unmaker plot [october]

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bad dreams weren't new to the Iron Bull. He'd been having them since... he was a child, really. Anxious nightmares about being possessed by demons and the nameless fears of a child. During and after Seheron, those fears had gained names, had gained memories: fog warriors, Tal Vasoth, madness. Even after reeducation those memories haunted him, and more than once during his ten years in the south he'd woken up in a cold sweat, or worse. His room in Skyhold looked like a wreck for a reason, especially after he'd lost the Chargers.

Most people assumed it was because he was a barbarian Qunari, and that suited him fine. No one needed to know that the Iron Bull fought demons in his sleep when the memories were bad enough.

Usually a warm body next to him helped to keep the dreams at bay. He slept well with Dorian nestled against him, and despite the upset of arriving in Darrow and the occasional troubling thought, Bull had enjoyed relatively restful nights for the past year.

But the past month was like being in the middle of Seheron all over again. As soon as he drifted off, nightmares plagued him. For the most part he was quiet through them, or he woke and simply didn't go back to sleep. He was tired, but he could still do his job and he tried to wave off Dorian's growing concern. Just a rough patch. Maybe it was the time of year, maybe it was-- he didn't know. Some thoughts weren't worth humoring.

That night, though, they were bad. He could see the bodies of the children, ravaged by poison. He could see what remained of the Tal Vashoth, ravaged by him. The smell of the blood heavy in the too hot, too humid air of the island. And somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Corypheus laughing, promising him madness.

Something woke him. Bull moved without thinking, rolling sharply until his full weight bore down on the body that had touched him, hand around a delicate throat and squeezing.

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[propertool]

"And I implore you not to do anything too hasty to him," Dorian said. He hated it, but he felt great sympathy for the boy. As Dorian would most any mage, gifted with extraordinary abilities. For Dorian still believed, firmly, as he'd been raised to -- that such gifts were tools, meant for open use.

What had happened was not even guaranteed to be Kavinsky's fault.

"Bull. I've got to call Krem. I have to take care of this. But I'll be back. And I love you, dearly."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Be safe. Please."

It was all he could thing to say that wasn't a list of reasons why he thought this was a terrible idea. Bull moved closer and lightly touched the still-angry bruising around Dorian's neck. He leaned close and kissed the mage's hair.

"Please," he said again, pain in the back of his voice. Bull knew Dorian knew what he was doing, or had a solid idea of it, but that still did nothing to ease the visceral fear inside him.

"I love you."

[propertool]

Dorian was not content with just a kiss on the head, not after the morning they were having.

He pressed himself against Bull, leaning as far as he could to capture the man's mouth in a kiss, deep and desperate, filled with all of the passion that his words didn't carry. He felt it for Bull, even if he was unprepared and fearful to speak it aloud.

"I always am."

He kissed Bull again.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull wrapped his arms around Dorian, as tight as he dared, when Dorian kissed him like that. He held the mage close, protective and desperate, and he didn't want to let him go. He didn't want Dorian to be around something as dangerous as red lyrium a moment longer.

But it had to be dealt with. Dorian would deal with it.

His eye stung and even after the kiss broke, he held Dorian against him. Bull's heart beat fast again. What if he let Dorian go and never saw him again?

The next kiss drew him out of his thoughts and he returned it, soft and gentle.

"Go on," he murmured. He couldn't go, maybe shouldn't. He didn't trust himself to be entirely rational. Or helpful.

[propertool]

"It's not so serious," Dorian promised him, with a very gentle smile. It was very much serious, but it was a lovely fiction and Dorian delighted in lovely fictions, especially if they kept Iron Bull from breaking down.

He scrubbed at Bull's face with his thumbs, right below his ears, before pulling away and gathering up the other things he would need. Bags, chains, a jacket.

"Cremisius will be with me. He'll do what he can to help my stupid arse, you know he can't help it."

Dorian moved toward the study door, paused in it.

"I've got to get dressed."

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

Bull knew how serious it was, he knew, and no matter what Dorian said, he could not forget. The Qun did not really allow for pleasant fictions. Not in moments like this.

He let his forehead rest against Dorian's for a moment, eye closed while the mage rubbed beneath his ears.

Reluctantly, he let Dorian go. He noted that he talked about getting Krem, about taking the lieutenant along but not Bull himself. Maybe it was for the best that he have no part in this. Maybe it was for the best that he not be near the lyrium more than necessary. But he didn't like the idea of the Vints handling it, either.

What other choice did they have?

He sighed, let go of a heavy breath. "Yeah, you do. Be careful, Dorian... Please."

[propertool]

"I'm always careful," Drian promised, sounding a little too bright again.

He offered Bull a soft wink as he left the room, trying not to touch the bruise on his throat. It felt very warm in the cool air of the room, and he imagined it would be moreso after he left to headto the coast.

"I'll see you ... "

When, exactly?

"I'll see you soon, Bull. Please take care of yourself."

He couldn't be in two places at once, more was the pity.

[shok_ebasit_hissra]

"Aren't you just," he huffed, but he couldn't quite make himself laugh. He followed after Dorian, feeling-- feeling lost.

He lingered like a shadow, too big and too aware of himself as Dorian got dressed and ready to go.

"You too."

Bull hated being left behind, but he couldn't be close to that stuff right now. HE couldn't stand the sick singing of it in his head. How the hell had he survived the Emprise?