His smaller body was shoved hard against the wall, causing sharp pain to shoot up his back and shoulders like a well aimed arrow to the spine. Before he could process what had happened, he was tossed carelessly to the ground, meeting the wooden floor with a thump. Dorian managed to scrape enough energy to bring his arms up beside him, grunting roughly at the effort, and push himself up off the ground. The mage half expected a blow as he arose but it never came. He turned to see that his lover had left the room, likely to drink himself into a stupor before he returns for untruthful apologies and make up sex. Shifting, albeit painfully, into a sitting position, Dorian pressed his back firmly against the wall. His body hurt. He could never do anything right; could never stop the hateful gaze from seeping into the eyes of those he loved most. Bringing trembling knees up to his chest, Dorian clamped his eyes shut. Shame filled what felt like every fiber of his being, he was Dorian Pavus, Tevinter noble, skillful with magic, devilishly handsome. Not some pathetic weakling to be left sniveling after a petty argument. Yes, that's what it was, an argument, nothing more. My fault, it won't happen again. If I wasn't so foolish he wouldn't of hit me, Dorian mentally reasoned.
He awoke suddenly, breathing too hard, sweat dripping off his shoulders and down his back, onto the satin sheets. Remembering that moment of pain, of weakness, had left Dorian Pavus shaken to his core. Dorian placed a hand to his heart, feeling the unnaturally rapid pace at which it was beating. He smoothed a hand through his thick waves, wet with sweat, in an attempt to calm himself.
Looking out the window, Dorian suspected it was barely into the morning. Birds tweeted loudly, but the sky was still mostly dark, casting a shadow over his room and distorting into frightening shapes at the sharp edges of his furniture. He shook his head to hopefully will the images away. Dorian threw his legs quickly over the side of his bed, and got up just as fast. He fumbled in the dark for a moment in an attempt to find something to cover his bare chest, eventually coming across a silk robe which had been tossed on a chair. He pulled it up his arms and across his back frantically, frustrated at the silk sticking to his sweat dampened skin. Tying it at the waist, he left his room quickly, grabbing a bottle of wine which was situated conveniently under his bed for nights spent reading.
Dorian headed down the small staircase, now only noticing his bare feet as they slapped irritatingly against the wooden floor. As he entered the atrium he failed to look at his surroundings, and winced at the sudden shuffling and now apparent candle light from within. Solas, serious as ever, was sat reading at his desk. Was reading, Dorians mind helpfully added. His frazzled appearance must of intrigued the elf who promptly asked, "are you alright Dorian?" upon seeing him.
"I-I," Dorian stammered, his usual composure gone. Solas, now obviously concerned, rose from his chair. He placed his pale hand on Dorians shoulder, thin fingers lightly squeezing.
"It's alright," Solas said in an obvious attempt to comfort, his usually serious and stern expression rejected for one of wisdom and understanding. Despite the intended kindness of the gesture, Dorian cringed. Forcing his voice to remain steady, he straightened and shrugged the hand off.
"I'm fine, Solas." Dorian said, feigning confidence. Solas looked disbelieving, but lowered his hand.
"If you wish to speak, you know where I am," he resigned with a slight bow of the head, before returning to his desk. Dorian sighed too loudly, before scuttling out without another word to the elf. He practically ran through the main hall to the outside staircase.
The mage sat of the second to bottom step opening the wine bottle which was now practically calling his name. Once opened he took a swig, followed by another sigh. His demons still remained strong, but with the alcohol in his system they were muffled, and easier to ignore. Dorian just stared blankly ahead now, eyes half lidded, mentally exhausted. His robe had slipped, exposing his shoulder to the harsh air.
He ignored the footfalls descending the stair case.
Even when feet stopped behind him he didn't glance over, still staring ahead wrapped in his own thoughts. His only acknowledgement of the figure was when they sat beside him was a slight nod of the head and another gulp of the wine.
"Rough night, eh? Saw you earlier, didn't get a chance to say anythin'," The Iron Bulls low voice rumbled in the silence of the early morning. Dorian merely replied with a humph, still not looking at him.
"What are you doing out here?"
"I could ask you the same question," Bull chuckled, but his smile dropped as he realised Dorian didn't respond, "servant girl wanted my time, I was happy to oblige."
Something about this struck something in Dorian.
"Is that what you do? Use people? Play with their feelings, make them feel for you and them leave them, laugh it off as something casual that didn't mean anything?"
He dared to glance over, only to see Bulls' eye juggle a load of emotions at once. Hurt, confusion. Anger, Dorian suddenly realised. He felt a spike of fear, and began to back up, shuffling across the stairs.
"I didn't know you thought of me in that way, Dorian," Bull began, "but I can assure you that everything I do is consensual, healthy and requi-" he cut himself off once he saw Dorians increased trembling, fear in his eyes. "Dorian I-"
"Just leave Bull! Go away! You try to help and you can't, you're just a brute who cares for nothing other than your carnal desires! Just leave." Dorian had practically curled in on himself now, breathing hard and fast, distress visible in his frame.
Bull looked on sadly, before nodding and taking his leave in silence.