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There were three different kinds of battle, ones that were over before they began, ones with just the right amount of challenge to make your blood sing, and then the ones that froze you on the inside because you could feel Death tickling its fingers along the back of your neck.
Dorian was frozen.
He fought as wildly as he could, sucking down his last lyrium potion and hoping it would be enough. Even with the potion, drawing mana felt like scraping a rusty knife over his arm, peeling away skin and flesh in big messy strips with each spell. Dorian’s muscles shook with exertion and he had to imagine that even the unstoppable Iron Bull was growing exhausted. His usual yells had petered out into perfunctory grunts.
Kessal had stopped casting anything beyond his Knight Enchanter blade, running enemies through like butter. Blackwall was chopping methodically, looking worn to the bone. The end seemed in sight, but it was a long way off. Dorian wished Kessal would just call a retreat, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. If they didn’t kill these demons they’d take it out on someone defenseless. The rift had to be closed.
“Stay strong!” Kessal yelled, “I’m going towards the rift!”
“Oh, take your time!” Dorian called, using the blade on his staff to slice down a fear demon that had gotten too close.
Usually Iron Bull would have something to say too, but he was silent. Dorian tried to look for him but another fear demon came screeching right at him and he was forced to defend himself. Dorian stumbled up the hill, using the last of his mana to kill the demon and then staggering to his knees. He couldn’t fight a second longer, he couldn’t cast another spell.
Down below Blackwall was slicing down the last two demons on the field and Kessal was raising his hand to the pulsating rift. So…where was Bull? Dorian stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff as his eyes darted from place to place. The demons left no fallen forms, if Iron Bull was down there then he should be plainly visible, but Dorian saw neither hide nor hair. Now he was trying to squash down panic.
“Bull!?” he yelled, voice sounding small and weak under the sheer vastness of the Hinterlands. “This isn’t funny, Bull!” Dorian turned to look down the other end of the hill, and there at the bottom looking like a broken, discarded doll was Iron Bull. It looked as if he’d fallen at the top and rolled all the way down.
“Fasta vass!” Dorian swore, “Bull! Bull!” He ran down the hill, tripping and stumbling in exhaustion but someone keeping his feet under him as he rushed to Bull’s side, falling to his knees beside him and grunting with the effort it took to roll him onto his back. A single eye stared up into the sky, lips parted as if Bull had been only mildly surprised.
Had Dorian thought himself frozen before? He felt frozen now, from the inside out. His heart stopped beating, the birds stopped chirping, the air itself was stale as it burned through his lungs. Dorian searched for a potion he knew wasn’t at his belt and wouldn’t do anything even if it was. There was no mana for healing, and Iron Bull… Iron Bull was already g-
Dorian aborted a scream, clenching it behind his teeth as he grabbed at Bull’s harness. This wasn’t happening, it was a fucking nightmare. Yet… yet he was a Necromancer, if he only had enough power he could heal Bull’s wounds and place his spirit back into his shell he could-
No. No mage could raise the dead, not even Dorian Fucking Pavus.
“Don’t be so quick to give up on yourself.”
Dorian twisted with a gasp of surprise, expecting to see Kessal, or maybe Blackwall… but the world had suddenly changed shape around him while he’d been focused on Bull. He’d slipped into the Fade. Behind him stood a Desire Demon, huge rack of horns twisting and curling up from his head and framing the muted green of the sky.
“Begone!” Dorian said, his voice cracking with grief.
“Tsk tsk, asking me to leave before I’ve even given you options,” the demon smiled, showing Dorian his perfectly straight white teeth, “not that you have many.”
“Fuck off,” muttered Dorian in reply, turning back to face Bull’s body, just as limp and lifeless in the Fade.
“It doesn’t have to end like this,” the demon continued, hooves crunching in the dirt as he walked to stand at Dorian’s side. A warm hand fell on his shoulder and Dorian tried to slap it away…but he felt so weak he could barely even manage to lift his own hand off Bull’s chest. “Shhh,” the demon soothed softly, “You were right, you know, it’s just a matter of power.”
“I’m out of mana,” Dorian slurred, hands sliding from Bull’s still chest to one of his hands, clasping it in both of his and hating that he’d never feel these hands holding him again, never feel them clasp his shoulder or slap him on the ass. Never again feel Bull be so gentle that it made him cry.
“There is…another way,” said the demon, and he crouched down so he was nearly level with Dorian, “a way you are familiar with.”
“I’m not a blood mage!” Dorian snarled, and a heat flared in his gut, the power of his words sending the demon tumbling back in the dust with a furious hiss.
“Then you are ready to say goodbye?” The demon asked quickly, picking himself out of the dirt. Anger radiated off of him, warping the Fade so it no longer even resembled the Hinterlands but something else entirely. “You are ready to spend your life alone, knowing you will never find another like him?”
“No!” Dorian sobbed, pressing his forehead against Bull’s lifeless body. He was so tired… he blood felt sluggish and his gut kept clenching as if he were about to throw up. This couldn’t really be happening to him, Bull had joked right before the battle about…about… Dorian bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as the memory seemed to skate away from him. All he could think about was the here and now, and the bleak lonely future ahead of him.
“Then let’s talk,” said the demon smoothly. Slowly the landscape changed to the Hinterlands once more. “Let’s…make a deal.”
Dorian was too tired to yell again, so he said nothing at all.
“I can give the knowledge of blood magic to you, you can have the power at your disposal to bring your loved one back!” the demon walked closer, though Dorian noticed he stayed well out of arms reach. “In return I ask only for a small thing… a little thing…”
“Spit it out,” Dorian muttered.
“You.”
A lifeless laugh burst from between his lips, startling Dorian. Had he made that sound? “Yes, a little thing,” he drawled, eyes on Bull’s face.
“Is it such a sacrifice?” asked the demon slyly, “what would remain of you with him dead anyway? Are you not giving up something already lost? Meaningless?”
Yes.
“It won’t be immediate, of course, I’m no monster,” the demon continued, “I’d give you until the sun is at it’s zenith once more. Then you will leave your friends and I will use your body. I’ll hollow you out first, of course. You won’t even feel any pain. I won’t leave any bit of you behind to feel trapped.”
The alternative was a life without The Iron Bull in it. No, more than that… a world without Iron Bull. What would The Chargers do without him? What would the Inquisition do? The Bull was used to losing people, he would get along just fine. He’d find someone new but Dorian… Dorian knew he wouldn’t. Was the demon so wrong? He’d be hollowed out either way.
“Time is running short,” said the demon after the silence stretched on, “his spirit grows fainter with every second.” A hand thrust its way before Dorian’s face and he looked up the long arm into the demon’s smiling face. “So… choose.”
Dorian chose.
Light, sound, smells all rushed back at him as his eyes opened, the demon disappearing like smoke and leaving him kneeling in the Hinterlands with Iron Bull’s cooling corpse pressed against his knees. He looked at his hand, feeling a tingling sliding up his wrist. The demon’s touch had been like a fire, but now… now he felt almost nothing at all. Dorian shook his head sluggishly, new knowledge clamoring to make space with the old. Blood. He needed blood.
Blood was coagulating around Iron Bull, and Dorian had several wounds of his own. He hoped it would be enough. Where were Kessal and Blackwall? Could they really still be at the rift? Had no time at all passed since he slipped into the Fade? Good, Dorian didn’t want his friends to see him like this.
Self-hatred and disgust welled up inside of him as he pressed his palms into the pool of blood, growing thick and tack around Bull’s body. It was barely even warm anymore. Power rushed through him, the blood in the dirt sliding up his arms as he sucked the life out of it and converted it into power. First Iron Bull was knitted back together, bones and organs repairing themselves at Dorian’s will, leaving him perfectly unmarked. Next, Dorian reached out with more power than he’d ever felt before, piercing the wall between life and death to pluck Iron Bull’s spirit away before it left his reach forever. Usually he only had power to take a sliver of a spirit, and only hold it for a short time.
Now he knit Bull back into his body, lovingly filling all the empty spaces with that blinding light that filled him to bursting. He had to be meticulous, to make sure nothing of Iron Bull would escape. The ties of life had to be knotted once more, and Dorian shivered with the effort, even as his blood sang with the challenge. He was doing what no mage had probably ever done before, and he was doing it blind.
Only when Iron Bull sucked in a gasping, wheezing breath did Dorian relax, releasing what little blood remained. He’d done it, he’d saved-
“Dorian.” Blackwall’s horrified voice brought reality crashing back down around him. Dorian twisted around, seeing Kessal and Blackwall standing behind him looking disgusted. “Dorian, what have you done?”
Dorian looked back at Bull’s body, now breathing as if he’d just fallen asleep. “What I had to.”
Kessal didn’t seem to know what to do with him, and neither did Blackwall. Dorian feared they were going to arrest him and he’d be forced to stay away from Iron Bull during his last few moments of life, but they just seemed dazed and Dorian was left to walk, unrestrained, just behind them as they hauled Bull’s unconscious body to camp.
When Bull was left with the healers, Dorian followed Kessal’s unspoken order to speak. Blackwall joined them how could he not? He seemed on edge, watching Dorian from the corner of his eye as if he could twist into an abomination at any second. Kessal took them well outside of camp, away from prying ears before he took a deep breath and said, “Talk.”
“The Bull was dead, what was I supposed to do?” Dorian said, sounding defensive even to his own ears.
“Let him rest in peace!” Blackwall burst out, “you have no way of knowing you even brought him back! How do you know you didn’t bring a demon into him!”
“I know what I did!” Dorian snarled. “I saved his life!”
“At what cost?” asked Kessal, the sheer sorrow in his voice draining any anger right out of Dorian.
“It’s nothing you wouldn’t have lost anyway,” said Dorian bitterly, not meeting his eyes.
“Dorian.” That hint of steel in Kessal’s voice almost seemed to force their eyes to meet, a demand for straightforward answers.
“Me,” said Dorian softly.
Blackwall took a step back, one hand falling to the hilt of his sword.
A bitter laugh bubbled out from between his lips, searing him from the inside out, “Not yet, I am still me yet. I have a day. When the sun reaches its zenith tomorrow.”
Kessal and Blackwall looked up at the sun, which was now tracking down towards the horizon, then back at Dorian who sagged on his staff, feeling the passing of time like a physical weight on his shoulders. “I couldn’t lose him,” he said, voice cracking shamefully, “I couldn’t… I just… couldn’t.” It sounded weak, pathetic, like a child crying over a lost toy.
Kessal and Blackwall shared a look, one which spoke volumes. They were deciding what to do with him.
“Please,” Dorian begged, “just let me spend my last moments with Bull. I’ll be honest with him, I promise, then before the sun reaches the top of the sky tomorrow I’ll be gone.”
“We can’t unleash an possessed Dorian on the world,” said Kessal slowly.
“Then I’ll be dead, vishante kaffas I do not care! I swear I am still myself right now… let me see him.” Dorian was close to falling to his knees and begging like a slave asking to be spared a whipping.
“…Fine,” said Kessal reluctantly, and if the look Blackwall shot him was any indication he disagreed with this decision. “Fine, spend it with Iron Bull, but tell him the truth. He deserves to know it. I will be posting a guard just outside your tent, you are not to leave camp without an escort at any time.”
“Thank you,” Dorian breathed, legs nearly giving out with relief. He opened his arms to wrap Kessal up in a hug but both him and Blackwall took a step back. Dorian felt it like a punch in the gut and dropped his arms, clearing his throat in the awkward silence. “Ah…forgive me. Truly. I mean that. These last couple years have been…better than I had any right to. I know you’ll finish this without me.”
“I wish we didn’t have to,” said Kessal, and there was something about the tone of his voice that reminded Dorian of just how young he was.
Blackwall escorted Dorian to his tent, and wouldn’t look him in the eye when he tried to strike up a conversation. He was left alone, but for the shifting form of the guard just outside the tent flap. Probably not told why he was guarding the tent, just told to do it. Dorian sat on his and Bull’s shared bed rolls, burrowing under the blankets to smell the musky, masculine scent that was distinctly Bull, savoring it while he still could.
About an hour later Iron Bull bent through the flap, looking tired but perfectly unharmed. Dorian felt a flare of pride at his handiwork, what other mage could do as much? “Dorian,” Bull rumbled warmly, “Little surprised I didn’t wake up with you hovering over me…Kessal said you wanted to talk.”
“I did…I do,” said Dorian, standing up to haul Bull into a tight hug, tears pricking the corner of his eyes. Iron Bull paused but soon he was hugging Dorian back, lips pressing a short kiss into his hair. Savor it, he told himself, holding Bull as tightly as he could, as if he could freeze this moment forever by the sheer power of his will.
“Dorian,” Bull huffed, pulling back to look at him, “You’re starting to worry me, Big Guy, what’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Dorian, hands resting on Bull’s chest, taking comfort in the strong beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his breathing. “I will… I just… kiss me, please? Like…” like it was the last kiss they’d ever share. Instead he just let the sentence drop.
Iron Bull frowned but he bent down, he was not a man to deny kisses. Dorian parted his lips, arms wrapping around Bull’s neck to hold him close as he surged into him. He never wanted to forget the taste, the warmth, the slide of Bull’s tongue or the bite of his teeth. Dorian kissed like he was drowning and Iron Bull was air. “I love you, Amatus,” Dorian whispered between kisses, “I love you, you know that, you must.”
“Kadan-” Iron Bull finally pushed Dorian away, hands on his shoulders as he frowned down at him, “You’re really freakin’ me out, what’s going on?”
Dorian chewed his bottom lip and then said quickly, before he could lose his nerve, “You died.”
Bull replied, “I almost died,” the correction seemed automatic, “Sorry I frightened y-”
“No,” said Dorian sharply, “you died.”
The wheels in Bull’s head were turning, Dorian could see it. Iron Bull was not a man used to not understanding. He was keenly intelligent, and far more perceptive than most. Dorian could see the frustration warring with some fear on his face. Fear was not a good look for Bull, and Dorian wanted to reach up and smooth away the wrinkles at the corner of his eye as it tightened. “I don’t-” he made a sound frustration, “Dorian that’s not possible. I’m here, I’m alive.”
“Well you weren’t.” Dorian said, voice nearly breaking. “You died. You… you were gone, Bull.”
“I don’t understand,” said Bull, taking a step back. His hands fell from Dorian’s shoulders, the loss of contact a stark statement. There was only a foot between them, but it felt like a league.
“I’m… don’t say anything, please, let me finish,” Dorian said quickly, and then let the words fall as they would, “I couldn’t lose you. I… I made a deal. The power to save you in exchange for… for…” Dorian swallowed, unable to meet Bull’s intense gaze, “well… for me.”
The silence stretched taught until Dorian was sure he would go mad, the warmth in Bull’s eye was draining away, leaving behind something cold. Something Dorian only ever saw directed at their enemies. “How…dare you,” Bull said at last, voice like rolling thunder.
“Bull, please-”
“How DARE YOU!” Iron Bull’s voice rang out and Dorian winced, knowing everyone in camp would have heard that.
“I did what I had to to save you,” Dorian defended weakly, knowing it sounded stupid even as he said it.
“You didn’t have that right,” Bull spat, “to make that decision for me!”
“Well you bloody well weren’t around to make it yourself!” Dorian replied hysterically, “I love you!”
“If you loved me, you would have let me go,” Iron Bull’s voice lowered, so chilly that Dorian felt an involuntary shiver rip through him. “If you loved me, you should have known I would have rather died then…” Bull seemed so disgusted he couldn’t even say out loud what Dorian had done. “How do I even know it’s still you? Huh? Why shouldn’t I split your skull like a fuckin’ melon?”
“It’s still me,” said Dorian miserably, “tomorrow at noon is… it’s when… please Bull, I just want to spend the time I have left with you.”
The Bull stood silently, staring down at Dorian with his lips pursed and his eye narrowed in anger. Without another word he ducked out of the tent, leaving Dorian alone with his insurmountable pile of regrets. He collapsed to his knees among their furs, hands over his face as he broke down in tears, muffing his screams against his palm.
No one came to check on him, no one came to talk. Finally Dorian wrung dry, hiccuping as he rubbed his sore face with his sleeve. He would never make it back to Skyhold, and he had so many things he wanted to say to all the friends he had unexpectedly made. Dorian dug through his chest, pulling out quills and parchment to write letters for everyone. He made no mention of what he’d done, if Kessal or Bull or Blackwall wanted to tell them they would… Dorian just made it clear that he was dead, and he regret not getting to say goodbye… and he thanked them, most generously, for being a friend to a lonely, displaced Tevinter mage.
He wrote a letter for Blackwall, he wrote a letter to Kessal, thanking him for being the best friend Dorian could have ever hoped for. Then he wrote a letter to Bull. Dorian sniffed as his quill scratched over the parchment, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks even when he’d thought he was done. He kept blotting them away to keep them from dripping into the paper and smudging his ink. Dorian wrote page after page to Bull, and he could only hope that someday Bull would lose the anger and betrayal enough to take his words to heart.
Everyone’s letters were gathered together and placed in a little wooden box that had once held vials for potions. He wouldn’t be needing them anymore. Hopefully the letters would be found and distributed. Iron Bull’s letter he kept separate, that one he placed on Bull’s pillow. By the time he was done he knew it had to be close to dawn, he hadn’t slept a wink all night and his bladder was protesting. Dorian stood and walked out of the tent, the guard snapping to attention at the sight of him.
“I just have to piss,” said Dorian wearily.
“I’ll go with you, Ser Pavus,” said the man, probably no older than 20.
“Mmmhmmm,” Dorian hummed, “as you will.”
He didn’t go far, just far enough to ensure a modicum of privacy as he pissed in the bushes. On their way back to camp, the sun rising pink on the horizon, Dorian noticed Bull, Blackwall, and Kessal slouching before the fire. Dorian paused, catching Kessal’s eye and silently asking if he could join them. Kessal gave his head a small shake. Iron Bull twisted to look at Dorian, and his face was stormy, still angry. Dorian swallowed and fled back into the tent instead of having to see that.
He paced, wondering if he was to spend his last living hours trapped in this tent. His time was short, how much longer could he have? No more than a few measly hours. Dorian poked his head out of the tent once more, heart thudding in his chest to see the position of the sun. The guard twisted to give him a curious look and Dorian tried to answer him with a smile, but it was strained, “I need to speak to The Iron Bull, please.”
“He’s the Inquisitor’s tent,” said the guard, “they’ve been talking in there all morning.”
“Well..” said Dorian curtly, “tell Bull that as soon as he’s done I need to speak with him.”
Dorian refused to die alone in this tent. He didn’t want to wait for possession, he wanted to…he wanted to go before that. On his own terms. The guard nodded and had someone else stand in front of Dorian’s tent while he went to pass on the message. It didn’t take long before he heard heavy footsteps, intentional, as Bull could move silently when he wanted to. His massive frame was illuminated from behind, a shadow against the canvas of the tent.
“What do you want?” he grunted from outside.
“Come in here, Bull,” said Dorian wearily, “is this really how you want your last memory of me to be?”
A protracted pause. Dorian held his breath, afraid The Bull would walk away once more. Instead the flap was ripped aside and Iron Bull stepped in, scowling darkly. Even furious, Dorian teared up to see him alive and breathing. “Thank you,” Dorian breathed. He was drawn to Bull, hands aching to press against his naked chest, but he knew if he reached out Bull would turn and leave.
“Out with it,” said Bull gruffly, eye burning a hole through the space above Dorian’s head.
“I know I have no right to ask this of you,” said Dorian, standing straight and keeping his voice as clear as he could, “but though I may have told the demon he could possess me, I do not wish to be… used in such a fashion.”
“Should have thought about that before you went around making deals with demons,” Bull growled, hands curling into fists at his sides, “I guess as ‘Vint you can’t help it.”
Dorian tried not to let it show on his face how much that hurt, he didn’t have the time. “Vishante Kaffas, Bull!” he swore, “Listen to me!” Dorian’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, blinking heavily to keep his eyes dry. “I want to leave this tent, I want to be alone with you, and before the sun rises further I want…I want…”
Iron Bull shifted, his eye finally darting down to meet Dorian’s. It was shining with unshed tears. “What?” he snarled, voice not betraying a hint of sorrow.
“I want you to kill me,” Dorian breathed, “Please, Bull. You know how to… how to make it painless…yes? If I die and my body is burned before it’s too late, the demon will have nothing to possess, I can go peacefully.”
Iron Bull’s lips pursed, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed. Dorian stared up at him, searching his eye for some answer, but Iron Bull was inscrutable. “I have to talk to the Boss,” said Bull, turning to leave.
“Bull!” Dorian reached out, grabbing his wrist, “Don’t leave me to-”
“I have to talk to the Boss!” Bull growled, ripping his wrist away and ducking under the flap.
Dorian was left reaching out to nothing. He screamed into his hands, pacing back and forth through their tent, kicking around blankets and pillows as his heart slammed against his ribs. He wouldn’t die in this tent! He refused. Finally the anger drained away, leaving his legs weak as he collapsed down on his cot, which had been kicked against his chest.
“Dorian?” Dorian looked up to see Kessal crouching at the tent flap, holding it open with one arm. Behind him loitered Bull and Blackwall. “Dorian let’s go.”
“Thank you,” Dorian breathed, darting out of the tent. He turned to look at the position of the sun, swallowing hard. Only a few hours left.
They walked in silence away from camp, Dorian noticeably stuck between all three of them. He could see Blackwall had one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and Kessal’s knuckles were white as he gripped his staff. Iron Bull… Iron Bull’s hands rested on nothing, they were clenched into fists at his side as he looked at some point over Dorian’s head.
This wasn’t how he ever pictured himself dying. Not so young. Not so alone. Dorian swallowed down the fear that threatened to choke him, stuffing his hands under his armpits to hide how much they were shaking. At least he wouldn’t be possessed, that was some–small–relief.
They had walked about a mile before Blackwall and Kessal halted, heads hanging. “Is here good?” asked Kessal thickly, blinking tears out of his eyes as he glanced back at Dorian.
“I- yes…thank you…” Dorian muttered, “may Bull and I…?” Dorian tilted his head towards the trees.
“Yes, but not too far,” said Blackwall lowly. He was silent and then muttered, “I’m sorry, Dorian, for how this ends. For what it is worth, I considered you a friend.”
“Considered?” Dorian asked.
Blackwall finally looked at him, a wry smile twisting his lips, “Consider. May you find peace.”
Next Kessal faced him, pulling Dorian into a bone-cracking hug. It was as if Kessal had wanted to do this since the beginning. He sobbed openly into Dorian’s shoulder, and it just reminded him that their Inquisitor was barely past twenty.
“Inquisitor…” Dorian murmured, hugging him back, face pressed against his chest. “You were my best friend. I know you’ll do this without me.”
“I don’t want to,” Kessal sniffed, pulling back and rubbing at his eyes, “Dorian… you should have been with us all the way.”
“In another place, perhaps,” Dorian tried to console him, but he could hardly keep himself together. Finally he turned to Bull, heart thumping nearly out of his chest. “Shall we?” he asked, trying to sound airy and failing.
“Go,” Bull grunted, pointing to the tree line. He obviously didn’t want to show his back to Dorian.
They walked away, Dorian sparing one last backwards glance to Blackwall and Kessal, who were watching them disappear into the trees. Dorian led the way, trying to figure out where in this place he wanted to die. Nowhere, but he knew Bull wouldn’t let him walk forever.
A clearing appeared, sun shining down on the twigs and needles that coated the ground, snapping underfoot. Dorian finally came to a stop, tilting his head to the sun. This was a good a place as any. “Make it quick,” he said, voice cracking unattractively, “I don’t want to feel it, Bull.”
“Dorian…turn around.”
Dorian wiped his eyes, sore from crying as much as he had. He turned and looked up at Bull, taking in the way tears silently tracked down his face. He had one of his long daggers out but it was limp in his fist. Dorian sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Going to take pleasure in killing me while you look into my eyes?” Dorian asked brokenly.
“No…” Bull stepped forward, free hand finally reaching out to cup the side of his face. “Dorian… I will never forgive you for this.”
“I know,” Dorian whispered, tilting his head into Bull’s warm palm, “I’m just glad you’re alive to do so.”
Iron Bull stared down into his face, watery eye darting this way and that. He’s memorizing me, Dorian realized bleakly. He reached up hesitantly, wrapping his arms around Bull’s shoulders to pull him in closer. “Kadan…” Bull breathed.
“I love you, Amatus,” Dorian said against Bull’s unmoving lips. Iron Bull kissed him back at last.
There was a sharp pain under his armpit and the last thing Dorian tasted was the salt of Bull’s tears on his lips.