middaeg | Anywhere I would have followed you // closed

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Anywhere I would have followed you // closed

Who: the Iron Bull

aban_aqun and Dorian Pavus

bestdressed
When: Four days after arriving
Where: their cottage
What: feelings
Warnings: feelings; will be updated as necessary

Slowly but surely, Dorian and Bull have been exploring their cottage and attempting to make it feel more like home. Dorian's spent time exploring the clearly magicked platforms and stairs above the house, and Bull-- has watched from the ground, for now. As much as Dorian assures him that it appears entirely stable and unlikely to fall out of the sky, Bull is content to simply trust the magic and not engage with it. For now.

Learning to trust magic has been an on-going process since he left Seheron. Bull likes to think he's made exceptional progress in the past decade or so.

Despite their focus on trying to settle, Bull hasn't forgotten the weight Dorian is carrying: the one that's been on his shoulders since they arrived. The one that's nothing to do with being here.

"Hey, found someone getting rid of these and thought you'd like them," he says when he finds Dorian in their bedroom. Draped across the Bull's arms are gauzy curtains that would look good draped around the bare canopy of the bed.

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Were the circumstances otherwise, Dorian might be willing to admit to liking their little cottage. If he allowed himself to a imagine a future in which he and Bull could have a home together--if, of course--it might have been something very much like this. Once they clean things up, wash the sheets and dust the furniture and sweep the floors, it's very cozy, and Dorian has already indulged in more than one bath in the pretty porcelain tub. But the magical stairway leading up from the roof is, of course, his favorite part. The boards don't seem heavy enough to cause any damage to the house if the enchantment were to fail one day, and he's spent whatever free time he's manage to have on the platform looking over the city, or simply sitting with his feet dangling off the edge with a book in hand.

Otherwise he prefers the bed to the sofa, which is where he's settled now, cross-legged in soft pants and a loose shirt, books and notes spread out in a semi-circle around him. He looks up with a smile as Bull enters, taking in the fabric he's holding and arching a brow. "Second-hand curtains?" He questions, injecting some artificial exasperation into his amusement. "Is this truly what my life has become?"

Bull rolls his eye and drapes the curtains over the edge of the bed.

"Pretty sure you chose this life the moment you set foot in Ferelden," he teases. "They're clean." His eye roves over the books and papers spread out. He isn't surprised that Dorian has thrown himself into academics - he's sure the familiarity of it is a vague comfort, despite the frustration. Eventually, he circles to the other side of the bed to sit on the end of it.

He's quiet for a moment, considering. Is it worth interrupting what seems like a moment of calm in a sea of uncertainty?

"I know you've had a lot on your mind."

Dorian feels the mattress dip as Bull settles, stops a few of his papers from sliding out of the book he'd been making notations on. He knows full well by now what Bull is doing. Ben-Hassrath. There's no way he hasn't noticed how strangely morose he's been, even beyond how devastated he is about losing his magic and ending up here in the first place. It's been difficult, honestly, keeping these things to himself. They're too important, and he feels disingenuous. He's had a few days now to think about and begin to process the idea of his father being dead, and himself named Magister Pavus against all expectations. He's had some time to consider what that means not only for himself, but for Bull. All that's left is to lay these things before him, and hope that Bull understands him as well as he's always seemed to.

Maker, but he doesn't want to lose him.

Beyond that, they still have to discuss the reality of their situation here in Aefenglom: Bull's status as mutatus--the changed, a Tevene term Dorian's coined in his head to use in lieu of "monsters," a word he dislikes in this context--and what that means for their survival here. There's concept of Bonding to go over, how it works and how it seems to be the most sensible way to both slow and control the seemingly inevitable changes Bull is fated to undergo, as well as to stabilize Dorian's erratic new power.

"An understatement, but yes." He agrees wearily. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Let's start with what you've been carrying from Thedas," he says quietly. Bull isn't even trying to be subtle, though he is being gentle. Dorian arrived with something on his chest and he's had no chance to deal with that before being thrust into all of this, and Bull at least wants to offer a space to let all that breathe.

They'd been apart for months. Their chance to have a real reunion has been stolen from them, tossed amid the general chaos of being pulled from one world into another. Bull want that moment back, as best they can manage.

They can talk about the rest after. Bull has been steadfastly ignoring his new status, far less concerned about it than he is about Dorian feeling so cut off from his magic - something that is fundamentally part of him. Bull can survive, he's adaptable. This is something that's been foisted upon him and in his head it's entirely different. And less important.

"All right," he sighs, resigned. He considers how to put his thoughts to words, but quickly decides that he ought to just be plain about it. Bull will know all that it implies without having it explained to him in painstaking detail.

Quietly, Dorian reaches out and closes a few of his books, notes still shoved inside to mark his page. He breathes in, and wishes they were closer.

"My father is dead," he says, more raw than he'd intended. The first time he's spoken the words aloud. They drop like stones into a still pond, heavy and disruptive. They're weightier outside his head. Someone else knows, so now it must be real. "Likely assassinated. I received notice only hours before coming through the mirror here." His voice dips. "The letter congratulated me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. I was still under the impression that I'd been disowned, but apparently he changed his mind."

"Dorian."

It's all he can say at first, full of sympathy. He knows how complicated Dorian's relationship with his father was, he knows the pain the mage has carried for years. But he also knows what something like this would mean to him: evidence that Halward Pavus kept Dorian as his heir. Bull reaches for him, hand sliding across the bed until he can find Dorian's.

An apology is on the tip of his tongue, human condolences that he learned long ago. But it doesn't feel right to offer them, not when he'd considered increasingly creative ways to send Halward to his grave not that long ago.

His thumb strokes across the back of Dorian's hand.

"How are you feeling?"

The compulsion to shuffle across the bed and climb into Bull's lap is there, but Dorian doesn't follow it. Instead he simply lets Bull hold his hand and takes comfort in the way his palm envelops his fingers.

"It's still difficult to believe," he admits. His father has always been a figure that seemed beyond the reproach of mere mortals. He was, in many ways, almost a mythical being in Dorian's life. It's difficult to imagine him being gone, let alone killed outright. "But with a seat in the Magisterium, I'll be in a position to truly help Maevaris with the Lucerni. As a Magister I could finally do something worthwhile."

Even after steeling himself to say it, his voice still falters, even if his sense of duty and purpose does not.

"Bull, I have to go back. For good this time."

He knows it's coming before Dorian says the words. He's been given his father's seat, which means power and position and influence - all things that Dorian had been bred to wield with confidence and cunning. A seat in the Magisterium means that Dorian might finally be able to help affect the change he so desperately wants to see in Tevinter.

So Bull is not surprised, not for a moment, at the words when they come. He lowers his gaze, trying to ignore how hard the news hits him even if it is expected. Bull doesn't say anything at first, just stares at some point between them.

For good this time.

"I'll go with you."

He'd expected that Bull would say something to that effect. Thankfully, he has his response prepared. "You can't," he insists quietly, though the pain this causes him is clear with the strain in his voice in the upward knitting of his brow. "It would be terrible for you. You would be miserable in Minrathous, not to mention constantly in danger."

Another thing that's difficult to believe: that he could ever willingly walk away from Bull, who has openly and unselfishly and generously given him the love he's craved all his life. That and more. But he loves Bull fiercely enough to refuse him now. "Your place is with the Chargers. I can't take you from that."

Dorian averts his gaze for a moment, swallows hard around the lump in his throat before breathing out something like a bitter laugh on his next exhale.

"This does, of course, assume that we will ever return home in the first place--let alone in a timely manner."

"I've been in danger for decades. At least in Tevinter it's obvious," he counters. Dorian isn't wrong: his freedom might be curtailed for the sake of his safety, or he might live a lie as-- what? A servant? But he has always been a servant to something greater than himself.

Why not serve Dorian so that Dorian could serve his cause?

"I would go with you," he says quietly, as if it needs reiterating. The slight shift in his words says it all: if Dorian asked, if Dorian even hinted it was what he wanted, Bull wouldn't hesitate. He never does when the path feels clear. "I belong where my heart is."

Kadan.

As if this weren't difficult enough, Bull has to go and remind him that he thinks of him as his beating heart. As if he could ever forget. Dorian clutches at Bull's hand as though it will help somehow. "I don't want to be apart," he says, low and strained, "but I must do this, and you cannot accompany me." It's for Bull sake, he tells himself, that he must be so firm. To protect him. "I understand if that means that you--you--"

He has to take a moment to blink back the tears threatening to collect in his eyes. He hates crying. "--see me differently. Or our relationship."

Bull looks at Dorian for a long moment. He waits for him to meet his gaze before he says, "Why would anything like that change?"

Slowly, he lifts Dorian's hand and brushes a tender kiss across his knuckles. He can smell the lotion that Dorian's found, hardly surprised that he's managed to muster a luxury here.

"Asit tal-eb, Dorian," he murmurs as he pulls the mage closer to him. "I cannot be anything other than what I am. And I am in love with you. Whether you are in Tevinter or across Orlias or here in my arms. Nothing changes that."

He should have known that Bull would be so understanding and loyal. But Dorian's own anxieties are such that despite his knowledge of Bull and his dedication, he'd feared that this would be the end--as these things are inevitably destined to be. He doesn't know how he would have handled this particular separation. The love he has invested in Bull is far beyond anything he's experienced before.

Bull draws him closer and Dorian goes, haphazardly shifting books out of his way so that he can curl against Bull's side, bury his face in Bull's huge warm shoulder--and finally sob miserably.

He'd been so looking forward to the Exalted Council, to returning to the south to be with his friends and the man he loves. He'd anticipated spending at least half a year with Bull before he had to leave, and this only for a few months again. But things have not turned out that way, and he must not waste this opportunity with selfishness. He's always said that Tevinter is corrupt, but what has he done about it? This is his chance to truly begin the process of redemption for his country.

His shoulders rise and fall with every sharp, wet breath as he weeps into Bull's shoulder and finally curls his arms around the expanse of his body, fingertips just barely meeting around his back. "I love you," he manages, and the words quite literally hurt his throat as he says them. He repeats these words several more times, decreasingly intelligible as he buries his face against Bull's shoulder and cries more. He's far from an elegant crier and hates that he's so susceptible to it. But if ever there was a good reason, this is it. His father is dead, and his future is sadly certain, and he has to leave the man he loves for the viper's nest that is Minrathous because he simply has to be one of the handful of Altus mages with principle.

"Amatus," he says, almost pleading, "nothing will change how I feel about you either." His voice is half muffled as he turns just enough to speak weakly. "I made something for us while I was there. It won't function here, but the intent is to use it when we return home." If, he supposes.

Dorian's needed to cry since before they got here and Bull holds him as he lets it out. He wraps around him, turning more towards him so that Dorian can hide as much as he needs or wants to. Bull tips his head down, shielding him, and presses a kiss to the top of his head.

The weight of it all-- he knows what it means to leave everything behind on hope. The only difference is he didn't have someone like Dorian at the time waiting somewhere else for him. Bull takes a deep breath and lets it go slowly. He kisses Dorian again and nuzzles against his cheek.

"Maybe you'll find a way to make it work," he murmurs as he strokes tears away from Dorian's eyes. They're trapped here now, and as painful as the reality of that is, it's also a reprieve. Bull doesn't know if life in Thedas is marching forward without them or if, somehow, everything is simply waiting for them to return. It doesn't matter, either. He can't know and so he won't trouble himself with it. What he does know is that, right now, Dorian can't go back to Tevinter, and some selfish, buried part of him is grateful. They have time. Whatever it looks like, whatever it means, they have time.

"We'll find a way to make it work, kadan. Maybe you won't let me go to Minrathous with you, but that doesn't mean we'll never see each other again. We're both too clever and too stubborn to let something as ridiculous as politics and international strife pose a real obstacle."

He's only partly teasing but he offers a smile, hoping to coax one from his lover.

Dorian is grateful, as ever, that Bull lets him hide his face as he cries. The last thing he wants is to be seen like this, even by Bull himself. By the time he's coaxed to look up again he's run through the worst of his tears and he wipes at his face quickly with his fingers. There's no way he'll be able to put himself entirely to sorts, but his stinging red eyes and wet cheeks and mussed mustache have certainly looked worse.

"We'll find a way to see one another, of course," he agrees, and though he still doesn't feel particularly like smiling, Bull's effort to make him do so fills his heart with warmth. It's enough to get him to offer one in return. "Let me show you what I made. I have them here with me." He squeezes Bull's hand before he slides slowly and carefully and reluctantly from his embrace to retrieve the satchels and belt-pouches from his outfit from home, stored in the chest of drawers near the bed. From one of the pouches he draws two necklaces: circular pendants on sturdy chains. When he hands one to Bull and settles beside him again, he shows him how to swing open the front of the pendant to reveal a crystal inside.

"It's a sending crystal," he explains, still a little scratchy. "I created it. They're connected to one another and enable the sound of one's voice to cross the continent." He squeezes his fingers tighter around his own. "So you and I could at the very least speak to one another whenever we please." He knows the gift is useless here in Aefenglom where his magic is moot, but given the conversation they've just had it's important to him that Bull know that he wouldn't have left him without a connection.

Edited 2019-06-11 05:43 (UTC)

Bull lets Dorian go so he can retrieve his gift. He watches curiously; Dorian's a master at his craft and if he's made something, it's worth paying attention to. He accepts the pendant as Dorian sinks against his side and watches as the mage opens it to show the crystal. He knows a little about magic and stones, if only because he's listened to Dorian talk about it before.

The possibility of being able to hear Dorian's voice even while separated makes something in his chest go tight. The comfort of it, and the frustration, would go hand in hand but it's a gift Bull never expected to have. He'd been prepared to survive on letters.

"Kadan," he murmurs as he catches Dorian's chin, tipping his head up for a kiss. "I'll keep it with me. I'll have it when we go home, however we manage."

Bull looks at the sending crystal again. It's evidence of the power Dorian potentially has at his fingertips in Tevinter: the resources, the means, the support. Not just for magical experimentation but for social change.

"I'm proud of you, Dorian. Whatever happens, I hope you know that."

Seeing Bull hold the crystal in his hand brings a sense of relief joy that Dorian hadn't expected. It had been the product of some very fulfilling work with tools and resources generously provided by the Inquisition. That Bull is accepting it means that he is accepting what Dorian has to do for his country. They'll be apart, but they'll still have one another. It feels as though much of the weight he's been carrying--the uncertainty as to what the future might hold for himself and Bull--lifts, and he's able to smile after he leans into Bull to return his reassuring kiss.

"You won't have cause to miss my velvety voice, at least," he points out, and carefully folds Bull's fingers around the amulet. It's his to keep now, and hopefully it will work again when they've managed to get home. There's a third as well, intended for the Inquisitor, which Dorian will hold on to for now.

"Thank you," he says more quietly, hand still curled around Bull's much larger one. This probably isn't the end of this discussion; he knows that eventually Bull will insist again on going with him. But for now, he'll take it. "I know that I shouldn't have doubted," he admits. "It doesn't mean that I don't trust you." He thinks Bull already knows that it has more to do with his own preconceptions.

Bull lifts Dorian's hand and tenderly kisses the back of it. "You protect yourself," he says quietly. Even now, even with him, Dorian has a tendency to prepare for the worst possible outcome. Bull doesn't blame him for it and he doesn't take offense.

He pulls Dorian closer to him, right into his lap, so that he can wrap around him more. They will talk about this gain, he's certain. But it's out now, it's known between them, and they can work toward that next discussion without the weight of it on Dorian's shoulders.

His gaze drifts over the books and notebooks and papers scattered around them.

"You really aren't wasting any time, are you?"

That's just it. He protects himself. He steels himself almost instinctively, hoping to minimize the damage. But it's far too late for that with Bull anyway; he's gotten too close. He's let himself fall in love.

Luckily it seems he's chosen well. The Bull understands him.

He likes to think that he understands the Bull, too.

"Have you ever known me to tarry when there's magical knowledge to be gained?" What he's saying is that he hates feeling useless. Magic is not only his biggest strength, but his greatest passion. How often in his life had he lost himself in magical research to distract himself from one heartache or another? How proud he'd been the day he made Enchanter, how wonderful it was to be acknowledged and celebrated, his accomplishments rewarded, even by his father. How terrible then, in the south, to be vilified for the one thing he'd always had to be proud of and take solace in. How utterly devastating, here, to lose it completely.

Dorian had thought years ago that he might have an inkling of understanding as to how the Bull felt when he was declared Tal-Vashoth. Dorian's nation had rejected him as well. But he thinks he understands still better now, and finds himself leaning heavily back against Bull's chest, glad for his sturdiness. He draws the man's arms around him until he feels secure.

"I have also undoubtedly learned more about your condition than you have," he adds, because this is another conversation that needs to be had sooner rather than later.

"I don't have a condition," Bull rumbles.

He realizes how stubborn it sounds but he says it anyway as his arms drape around Dorian. He holds the mage close as he looks over all the books and notes again, scanning for the word monster on any of them.

There is a part of him that knows avoiding this will only bring trouble. Calling it a condition doesn't make him feel any better about it, but really, what else is there to name it? Madness is a condition. Under the Qun, being Tal-Vashoth is a condition.

"Honestly, Bull," he huffs. "Ignoring the problem does not make it stop existing." Which would be why he's thrown himself into his studies as quickly as he has. His voice softens a little as he goes on. "I know what they've called you, and I don't like it any more than you do. But the facts as they are indicate that you will experience some sort of...transformation. What kind remains to be seen."

He knows how terrifying this prospect must be for Bull; at least as frightening as it has been for Dorian to be cut off from the Fade.

"From what I've gathered, this process can be slowed and controlled through the formation of a Bond with a so-called witch, such as myself. It appears to be a sort of magical symbiosis."

Dorian is right, of course. Ignoring it will not make it stop any more than ignoring a hurricane will make it go away. All one can do is prepare and wait for it to hit. Shock ebasit hissra. Bull carefully rests his head on top of Dorian's and he listens.

"They tried to get me to do a temporary one on the first day here," he admits. "I might have been... resistant."

Having an unknown potion foisted at him by an unknown mage for the purpose of bonding with a total stranger after being pulled through a mirror-- Well. Dorian knows him well enough by now that he can probably imagine how that went.

"I can imagine," Dorian says mildly, because it's true. He can picture with probably near-perfect accuracy how that interaction had gone. "I doubt I would have behaved much better. It's terribly irresponsible to foist that expectation on anyone brand-new to this place, before they even have a full understanding of the magic involved. The joining of magical signatures is not something to be trifled with lightly. Given the properties of the bond as I've heard it from others, even a temporary one could prove to be dangerous should you link with someone too incompatible. Which you wouldn't have any idea about, would you, if they're asking you to do so with a complete stranger."

Dorian's voice has steadily risen as he talks, getting more and more visibly irritated. He's glad that Bull is so resistant to strange magic; he wouldn't have wanted him to try it on his own. He has a feeling Bull would react badly to joining in such a way with anyone he isn't familiar with. Dorian is well aware that the only sort of magic the Bull has truly come to trust is his own.

"That being said," he continues, forcing himself to speak more slowly. "With what I've learned, I do think it would be beneficial. Not with someone else, of course, but the two of us."

Dorian's indignation gives Bull comfort: it isn't just his own pigheadedness that kept him from participating, but a healthy reluctance to engage with something he doesn't understand. That Dorian is this upset at the idea means something. Bull presses a kiss to Dorian's hair and murmurs something soft, something that sounds like gratitude.

"I would try it with you," he admits. Bull trusts Dorian's instincts and his knowledge regarding magic, but he also trusts Dorian. He might still feel nervous about using magic like this, but that's born of an entire life of being educated on its worse dangers and few of its benefits. Bull likes to think he's come a long way since leaving Seheron and even further as his relationship with Dorian progressed.

Bull is quiet when he finally says: "I don't like this."

For as fundamentally different as they are, there are actually many things on which Dorian and Bull agree. One of them is the irresponsible use of dangerous magic. Dorian's seen quite enough of the results of that throughout his life. Dorian shifts in Bull's lap, turning in his arms until he can reach up to touch his face, cradling his jaw with both hands. His thumbs brush along his cheeks, prickling against growing stubble. "Neither do I," he agrees sincerely. "Not any part of it."

Bull isn't alone. They have one another, and Dorian doesn't like this any more than he does. But as they have no idea how long they'll be here, he's determined to make this as easy on Bull as is possible, which is why he's done so much research already. As per a conversation he'd had about the topic, it's a witch's prerogative to protect their bonded partner. And he fully intends to do just that.

"I think that precisely what we should do," he says. "Attend one of those classes together, try it temporarily. And if it works as I think it should, then perhaps from there..." Oh, he hadn't intended this to sound quite so...oddly romantic? Hard to avoid when talking about magically bonding oneself to someone already loved, but this is just what's practical. Of course. "Something more permanent."

Edited (adds one letter) 2019-06-12 18:39 (UTC)

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Anywhere I would have followed you // closed

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