shok_ebasit_hissra | Wish Plot [June]

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Wish Plot [June]

"Dorian, you were in public. In daylight. You brought a dead animal back to life!" Bull scowled when Dorian retorted with something about his professionalism, with his skill. Bull didn't doubt Dorian's skill, of course he didn't. He had seen Dorian wield the power of the Fade on battlefields; he knew Dorian had figured out how to solve whatever it was Alexius did to him and the Inquisitor to move them in time.

But that wasn't the point.

"This is not Tevinter, and there is no Inquisitor here to protect you."

Even though he was annoyed, his voice remained even and calm, even in the face of Dorian getting sarcastic and sharp. All he could think of was the potential danger. There could be plenty of people out there interested in someone that could manipulate the dead like that. Maybe Darrow was more or less accepting of magic and mages, but that didn't make them safe.

Eventually, it wasn't worth keeping up the fight. Bull shook his head, and for now, he let it go. He fell into bed, wanting to just sleep the night off.

Come morning, Bull ached. He was awake early and couldn't quite make himself fall back asleep. So he rose and shuffled his way downstairs to start coffee for the two of them.

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They both knew that Dorian's mood could be mercurial. That given a few hours or good sleep, waspishness turned to sheepishness, resentment to apology. That morning was no different. He floated downstairs in disarrayed hair, but a soporific, congenial mood, after the smell of Bull's strong coffee.

"Good morning, my dove," he greeted, with a white flag in his expression. He yawned until his jaw poppe and fell into his chair, palms spread on the table.

Bull gave Dorian a withering look, but it didn't last. He knew that the mage would be in a far better mood when he woke up; he wouldn't put a bet on whether or not Dorian would be feeling apologetic, but his eyes offered a surrender, a truce.

He could accept that.

"Coffee?" he offered, with a mug already prepared the way he knew Dorian liked it. "Thought you'd still come out fighting this morning."

"Mmm." Dorian's sheepishness welled up, ahead of schedule. He took the mug in both hands.

"I'm saving the ugliness up for my supervisor. He wants to give me half the space I asked for for the new collection. Half."

He drank his coffee greedily, praying to Andraste that it would do its work before Bull decided to wrangle out the apology he was rightfully owed. The liquid was too hot, ached deliciously.

"How are you this morning?"

Edited 2018-05-29 02:40 (UTC)

The answer Bull wanted to give, the one he meant to, was not what came out.

"I'm tired. I feel like I haven't slept well in months, and my chest is sore from an injury that shouldn't be there."

Bull frowned; he hadn't talked about the scars on his chest since Dorian first saw them. He hadn't intended to say anything about them, or his sleeplessness. Maybe he was more tired than he thought he was. He sipped his coffee slowly.

Dorian coughed into his coffee and pushed it away. That was unexpected. It wasn't that the answer was unlike Bull, not in the scheme of things. But it was strange, and Bull being strange? More unusual.

"You haven't mentioned that scar in ages."

"I haven't wanted to speak of it, to anyone. Not even you. Especially not you."

It was out before Bull could stop it, and he looked almost perplexed by the sudden confession. Those were feelings he'd been holding close to the chest since November, since Dorian told him that dreams shouldn't rightly leave scars.

Bull rubbed his hand over his head in quiet frustration, but found himself speaking again.

"It is my burden, no one else's."

"Bull."

Dorian stared for solid half a minute, swallowing down shock and offense.

"What is going on? You can talk to me about anything, you know that."

He hadn't meant to say any of that. He certainly hadn't had any intention of saying it to Dorian, if to anyone. The fact that he couldn't seem to stop speaking his mind when he only wanted to smooth things over was frustrating.

What was happening? The Bull - Hissrad - had never had his words disobey him. Bull took a deep breath and let it go slowly.

"I don't think it was a dream, Dorian. I think it was a memory. My memories. Things that... happened in my life, as if I was still back in Thedas instead of here."

Bull clenched his jaw like he would bite back the rest of the truth, like he could.

"This is magic," Dorian accused toward the silent, unknown caster. "And not my own."

He didn't think it was a dream, bu memories? That didn't make sense. Dorian stood, the chair scraping angrily along the stone floor.

"Maker. Memories of what?"

"What is?" Bull grumbled, but Dorian was asking a question again and he glared at the mage for pressing at all. The thought that there might be some kind of spell on him was unsettling enough, and now he was felling compelled to answer.

Not just to answer, but to do so without his usual, careful hedging.

"Years after the defeat of Corypheus. Everything from the moment I left Thedas and appeared here to--" Bull tried to cut himself off, tried to swallow the words but they would not be stopped. "To my death."

Dorian puffed up at the glare. He stepped to the other man and thrust a finger under his nose. And Maker, the Bull was tall. Had Dorian forgotten?

"If you'd have told me about this earlier, I might've helped. Now I'm here taking advantage of you to get some actual information instead of tracking this spell down."

Dorian was close to shouting. When he worried, he shouted.

He was very worried.

Edited 2018-05-31 02:08 (UTC)

The Bull stood straight when Dorian stepped into his space, attempting to regain some sense of control. Whether he liked it or not, Dorian had the upper hand.

Unless he found the sewing kit again.

He didn't know if what he said now was out of months of frustration and fear or if it was due to whatever spell was on him, demanding his obedience and honesty, but it didn't matter. He felt cornered, and all he knew how to do was push forward, to physically answer the volume of Dorian's voice. Bull did not, would not, raise his own.

"And which part was I supposed to confess, Dorian? That I remember my own death? Every detail, the pain? Or what led to that moment? After everything we went through in the fall, with my dreams and with the red lyrium, telling you would not bring us peace."

He was still trying to hedge, trying to find the edges of this spell that kept him from lying, or even omitting.

Dorian tapped his bare foot on the cold stone. Bull had a point, and the mage was looking for reasons to dismiss it. He was not feeling reasonable.

"Yes, of course, you should just carry that all on yourself. Your burden, after all. Why waste those huge shoulders? I love you, I'm here to support you. I know that this last autumn was ... hard on us all. But thi is how you attract a demon, Bull! Which miht be the cause of this."

Bull scowled, but stood his ground. "Dorian," he breathed, like he was pleading.

"Do demons regularly force confessions?" Somehow he doubted it. Bull rubbed the stubble on his head, trying to get his mind together but it didn't feel like he could. All his thoughts were there, pressing.

"I love you, Dorian. And that is why I didn't say anything." He struggled with the next part, like he was trying to find another way to say whatever it was he meant to say. He growled his frustration. He looked at the mage; he swore he felt the ice pushing through his chest, right there in the kitchen.

"Years, Dorian. I remembered years that I haven't lived yet, that you haven't. But now it feels like I have."

Demons did whatever the fuck they wanted to, Dorian wanted to say, but didn't. He threw his hands in the air a Bull's pleading one. What was he supposed to do if Bull made getting the truth out easy as getting blood from a stone?

"I love you Bull, and respectfully, that is horseshite. If those years are so dangerous, or so much that we can never talk about them, then why are we here? Why not just ... move on? What could have happened so endlessly horrifying that my heart can't bloody take it?"

"You killed me."

It was out before Bull could stop it, and he suspected now that he couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted to. But he hadn't meant to say it like that; he hadn't meant to lob it like an accusation. But Dorian's persistence and his current inability to curb the truth felt like being cornered.

The Iron Bull looked down, like an apology. His voice grew quiet again, gentle. "You killed me, Dorian. You gave me these scars. That is why I didn't want to talk about them, or the memories that came with them."

Dorian went sickly, silent, still. He felt his heart bottom into his feet, grew dizzy as his blood pressure made a sudden drop.

"How is that even possible?" He didn't doubt, seeing Bull's hollow anguish, that it was true. "Andraste, I was turned into a bloody Abomination, is that it? Corypheus ja something yo do with it?"

That Dorian thought that he was somehow at fault broke something in him. Bull shook his head.

"No, Dorian. You weren't an Abomination. You were defending the Inquisitor."

Bull reached for Dorian when he saw that slight sway; he didn't want him to fall, wouldn't let him. The truth was there; Bull had laid it bare and even if he could stop now, he wouldn't. Dorian deserved to know the rest of it now. But the truth filled Bull - as he was now - with an abiding shame.

"I was not - and never became - Tal-Vasoth in this history I remember, Dorian. You killed me because... you had to."

Dorian let Bull catch him. They both needed that, didn't they? That touch. His eyes felt hot and his legs felt weak, but he leaned against the broad grey shape beside him.

"Bull," he said, the word dropping from his mouth heavily, an over-ripe fruit.

"I can't even imagine -- that's not your fault, it's not possibly. The Inquisition, the engine was too big, moving forward too fast. If you never left the Qun, it was only a matter of time. We all secretly knew it, didn't we?"

"Everyone seemed rather surprised. Especially the Inquisitor... especially you."

Bull touched Dorian's face, remembering vividly the anger, the hurt the mage had expressed the moment Bull revealed his hand. He remembered the coldness, too, but he could not blame Dorian for that.

"I know that you don't remember what I do, but I want you to know how torn I felt in that moment." The truth was flooding out, and Bull could not stop it. He touched Dorian now because he had not been able to in those memories, not really. "I had suspicions that the Triumvirate had not approved the Viddasala's full mission... but it was too late. You knew it, and I did. I was a dead man either way."

Bull frowned, then leaned close to touch his forehead to Dorian's. He closed his eye.

"You were the only one that could do it, kadan. I am sorry for that, too."

Dorian scrubbed his face with his hands, mussing his faial hair, not caring.

"Of course I know you were torn. I'm sure that I knew it then. But I'm ... I trusted you, Bull. Even if I knew better. I trusted you then. I trust you now. If you proved me wrong for doing so ... it wouldn't be you that I was furious with, Bull. It would be myself. And that huts, even just having this conversation. It hurts to know you have that power over me, do you know?"

It wouldn't be Dorian's first betrayal, but Maker, he as so tired of leading himself into the same traps.

"So know that. You know that. And id the situation should come up, if life should lead you there. You think twice. Because this time, I'll be furious with you, oo."

Edited 2018-06-07 21:13 (UTC)

Bull pulled Dorian closer to him; he leaned down to touch their foreheads together, like he could soothe the mage's racing thoughts.

"The Inquisitor chose to sacrifice the Chargers for the sake of an alliance with my people... It was unheard of for the Triumvirate to reach out to any human organization. It made sense. It was for the greater good of the Inquisition, and the greater benefit to the Qunari. But after they died--"

He frowned and smoothed his hand down Dorian's back, attempting to offer comfort. "All my life only made sense if the Qun came first. I had no where else to turn. You and I-- we were still trading barbs back then."

He took a breath and let it go slowly as he lifted his head again, so he could meet Dorian's gaze. "Things are different here. I am different here."

It was the truth. The Qunari didn't make alliances; an alliance would suggest some sort of equality to the Qun, and that just wouldn't do. Dorian remembered that day on the Storm Coast as well. But the day had ended with Bull in sorrow -- but not because anything had happened to the Chargers.

Krem remembered differently as well. Krem remembered very differently.

He pressed his lips together.

"I know you're different. And apparently you're more different than I imagined, because you would not have done that to me, that's what I believe. I also knew a Bull that died at the hands of a damned demon army. I'll digest this, Bull. Just give me the time. It seems that time is always the issue."

He nodded and his fingers brushed down the back of Dorian's neck. He'd needed time, too, but most of his had been spent trying to keep this all buried, trying to will it away.

But the Iron Bull could not will away the scars on his chest and his back. Every time Dorian touched them, on purpose or in passing, he remembered the look on the mage's face as he died.

"You told me about that," he said with a wry smile. "One night, not long after we started sleeping with each other. We were in your room, and you told me what happened in the future you and the Inquisitor visited. You were anxious about it, despite the success at Halamshiral. Nothing you said surprised me. It was a cause worth dying for."

He nuzzled Dorian's cheek, then tipped his head to kiss him; Dorian's lips were tight, unhappy. Keeping the secret had been heavy, but it had spared Dorian some angst.

"I wanted to protect you from this future of mine," he confessed, soft and somewhat contrite. "I knew it would not be yours."

The contrition in Bull's rumble of a voice softened Dorian's mouth against his. He kissed back, leaning into it like a flower into a patch of sunlight, then parted with a wistful sigh.

"I love you very dearly, Bull. And I am yours. But not yours to protect. You knew that all along. You should have listened to your better judgement."

Feeling Dorian relax, feeling him lean close was a relief. It allowed something inside of Bull to relax, too.

"That has never stopped me from trying, kadan."

Usually that meant physically; he'd taken blows that Dorian had never seen coming in the past, he'd kept enemy combatants from trying to pick off the mage. And there had been times that he tried to protect Dorian from certain truths, but this was different, and Bull had the grace to know that.

"I was afraid," he said, another truth he might not have normally confessed, spilling off his tongue heavily.

A smile sneaked back into the corner of Dorian's eyes. He responded to Bull with sadness and gentleness. And humor. He wrapped his arms around the qunari's neck.

"Bull, I've been terrified half my waking life. Believe me, I understand."

Bull huffed quietly and leaned closer to Dorian, gathering the mage close to him. Carrying the memories alone had been exhausting, but he had believed the burden should be his and his alone. Perhaps he should have known something like that - with very obvious physical reminders - could not stay buried forever.

He should have known, trusted, that Dorian could handle it.

"Kadan," he murmured, his voice a deep and even rumble in his chest.

"Yes, I know," Dorian said dramatically, before patting Bull on the chest. His smile became reassuring.

"Do you want some time alone? I imagine that must have exhausted you, I-- really, I ought to apologize. Can't bring myself to contrition quite yet, though. Give it time."

"No, I don't want to be alone. I have been alone for months."

Bull made a face after the confession, because even if he was being honest, he wouldn't have said it like that if he had a choice.

"I'm sure you'll get to contrition eventually, and I am a patient man." He picked up his coffee and finally drank some of it. He was hungry; he'd cook something soon. "Should I call out of work tonight? Blunt honesty can't be good for a bouncer."

Dorian's face twisted, for a heartbeat, into a look that tried not to be deep pity, and failed. Pity was seldom a look that a man appreciated, but most especially, he didn't think Bull would appreciate the mage's emotional reflex.

"You should. But not because I think you won't be able to handle your job. Just stay home today, read a book, spend some time in the garden with me. Now, how about some eggs?"

Dorian's pity, though not solicited, was not necessarily unwanted. Bull had intentionally been holding any offer of compassion at arm's length for months, and this strange circumstance had forced his guard down.

He wanted comfort.

"I'll stay home," he agreed. "Plant the garden while you drink lemonade and tell me where to put things." Bull brushed his hand over Dorian's back as he passed to get the eggs out of the fridge.

"Thank you."

Dorian followed Bull with a strange smile before moving to finish his coffee. He needed about two more cups.

Bull's offer was kind. Dorian liked caring for plants, but he immensely disliked playing in dirt, especially when it got under his fingernails. If he could avoid that part, he wasn't about to argue.

He watched Bull move easily around the kitchen over the rim of his mug. Dorian needed to tell Krem about all of this. Or, at least, talk to someone about his feelings that wasn't Bull.

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Wish Plot [June]

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