Chapter Text
They had once again left for the Hinterlands, probably to gain even more trust from the locals by searching for more stray pet animals to be rescued from demons and other nonsense. As if they didn't have other severe problems at hand. Like finding a way to stop Corypheus and his evil plans. But for whatever reasons the Lord Inquisitor Mahanonn Lavellan had decided to turn his back on their greater problems and focus on minor ones instead, taking his favourite Inner Circle group, consisting of Dorian, Sera and The Iron Bull with him. If someone had asked the Qunari for his opinion on their 'mission' he had straight out declared that this was nothing but a pure waste of time. All rifts they knew of in this region had been closed by now and even the fights between rebel mages and templars had finally come to an end.
They had found another ocularum though and after a long day of running around and collecting weirdly humming magical shards, the sun had finally started to set. Their group had reached a small glade by then, just perfect for a little camp to be set up and spend the night at. The area seemed as save as it could be theses days and they hadn't run into any fight for the entire day, so it was no wonder that the general mood was rather relaxed and companionate. Maybe it was good to take a break from their 'severer problems at hand' just for once after all. Coming to the Hinterlands was practically nothing more than taking some days off for a little field trip to an area they had already mostly pacified. Just to make sure everything was still fine and no new trouble was going to break loose. And to distract oneself with a scavenger hunt for singsonging pieces of glass apparently.
When night had started to fall they were all still sitting around a cosy bonfire, talking and laughing. Sera had dug up some bottles of Orlesian wine somewhere, which the four of them were now happily sharing. Apparently not the good one, but the piss-like-tasting one, like their Tevinter mage kept repeatedly pointing out. Which only earned him a bitchy remark from the rouge, featuring a really bad wordplay at the 'Vint's expense. Sera and Dorian kept on exchanging banter for some while then. Like they'd known each other their whole lives. Not like they only had met a few months ago, being thrown together by some weird magic shit like all of them had been.
They've gotten along surprisingly well, despite their conflictive origins. They all had. And he could count himself in, as well. It still was nothing compared to when being around his Chargers, though. Him and his boys had a connection that went way deeper, given all the things they'd gone through together after all the years. But the potential was there. He had noticed weeks earlier, how they'd all started to bond. Sharing more and more bits of their own personal background stories and small details about their personality when being together in a restful moment. Just like now, Bull realised while he let his gaze drift off to his companions, studying them.
There was Sera. Being around her was fun. She was always chatty, but she didn't like talking about her past. She always brought up various other subjects though. Most of which were none of her business, but she kept on babbling anyway. She was an easy to get along with type if you agreed with her personal point of view on specific things. If not, well, let's say she was less fun when someone like Vivienne was also part of their little field trip party.
The inquisitor had a simply fascinating personality but was not keen on sharing too much personal information either, given the fact that he was a Dalish mage, not really that much of a surprise. He had probably hardly met any human or Qunari before all of this had happened. Hiding away in the woods like those Dalish people normally do. And then all of a sudden, he became the Herald of Andraste, the Lord Inquisitor – a leader of so many people who all had their eyes upon him. Glorifying him even. Maybe he was afraid that whatever picture his comrades might get when he revealed too much of his former life, wouldn't fit their expectations.
But he was a good leader. A charismatic and a really handsome one, too. Too elvish looking for the bull's taste though. Too lithe and too easy to break obviously. Mahanonn was a good person – this much he could tell. He always tried to help his companions - he even would probably prefer calling them his friends by now – and tried to spend most of his time with every single one of them whenever possible. But there was also a slight change in his behaviour lately, the Iron Bull could tell.
It was the way how the Inquisitor behaved around Dorian. They were sitting right next to each other, sharing a blanket to sit on while warming in front of the crackling fire. They shared the same blanket with Sera though. It all looked perfectly normal, the Inquisitor being framed by two of his Inner Circle people with the Bull sitting on a stump right next to the Vint's left. If only it weren't for the casual backslapping after an especially snarky remark or blatant joke from Dorian, hand lingering always a little longer than appropriate on the mage's half-bared shoulder. Mahanonn would always choose his left shoulder, which the 'Vint for whatever reason preferred to wear less armour on. Revealing a tempting glimpse on smooth tanned skin over well defined muscles. When the Inquisitor finally pulled his hand back, his fingertips would absent-mindedly trail the rim of one of the many leather strips, ghosting slowly over what was exposed beneath. And the Bull couldn't unsee how the 'Vint had started to lean into these little touches, ever so slightly and subtle, like it was a mere coincidence but the Ben-Hassrath inside him could clearly see what was happening there. And he didn't like it.
It wasn't that he didn't trust the 'Vint – oddly as that might sound – he had long proved himself to be a helpful and reliable party member. Loyal without doubt. Irreplaceable in some situations even. Burning his own countrymen to ashes without hesitation whenever they had to confront Venatori in battle. But it still felt wrong to see the Inquisitor so familiar with Dorian. Looking at him and earning the most perfect smile from the 'Vint in response, whenever he became aware of the Inquisitor's attention on him. It just simply didn't fit. The Iron Bull couldn't quite name it yet but something felt wrong there.
While only listening with half an ear to the ongoing argument about whether Dorian did or did not laugh like a real Tevinter, the Iron Bull started to focus on named 'Vint. He couldn't really figure out that one yet. Growing up in Tevinter as a Magister's son must had taught him how to marvel at hiding away one's true self. Just like his own Ben-Hassrath training had taught him. But in a totally different way. With much more bravado and sparkles. Dorian wore his demeanour and smile like an armour. Bright and almost arrogant even when openly insulted or spit upon. The Iron Bull couldn't help but wonder what lay underneath that perfectly shaped and beautifully controlled mask that was Dorian's face. The pretty ones are always the worst. And the Vint sure was pretty. Too bad he was a Vint. And a mage... But the Bull had to admit that he liked looking at him.
Especially in situations like these. When Dorian's attention was focused somewhere else while the glowing reflection of fire was dancing over frustratingly flawless dark skin. When the 'Vint occasionally closed his eyes and threw his head slightly back with a cheerful bright laugh – no way at all did it sound anything like Sera was picturing an evil Magister's laugh. When the effort of maintaining a thoughtfully chosen composure slowly faded and the real Dorian finally began to shine through. Those occasions were rare though, but they always were given away by a certain spark in the mage's eyes and how his facial features suddenly seemed even softer... The slender hand of Mahanonn was back on Dorian's shoulder yet again, pale thin fingers brushing less subtle over smooth exposed skin this time. And the Bull couldn't help but wonder what it felt like to touch that skin.
Then the Inquisitor rose to his feet and bid them goodnight before smiling at the 'Vint and heading for his tent. It sure had gotten late already and the wine was nearly gone by now. Sera looked rather drunk and sleepy and vanished into the other tent shortly after, leaving the Qunari and the Vint to themselves. The Iron Bull welcomed the following silence with only the occasional crackling of fire or the faint swashing sound of an exchanged bottle to disturb the nightly tranquillity the Hinterlands apparently had to offer on nights like these. When he felt the fatigue slowly crawl up his spine and into his muscles he started to stretch a little, making his neck crack pleasantly albeit a littler louder than he intended to. It promptly earned him an annoyed glare from Dorian who'd gotten torn out of his wandering mind.
“So, who's it gonna be?”
“Pardon me?” The 'Vint raised an perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Who's gonna take the first watch shift? It might have been a really calm day but we shouldn't let down our guard nonetheless. We're not travelling with scouts this time.
“Huh. You're probably right for once the Iron Bull.” Dorian answered but didn't offer to comply to the task himself.
“Alright. So I guess I'll take the first shift then.”
Dorian simply yawned in response and nodded with a small smile before bidding goodnight himself and heading towards the same tent the Inquisitor had retreated too. The Iron Bull really didn't mean to eavesdrop. He didn't. Really. But he simply couldn't ignore the quiet giggling and whispering that started as soon as the 'Vint had pulled the cloth of the tent-door shut behind him. Seemed like the Inquisitor wasn't nearly as half asleep as the Iron Bull had thought he was by now. He couldn't make out any words or sentences. Maybe there even was a remarkable lack of them. But that was none of his business. And that's when he finally realised what it was that bothered him. The thing that was wrong there wasn't that it was Dorian who was close to the Inquisitor. It was the Inquisitor being close to Dorian. Bull couldn't help but feel a slighty gnawing emotion somewhere. But he wouldn't dare to admit that to himself. For now he had to focus on potential dangers out there in the nightly wilderness.
***
In the following weeks the Inquisitor spent a noticeable amount of time with the Tevinter mage. Whenever they were in Skyhold he would be hanging around the library, claiming to study the origins of the oculara and those magical shards, without actually making any provable progress. It was also striking how that spark in Dorian's eyes had started to manifest itself every time Mahanonn was around him. It somehow prevailed. The 'Vint wouldn't dare to admit it, but every now and then, when he felt unwatched, a small smile would spread over his face. A genuine one.
The Inquisitor sure had taken a like on the 'Vint. Whenever he decided to go on another field trip with his favourite Inner Circle group, it was an outspoken agreement that the both of them shared a tent, the Iron Bull had noticed. But it still was none of his business because they both were Bas Saarebas and whatever it was that was going on between them was fine. Because the Iron Bull had no interest in either of them. He preferred them less demon-vessel-ly and less vint-y. And he got plenty of willing candidates who applied to these preferences in the tavern each night.
Since their studies didn't bring them any steps further, they continued their search for more oculara and other magical shards like those they had found in the Hinterlands but in other regions instead. They had ventured to the Exalted Plains this time and had spent the last few days cleaning abandoned forts from hordes of the undead and demons. Then, one night, Solas suddenly appeared in their camp. He claimed that some friend of his – a spirit actually – needed his help, because she – do you even apply a gender on spirits? - had been summoned against her will and was now kept in slavery by some mages. Mahanonn immediately offered his assistance and so they left the camp early the next morning, leaving The Iron Bull back behind. Which he really didn't mind much. Because spirits and mages always included some weird magic crap. And he sure got enough weird magic crap going on all day already.
It was close to sunset when Sera and Dorian finally returned to the camp. Only the two of them. They gave the Iron Bull a short recap of what had happened. That they couldn't save the spirit from it's doom and how Mahanonn let Solas kill the responsible mages before he ran off towards the elven ruins. And how the Inquisitor went after him. The 'Vint didn't seem all too happy about the two elves running around by their own when night was about to fall. But they both were all grown up and highly skilled mages who were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. They'd already cleaned the area around the elven ruins from corpses and ghosts some days before anyway. So it was mostly save ground there. But Dorian still didn't seem pleased.
It wasn't until the first rays of sunlight fell into the camp when Solas and Mahanonn finally returned. Must have been one restless night for the 'Vint, who had volunteered to take three watch shifts in a row for the first time ever. No wonder he was still asleep when the two elves decided to join the camp for breakfast. The Iron Bull, who got up early this morning, immediately could sense that something had changed - again - when the two elves had come into his view. Maybe it was the Dales with being the homeland of elves and all that old creepy elven magic stuff and all those creepy elven ruins. So maybe, with Mahanonn and Solas both being elven mages, maybe they had some weird magical family reunion thing ignited last night. But they definitely seemed more connected than before. Walking oddly silent but with a strikingly different posture towards each other. More familiar. Closer. Maybe he should let Dorian sleep a little while longer. The whole scenery could as well be easily misinterpreted.
Solas decided to stay with them and not return to Skyhold for a while. The two elves had found a hidden entrance to another yet unknown elven ruin the night earlier, and he wanted to take his time exploring whatever secrets and wisdom may be hidden within. The Inquisitor seemed to share his excitement. Whenever Solas left for another expedition, Mahanonn accompanied him. It was only the two of them, even though Dorian was always the first one to offer his assistance, but the Inquisitor kept turning him down. He assigned them to other tasks instead. Like extending their current camp. And collecting herbs and materials for their requisition orders. Sera decided to leave for Skyhold the next day. Claiming that there's a mission to be prepared for the red Jenny, but according to Dorian's opinion she was simply bored out of her mind. And she didn't like elven things, so it was not much of a surprise that she wanted to leave the Dales as soon as possible.
It was the third day already that the two elves had left the camp on their own and the 'Vint kept vocalising his dislike of their current situation on every given occasion. Complaining about the waste of time, staying behind while they could clearly be of more help elsewhere. Or about the weather, the quality of their bedrolls, the lack of hygiene of his party members, the poor taste of the food and whatever not.
The Qunari and the 'Vint had spent most of the day collecting elfroot. They clearly had enough to cover a month' demand by now already. The mage was right in some points. Wasting the capacities of two skilled companions on something like gathering herbs and flowers didn't make much sense given to their still prominent greater problems at hand.
It was early evening and the both of them had settled around the camp's fireplace once again. Once again Solas and Mahanonn hadn't returned from this day's expedition yet. They would always return long after the sun had set and they would always leave early the next morning. No time being wasted on much conversation. Just the occasional new order given about how the rest of them should structure their day until the Inquisitor's return from the ruins.
“If only I have to eat this poor excuse of a stew one more day, I will gladly hand myself over to the undead in hope they will have enough mercy in their rotten bones to end my misery.” Dorian dramatically overemphasized his disapproval with a disgusted groan after swallowing some of the mentioned stew. Always complaining. Always putting on a show.
The Iron Bull patiently listened to Dorian's complaints but the words that stood out the most were the ones not said. He could read them in the lines that formed on his forehead, when the 'Vint furrowed his brows, while he was staring into the flames of the fire. Brooding over why the Inquisitor avoided him, when just days ago he wouldn't miss one minute of Dorian's company. Was it something he had said? Or done? Was it Solas? What was happening? All those questions were clearly written over the 'Vint's pretty face and the Iron Bull silently studied him while his mask had slipped this far for once. The spark wasn't there, but there was something like doubt in his eyes, maybe it was fear.
“I'm pretty sure Solas doesn't swing that way, if you ask me.” The Iron Bull's words instantly triggered a well known series of reactions in Dorian. Straighten your back, shoulders drawn back, head slightly cocked, control your face and now smile.
“I have absolutely now idea what you're talking about.” And there he was, in his full armour, invulnerable and feigning ignorance. Stupid proud 'Vints. The Iron Bull regretted that he even had touched on that topic the instant the words had left his mouth.
“...ye-ah... of course. Listen, Dorian, if you ever feel like...I don't know...” Awkward. Why did it feel so awkward to talk about this? He had listened to his Charger's romantic problems, whenever they needed someone to talk to. Why was this so different? The Bull wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what exactly had happened between the 'Vint and the Inquisitor. The thought alone gave him a weird chill in his stomach. “I mean – if you need someone to talk to, you can always come to me.”
“Why would a Tevinter mage want to talk to a Qunari spy about what exactly? There is nothing to talk about anyway. Stop imagining things.” Dorian did his best not to look the Bull in the eye when he rose to his feet and straightened his robe in a poor attempt to emanate annoyance and grandeur. He failed miserably for once. The Qunari could clearly see that he had hit a nerve there, but he didn't want to push the topic any further.
“Just so you know.” So he simply shrugged the topic off and turned his attention back to the untouched pot of stew, he was still holding in one hand and let the 'Vint walk away in dignity. He took one spoon and slightly grimaced. Dorian wasn't so wrong about it. He should make sure that tomorrow, he'd go pick some herbs that could be used as spices alongside the elfroot. That was if the Inquisitor still did not come to his senses and stopped wasting their time.
Solas and Mahanonn actually did return earlier this evening. They had found some elven relics and glyphs, so apparently it was a rather successful day for the two of them. Since this time the others weren't asleep already, they finally reported everything they had found out so far. The both elven mages were all head over heels and trailed off in heated discussions with each other on various points of their explanations. The Iron Bull had a hard time understanding even half of what they were talking about, while Dorian didn't seem as interested as he should be, since he was a mage, too.
The 'Vint was listening to everything Mahanonn had to tell, smiled and commented whenever given the opportunity and everything probably seemed perfectly fine to the untrained eye, but the Bull could see that Dorian wasn't really into it. His eyes constantly on the run, studying the Inquisitor with uncertainty. Like everything inside him was screaming to bring this story about elven artefacts to an end and talk about something else or maybe make a run. But he remained his patience. So they kept sitting around the fire, eating some more horrendous stew and listened to the two elves.
It took another hour until the 'Vint finally got a chance to speak to the Inquisitor alone. The Iron Bull was still sitting close to the fire, but even in darkness he could clearly see them standing in front of the tents. He couldn't hear what they were talking about though, but he saw the Inquisitor nodding and then both of them started to walk away from the camp. Maybe searching for a place where no-one can disturb them. The Bull had to remember himself that it was still none of his business and swallowed around a lump that started to build in his throat.
The Inquisitor was the first one to reappear not long after they had left. The Iron Bull wondered why he was alone but the look on Mahanonn's face clearly displayed that whatever conversation him and Dorian had, must have been rather unpleasant. The Qunari decided to not interfere.
It took an unsettling amount of time for Dorian to finally return to the camp. The Iron Bull nearly got up twice to go search for him in the meantime but he kept on reminding himself that everything was probably fine and that the 'Vint maybe just needed some alone time. He had watched the others bidding goodnight but decided to stay awake although they did have scouts this time and he could as well retreat to his own tent and get some sleep. But he couldn't. Not until Dorian was back. So it was a relief, when the mage finally came into his sight. Swaying a little while clutching something in one hand, but unharmed. His steps were a little lazy when he approached the fireplace then he let himself plop on the ground next to the Bull, less graceful than he would normally use to.
“Look at what I've found!!” Dorian's words were slurred while he leaned towards Bull, over dramatically presenting an old bottle. “Tadaa~! Seems like the Inquisitor isn't the only one who can find hidden rare bottles of booze in the middle of nowhere! So sorry, finders keepers.” Despite his words he still handed it to the Qunari who cautiously sniffed before taking a sip. That stuff was strong, no wonder the 'Vint was far beyond drunk, given most of the bottle's content was already gone.
“Too bad, would have been a nice addition to his collection.” The Bull took another sip and didn't give the bottle right back. Maybe the 'Vint should slow down a little.
“...wouldn't it?” The smile on Dorian's face started to fade away, ever so slowly, until it was a mere ghost of a smile, still he kept it painfully in place while his eyes were wandering off into the flames. He remained silent after that for a long while and it started to freak the Bull out. The 'Vint wasn't the quiet type. Whenever something was off, he would rather start to ramble or complain but he wouldn't be that silent. Without his bravado, Dorian suddenly seemed a lot more vulnerable. The Qunari resisted the urge to say something – anything – and gave the mage all the time he needed instead.
“He is... he's incredible, isn't he? The Inquisitor. He is so amazingly nice and gentle that one might start to forget...” Dorian was the one who finally broke the silence and the Bull lifted his head and looked at him, not able to meet his eyes that were still focused on nothing in particular, looking right through the flames into nowhere.
“Forget what?” He finally asked when he didn't get any further explanation on the statement. It took Dorian some time to continue.
“How things have always been. And always will be.” The mage averted his eyes from the fire then and looked directly at the Iron Bull. Face tired and strained. Words heavy on his tongue and slightly slurred with a stronger Tevinter accent than he normally had.
“Dorian, that doesn't make any sense. Are you okay?” The Qunari started to worry about the 'Vint then. He had known Dorian in various drunk versions – funny, bitchy, arrogant, flirtatious. But never had he been like this before.
“Am I not, aren't I? Making any sense to you?” A little sigh and another thoughtfully crafted smile, a little too broad in its finish due to the level of alcohol, but still not broad enough to cover up the hurt in Dorian's eyes. Another fake smile. The kind of one the Bull wanted to rip out of the Vint's beautiful face. All together with the sadness that left a glittering reflection in the corner of Dorian's eyes. “I'm fine. Don't worry. Totally fine even.” He hesitated as if he needed to recollect himself a little. “I just thought that maybe this time...” He let out a low humourless laugh while carelessly running his outstretched fingers over his closed eyes. “Forget it. Everything is perfectly fine. It was a very foolish thought to begin with.” Swaying dangerously, the 'Vint got up to his feet and tried to straighten his posture. The Iron Bull got up as well and stepped closer, just so he could support him in case the 'Vint lost his balance and would fall into the fireplace. Turned out he didn't need any help, which left the Bull standing awkwardly close to the other man.
There was a small smear of kohl beneath the corner of the Vint's left eye and the Iron Bull couldn't help but focus on it. Before he could stop himself from reaching out, his hand had already touched Dorian's face. He carefully wiped the thin black smear away with his thumb while his eye followed the trail of his finger. The 'Vint was completely frozen, staring at the Iron Bull. And the Qunari just stared back at him before he finally remembered to pull away his hand.
“Maybe you should get some sleep, big guy.” The Bull tried to give the best reassuring smile he had.
“H-hm... guess you're right...” Dorian let his eyes wander to the tent he normally shared with the Inquisitor, then back to the fire. “..I think here will do just fine.” Before he could let himself slump back on the ground, two strong Qunari hands stopped him midair.
“You don't seriously want to sleep outside? Aren't you the one constantly complaining about Southern climate?” And just like so he dragged the mage along with him towards his own tent. It was the only one currently not occupied as far as he knew. Dorian started to complain again at last, but followed him nonetheless.
It was funnier than the situation should give away, to watch the drunk Tevinter mage trying to get out of his armour. Constantly stumbling and cursing in the darkness of the tent. At some point the Qunari couldn't watch it any longer and started to help him with the insane amount of buckles and straps. Why would anyone voluntarily want to wear something so complicated? Dorian for once gladly accepted the help and let himself slump boneless into the bedroll as soon as the Bull picked the last piece off him. It left a tempting view on exposed tanned skin and muscles and the Qunari's fingers itched to just give in and touch, but it wouldn't be right. Not now. So he just tugged a blanket over the 'Vint and silently watched him fall asleep before he finally settled for the night as well.