder if he leveled it at them while they were wasting his time. Unsurprisingly, Bull doesn’t seem remarkably impressed. “You are not calling him that - I imagine whoever passed him off to you gave you some indication of his name.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know, it’s growing on me.” Bull gingerly crawls up onto the bed, and finally, finally shows some sign that he’s just as sleepy as Dorian is. He nearly melts into the covers, the child settling against his chest again a moment later with barely a noise. He’s likely running on fumes just like Dorian, exhaustion pressing over him, heavy like a blanket. They’ve both been busy as can be and this is one of the few breaks they’re allowed; Dorian doesn’t hesitate to crawl up after him, settling in against his side like two puzzle pieces slotting together. “I yam finding it appealing.”
“How dare you.” It’s only the fact that he stresses the peal part that Dorian gets the second horrendous pun. There’s no stopping his pained groan, his hand dipping down to pinch at Bull’s thigh hard enough to get a noise.
They might not be the best fit for taking care of a kid permanently but at least it’s only for a short while. They’ve managed this long and when he watches the way that Bull is interacting with him, there’s this bone-deep surety that if they did explore this, at some point, he’d take to it like a fish to water. At least the baby isn’t crying; small blessings, given that children are supposed to wail fairly frequently. Maybe the qunari children are just quieter - if they had children, qunari or human, he wonders-- well. Before he goes too far down that rabbit hole, he shoves the thought down, not quite willing to explore it yet.
They settle into bed like nothing’s changed, Bull still cradling the child in one huge arm, Dorian with his other. The child has good taste in people to watch over him, given the rest of the options, as ridiculous as it is. Maybe, Dorian’d trust Krem with the child, but the rest of them - Maker take him but no.
“C’mere, kadan,” Bull rumbles quietly. There aren’t any more jokes for the time being; Dorian’s been wearing himself thin these last few weeks with the Lucerni, and he has no doubts that Bull’s been doing much the same. For all that he wants to complain that they shouldn't nap with the child, he has no doubts that Bull won’t do anything to endanger him; he’ll probably stay awake until the crib is ready and then they’ll move him there and go back to sleep. The logistics can be figured out later; Dorian winds one arm around the broad stretch of Bull’s chest under him, and finally lets himself fall asleep.