But it isn't just me, Dorian wants to insist. It's you as well. Bull is just as much a part of things, and his happiness matters too. But given that he's just told Dorian it would please him if he stayed overnight more often, he holds his tongue. He can do that. It only takes a little reframing.
"All right." He gives a tight smile. "I'll see you tonight, Bull." He's successful at resisting the urge to cross the room and kiss the Bull again. Instead, he finally turns and leaves.
For the next several hours he works in the library and gets very little accomplished. His progress is slowed by constant thoughts of Bull. Dorian spends quite some time considering not whether he can call what they have one thing or another, or if it will last. He instead considers what it means to him; here, now, without any expectations. It's an entirely new perspective, and one that grants him some peace of mind. He still doesn't know what's going on--tells the Inquisitor as much, when she catches him sometime before dinner and asks him how things are with the Bull. He doesn't think that Bull knows either, and something about that is oddly comforting. But does it matter, really? So long as Dorian doesn't expect it to end in a marriage proposal, they can simply enjoy their time together and let it be whatever it is. Bull is good, and Dorian wants to be good to him.
When he finishes up for the day, he isn't even annoyed by his lack of progress. He's discovered something else today, and is content with that. He descends the winding stairs from the mage tower to the great hall and finds Bull seated at the head of one of the long tables just beside a fireplace. Dorian takes the seat on Bull's left and lets the fire warm his back.
"I hope I haven't missed much," he greets with a quirk of a smile. "Has Varric fleeced anyone at cards yet?" He gestures with a tilt of his head to the next table down, where the dwarf sits customarily--and tonight as well, though it seems he's spending this evening writing rather than carousing.
Bull has spent most of his day lighting eating, slowly drinking, and watching. He talks to people that sit down with him; he listens to those that don't. He watches the comings and goings: who heads for Josephine's office, for Leliana's tower? He has someone embedded in Cullen's men so he doesn't need to watch the commander to much.
He smiles when Dorian joins him.
"A delegation from Orlais has arrived," he says with a nod toward Josephine's closed door. "They've been in there for the better part of an hour. Someone came out to order food brought in."
He sets his almost-full tankard down near Dorian, in case he's interested in sharing.
"Orlesians spending hours in Josephine's office? Nothing new there," Dorian comments as he takes Bull's offered tankard in both hands and raises it to his lips for a long, deep drink. Ah--he knows what kind of beer Dorian likes, damn him. "No doubt our ambassador will secure a hefty donation before the evening is out."
He drums his fingers against the table and snorts at Bull's question. "Not far, really," he admits. "Nothing promising today, so I decided to quit a little early." And here he lets his hand settle over the back of Bull's where it rests on the table. "I had other things on my mind."
With one laid over the other like this in plain sight between them, it's even more apparent than usual how large Bull's hands are in comparison to Dorian's. Dorian's thumb smooths idly over Bull's thick knuckles, back and forth slowly.
"They're from Halamshiral," he adds, watching the door as Dorian takes a deep drink from the tankard. "They're here with an invitation for the Inquisitor. Before they arrived, Leliana was talking in low tones with the Inquisitor about what you saw in the possible future of Thedas. About the empress being assassinated."
It's been an eventful day, apparently. Some of this was information that Bull already had, but now he's watching some of the pieces fall into place. He shifts his weight, absently stretching his left leg out. He smiles and spares a look to Dorian when the mage's hand covers his. The touch is nice and Bull wishes he could focus on that alone.
"Anyway, the envoy is directly from the empress, judging by their masks and their colors."
While Dorian had been aware of at least a little of what Bull mentions, it becomes clear quickly that Bull had gained the rest of that information entirely on his own, through careful observation during the last several hours. It really is amazing what one can simply overhear, when thinking critically, and with a background of knowledge useful for gleaning information. Not for the first time, Dorian is impressed by Bull--his mind, chiefly. Here is the agent of the Ben-Hassrath so often belied by the crude mercenary captain. It seems a privilege to him to be allowed to witness Bull this way, trusted with knowing what he's really capable of.
His hand folds further over Bull's, fingers curling around his to tuck beneath his palm, squeezing lightly. He wonders, idly, if anyone gives them a second glance--if anyone notices or cares.
"I wonder if we'll all go to the Winter Palace," Dorian murmurs, sounding a bit hopeful. He may not care much for Orlesians, but he is in favor of parties. Mostly in favor of the wine he might find at such a party. "Surely, in the interest of preventing the Empress' assassination, we'll be wanted there--if only to serve as a suitable distraction while everyone else sneaks off?" Dorian angles a grin up at Bull. Leaving the Inquisition's Tevinter and Qunari for the Empress' guests to gawk over wouldn't be a half bad plan, actually.
"There's supposed to be some event," Bull says absently. "Josie's been trying to secure invitations for the Inquisitor and a party. This is the first time a delegation from Celene's household has come, which means she's either making progress or they will be leaving invitations here with her before they depart. Leliana predicts a gathering like that would be the perfect place for a very public assassination and she isn't wrong. Imagine the political turmoil of the empress and other high-ranking officials all dying at once."
Bull can. Has. And never mind how he knows what Leliana has been corresponding about or discussing with the Inquisitor and her agents. Bull is working for the Inquisition, he is passing information from his contacts, but he is still Ben-Hassrath and he does not like to have missing pieces. He needs to know where they all are on the board if he's going to provide reliable reasons to prevent a full Qunari invasion of the south.
Dorian's hand is warm against his, the gentle squeeze drawing his attention from the door to the mage next to him. Bull returns the squeeze when he hears the hopeful note in Dorian's voice.
"Boss must have a plan if we're going to show a public face. You and Vivienne should probably start planning what to wear."
Bull assumes they'll at the top of the list. Vivienne is familiar with the Game and the Orlesian court and Dorian lives and breathes political intrigue.
"I saw the effects of that political turmoil first-hand. It wasn't good." He knows that Bull doesn't much like to hear about the magic involved in that incident, and not even Dorian can blame him for that. But Dorian has told him more than once the details of the future he'd seen. The one thing he hasn't talked much with him about is the Bull he'd met there--imprisoned for a year, infected by red lyrium, ready to die fighting. He hadn't known Bull then, had barely spoken to him before. These days, remembering it makes him feel ill and slightly murderous. If he wasn't already holding the Bull's hand, he'd have reached for it now.
"Vivienne, certainly," Dorian agrees more lightly. "But you really think the Inquisitor would choose to bring along a Tevinter pariah to Empress Celene's soiree?" He and the Inquisitor are close, true, and perhaps she would want him there for support. But surely one of her advisers would see what a poor image that would present and counsel her against it. "Even if I am the best authority present on fine wine, food, literature, high society, and parties potentially involving political assassination," he adds.
But he certainly won't turn down such an opportunity if he is chosen. A suitable outfit will most certainly be required. "And you?" He can't help but tease. "Will I witness Madame de Fer force you into a shirt and jacket at last?"
"Are you kidding? The Orlesians will eat the scandal up. It's not their scandal, after all," he says of Dorian's presence at the ball. "You're an obvious choice. Not only do you know how court intrigue works, but you'll command attention. You'll be a focal point of gossip and intrigue yourself. People will thrill themselves by engaging you in conversation. The fallen Tevinter scion and close adviser to the Inquisitor."
Bull considers the suggestion that he might be in the party chosen to go. There are benefits to his presence, of course: Bull knows Orlais and the nobility remarkably well. He has information and contacts that could be useful throughout their investigation. He's good in a fight and he's good at improvising. And more than anything, Bull knows how to gather information.
But he also stands out like a sore thumb, head and shoulders above everyone else and twice as broad as most of them.
"I'm not a shoe-in," he says quietly. "Too big and obvious. Be hell to tailor something to fit me. I've got useful skills but ultimately they need to decide if the benefits outweigh everything else."
Never mind that Bull knows how to disappear in a room, despite being massive.
"Well, if you put it that way, I'll be the most popular guest in attendance," Dorian laughs, and makes a show of drawing himself up, self-important. He can't imagine he'll be so well received as all that, but Bull's perspective is encouraging, at least. He'd rather be a walking scandal than completely ignored. "I suppose it remains to be seen if I'll be given that chance."
He'd like to come along anyway, even if he isn't to go to the party itself. Orlais is Orlais, but it is the closest he'll get to civilized society here in the south.
"Nonsense," he insists of Bull's dismissal of his own chances. "You've made a career of being obvious, and your insight would be invaluable. You've probably done jobs for many of these nobles already, and have information on them that might prove useful to the Inquisition. Plus, the perspective of a skilled spy at the event itself--"
It occurs to him that he's going on about Bull's virtues, which is hardly typical for him. But Bull is so very competent at what he does that Dorian can't imagine leaving him behind for a crucial venture such as this one.
"Perhaps we'll both go," Dorian suggests with some warm amusement. "To balance one another out. And fear not, Bull; I hear Madame de Fer's tailors are the very best in southern Thedas. Surely something could be made to fit even your measurements." Some curious part of Dorian has to wonder what those measurements actually are.
"You just want to see Madam de Fer and Josephine force me into something they deem appropriate for court," he says with a dry smile Dorian's way. It's strange, but not unpleasant, to hear the mage touting his virtues.
His thumb brushes along Dorian's tenderly before he lets go of his hand; the door to Josephine's office opens and Bull is paying keen attention, even if his posture doesn't shift otherwise. The masks hide minute expressions but they don't hide body language or tone of voice if he can hear.
Bull narrows his eye slightly.
"They left something with Josephine," he says quietly, definitively.
Leliana appears from nowhere to sweep across the hall and into Josephine's office; the door promptly shuts again.
"You can't deny that it would be amusing." Dorian's lips quirk up at the corners. "She'll have to buy yards upon yards of expensive fabric to cover that expansive chest of yours." As Bull releases his hand, he lets go of Bull's as well, withdrawing as the Qunari's attention turns back toward the door. He misses it immediately, but he doesn't need it.
He's amazed, truly, by how much information Bull can glean from so little evidence. The Orlesians take their leave, and Dorian would have thought little of it but for Bull's commentary. If they've left something with Josephine, it means they'll be getting their invitations after all.
Dorian's gaze follows Leliana as she crosses the hall quick as a shadow, disappearing behind the door. Bards.
"Then it means she knows that you've been watching, too," Dorian points out. "Though I suppose she must expect that." His fingers, no longer curled around Bull's, drum against the table. "They'll make the announcement soon, I'd wager. Everyone will need time to prepare. Which means..." He grins, elated. "A visit to Val Royeaux is in order." A proper city, at last.
Bull chuckles quietly when Dorian mentions Val Royeaux. "I think you'll talk your way into coming even if the Inquisitor ends up thinking it's a bad idea," he says as he gives the mage a fond look.
The door opens and Leliana comes out again. Bull makes eye contact with her as she crosses the hall to head back to her tower. Leliana knows who he is and what he does; he knows the same about her. The only difference is the slight advantage Bull has in knowing Qunari ciphers and codes and Qunlat.
He likes her, though. She's a challenge and she keeps him on his toes.
"You're probably right," Dorian agrees with confidence. "As you well know, I can talk my way into nearly anything."
He reaches for Bull's tankard again and drinks far more than he should probably be allotted, because he knows that Bull won't care. The Bull would let him drink his beer all evening if he had a mind to, with only a playful word of rebuke. He's delightfully easy-going that way.
"Did you know that this would happen tonight?" It occurs to Dorian that the answer is probably yes. Likely, Bull had noticed the dignitaries arrive at Skyhold earlier, and anticipated the meeting. It certainly explains why Bull kept his schedule open enough today to fit in an afternoon romp.
"Leliana had a few letters," he says absently. "So did Josephine. The boss has been concerned about this potential assassination since you saw the results of it. But I noticed that the delegation had arrived and expected they'd be meeting this afternoon."
So he camped out in the great hall to watch the comings and goings like plenty of other people do throughout the day.
"And to think," Dorian murmurs, "when we first became acquainted, I thought you a common brute." Perhaps not so basic as that, knowing about Bull's position with the Ben-Hassrath. Still, even when he'd been afraid of Bull--afraid that Bull would turn on him specifically, for being a Tevinter altus, perhaps--he'd not given him nearly enough credit. "I know better now. You may be a brute, but you are a singularly intelligent one."
It's telling, probably, that he very much wants to lean up and kiss Bull's cheek, brimming with admiration and affection. He resists that compulsion, and instead offers, "I have several hours more to spare. If you intend to spend the evening here, I'll keep you company."
Bull gives Dorian a very fond smile. "I'd like that company," he admits. "Bet I can get someone to bring us food here."
They are sitting at table and Bull has seen meals served here now that the kitchens in Skyhold are up and running. Bull is hoping, if he plays his cards right, he'll be able to woo Dorian back to bed with him by the end of the evening. He likes sharing a bed with the mage and he knows now for sure that Dorian enjoys it, too. Why deny themselves that comfort?
"I know you can," Dorian laughs, because he's seen Bull do it before.
They share a meal there, and after, Dorian doesn't even make a fuss about accompanying Bull to his room. They walk across the battlements together, talking and trading gentle barbs, close enough that their arms brush. The wind is cold, biting through Dorian's robes, but Bull is there to block the worst of it.
And after they fuck--again, for the second time that day--Dorian fits himself against Bull's body (huge and warm, rough and gentle, capable of making him feel sated and desired and cared for like he has never felt before) like he was meant to be there. He lays his head down on Bull's chest, stretches an arm across his soft middle, and sleeps more soundly than he has in weeks.
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"All right." He gives a tight smile. "I'll see you tonight, Bull." He's successful at resisting the urge to cross the room and kiss the Bull again. Instead, he finally turns and leaves.
For the next several hours he works in the library and gets very little accomplished. His progress is slowed by constant thoughts of Bull. Dorian spends quite some time considering not whether he can call what they have one thing or another, or if it will last. He instead considers what it means to him; here, now, without any expectations. It's an entirely new perspective, and one that grants him some peace of mind. He still doesn't know what's going on--tells the Inquisitor as much, when she catches him sometime before dinner and asks him how things are with the Bull. He doesn't think that Bull knows either, and something about that is oddly comforting. But does it matter, really? So long as Dorian doesn't expect it to end in a marriage proposal, they can simply enjoy their time together and let it be whatever it is. Bull is good, and Dorian wants to be good to him.
When he finishes up for the day, he isn't even annoyed by his lack of progress. He's discovered something else today, and is content with that. He descends the winding stairs from the mage tower to the great hall and finds Bull seated at the head of one of the long tables just beside a fireplace. Dorian takes the seat on Bull's left and lets the fire warm his back.
"I hope I haven't missed much," he greets with a quirk of a smile. "Has Varric fleeced anyone at cards yet?" He gestures with a tilt of his head to the next table down, where the dwarf sits customarily--and tonight as well, though it seems he's spending this evening writing rather than carousing.
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He smiles when Dorian joins him.
"A delegation from Orlais has arrived," he says with a nod toward Josephine's closed door. "They've been in there for the better part of an hour. Someone came out to order food brought in."
He sets his almost-full tankard down near Dorian, in case he's interested in sharing.
"How goes the research?"
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He drums his fingers against the table and snorts at Bull's question. "Not far, really," he admits. "Nothing promising today, so I decided to quit a little early." And here he lets his hand settle over the back of Bull's where it rests on the table. "I had other things on my mind."
With one laid over the other like this in plain sight between them, it's even more apparent than usual how large Bull's hands are in comparison to Dorian's. Dorian's thumb smooths idly over Bull's thick knuckles, back and forth slowly.
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It's been an eventful day, apparently. Some of this was information that Bull already had, but now he's watching some of the pieces fall into place. He shifts his weight, absently stretching his left leg out. He smiles and spares a look to Dorian when the mage's hand covers his. The touch is nice and Bull wishes he could focus on that alone.
"Anyway, the envoy is directly from the empress, judging by their masks and their colors."
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His hand folds further over Bull's, fingers curling around his to tuck beneath his palm, squeezing lightly. He wonders, idly, if anyone gives them a second glance--if anyone notices or cares.
"I wonder if we'll all go to the Winter Palace," Dorian murmurs, sounding a bit hopeful. He may not care much for Orlesians, but he is in favor of parties. Mostly in favor of the wine he might find at such a party. "Surely, in the interest of preventing the Empress' assassination, we'll be wanted there--if only to serve as a suitable distraction while everyone else sneaks off?" Dorian angles a grin up at Bull. Leaving the Inquisition's Tevinter and Qunari for the Empress' guests to gawk over wouldn't be a half bad plan, actually.
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Bull can. Has. And never mind how he knows what Leliana has been corresponding about or discussing with the Inquisitor and her agents. Bull is working for the Inquisition, he is passing information from his contacts, but he is still Ben-Hassrath and he does not like to have missing pieces. He needs to know where they all are on the board if he's going to provide reliable reasons to prevent a full Qunari invasion of the south.
Dorian's hand is warm against his, the gentle squeeze drawing his attention from the door to the mage next to him. Bull returns the squeeze when he hears the hopeful note in Dorian's voice.
"Boss must have a plan if we're going to show a public face. You and Vivienne should probably start planning what to wear."
Bull assumes they'll at the top of the list. Vivienne is familiar with the Game and the Orlesian court and Dorian lives and breathes political intrigue.
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"Vivienne, certainly," Dorian agrees more lightly. "But you really think the Inquisitor would choose to bring along a Tevinter pariah to Empress Celene's soiree?" He and the Inquisitor are close, true, and perhaps she would want him there for support. But surely one of her advisers would see what a poor image that would present and counsel her against it. "Even if I am the best authority present on fine wine, food, literature, high society, and parties potentially involving political assassination," he adds.
But he certainly won't turn down such an opportunity if he is chosen. A suitable outfit will most certainly be required. "And you?" He can't help but tease. "Will I witness Madame de Fer force you into a shirt and jacket at last?"
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Bull considers the suggestion that he might be in the party chosen to go. There are benefits to his presence, of course: Bull knows Orlais and the nobility remarkably well. He has information and contacts that could be useful throughout their investigation. He's good in a fight and he's good at improvising. And more than anything, Bull knows how to gather information.
But he also stands out like a sore thumb, head and shoulders above everyone else and twice as broad as most of them.
"I'm not a shoe-in," he says quietly. "Too big and obvious. Be hell to tailor something to fit me. I've got useful skills but ultimately they need to decide if the benefits outweigh everything else."
Never mind that Bull knows how to disappear in a room, despite being massive.
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He'd like to come along anyway, even if he isn't to go to the party itself. Orlais is Orlais, but it is the closest he'll get to civilized society here in the south.
"Nonsense," he insists of Bull's dismissal of his own chances. "You've made a career of being obvious, and your insight would be invaluable. You've probably done jobs for many of these nobles already, and have information on them that might prove useful to the Inquisition. Plus, the perspective of a skilled spy at the event itself--"
It occurs to him that he's going on about Bull's virtues, which is hardly typical for him. But Bull is so very competent at what he does that Dorian can't imagine leaving him behind for a crucial venture such as this one.
"Perhaps we'll both go," Dorian suggests with some warm amusement. "To balance one another out. And fear not, Bull; I hear Madame de Fer's tailors are the very best in southern Thedas. Surely something could be made to fit even your measurements." Some curious part of Dorian has to wonder what those measurements actually are.
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His thumb brushes along Dorian's tenderly before he lets go of his hand; the door to Josephine's office opens and Bull is paying keen attention, even if his posture doesn't shift otherwise. The masks hide minute expressions but they don't hide body language or tone of voice if he can hear.
Bull narrows his eye slightly.
"They left something with Josephine," he says quietly, definitively.
Leliana appears from nowhere to sweep across the hall and into Josephine's office; the door promptly shuts again.
"Hm. Red's been watching, too."
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He's amazed, truly, by how much information Bull can glean from so little evidence. The Orlesians take their leave, and Dorian would have thought little of it but for Bull's commentary. If they've left something with Josephine, it means they'll be getting their invitations after all.
Dorian's gaze follows Leliana as she crosses the hall quick as a shadow, disappearing behind the door. Bards.
"Then it means she knows that you've been watching, too," Dorian points out. "Though I suppose she must expect that." His fingers, no longer curled around Bull's, drum against the table. "They'll make the announcement soon, I'd wager. Everyone will need time to prepare. Which means..." He grins, elated. "A visit to Val Royeaux is in order." A proper city, at last.
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The door opens and Leliana comes out again. Bull makes eye contact with her as she crosses the hall to head back to her tower. Leliana knows who he is and what he does; he knows the same about her. The only difference is the slight advantage Bull has in knowing Qunari ciphers and codes and Qunlat.
He likes her, though. She's a challenge and she keeps him on his toes.
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He reaches for Bull's tankard again and drinks far more than he should probably be allotted, because he knows that Bull won't care. The Bull would let him drink his beer all evening if he had a mind to, with only a playful word of rebuke. He's delightfully easy-going that way.
"Did you know that this would happen tonight?" It occurs to Dorian that the answer is probably yes. Likely, Bull had noticed the dignitaries arrive at Skyhold earlier, and anticipated the meeting. It certainly explains why Bull kept his schedule open enough today to fit in an afternoon romp.
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So he camped out in the great hall to watch the comings and goings like plenty of other people do throughout the day.
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It's telling, probably, that he very much wants to lean up and kiss Bull's cheek, brimming with admiration and affection. He resists that compulsion, and instead offers, "I have several hours more to spare. If you intend to spend the evening here, I'll keep you company."
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They are sitting at table and Bull has seen meals served here now that the kitchens in Skyhold are up and running. Bull is hoping, if he plays his cards right, he'll be able to woo Dorian back to bed with him by the end of the evening. He likes sharing a bed with the mage and he knows now for sure that Dorian enjoys it, too. Why deny themselves that comfort?
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They share a meal there, and after, Dorian doesn't even make a fuss about accompanying Bull to his room. They walk across the battlements together, talking and trading gentle barbs, close enough that their arms brush. The wind is cold, biting through Dorian's robes, but Bull is there to block the worst of it.
And after they fuck--again, for the second time that day--Dorian fits himself against Bull's body (huge and warm, rough and gentle, capable of making him feel sated and desired and cared for like he has never felt before) like he was meant to be there. He lays his head down on Bull's chest, stretches an arm across his soft middle, and sleeps more soundly than he has in weeks.