Dorian doesn't go out for the first few days. The house is small and undeniably rustic by his standards. But it is far more comfortable than a cell, and he has grown steadily more used to southern living, even if he still doesn't enjoy it. He isolates himself on purpose as he gains his bearings, processes his time in captivity, and learns from Bull the state of Thedas as it is now, things that he would be expected to know. It is sobering, and he can see clearly why he has lived the life he apparently has in this world. Of course he would resist this with every fiber of his being, especially after Bull left him to return to his people--to put it very kindly.
They still don't talk about Bull's scars directly, but Dorian is certain that he is the cause.
They don't have sex until the third afternoon after Dorian moves into the place that has been Bull's home for months now. It's slow and tender, and they spend most of it kissing and reassuring one another in hushed tones. Bull treats him to everything he likes most, and only seems to get off himself as an afterthought. They do it again the next day, though this time Dorian works Bull over with just his hands, playing with him for so long and bringing him to the edge and back so many times that Bull eventually has to plead with him to let him finish. Dorian finds it cathartic, and tells Bull as much. After that, they have sex more often. He thinks Bull finds it just as grounding.
Dorian spends time reading and writing and drawing diagrams and wracking his brain for ways to get them back to where they are supposed to be. The concepts are so similar to the spell he used to return himself and Lavellan to the proper time after their sojourn into the dark future Alexius had wrought, but will need adjustment, and certainly a catalyst. Dorian dares not yet ask Bull about Lavellan's fate, the sight of her mouth wired shut still too fresh in his mind.
The clothes he wears are nothing like his usual. Loose tunics with wide collars tucked into leggings, tall boots, little embellishment on any. Bull provides him with a few of the things from his beauty regimen that he is used to: wax for his mustache, kohl, product for his hair, a scrub for his skin. But it wouldn't do, he says, to look too individual, or certainly too Vint-y. His robes and all of his jewelry were confiscated when he was captured. Bull has been able to get most of it back for him, but he doesn't wear it. It sits in a box on the bedside table, birthright and all.
When he does go out and spend time in the village for the first time, it is to accompany Bull to a meal. He goes out more regularly after that, though always at Bull's side. What he observes is shockingly different from what he expected. Most everyone is a civilian. There are very few soldiers, and Bull is the only agent of his kind to have an actual home in the village, rather than live in a barracks. There are Qunari and local humans and elves in roughly equal number. The latter are Viddathari by necessity, and seem to actively participate in Qunari society. But of course they would, Dorian thinks; better this than to be killed for their beliefs, or deemed unfit to serve the Qun. Still, the community seems a peaceful one now, established for some time. Dorian had never seen a Qunari child before, but now he sees dozens every day, trailing their tamassran caregivers alongside the Viddathari children.
People talk to him like he is anyone else. They don't know him as anything other than simply Dorian. Some that have seen that he lives with Bull--Hissrad, of course, to them--are curious as to why, though none press him hard for an answer. Something he has taken note of: most of the Qunari who approach them speak over him to Bull, and in Qunlat, which he doesn't appreciate, but remains reluctantly silent on. The Viddathari will talk to either of them, many apparently having already been charmed by Bull's natural friendly manner and way with people. It's only natural, he supposes. No one seems to be unhappy outwardly, but Dorian knows well that a facade is just that. After all, many slaves in Tevinter appear content, yet they are still slaves. Certainly, there are some who might genuinely embrace the Qun, glad for guaranteed access to food and shelter and education for their children. But few people are ever thankful for being invaded and having their lives turned upside down, forced to follow an entirely new system governed by restrictive roles and rigid beliefs. Dorian doesn't allow himself to relax, and he can tell that the Bull doesn't either, despite how at ease he seems. Of course they're being watched. However important Bull has become, there are still those above him who want this risk observed and calculated.
Still, the children are rather charming, Dorian can't help but think. All oversized, various shades of grey, some without horns yet and others with little nubs, and some in their teens still growing into their enormous bodies, starting to learn the ins and outs of the roles that they have been slotted for.
On the surface, it is idyllic. Which is precisely why it makes Dorian deeply uneasy.
The weather at least is warm enough. It is summer, which means that it's roughly equivalent to wintertime in Tevinter. Several tamassrans teach their charges outside today, which Dorian observes alongside Bull, who has a hand resting casually on his back near his waist, for whatever message that sends. There are two groups arranged by the water, one of children currently being taught varying levels of arithmetic, and one of older Viddathari being lectured on some principle of the Qun. More than one tamassran tends to each group, and there is certainly one whose specific task seems to be wrangling children who aren't overly interested in their lesson today, and instead find themselves distracted by the birds in the trees, or the shouts of fishermen, or--or the one looking straight at Dorian and Bull, wide-eyed and curious. The tamassran quietly chides him in Qunlat, the only word of which Dorian recognizes is imekari. But when she moves on, he surreptitiously glances back again. Dorian was a rebellious child himself, who'd naturally grown into a rebellious adult, and appreciates the same in others. As such he can't help but smile as he meets the boy's eye, unconsciously leaning further against Bull's side.
no subject
They still don't talk about Bull's scars directly, but Dorian is certain that he is the cause.
They don't have sex until the third afternoon after Dorian moves into the place that has been Bull's home for months now. It's slow and tender, and they spend most of it kissing and reassuring one another in hushed tones. Bull treats him to everything he likes most, and only seems to get off himself as an afterthought. They do it again the next day, though this time Dorian works Bull over with just his hands, playing with him for so long and bringing him to the edge and back so many times that Bull eventually has to plead with him to let him finish. Dorian finds it cathartic, and tells Bull as much. After that, they have sex more often. He thinks Bull finds it just as grounding.
Dorian spends time reading and writing and drawing diagrams and wracking his brain for ways to get them back to where they are supposed to be. The concepts are so similar to the spell he used to return himself and Lavellan to the proper time after their sojourn into the dark future Alexius had wrought, but will need adjustment, and certainly a catalyst. Dorian dares not yet ask Bull about Lavellan's fate, the sight of her mouth wired shut still too fresh in his mind.
The clothes he wears are nothing like his usual. Loose tunics with wide collars tucked into leggings, tall boots, little embellishment on any. Bull provides him with a few of the things from his beauty regimen that he is used to: wax for his mustache, kohl, product for his hair, a scrub for his skin. But it wouldn't do, he says, to look too individual, or certainly too Vint-y. His robes and all of his jewelry were confiscated when he was captured. Bull has been able to get most of it back for him, but he doesn't wear it. It sits in a box on the bedside table, birthright and all.
When he does go out and spend time in the village for the first time, it is to accompany Bull to a meal. He goes out more regularly after that, though always at Bull's side. What he observes is shockingly different from what he expected. Most everyone is a civilian. There are very few soldiers, and Bull is the only agent of his kind to have an actual home in the village, rather than live in a barracks. There are Qunari and local humans and elves in roughly equal number. The latter are Viddathari by necessity, and seem to actively participate in Qunari society. But of course they would, Dorian thinks; better this than to be killed for their beliefs, or deemed unfit to serve the Qun. Still, the community seems a peaceful one now, established for some time. Dorian had never seen a Qunari child before, but now he sees dozens every day, trailing their tamassran caregivers alongside the Viddathari children.
People talk to him like he is anyone else. They don't know him as anything other than simply Dorian. Some that have seen that he lives with Bull--Hissrad, of course, to them--are curious as to why, though none press him hard for an answer. Something he has taken note of: most of the Qunari who approach them speak over him to Bull, and in Qunlat, which he doesn't appreciate, but remains reluctantly silent on. The Viddathari will talk to either of them, many apparently having already been charmed by Bull's natural friendly manner and way with people. It's only natural, he supposes. No one seems to be unhappy outwardly, but Dorian knows well that a facade is just that. After all, many slaves in Tevinter appear content, yet they are still slaves. Certainly, there are some who might genuinely embrace the Qun, glad for guaranteed access to food and shelter and education for their children. But few people are ever thankful for being invaded and having their lives turned upside down, forced to follow an entirely new system governed by restrictive roles and rigid beliefs. Dorian doesn't allow himself to relax, and he can tell that the Bull doesn't either, despite how at ease he seems. Of course they're being watched. However important Bull has become, there are still those above him who want this risk observed and calculated.
Still, the children are rather charming, Dorian can't help but think. All oversized, various shades of grey, some without horns yet and others with little nubs, and some in their teens still growing into their enormous bodies, starting to learn the ins and outs of the roles that they have been slotted for.
On the surface, it is idyllic. Which is precisely why it makes Dorian deeply uneasy.
The weather at least is warm enough. It is summer, which means that it's roughly equivalent to wintertime in Tevinter. Several tamassrans teach their charges outside today, which Dorian observes alongside Bull, who has a hand resting casually on his back near his waist, for whatever message that sends. There are two groups arranged by the water, one of children currently being taught varying levels of arithmetic, and one of older Viddathari being lectured on some principle of the Qun. More than one tamassran tends to each group, and there is certainly one whose specific task seems to be wrangling children who aren't overly interested in their lesson today, and instead find themselves distracted by the birds in the trees, or the shouts of fishermen, or--or the one looking straight at Dorian and Bull, wide-eyed and curious. The tamassran quietly chides him in Qunlat, the only word of which Dorian recognizes is imekari. But when she moves on, he surreptitiously glances back again. Dorian was a rebellious child himself, who'd naturally grown into a rebellious adult, and appreciates the same in others. As such he can't help but smile as he meets the boy's eye, unconsciously leaning further against Bull's side.