Chapter Text
The war came to Dorian in three ways, each means more immediate than the last.
It came first with Adaar, who returned to Skyhold without her arm and without much of anything to say in general. The Inquisition, it was decided, would come to an end. What she was going to do from there was a dark and murky unknown, and would remain so until she was recovered enough to leave her bedroom.
Maevaris was the second, with an account of what had actually happened. She came with the caravan of those who remained loyal to Adaar, Inquisition be damned, and wasted no time in finding Dorian once they returned to Skyhold.
“It was Qunari,” she told him. “They were using elven mirrors - eluvians, I think - to infiltrate Halamshiral. It was a preemptive strike, or so they intended, for a full-scale invasion of Thedas. Adaar was able to prevent them from proceeding fully.”
She didn’t need to say anything more for all the color to drain out of Dorian’s face. Bull hadn’t yet returned.
Maevaris noticed. “I’m sure that Bull is fine,” she said. “He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Dorian said. “A full-scale invasion…”
“Lady Montilyet received a letter from the Triumvirate not long ago, denouncing the operation as the work of a rogue agent,” Maevaris said. “But given the scale, who knows if that’s true or not?”
“Exactly…” Dorian held the side of his head, fingers tangling into the long, unshaven hair tied in a knot in the back. “And what is Tevinter’s official stance on this, Ambassador?” he managed, with a dark chuckle.
“The Imperium expresses its condolences to the nations of the south, and their misfortune of being the target of the brutal regime of the Qun,” Maevaris said, in a polished, standard manner. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Of course…”
“Nobody’s declared war on anyone yet, Dorian,” Maevaris said. “Perhaps Lady Adaar has already strangled this problem in its cradle, as it were.”
“And if wishes were horses…” Dorian exhaled, a calming motion.
“Skyhold is neutral ground. You and Bull and your girls will be safe here,” Maevaris said.
“It won’t last,” Dorian said. Maevaris didn’t correct him.
Dorian kept a good face up for Bull when he came home from his latest job, all through dinner and Bull’s account of things. Once they were alone, however, he held Bull for a very long time.
“Worst-case scenarios. They call things like this worst-case scenarios, don’t they?” Dorian said.
“No. I can think of far worse things,” Bull said.
This made Dorian laugh, wearily. “I’m sure you can.”
“No matter what happens, though, I’m going to keep you safe.”
“What, as if I can’t take care of myself?” Dorian said, though he held Bull tighter a moment after. “The same goes for you, you know. If anything happens to you because of this - whatever-it-is, I shall be very cross.”
“I’m sure. I’ve got the girls to look after, too.”
(Dorian was trembling. It was slight, but enough for Bull to sense.)
“None of this is going to touch them, kadan,” Bull told him, wishing it could be a promise.
Truthfully, Bull’s assignment during the Council was to keep an eye on it, with the Chargers for backup. The job had come from Divine Victoria herself. Just a protective presence, diverse enough to be inconspicuous.
If there had been any signs before the first Beresaad was found, Bull had glossed them over, written them off as anxiety, old reflexes rising that needed to be beaten back. In the wake of it, the signs were everywhere. At the Council, and at Skyhold. Something was going on with the elves, and he knew Qunari wet-work too well to dismiss it.
All he could promise was protection.
Less than a fortnight later, the Archon was dead. An elf had done the deed, presumed to be a slave. She attacked, not with poison, but a blade of Qunari make, and a defiant hiss of “Anaan esaam Qun,” before she was incinerated.
War was called into being with trumpets and banners, and hostile, formal declarations from both the Magisterium and the Triumvirate. But this wasn’t the third announcement.
That came with Halward.
He came to Skyhold some weeks later with a minimal retinue, traveling on horseback alone, without the rattle and excess of carriages and drivers. It had not been an easy journey, clearly; his beard was unkempt and the edges of his cloak were torn.
Josephine received him, making an unsightly dash for the gates as soon as word reached her, and she escorted him to the house Dorian and Bull shared. Halward didn’t need to tell her that this was an urgent matter at all.
Dorian, however, was a different case. “Please, Dorian, a moment of your time. I assure you, I am not here without reason,” he began.
“Certainly not! One simply doesn’t run all the way from Qarinus to here for nothing, much less…” His voice died as Halward curled into a coughing fit, wheezing for breath as he recovered. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I am fine,” Halward said, but he took a seat in the offered armchair and caught his breath. “All things considered, you probably already know why I’m here…”
“I have an idea, yes,” Dorian said. His tone had sharpened, but more in seriousness than sarcasm. “The war.”
“Yes,” Halward said. “The conflict... spreads by the day. It’s only a matter of time before the south is drawn in as well.”
Dorian looked over his shoulder at Bull, who watched from the door that connected the parlor to the kitchen. The kitchen connected to the bedrooms. The girls would not see this.
“And what was so urgent that you rode all the way here?” Dorian said. An impossible suggestion of an answer welled in his chest, but he bit down upon it.
“I’m here to take you back to Tevinter. The inland cities are the safest place you could possibly be, right now. Ursula can come with us.”
Dorian had been only half-right. “I take it you aren’t extending this invitation to my ‘companion,’ or ‘the child with the horns,’ however.”
“Dorian, now is not the time-”
“Not the time?” Dorian said. “You come all the way here to retrieve me, take me to the safety of the Imperium, and you’re going to get choosy about which parts of my family get to come along?”
“Dorian, this isn’t about your - family,” Halward said. “This is about keeping you safe.”
Dorian absolutely heard him trip over the word, the reality he refused to acknowledge. “Yes. And the grandchild that looks passably human, it seems.”
“Dorian, please.”
“I gave my answer to you a year ago,” Dorian said, the anger in his voice simmering and even. “You take all of us, or none of us.”
“My son,” Halward said, winded desperation in his voice, “please. The Imperium is at war. I would take - the others, if it meant you would come, but I simply can’t.”
“I’m sure you could find the means, if you simply tried,” Dorian said.
“Qunari - any sort of qunari, Tal-Vashoth or otherwise - they won’t be safe in the Imperium, Dorian,” Halward said. “I can’t just put a sign on these - people and say they’re the exception!”
“Yet, somehow, Ursula doesn’t count?”
“She doesn’t have horns. She can pass as human. The rest we can… deal with later,” Halward said. “Her ears, for example, we could clip them-”
“You will do no such thing.” Dorian’s voice was on the raw edge of a scream. “Why would you even suggest - no, no, I shouldn’t wonder. You’ve already used blood magic on your own son, what’s the harm in mutilating your granddaughter as well, hm?”
“My... granddaughter, yes,” Halward said, quietly. “I want her to be safe as well, Dorian, safe from those who would kill her in the street if they knew what she was.”
“Then I’ll take my chances here,” Dorian said.
“And die at the hands of a Qunari assassin, is that it?”
“At least they’d spare my children,” Dorian said. “Even mages have a place under the Qun.”
“Dorian. Katoh.”
Bull’s interruption was heavy, fine and final. His previous silence only made it sharper.
An almost instinctual ache gripped Dorian’s stomach, his heart. “Bull, I…”
“Katoh. Don’t… ever say anything like that again,” Bull said. There were tense wrinkles around his mouth, anxious and controlled. “I will never let your children be Saarebas.”
“Bull, I’m… sorry, I know you wouldn’t…” Dorian said. “I know you would protect them.”
“But I can’t be there all the time,” Bull said. “Not for all of you. You need to go with your father.”
“...what?!”
“Take Ursula, and go with your father to Tevinter.”
“Bull, why would you-!”
“He’s right, Dorian. It’s the safest place for you both, right now.” Bull’s voice was calm, almost comforting.
“And what of you and Cora?”
“I can keep her safe. I can look after her,” Bull said. “Until this dies down.”
“Yes, and when exactly will that be?”
“When it ends.” Bull shook his head, slightly, sighing. “Magister, I have to admit that you couldn’t have come at a better time. Skyhold won’t be safe for much longer. Even the Inquisitor is relocating, soon.”
“What…?” Dorian said. “Bull, since when…?”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Bull said. “Not when it was something I could easily protect you and the girls from. But this will no longer be the case, not with the signs I’ve been seeing.”
“You should still have told me!”
“Magister Pavus, will you be returning to Qarinus or Minrathous?” Bull said.
“Oh - Qarinus, first. Then Minrathous. I cannot be long-gone from the Magisterium, not with a new Archon to appoint, and...” Halward said. He looked about as shocked as Dorian was, though far less angry.
“A week’s journey,” Bull said. “I can have Dorian and Ursula ready by morning.”
“Bull! Can you even hear yourself? I will not go without you!” Dorian said.
“I will not see you hurt, Dorian,” Bull said. “It won’t be within my power to protect you, soon.”
“And you would let my father break apart our family in exchange for some - middling chance at my safety, is that it?” Dorian’s voice was climbing, tears gathering in his throat. “You would let him separate our daughters?”
“Yes,” Bull said. “I would lay down my life to keep you all safe, if that was what it came to.”
“I am not going to let you get yourself killed for my sake, Bull!”
“I won’t let myself get killed. I’ll protect Cora.”
“Look at you. Look at what you sound like.” There was an edge of uneven, manic laughter in Dorian’s voice. “Am I some - path, some ideal for you to serve, now? Like the Qun?”
Bull’s stoic expression cracked, but he only let out a sad smile. “I want to do this for you, Dorian, because I love you,” he said. “I love you, and I love the girls. If I were to lose any of you, I might as well be dead.”
Bull rarely, rarely used that word. Love. It fell as heavily as Katoh, as Stop.
Dorian took a few, shivering breaths. “There… must be other ways. Surely there are other ways.”
“We don’t have any more time for other ways,” Bull said.
“But I - I could take both girls with me, back to Tevinter,” Dorian said.
“No. Cora needs to stay with me.”
“Then - then follow us, discretely. From a distance,” Dorian said. “I can’t have you just - out there, Maker-knows-where, where I can’t find you.”
“I’d need a story. An excuse.”
“I could write you papers.”
“What kind of papers?” Bull said. “The only ones that wouldn’t be questioned would be papers of ownership. Slavery.”
“That’s not what I-”
“Do you want me and Cora to live with you as slaves, Dorian?”
Bull was not trying to mock him, or insult him, or hurt him. The question was agonizingly genuine.
“No. No. No, Bull, never, I…” Dorian swallowed his breath, trying to brush some gloss of composure on his face, in front of his father. “There’s no way you can follow us…?” he said, softly.
“I can maybe stay near the border, within boundaries. But I can’t follow you,” Bull said.
“Of course. Of course. But… but you’ll at least tell me where you are, yes?” Dorian said. “In Orlais or Nevarra or wherever you are.”
“...I think I can manage that,” Bull said. “Yeah.”
“...if I may intrude,” Halward said, an odd sheepishness in his voice, “we do not need to leave tomorrow. I imagine you - both have affairs that you must put in order.”
“Yeah, good point,” Bull said. “I got some business I’ll need to wrap up with the Chargers, make sure Krem’s okay to take over for a while. Shouldn’t take more than a day.”
“And we’ll have to tell the girls,” Dorian said.
“Yeah. Tomorrow. Let ‘em rest easy, tonight,” Bull said.
“Will you need lodging for tonight, Father?” Dorian said. His voice had long-since cleared, and he managed to sound unbothered as he asked this.
“I believe Lady Montilyet has that taken care of,” Halward said.
“Naturally,” Dorian said. “Well, you mustn’t keep her waiting.”
Halward made a grim attempt at a smile as he stood. “Dorian… thank you for seeing reason.”
“Desperation is never reasonable,” Dorian said. “And if I have anything to say about it, this will only be a temporary situation.”
“Of course. I’ll… leave you to your affairs,” Halward said. He backed out of the house, and was gone into the courtyard.
Dorian looked at the ceiling, in the silence, blinking back any suggestion of tears. “What are we going to tell the girls…?”
“I’ll take Cora along with me, tell her she gets to tag along on a job,” Bull said. “And we’ll keep traveling until it’s safe to come back.”
“That simple an explanation?” Dorian said.
“I’ll take her questions as they come. Ursula’s the one that will need hard answers.”
Dorian inhaled, exhaled. “I can’t tell her that she only got to come with me because she looks human.”
“You don’t have to,” Bull said. He paused, considering a notion. “She’s been writing to your mother, hasn’t she? You can tell her that she’s extended an invitation.”
“For, what, a year-long tea party?” Dorian said.
“Etiquette lessons. Proper lessons for a proper lady. Like with Vivienne,” Bull said. “And also dueling. She’ll want to learn how to duel, and I’m sure they’d be glad to teach her.”
Dorian looked at him with brittle longing, and stepped into a careful, necessary embrace. “I’m going to miss you terribly, you know,” he said.
“I will too, kadan,” Bull said.
“You’ll let me know where you are, won’t you?”
“As often as I can manage.”
“This won’t last long. I’m sure of it.”
(Words circled in Dorian’s mind like vultures: “Merely saying something does not make it true.”)
He held on to Bull for a very long time.
The rest of the evening crawled on in a stilted, hollow sort of way, though not so much that it was noticeable. Skyhold had been slowly but steadily emptying of its staff and its pilgrims, with only a few of the closest advisors remaining. The whole business had a distinct air of melancholy to it that got into everything.
They put the girls to bed like they always did, and settled into bed for what would likely be one of their last nights together for a long time. They spoke surprisingly little, just holding, feeling each other’s presence.
“I’ll go settle things with the Chargers tomorrow,” Bull said, some time in. “You can start packing.”
“You’ll be back, yes? To say goodbye.”
“Yes.”
Dorian’s mind whirled with ideas and possibilities, anything to keep the next day from coming, for them to stay together. There had to be a way.
Sleep took him, somewhere.
Bull rose, in the middle of the night, and in half-waking Dorian could feel his lips against his ear. “I’ll be right back,” he said. Dorian turned over and settled semi-comfortably into the temporary emptiness on the bed, and was asleep again not long after.
Dorian woke to an empty bed. Usually, when Bull woke before him, he could feel the great mass of the man leaving the bed, waking him in turn. Unusual, but not alarming.
But as he went through the house, plans and lists forming as he looked over all he would need and would not need, he could see no further sign of Bull’s presence. No overloaded pans of bacon and eggs, or just-in-tune humming, or - him.
And then Ursula came into the kitchen, rubbing one of her eyes. “G’morning, Papa. You know where Cora is?” she said. “She’s not in her bed.”
“Cora? No, I haven’t seen her…”
Theirs was a small house, where things were easily-found. A terrible suggestion began to settle upon Dorian. His heart raced.
“You think Tama would know?” Ursula continued.
“I - I think I should have to find him, first,” Dorian said. “Do you suppose you could check the garden for me?”
“Okay,” Ursula said. She was slipping on her clogs as Dorian returned to his room, struggling to keep his breath steady.
It was then that he saw the letter. It had been on Bull’s side of the bed, not immediately visible. “Dorian” was written on it in Bull’s careful, almost printing-press hand.
Dorian broke the wax seal with trembling fingers, and he read the message.
Dorian,
I know you too well, and I love you too much to let you suffer false hope. This is the only way we get through this.
Your daughter will be safe with me and the boys. Ursula will be safe with you and your family. We will survive this.
I will return to you. You are my heart, after all. I cannot live without you.
Vesta in eternata.
Your Amatus
Dorian was breathing like he was running for his life. He might as well have been.
Bull was gone. Bull was gone and he had taken Cora with him.
As much as he wanted to scream, to lose all hope and composure, he managed to pull together a coherent string of thoughts.
He had to settle things with the Chargers. They were either still at Skyhold, and would be able to tell him where Bull was, or they would be gone. And Bull would be with them.
With that thin thread of calm, he got his breath to steady, to slow, and he put on enough of a robe to count as decent clothing, and he went outside.
“You find Cora yet, Papa?” Ursula asked him, as he passed.
“Soon, soon,” Dorian said. He was very carefully trying not to run to the Chargers’ house.
The house was empty, all equipment taken, all horses missing.
“Dorian’s going to hate me for this.”
Well, almost empty. Cole was standing by a window, by the entrance. There was an odd, deep cadence to his voice.
“He’ll be glad to hate me. He should hate me. He needs to hate me. He needs the motivation. Can’t justify going back to that place without it. He always had a reason, now he has more. He has to think of his daughters. I have to think of his daughters.” Cole’s head hung low, his shoulders slumped. “He kept thinking that, as he left.”
Cole’s words, as probably intended, caught and snagged on a word, on a feeling.
“His” daughters. Not “our.”
(Bull did not often lie to Dorian, preferring silence and omission for keeping his secrets.)
“He is doing this for your sake,” Cole said. “But… that isn’t helping, is it.”
He loved Dorian, his kadan. He loved the girls, Dorian’s daughters.
“No, he’s… helping just fine,” Dorian said. “Just… maybe not for reasons I’m happy with.”
“I can find him, if you want,” Cole said. “Not to bring him back, but so that you’ll know. That he’ll know.”
“I trust your judgment, Cole,” Dorian said.
“...Cordula is lonely. Lost, little things forgotten in the dark. She’ll miss them. I will help.”
“...do what you need to, Cole.”
“Yes.”
He was gone.
Bull was gone.
“I think I have solved the mystery!” he announced to Ursula, as he returned. “Your Tama told me last night that he had some important business with his people early in the morning, and that Cora was to come with him.”
“What? Why does Cora get to go with Tama on a job?” Ursula sounded blessedly outraged and jealous.
“You’ll have to ask your Tama when we see him again,” Dorian said.
“S’not fair,” Ursula said. “I wanna go with Tama on a job.”
“No,” Dorian said. “It isn’t fair.”
Bull hadn’t even said goodbye.
What he’d written at the end of the letter was not a farewell - and it was in bloody Tevene, as if that would win Dorian over.
(It didn’t win Dorian over, no, but it soothed him when he read it again, and again, and again.)
Vesta in eternata.
Yours, forever.