He's been drinking with the Chargers for a couple of hours now, but in truth, his heart's not in it. What he really needs is for Trevelyan to show up in the yard and hit him a few more times with that sparring rod. The boss is no Qunari, it's true, but he's pretty fucking strong for a human. And well-built, too. Nice to look at. But that's neither here nor there. It isn't like that between them. Never has been, never will be.
But the thing with the sparring rod is really damned good.
Painful. But good. The pain's the only thing that helps sometimes. And right now, Bull could use a lot more of it.
He can't stop thinking about that magic well — that big glowy pool of water in the middle of the wilderness. Nothing good about it. And, yeah, he's still pissed off at Trevelyan for not manning up and using that well himself. Someone had to do it, so it should have been him. Instead he let Morrigan get exactly what she wanted all along.
Bad decision.
Nothing trustworthy about her. And now she's got some ancient elven voices whispering inside her head and telling her all kinds of dangerous magical secrets? Not good.
Very not good.
Given all that for context, getting hit really hard with a big stick would probably serve a dual purpose. Work off some of the bad shit related to magic wells and magic mirrors — and how terrible it is that both of those things actually exist in the world. And also purge a little of that anger at the boss without having to talk to him about it.
But Trevelyan's nowhere.
Bull hasn't seen him all evening, which means he's probably busy with Dorian. Those two are basically inseparable. And, hey, good for them. Sex is stress relief, too, after all.
Which, in itself, is a good reminder. Instead of looking for a sparring partner, he could be seeking out one of the ladies — that new one who works in the infirmary, perhaps? She was very enthusiastic, very fun the last time, lots of bounce.
With that in mind, he downs the rest of his ale in one big gulp, then gets up from his chair and nods to Krem, who understands his meaning crystal clear.
"Which one tonight, chief?"
"The redhead from the infirmary," he says. "Pretty sure her shift just ended."
"Have fun with that!" Krem says before he turns back to Grim in triumph. "I win, pay up!"
So they're taking bets now? On which of the women he'll bring to bed with him? Bull shakes his head, both rueful and amused. The Chargers are the one good thing about being Tal-Vashoth. He paid for their lives with his exile and he'd do it again in an instant. No regrets.
Well, a couple of regrets, maybe. But none that matter to him as much as they do.
He's grinning, still thinking about the rowdy lot of them — the Iron Bull's Chargers! — when he throws the tavern door open and strides right through. He nearly smashes chest-first into Dorian, who was attempting to enter. Instead, the mage jumps away, lithe and graceful, and lands three paces back, untouched, but cursing in Tevene nevertheless.
He looks annoyed. But it seems like a bigger sort of annoyed than what you'd get when someone opens a door in your face.
His annoyance is preexisting, then — and it's likely what brought him to the tavern to begin with.
"You okay, big guy?" Bull asks, because Dorian seems to need that sometimes, the affirmation that he's big enough on his own.
Trevelyan casts a long shadow. Or so it seems sometimes, watching from the outside.
"Yes, fine," Dorian says.
He doesn't sound fine at all. Probably doesn't really need a drink right now either. Best to distract him. Get him talking. He'll feel a lot better if he talks about it. He always does.
"Hey, come on," Bull says, "walk with me for a minute. I could use the company."
And that's true enough. It's weird and quiet here with so many people still traveling back from that magical elven ruin.
He turns and heads for the stairs at a slow saunter. And sure enough, Dorian catches up to him and walks alongside.
"Hey," Bull says, "what do you think about that Well of Sorrows shit? Trevelyan should've used it, right?"
He glances down in time to see Dorian's face do something complicated and horrified-looking.
"What!? No!" he says. "Staying away from that well was perhaps the only thing he's done right in the last few days."
"Oh yeah? How do you figure?"
"It was dangerous," Dorian says. "Ruinously so, I expect. He's reckless sometimes, but thankfully not with that."
"Yeaaahhh..." Bull says, drawing out the word as a means of giving voice to his own uncertainty. He's always been out of his element with all this magic stuff. "So, you seem pretty tense. Are you and him in a fight or something?"
"No. It's fine."
"Doesn't seem fine."
Dorian huffs at him. Huffs, or whatever you'd call an irritated sort of heavy breathing noise. Maybe a partial growl.
"You know, sometimes you're as infuriating as he is? Always prodding me. 'What's wrong, Dorian? Talk to me, Dorian...'"
"Yeah, well," Bull says, "sometimes you prod people when you care about them. You know?"
Bull looks down at him. It's weird, but somewhere in their shared travels, and among all their traded insults, he realized the truth of the matter. He likes this guy. Really likes him. Like, he'd probably be hitting on him something fierce if it weren't for Trevelyan. Though, he'd have been hitting on Trevelyan, too, if it weren't for Dorian, so... kind of confusing when you think about it.
"No, no, that's fine," Dorian says. "By all means, let's talk about it! Right here in the open. Perfect venue."
Bull looks around, sees absolutely no one in the yard, and shrugs. "Sure."
Dorian launches right into it.
"He doesn't want me to leave and he's being manipulative about it. I need you by my side, Dorian. All that."
Bull makes a face, a kind of what-the-fuck scowl. He also quirks his head to convey a more generally baffled sense of what the fuck.
"You're leaving?" he asks. It's news to him.
"Well, not this instant, but yes," Dorian says. "After Corypheus. If there is an after. If we aren't all killed and the world doesn't end."
"Back to Tevinter?" Bull asks, because really, where else would he go?
Dorian nods.
"And the boss wants you to stay here?"
"Yes– no!" Dorian says, changing his answer. "He wants to go with me."
"And there's a reason why you don't want that?" Bull asks.
Romantic relationships are complicated. It's even exhausting to hear about them sometimes. Sure, from time to time he imagines the odd what-if scenario. What if Trevelyan died? What if the two of them decided to give up the whole monogamy thing and look around for someone else they might like to share? But no. The fun parts would be nice, it's true. But a lot of the rest of it just sounds– well, a lot like something he really doesn't want to deal with firsthand.
"Tevinter's not like here," Dorian says.
And he goes on talking, oblivious to the strange, wistful thoughts that feel so loud and obvious to Bull. But Dorian's tame for a Vint. Not a blood mage. No mind reading. He's one of the good ones. A really decent man.
"He can't go there and expect to get his way all the time," Dorian says, still focused entirely on Trevelyan, as he always has been, ever since that day on the Storm Coast when Bull met them both — a pair of beautiful mages, and the two of them probably falling in love with each other already, even back then.
"I swear, he tries to brute force his way through everything. He doesn't have the subtlety for politics."
"I mean, that is what I like about him," Bull says, grinning.
"Of course it is. You're you." Dorian shakes his head. "It would never work. He'd make enemies of everyone — nevermind the ones who already want to capture him and cut him into little pieces for study. I wouldn't get anything done, I'd just worry all the time. He'd thwart everything I want to accomplish and all the while, he'd be miserable."
"So, you pretty much broke things off with him, then? Yeah. Kind of seems like he'd be upset about that."
"What!? No. Of course not." Dorian looks horrified at the thought. "We'd still be together. Still us. Just... further apart for a while."
"Did you tell him that?" Bull asks.
Because honestly, Dorian's not doing a great job of communicating at the moment. And he's noticeably more calm than he was when they first started talking. So that means Trevelyan could have gotten an even less clear version of all this. Honestly, what a nightmare.
"I– well, no..."
"Dorian, you should tell him."
In response, Dorian sighs, and seems to shrink a little as he slumps his shoulders.
"It isn't easy," he says. "The thought of losing him. If he doesn't make it–"
"Hey, I get it," Bull says, interrupting, because that's what you do sometimes when your friend is in a panicked spiral and he needs someone to shake him out of it. "You love that guy. A lot. And he loves you. And you're good to each other. I can see it. He worries about you, too."
Dorian nods. "I'll talk to him."
"Good. And, hey, maybe stick around a while. You know, after. Tevinter's still gonna be there. And Trevelyan's not the only one who'd miss you."
"Bull, I–"
"Nah, get out of here. We're keeping my lady friend waiting."
Bull points across the yard. Because there she is, lithe and lovely, sitting on the steps and waiting just for him. He waves to her, and she smiles and waves right back.
"Not everyone gets to ride the Bull, you know," he adds, winking at Dorian for no reason other than he feels like it. "She's one of the lucky ones, I guess."