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He had a tankard of ale in one hand, and a bottle of what might have passed as Antivan brandy in the other, though he was far beyond being able to truly taste either. The room wobbled, as did the rickety chair he had propped against the wall, damaged from one of the many drinking sessions the Chargers had inflicted upon the hastily constructed establishment. But the Chargers weren’t there now, and Bull’s seat remained empty, cold and forgotten. Even the place itself had taken on a sombre air, entirely too quiet, and none bothered approaching the Tevinter mage or offering him any kind of company. It was better that way, he reasoned.
Dorian could feel the hum of the alcohol through his blood, near enough blinding him with how much he had consumed once more, and he knew distantly that he was likely to spend another night passed out upon the tavern floor, ignored and alone. The drink helped with the pain though, both physical and emotional. Pain he did not want, that he wasn’t ready to deal with, but that at the same time he relished as some kind of sick reminder of what had been.
Their relationship had not been anything like a secret, Bull had seen to that, and somehow Dorian was grateful for it. He had spent his entire life hiding who he was and what he desired, the ‘dirty little secret’ of his - usually married - past lovers. To have the hulking great Qunari warrior announce it so freely had been refreshing, not having to hide himself away any longer, or sneak around the morning after so none might notice and gossip. It wasn’t love, he had known right from the start that love would never enter into it, but at points it certainly came close. He wondered, perhaps, what Bull had felt for him towards the end. He had asked once, and for the first time his lover hadn’t given him a straight answer, which might have worried him if not for the ever-gentle fingers trailing down his spine at the time. Bull always knew how to make him purr.
There was cuddling, sometimes, and Dorian had grown accustomed to using the brute as a makeshift pillow while reading, and although Bull had a habit of fidgeting when he did so, he found he could not bring it upon himself to mind. Mostly, though, their time spent together in private was about sex; that was how it had started, how he had started it, and in the end it was how it had finished. The Iron Bull was nothing if not a master of his art, whether that art be the cleaving of heads on the battlefield, or between silken sheets. He knew what he was doing, and he did it very well, leaving Dorian a sweaty, writhing mess begging for more. Months of exploration of each other led from simple vanilla sex, to light bondage, to some of the heavier stuff, and finally to breath play. Dorian hadn’t liked that, not at all, and Bull must have noticed the panic in his eyes as he did not try it a second time. The spanking he liked, and being tied or held down. The humiliation had hurt, though, and Bull never caught onto that one. Verbal humiliation he was used to, and his mask was simply too good, too perfect to crack.
He had never once used their safe word.
Corypheus had fallen almost a year past, and while the Inquisition had remained strong, a noted and respected power across Thedas, not all of the original members remained. Solas had vanished immediately after Corypheus’ downfall, leaving many in suspicion of the mage’s true intentions. He watched as Lavellan’s heart slowly broke at the realisation that he was not coming back for her, and truly he wasn’t certain she had ever recovered from it. To see a love like that was a rare thing, and his own heart ached to watch his friend suffer silently, unable to aid her in any way. He swore, then, that he would not leave her side. He would remain as her steadfast supporter no matter what happened.
Vivienne had been appointed as the next Divine, which was something of a surprise to all except her it seemed. She was doing an excellent job, and all concerned could see the improvements in the way mages across Thedas were treated. Some still opposed the use of circles, but her system seemed to be working, and for the first time in known history a month had passed without any reports of mages resorting to deals with demons. They still exchanged letters, on occasion, and though he might not admit it Dorian did miss their sniping conversations somewhat.
Blackwall did not say where he was going, but a note from the Wardens left Lavellan with a knowing smile that spoke volumes. Varric and Cassandra left, somewhat suspiciously, at around the same time only some months previously, and the last he heard they were heading towards Orlais together.
The advisers remained, of course, along with the Iron Bull and himself. Sera, somewhat surprisingly, had taken up residence with Lavellan herself, and he had a feeling she would not be leaving any time soon. Neither would Cole, it seemed, though he scarcely saw the spirit these days. Still, with their reduced numbers, it felt somewhat suspiciously as though his friends were being stripped away, and as a Tevinter mage in a foreign country with scant few friends as it was, that did worry Dorian more than it perhaps should have.
And then the Bull had left. With the Inquisition doing so well, there was little use for the Chargers any more, and they were growing restless. They were a mercenary group, after all, and as Krem had pointed out one night over drinks it felt rather like they were getting paid far too much coin to do far too little work. Dorian wasn’t certain whether Bull had decided on his own, or whether the Chargers had had a say in the matter, but there had been scarcely an inkling of anything being amiss until one evening a week past.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow.” There had been no warning, just those four words, out of the blue. Dorian had stared up at him from his position on the Qunari’s chest, puzzled for a moment.
“Is the Inquisitor sending you out on a mission? It’s been a while since she did that, when will you return?” He had asked quietly, curling closer in the cold morning air, the warmth of his lover enough that he would not need to light a fire until they made their way from the bed.
“I won’t be returning.” Bull’s hand had found his hair, petting gently, an almost apologetic look upon his scarred face. “The Chargers need a new challenge, so we’re moving on.”
“You’re leaving?” He hadn’t liked how small and afraid his voice sounded, though if Bull had noticed he made no comment.
“You’re more than welcome to join us, kadan. It wouldn’t hurt to have more mages along for the ride.” How could someone so large be so very gentle? Dorian had never understood it, and as those massive fingers continued to comb through his hair he found he still couldn’t.
“You know I can’t do that.” Dorian had shrunk away then, a pained look across his features, and Bull had let him, sitting up once the mage was far enough away that he wouldn’t accidentally spear him on one of his great horns.
“I know you can’t, but the offer will always stand.” Bull replied calmly, unmoving, unphased by the growing anger upon the man’s face.
“Then why make the offer if you already knew my answer?” He snapped angrily, nostrils flaring and his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands.
“Would you rather I hadn’t asked at all?”
“Yes.” The mage blurted out with a scowl, before loosing a small sigh and letting his balled fists fall into his lap. “No. No, you’re right, as always.”
“Come, let me say goodbye to you properly.” Bull had rumbled, low and with entirely too much meaning, pulling Dorian to his chest so he might kiss the mage.
“So it is goodbye, then?” Dorian had asked, once his mouth was his own once more.
“What else could it be?”
“How about ‘I’ll see you later’ or ‘farewell for now’, something not quite so...final.” He already knew the answer. He knew, from too much time spent alongside his lover, that Bull always chose his wording extremely carefully. It was another measure of control, something the Bull obsessed over.
“In my line of work, there might not be a later, and it’s unlikely I’ll return unless the Inquisitor needs me again.”
“You wouldn’t return for me?” The question went unanswered, though not forgotten, even as Bull pressed him down into the mattress to draw pleasured cries from down-turned lips. He took everything that the Qunari would give him, and then more still. It hurt, knowing that this would be their last night together, more than it perhaps should. Even in the throes of passion Dorian felt betrayed, frightened even, knowing that the one person he had thought he could truly count on was leaving him behind with seemingly no regret. He knew, then, that whatever he felt for the Qunari, was almost certainly not what Bull felt for him.
He did not see Bull off the next morning, instead watching distantly from their bedroom window, now simply his bedroom. He did not cry, Dorian rarely cried at anything, and losing a lover was not something worth shedding tears over, though that did not mean he was not hurting inside. He watched as the carts pulled away, Bull at the lead, head held high and broad shoulders as strong as ever. Krem, rather surprisingly, did not appear to be at his side, though Dorian thought little of it until a knock sounded at his door.
“Dorian?” It was rare for the other Tevinter to call him by his name, rarer still for Krem to appear in his private domain, though that was perhaps in reverence to Bull’s privacy rather than his own. Shutting the door behind him, Krem had padded over to Dorian’s side and, when the mage neither looked from the window nor replied, pulled him from his seat and into a strong hug.
“Shouldn’t you be with them?” Dorian could not help but partly return the gesture, though with less enthusiasm. The pair had become reasonably good friends in the time that had passed, and though he would not admit it aloud he had known he would miss the sometimes annoying Lieutenant of the Chargers.
“I’ll catch up. Thought you’d come see us in the yard?” He hadn’t missed the intake of breath or the pained wince as he had forcibly moved the man, though he said nothing of it.
“I don’t like goodbyes.” The mage admitted with a shrug as Krem finally released him, though the shorter man kept hold of his biceps as if not ready to let go just yet.
“Neither do I, it’s why I don’t normally do them.”
“Normally..?”
“I don’t have many friends, none outside the Chargers anyhow. ‘Cept you, that is. Didn’t feel right to head off without saying something.”
“Something we both have in common, then. In case you hadn’t already noticed, I’m not exactly well-liked myself.”
“Must be a ‘Vint thing.” Krem replied with his best cheeky grin, earning a small smile from Dorian in return.
“I think you may be right.” Dorian agreed with a nod, pulling the warrior to his chest once more before releasing him. “Stay safe, and I’ll be here if you ever need me.”
“Thanks, appreciate it.” He turned, then, with a final wave to the mage as he left the room without looking back. Dorian did not resume his place at the window, did not see the way Bull stared up at the small space in the brickwork he himself had stared through so many times, regret written across his features. Did not see how Krem took longer than necessary to join the back of the procession of mercenaries, lingering and looking and perhaps hoping for a way out that would not present itself. He could have remained, Bull had said as such, the lovely lady in the tavern who had caught his eye would have appreciated it he said, but there was no way he would ever abandon Bull, or the Chargers. They were his family, after all. The only one he had.
Dorian had limped back to bed, not bothering to strip off the robes he had donned only an hour or so previous, laying prone upon the coverlet, head buried in a pillow that still smelled too strongly of his lost lover. It was not what one could call a nice scent, but it was unmistakably Bull, and Dorian had grown used to it. He had remained there for most of the day, ignoring knocks to his door and the ache of his body. The sex had been good, as it always was, but on the verge of being too much. He wanted Bull to mark him, to break him, to leave him with final memories he might want to keep, rather than the pain of their parting. He had asked for harder, faster, perhaps even wondering whether the Qunari might remain if he simply gave more of himself, as foolish as that thought sounded in the light of day. The pain up his spine was a side effect of that need, one that he both despised and craved all at once.
Each day since had been one of drinking and self-flagellation poorly disguised as reflection. Lavellan was gone from Skyhold for the moment, collecting new species of herbs for her garden, and the other inhabitants cared little for how he chose to spend his time provided he was not a nuisance to them, which he seldom was, or were too busy to have noticed his predicament. He missed the warmth of another in his bed as the season turned cold and colder still, missed the pleasant banter and hearty laughter that made the Bull’s belly quake. Even moreso he missed the heavy weight of an arm about his shoulders, and the sensation of belonging that always brought a small smile to his lips.
It wasn’t love, but it was damn close.