Chapter 10

The velvet curtain pulled back and there he was. Looking at him made Dorian feel painful pleasure welling up inside – an ache he could not scrub away. He entered. The curtain fell closed behind. It made a soft swishing sound.

"Dorian," he said in greeting. He was smiling. Fitz sat on the floor beside the chair, his back rested against the mage's leg. Dorian put his book down and reached out to touch him. "The travel back was rough. But did you enjoy the Winter Palace?"

Dorian ran his fingers through the Inquisitor's hair absentmindedly. He loved touching him. With him close, under his fingers, everything felt in its proper place. For just a moment, the anxiety he had been feeling since the Ball faded. "Marvelous business," he said, playfully. "All the dancing, politics and murder made me a bit homesick, however." He felt the Inquisitor's shoulders shake under his touch. Air escaped him in a small laugh.

"That's something you'd like to do more often, then?" Fitzwilliam retorted. Amusement colored his words.

"Watch as you twist an entire empire around your little finger?" Dorian drawled. He infused his final words with the lust he felt, "Yes, please." He paused for a moment then continued a little sadly. "Of course, that only leaves Tevinter, and it wouldn't work as well there."

"No?" He heard the smile in Fitzwilliam's voice. The Inquisitor leaned his head back into Dorian's touch and made a sound of easy enjoyment. "Why not?"

Dorian lowered his voice seductively. "Our dances are so much more intense. If an evening lacks a murder, we sniff and call it a bore."

Fitzwilliam was quiet for a long time. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Thinking to himself. Not sharing his thoughts as freely as he once had. "Personally," he said finally, "I'll remember our dance." He sighed wistfully. The man sounded… smitten. He paused. "But do you actually miss it?" Fitzwilliam asked seriously, turning to look up at him. Perhaps that was what he had been thinking of so intently. Wondering if Dorian missed his homeland.

Dorian searched his feelings and was surprised to find that, yes, he actually did. "Who wouldn't," he sighed wistfully. "All the drama, the scandal, the petty maneuverings. Back home we engage in social affairs with the grim intensity of war. When blood is spilled the battle is won." He laughed softly. "It's less fun when you're the target, but to watch? My, yes."

Fitzwilliam was smiling at him, like a puppy, or some equally pathetically adorable, calf-eyed animal, resting his head on the mage's knee. "Well," he said with a smirk. "I'm happy to oblige. A taste of home, just for you."

Dorian quirked a half-smile. "Not just for me, Inquisitor," he said playfully. "Fun for the whole family."

Fitzwilliam smiled wickedly. "Perhaps I should have invited some," he replied.

Dorian looked down at him. You are my family, he thought. The dream he'd had in the Winter Palace still haunted him. But he couldn't wrap his mind around it. Not yet. So instead he reached out and touched Fitzwilliam's face gently, urging him up on his knees. The mage leaned over and tucked a finger under the Inquisitor's chin, lifting it so their eyes locked.

"We were there," Dorian said softly. "That's what counts." And then he kissed the Herald of Andraste.

The memory of that talk made him shiver as he wandered. It had been wonderful, and for a fleeting moment the unease that had haunted him the whole way back to Skyhold had dissolved. But when the two had parted it returned with a vengeance. Okay, yes, so maybe Dorian was avoiding the Inquisitor. Since Halamshiral Dorian had had only the one conversation with Fitzwilliam. Since then he'd been moving from place to place, never staying in once spot too long, and never going to the usual places.

It was that Maker-forsaken dream. He couldn't shake it.

Or what it meant.

So he had been flitting about, place to place, just as he had done before joining the Inquisition. He'd even played chess with Cullen. He'd cheated, of course, which made the losing so much worse. And Fitzwilliam had shown up toward the end. Dorian thought about staying around to see the game out to its winner, but Cullen had distracted the man and if he was to make his get-away he would need to do it while they played.

Now he was just mindlessly wandering about the Hall. Fitzwilliam was away on a mission. He'd tried to find Dorian to go along, as per usual, but Dorian had hid in a closet. That was a… low moment. But he needed time. He had to figure this all out. Not that the Hall was preferable. Anytime he passed someone they whispered. He wasn't unused to being whispered about but every once in a while he would catch a bit of the conversation. Mostly he could brush them off. What did these people matter anyway?

Eventually, however, things started filtering through, "I hear the council is voting on trying him as a spy," a woman in a mask whispered once she thought him out of earshot. He rolled his eyes and kept walking but now, it seemed, he was no longer able to tune out the whisperers.

"He has the Inquisitor wrapped around his finger," a man in a gaudy red suit hissed.

"Doesn't go anywhere without him, yet here he is. A falling out?"

"All his free time is spent in closed quarters with a compatriot of the Venatori."

Dorian found himself storming out before he realized he was doing it. They really began to talk then. He didn't care. He didn't care what they said. He didn't care about his place in the Inquisition. And he didn't care that it was barely fifth bell. He headed straight for the tavern.

Dorian ordered up a drink, sat in a dark corner, and brooded. Drink after drink. He wasn't sure how long he'd been at it when the Qunari showed up but the sun had been on its way down when he'd arrived. The world was now cloaked in a deep darkness. Iron Bull sat down without being invited and without saying a word. He just sat there, drinking.

"Excuse me," Dorian grumbled.

"You're excused," Iron Bull replied without looking at him.

Dorian growled, finished the drink, called for another, and glared at Bull. "If you don't mind," he said, "I'm trying to drink."

"Don't mind at all," Bull said. He lifted his mug a bit and said, "Me too." Dorian's drink arrived and he took it. "So," Bull continued casually. "Why are you drinking?"

Dorian rolled his eyes and looked into his mug, "A lot of reasons. You?"

"Because I'm thirsty," Bull said simply. Dorian wanted to slap him, cocky animal that he was, but it appeared the Qunari was drinking ale. So he was probably telling the truth. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Fuuuuuck you," Dorian drawled. He realized his speech was starting to slur. Maybe he'd been here longer than he realized.

"I guess that's on the table too," Iron Bull said with a wink.

"You know very well I…" and then he stopped. He'd been about to say "You know very well I'm involved" but… Why not. He downed his drink, called for a glass of scotch, and drank it all down before he returned his gaze to Bull. "Can we talk in private?" He asked. His head was spinning, but he was pretty sure Bull nodded in affirmation. The room swayed when Dorian stood and he found he was not above letting the mercenary help him up the tavern stairs to his rooms.

Iron Bull let him in first, then closed the door behind them. Dorian approached him with some swagger. "I lied," he said, pressing close., forcing Bull back against the closed door. He rested his hands on the Qunari's bare chest. Maker, his skin is hot.

"Oh?" Bull asked, his eyebrow going up, smirking.

"I don't want to talk," Dorian said and then leaned up to kiss him.

He found himself unable to move much, he eased backward a bit and tried again. Once more his momentum halted. He blinked, looking around, he spotted the problem. Bull had grabbed him by the shoulders. "Thought you and the Inquisitor…" he said. He was, after all, a spy. Leaving the question open would allow Dorian to provide the answer, which would give more information than supplying his own assumption.

Dorian shrugged. "He's not here," he said. "You are."

Bull lowered his head closer to Dorian's. His breath was hot and smelled of ale. "I want you to consider this, Vint," he said. "Is this what you really want?"

No. But this is easy. "Yes," Dorian said stubbornly.

Bull released him and rolled his eyes. "Venak hol, Dorian. You've gotten good at lying. To yourself, anyway. You're being a particularly big fool –even for a Vint."

Dorian blinked. The anger set in slowly but it was white hot. How dare he play with me like this. He tried to shove his way past the giant of a man, "I guess I'll leave then."

But Bull, practically a second door in front of the real door, blocked his way. "Oh no you won't. We're gonna talk about this."

"A Qunari? Talk about feelings? Please. Your kind just hits things with a stick." Dorian was close to him, ready to push, shove, anything.

"I could hit you if you like," Bull replied. "Work this out the Qunari way, beat the fear out of you. But either way, you aren't leaving."

Dorian felt the power surging through him at the threat. The desire to draw on the magic there was strong. So strong. "I'm not afraid of you," he growled. "I could burn right through you and bring this whole place down around your head." He felt the fire at his fingertips.

Iron Bull did not seem intimidated. "You could," he agreed calmly. "I've see what you can do. I've spent my life studying mages, learning how to combat them. So saying you've impressed me on our missions together? That should tell you something. But if you did burn the tavern down around me you'd also be damning every person in it. Sera. Cole. And you know Cole would try to help, even if you did manage to get him out…" That cooled Dorian's rage a little. Bull was right, after all. Despite the fact that Dorian was livid, he took a step back. "Good, you're not beyond reason after all. Sit." Dorian moved and sat heavily on the bed. Maker, it was huge. And had a straw mattress. Dorian cringed inwardly but the drunk in him really wanted to curl up in it and sleep. The mage clenched and opened his hands, flexing, making fists to exert some energy. Bull poured him a glass of water and shoved it in Dorian's hands. Taking the water was clearly not up for negotiation. "Now, what's this all about?"

Dorian sat, silently fuming, sipping water. It took a long time for him to realize Bull would sit here until daybreak, patiently, unless Dorian talked. So he sighed heavily and said, "Nothing, I just… nothing."

"You meant to put me in the middle of whatever is going on with you and the Inquisitor," Bull said seriously. "For that alone you owe me an answer."

Dorian glared. Bull had been right about that too. It wasn't fair to pull the Qunari into this. But he was drunk and angry so maybe fair didn't concern him. He glared instead. "There's nothing going on," he spat.

"Ah," Bull said, sitting in a chair across from him. "I see. And you wish something were going on."

"I… no." Dorian said looking away. Stupid Ben-hassrath training.

"Dorian," Bull said with gentle sincerity. "You're a terrible liar."

"That's not the problem," Dorian said harshly. The great beast of a man was infuriating. Dorian knew he was having his buttons pushed, but he was too drunk to think his way out of it. Void take me, what made me think this was a good idea?

"Mhm," Bull said. His head bobbed as he nodded – so nonchalantly that Dorian wanted to throw something at his stupid horned face. "If not that, then what?"

Dorian stood and put the water down. He was too forceful, it sloshed onto the table. The dark, spreading, mark pulled his gaze, he became lost in the shape. It looked like… a dragon? No, a Griffon. Dorian shook his head. "I'm not doing this," he said angrily. "Fuck me or let me leave."

Iron Bull stood, the room became a blur of color, and Dorian found his face flat against the rough wooden wall. Iron Bull was pressed close behind him, trapping him. Dorian could feel hot breath on his neck. "I could do that," The Qunari said huskily. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about conquering you. If that's really what you want," he continued, grinding against Dorian's backside. "I can tear your clothes off and take you until your eyes roll back and your knees buckle." And despite the fear coursing through his veins and the sick, guilty feeling in his stomach, Dorian shivered with desire. "I could hold you down and hurt you and please you until you begged for more. You wouldn't even know if you want the pain or the pleasure. It wouldn't matter." He felt Bull take both his hands in one strong one and press his wrists above his head. His grip was tight, it was uncomfortable. Despite that Dorian's heart was a jack-hammer in his chest.

Iron Bull paused in his speech and just pressed against Dorian, letting his breath whisk, hot, across the mage's neck. Finally, in the same husky voice he'd been using, he said something that cut through the haze of lust and fear. "But you get one chance to say no, Dorian, and this is it. Don't just think about this moment, the running away. Think about what will come after. Think about the Inquisitor coming back. Think of him charging up the keep stairs to find you. Think of how you will feel. Think of that moment. And then tell me you want this."

Dorian was nothing if not a stubborn man. He stayed silent a long time. The wood was rough under his cheek, his hands ached at the wrists where they were clenched in Bull's hand. It hurt. Good. He needed something to bring him down to earth. You're a bit of fluff in the breeze. He heard Fitzwilliam saying. You ran from home and never stopped. This. This was what he did. Running. Hurting. This was what Dorian was good at. But then he thought of the look on Fitzwilliam's face when he told him what he'd done. The pain he would see there. The betrayal. And he realized Bull was right. He couldn't do this.

"I don't want this," he whispered softly, defeated. And just like that Bull had released him and herded him back to the bed. Dorian sat down, Bull sat across from him.

"Alright, Dorian. Now, what's this really all about," the Qunari asked. He was being surprisingly gentle. As if Dorian were a bird with a broken wing.

Dorian hung his head, looking at the floor. "People have been saying things, at court, about the Inquisitor and I," he said honestly, finally.

"People are assholes," Bull said with a shrug. "Especially nobles."

"I know," Dorian said. Frustration was creeping in on the edges of his voice. "But those are the only opinions I hear. And Fitzwilliam can't ignore public opinion forever. Sooner or later he will…" but he couldn't finish. Listen? Yield? Agree? Everything he could think of was too horrible.

"You know I'm a spy right?" Iron Bull said. Dorian looked up, confused, and nodded. "Yeah, well, I've got a load of intel on you," he said getting up and rummaging through a pile of papers and books. Finally, he pulled out a large leather bound volume. "Orlesian nobles like gossip and you are a more interesting topic than most. Let me tell you what people really think." Dorian watched, confused and afraid as Bull opened the book and flipped. "Says here when you left Tevinter you were a pariah, yet public opinion of you there is swaying. They see you gathering power and influence, and making your homeland look good. Of course those entrenched in the old ways are trying to reduce your impact, and a few attempts have been made on your father's life, a few contracts taken out on yours, but by and large they are eager to see your progress."

Dorian's head was spinning with that. It was the very last thing he thought he'd ever hear. And he'd heard it from a Qunari.

"The Council of the Inquisition has said you are an invaluable member. And when talked to individually, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen have all praised you. I even asked Cullen what he thought of your relationship with the Inquisitor. He said quote, "Nothing wrong with a little fun. And we all need someone to keep us level." Granted, he stammered and blushed like a fledgling," Bull laughed. "But he was telling the truth. Let's see," he continued. "Cassandra seemed a little put off by you and your relationship, but that was clearly jealousy talking. You know she has a thing for the Inquisitor, right? Adorable. So easy to fluster. She'll calm down. King Alistair was around for a moment and my network gathered that he thought you seemed "intelligent, charming, a bit of a smartass". He said the last bit approvingly. Accurate. But hardly damning."

"So what," Dorian interrupted. "All of Thedas is singing my praises?" And if his tone was heavily sarcastic, well who would blame him?

Iron Bull let out a boisterous laugh. "Hardly. You've got enemies like any man. More, actually. But the majority of the public opinion? And the people close to the Inquisition who really matter? They like you, Dorian. They think you're good for the Inquisition. And what's more, good for the Inquisitor." Dorian rolled his eyes. "Okay, I get it, you don't believe me. So here." He handed Dorian the book. "Read it. You'll see every good and bad thing everyone has had to say about you. Or at least the ones my network has gathered, which is close to the same thing." He winked. Blinked? What do you call it if you only have one eye? Dorian smoothed his fingers over the rigid leather of the cover. "Just get it back to me soon," Bull said firmly, and he fixed Dorian with a serious stare from that one good eye. "I don't lend out my intel."

Dorian looked up at the Qunari, a man he hand once thought of as an enemy and said softly, "I… I don't know… thank you, Bull."

Bull smiled at him, and nodded, then handed him the water again. "You drank all day, it's near the 10th bell. Finish that before you go."

And, Maker take him, Dorian did.

VVV

Dorian stopped by the library and read for a good hour before he ventured back to his room. The Qunari had been right. There were plenty of people out to kill him, but an astonishing number of people were rooting for him. And, it seemed, whatever was going on between him and Fitzwilliam wasn't exactly a secret either. Even as far away as the Ferelden capital of Denerim people were speculating. Still, they seemed nonplused by it. Some people actually seemed to be... pleased by it. "Like a story out a fairy tale," one man had been quoted as saying. He shook his head, closed the book, and headed to his rooms.

The door latched softly behind him and Dorian was relieved to find someone had had the presence of mind to start his fire. The chill in the air with winter moving in was hard to endure without a good fire to fight off the night. He would have to find the thoughtful servant and reward him. Dorian placed the book on a table and got ready to retire. When he turned and looked at his bed he realized, for the first time, he was not alone.

Fitzwilliam was there. In his bed. Asleep. Under the blankets and hogging the pillows and everything. Dorian felt the shame of his recent actions color his cheeks. He would have to talk to Fitzwilliam, of course, really talk to him, but thanks to Bull, Dorian hadn't done anything he couldn't take back. So for now, he stood and looked at the Herald's sleeping form, peaceful and content in Dorian's bed, until the chill in the room cut his bare skin and he slipped under the blankets.

"Doe?" He heard Fitzwilliam say sleepily. Dorian lay on his back, tense.

"Yes," he whispered.

"You're here," Fitzwilliam said, moving close, reaching out to touch him.

"I am," Dorian replied, touching his hand.

"I'm cold," he heard him mumble.

Dorian sat up, and pulled the extra blanket at the foot of the bed up to cover them. He then lay down and wrapped his arm around Fitzwilliam, pulling him close, skin on skin. Fitzwilliam's head rested on his chest, and Dorian kissed the top of it. "Rest now, Fitz," he said. "I'll keep you warm."

Fitzwilliam nuzzled his chest softly. Dorian squeezed gently in response. Soon Fitzwilliam's slow steady breathing lulled him to sleep.