Chapter Text
It had actually been a good day. Despite the fact Evie insisted on departing before the sun had even risen, the day had ended up warm and clear, the only clouds light fluffy things that only served to enhance the blue of the sky. As they traveled, the snow covered mountains had given way to fields of wild flowers, which had necessitated frequent stops so that Evie could collect the herbs she was so fond of. By the third such stop both Varric and Bull had been giving him curious looks until finally Varric had questioned Dorian’s lack of complaining by implying perhaps he’d been possessed.
For once however, he didn’t feel like complaining. The sun was a warm comfort on his back. He was out of Skyhold for the first time in over a month. He had Bull back. His Bull. He didn’t have to be possessed by a desire demon to know when things were good.
And so a good day had turned into a pleasant night. They had ridden until the sun sunk over the horizon and the sky had turned a brilliant red. He had taken care of hobbling the horses while Bull took care of their packs and even the horses had seemed happy to be spending time in a field with plenty of sweet grass rather than their usual fare. Varric had brought down a couple of rabbits so they hadn’t been forced into field rations nor, even more unpleasant, nug stew. And after their meal they had all sat around the campfire, sharing a couple bottles of Vint-9 Rowan’s Rose which Evie had apparently been carrying around in her packs as though they were Cabot’s rot gut rather a rather decent vintage from his homeland. Of course the drinking had led to teasing Evie about her infatuation with a certain blond Commander and debating what pranks Sera would pull during their absence.
All of which undoubtedly contributed to why Dorian was entirely unprepared for entering the tent he and Bull shared only to freeze the moment he stepped foot into the canvas structure. In a flash he was no longer in a temperate meadow but back in the stifling arid desert, the heat still rising from the floor of the tent even though he was certain the sun had set. His eyes saw two packs, two bedrolls, two books lying stacked upon one another waiting to be read and his heart keened for the loss of half itself.
Closing his eyes Dorian told himself it wasn’t real, that Bull was standing right outside the tent not lying chained to a wagon, he had only to call for him. But his mind rebelled, a vision of another tent now supplanting itself in his mind. A vision of Bull lunging at him, the pain as his lover broke his jaw so real, so current that Dorian actually felt himself stumble.
The gasp it drew from him provided his lungs with much needed air as Dorian fought to willingly draw in another breath past the druffalo that had taken residence on his chest. Forcing his eyes open Dorian raised a trembling hand to his chest, forced his lungs to draw in a shallow breath that served, barely, to keep darkness from taking him.
Eyes darting again around the interior of the tent Dorian battled with himself as he struggled to pull in another breath. Rather than his memory taking him somewhere else now it seemed as though the walls of the tent were closing in, each painful inhalation only serving to pull them closer until he knew, just knew that any moment they would wrap around him tight enough to drown him in their pale folds. The heart that rested below his hand was beating so fast it was almost impossible to tell the independent beats. Perhaps his heart and lungs were just in competition, if one beat fast enough while the other refused to function they would negate each other in some odd contest to see which could kill him first.
The need to flee, to escape this cream colored prison warred with the impossibility of making his muscles move and the knowledge, if Dorian were still capable of rational knowledge, that this was all in his mind. He was the scion of House Pavus, trusted member of the Inquisition’s Inner Circle, he controlled the spirits of the dead for Andraste’s sake. He did not go fleeing from a tent out of fear of his own memories.
“Hey Dorian, you wouldn’t believe what the Boss just admitted…”
Dorian locked onto Bull’s voice like a drowning man who’d been thrown a lifeline. Surely, now he could shrug off this insanity, he just needed to…
“Kadan?” The concern in Bull’s voice curled around Dorian like always but instead of feeling like a blanket, warm and safe it only served to set Dorian’s already tense nerves aflame. The hand that landed worriedly on his shoulder shrugged off as Dorian’s paralysis was broken.
“Perhaps Evie’s business is her own. Fasta vass, leave the poor woman alone,” Dorian snarled as he turned, his eyes locking not on his lover but on the sliver of black sky visible through the opening of the tent. Black enough to hide anything, space enough to escape. No fear. No embarrassment No awkward explanations.
“I’ll take first watch,” he muttered as he shoved past his lover and let the night swallow his shadow.
Doing nothing wasn’t really Bull’s style. Oh, he could play the bumbling oxman if that’s what the occasion called for, could slouch in a corner so still that the crowd around him almost forgot he was there or stand guard and dominate a room so completely it was like he was the only one there. But that was work and this most definitely wasn’t.
So when he went to bed tonight to find Dorian standing there, shaking as though he’d been caught in a late winter storm despite it actually being warm inside their tent Bull had wanted to fix whatever it was. Then when Dorian had first growled at him and then muttered something about standing first watch that patch of skin between Bull’s shoulder blades, right at the base of his skull crawled and Bull was hard pressed to simply stand there and let him go. If it was one of the Chargers he’d have followed without fail, hand wrapping around a wrist or a shoulder and staring them down until they came clean about what the fuck it had been about. But again, this was Dorian, and when pushed the mage could shut down faster than anyone Bull had ever met. Could disappear so deep into that beautiful head of his it could take days to get him back out.
So Bull ignored his first instinct and let Dorian run. It was a calculated risk and one he felt secure in making considering where they were. He might not know what was bothering the ‘Vint, but they were in the middle of a mission and Bull knew that nothing short of death that would make Dorian put any of them in danger. If the mage said he’d stand first watch then that’s what he’d do.
Didn’t mean Bull had to like it. And it sure as fuck didn’t mean they wouldn’t be talking about it tomorrow. But for tonight he accepted defeat, dropping down onto his bedroll to run a tired hand over his face and try to figure out when the day went so fucking wrong.