When I Say All The Things That I Want To
From @thekingofcarrotflower to @ofwolvesandshatteredshields for being a wonderful human being & pinch hitting. <3
Angst with a happy ending, blood, canon-typical violence below.
“I have sand in my boots, sand in my robes, sand in places I never dreamed of having sand,” Dorian complained as they traversed the expanse of shifting desert. Bull let out a small huff in answer - it had been nearly two weeks of this now, and everything from Dorian’s complaining to the Boss’s ceaseless exuberance to the unrelenting rays of sun were getting to be too much, even for him.
Normally, none of those things bothered Bull. Really, he could even say he had grown fond of Dorian’s whining, finding it endearing when Dorian’s nose crinkled in exaggerated disgust or annoyance. But, the desert heat was unrelenting, his skin was raw from the sun and wind, his knee ached from more than one misstep that caused him to go skidding down a dune. There were still more Venatori to clear out, another one of those eerie tombs in the distance left to explore, and rifts that made the night sky glow green on the horizon. He was tired of the desert, and sympathized with Dorian about how irritating the sand was becoming. Each evening meant taking off his boots and dumping out a pile of sand outside their tent. There was sand in their bedrolls, which did admittedly make it to places to Bull didn’t particularly want sand.
“Ah, shove it,” Sera said, poking Dorian in the shoulder with the sharp end of an arrow she’d been using to clean her fingernails, “We all got sand in places it don’t belong. ‘Sides, I bet you like it when you get an excuse to ask the big guy ‘ere to inspect all your crevasses.” Sera punctuated the statement by smacking the arrow against Dorian’s ass.
Dorian spluttered slightly, batting her away. It was hard to tell, his already dark skin having deepened even darker under the constant sun, but Bull could swear Dorian was blushing. He caught Dorian’s gaze for a moment and grinned. Whatever their … relationship was, it had recently went from the occasional tumble whenever Dorian decided to show up in his room, to a more consistent thing, Bull expecting him to make it to his room more nights than not. Even the Boss had asked them both about it, and she was currently giving them an amused smile over her shoulder.
“Yes, well,” Dorian smoothed out his mustache, a nervous habit Bull had quickly noticed early in their nebulous relationship, “Pleased to hear you’ve picked up on some of my impeccable vocabulary.”
Bull snorted loudly at the deflection, earning a glare from Dorian and a grin from Sera.
The moment of camaraderie quickly passed, the sound of distant chanting rising up from the dunes. Adaar’s attention snapped back to the task at hand, her easy smile quickly turning into something determined. Dorian’s own expression quickly went grim as he recognized the too-familiar incantations of his vile countrymen. Before the Inquisition, Bull wouldn’t have thought anyone could rival his hatred for ‘Vints, but both Krem and Dorian’s disgust occasionally gave his dislike a run for its coin.
The chanting grew louder as they neared, a steady stream of Tevene rising and falling. It never seemed to stop here in the Wastes, the chilled night wind carrying the sound of voices into their tents (which really put a damper on his evening plans), and Bull wondered just how many ‘Vints were littering the dunes. It often warped Bull’s dreams into memories of Seheron, of battle mages cutting down tamassarans and their imkeari, of whole villages on fire. Bull suspected it stirred up equally painful memories for Dorian, the other man waking in a cold sweat with a scream on his lips more than once since they arrived in the Hissing Wastes. They would lay pressed together until the dawn, silent and unsleeping, until the morning hours made their fears more bearable.
“Right shit, they are,” Sera grumbled, easing her bow from her back, “Can’t wait to put an arrow between their eyes.”
Bull grunted in agreement, taking his maul into hand.
When they made it to the top of the next dune, the site of the Ventaori’s campsite came into view. The group was scattered among broken dwarven ruins, a pair of spellcasters holding out a book between them and reciting incantations as a rune glowed on a sealed door. Others milled about, looking aimless, while one man rattled the cages of the large cell they used to round up any poor soul they came across, shouting jeers at the captives. Dorian’s grip went tight on his staff, and Bull was grateful Sera couldn’t speak Tevene as the man berated an elvish women through the bars.
“Ready, Sera?”Adaar asked.
“Right.” She drew her bow, aiming at one of the mages without having to be told. They all readied their weapons, Dorian’s familiar purple magic already glowing on his fingertips, Adaar and Bull both tense and readied to dive into the fray. Sera let the arrow fly, whizzing through the open air before sinking into the back of one Venatori. They dropped quickly, never knowing what hit them, and then the whole scene was chaos.
Adaar dashed forward, moving swiftly to sink her twin blades into her enemy. Bull whooped, charging forward with a bellow, smashing heads and limbs in wild arches of his maul. Barriers washed over both of them, blows skittering away instead of hitting the mark. Sera and Dorian remained on the hill, Dorian’s fire leaving jagged shards of glass scattered wherever his magic burned, Sera pincushioning any Venatori with an exposed patch of skin.
Like always, more Venatori were oozing out of the woodwork like insects. When Bull left one foe scattered across the earth, another was rushing at him in their place. Bull met them blow for blow, adrenaline leaving his body buzzing, his vision blurry on the edges. Blood scattered hot against his skin, fueling his fury, driving him to fight harder, move faster, kill more.
The sand was turning red, the Venatori’s numbers thinning out steadily. Bull caught sight of Adaar rushing past him, disappearing in a puff of smoke to reappear and behead a gladiator in one swift slice. Something Sera had thrown onto the battlefield was making warriors stagger and sag, eyes hazy and distant with confusion as they stumbled across their camp. Lightning was crashing down from the clear, endless sky, and Venatori’s chests suddenly burst open with a swell of purple magic as Dorian laughed darkly from the dune’s crest.
When a pained cry cut through the air, everything came to a crashing halt for the Bull. He finished through with his swing, smashing the side of a warrior’s head, and let his maul continue through with the spin to turn him in the direction of the shout. Dorian was sagging under the weight of a phoenix, whose teeth were sunk into the meat of Dorian’s shoulder. His samite robes were already stained red, the crimson steadily spreading as the phoenix thrashed its head before clamping down tightly. Dorian yelled out again, pain etched onto every line of his face. It wasn’t uncommon for the stray, wild creatures around to get attracted to a battle because of the smell of blood.
“Fuck, Dorian!” Bull called from across he battlefield, forgetting about the Venatori in favor of rushing towards the mage. Sera’s sights were set on Dorian as well, her bow drawn and aimed at the creature.
Stray sparks of flame were flickering to life down the length of Dorian’s arm as he twisted his limb to make contact with the phoenix’s skin. The beast began to squirm away, relinquishing Dorian from it’s grip, which only allowed the blood to begin to flow more freely. The phoenix was howling in pain, fire burning from the inside out. An arrow burrowed into it’s eye, increasing the intensity of the shrieks it was making.
Dorian’s knees were buckling, his free hand groping at the wound to try to stem the flow. Before Bull could make it up the incline of sand, Dorian collapsed, kicking up sand and skidding down the opposite side of the dune and out of sight. Bull let out a new flurry of curses, sand shifting under his boots and inhibiting his frantic dash. When he reached the crest, the phoenix was still twitching and squirming, and Bull sunk his maul into its skull with an oddly satisfying crunch of bones. The thing was small for a phoenix, probably an adolescent still learning to hunt, and that was a blessing of sorts. He sprung forward again, following Dorian’s path down the dune, and ended up sliding down on his ass when his bum leg slipped out from under him.
At the bottom, Dorian was laying face down in the sand, unmoving. There was red streaked down the dune towards where he lay. The majority of his previously soft gray robes were stained the vivid red of freshly spilled blood, more blood yet seeping into the golden sand around his still form.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Bull chanted, forgoing righting himself to scramble on all fours to Dorian’s side. Gently, he rolled the man over, assessing the damage.
The robes of Dorian’s normally covered shoulder were ripped to shreds. There was so much blood, and sand sticking to the deep, open gashes in Dorian’s shoulder. They were deep, revealing the muscle beneath. It was lucky the phoenix got more shoulder than neck, where it was likely aiming, or Dorian would have bled out by now. Bull pressed a shaking hand to the wounds, trying to slow the steadily bleeding wound, which caused Dorian’s face to contort in pain.
Dorian whimpered, eyes opening into slits, “Bull.”
“Hey,” Bull said softly, cupping Dorian’s cheek with his free hand, “I’ve got you.”
“Hurts,” Dorian hissed out, eyelids fluttering.
“Yeah, I know,” Bull murmured. He had a small supply of potions left on him, but with all the sand and shit in the wound, it could mean infection or worse if the injuries were healed as they were. He glanced back towards the dune, able to make out Sera firing another volley, able to hear the sound of the battle winding down, “Just hang on for a bit longer. Sera and Adaar are just finishing up.”
Dorian nodded slightly, gaze distant and clouded with pain. Bull wasn’t sure if Dorian would be able to stay awake for much longer, with how much of his blood was scattered across the Hissing Wastes. Fear was brewing in Bull’s gut, studying the pain on Dorian’s face, the blood sticky on his shoulder and neck and cheek. The blood was still flowing warm under his hand, making Bull’s palm slick as he tried to press down harder on the wound. A cut-off yelp of pain rose from Dorian.
“Sorry,” Bull grumbled, scratching his claws into Dorian’s hairline for a moment before adding that hand to the pressure being applied to the wound.
“S’okay,” Dorian answered, voice heavy, consciousness fading. A moment later, Dorian eyes fell closed again, leaving Bull feeling awfully alone and helpless as he waited for the others.
“Don’t die on me, Dorian,” Bull breathed out shakily, his heart clenching painfully.
He had noticed Dorian taking a bigger and bigger spot in his life in the past months. Evenings in the tavern when Dorian was caught up with researching in the library felt oddly empty, his bed felt impossibly large without a certain ‘Vint hogging the covers, his mornings felt decidedly fuller during those rare times when Dorian stayed the entire night. Bull knew it was risky to get close to someone in the middle of the end of the world. It was hard enough to see his boys get hurt during their mission, and even in the Qun, where duty came before all else, watching friend after friend cut down had been part of what drove him to re-education. This felt different, his world suddenly being turned on its head, the thought of a life without Dorian feeling bleak and pointless.
“Shite!” Sera called as she bounded swiftly towards them. She looked pale and panicked, “Fuckin’ hell, I tried to get that chompy git offa him, but…” She came to a stop a few paces away, eyes wide as she stared down at Dorian.
“You did good,” Bull assured her, flickering his lone eye in her direction. He didn’t have the energy to be comforting Sera right now when Dorian was quickly fading.
Adaar was skidding down the sand a few moments later, face set. The trio of elves previously locked up in the Venatori camp where following her down the dune on unsteady feet, looking panicked and unsure. Bull knew they’d been offered a place in Skyhold, just as Adaar had offered each and every captive before them.
Adaar blanched when she came to stand next to them, gray skin going pasty. She never took seeing Dorian hurt well, whether it was just a split lip from battle or the catastrophe that was the Gull and Lantern. They’d grown close over the past months, Dorian surprised to find a friend in Adaar, despite his prickly exterior. She’d seen through all that, had been the first to know there was more to Dorian than his fancy robes and big talk, and Bull was grateful for that. Now, she looked a little lost, eyes wide and fists clenched.
“We need to get him back to camp, Boss. Viv and the healers can patch him up,” Bull stated. The wound had slowed its bleeding, finally.
Adaar nodded, “Is it safe to move him?”
“Dunno for sure, but staying here isn’t going to help anything.”
Bull waited for the order, looking up at her expectantly.
“We should rinse out the wound quick, get a potion in him, and then get moving,” she stated, taking a deep breath to steady herself. It was times like this, when she looked scared under it all, that Bull was reminded of just how clueless about this whole Inquisitor thing she actually was.
With a nod, Bull followed orders. He carefully hefted Dorian up into his arms, the man who he could normally toss over his shoulder so easily now felt like a dead weight in his arms. Using her water satchel, Adaar quickly cleaned sand from the wound. It was too much effort to get Dorian to swallow any of the potion, so Adaar poured it directly into the wound. It would keep it from bleeding anew during the journey back to camp, at least.
The trek back to camp felt impossibly long, with Sera chattering nervously and shooting at anything that moved, and Adaar oddly quiet. Their new traveling companions trailed behind them, speaking in hushed tones occasionally, fear lingering in the voices. Bull had to sharply warn Sera to put her bow away when she almost got the attention of a whole pack of varghest, which definitely wasn’t something they needed right now. Instead, the group was able to skirt around them unseen once she stopped being so loud and squirrelly.
It was smart that the Boss kept a second team back at camp, in case this sort of thing happened. They could be switched out easily, the injured parties heading back to Skyhold for rest or further attention, the others able to take their spot on the field. It was lucky that Vivienne was back at camp, with her healing expertise and unwaveringly composed demeanor. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it together, Dorian pallid and covered in blood in his grasp, but Vivienne always had a way of dealing with things that reminded him of the strong, steady confidence of a tamassaran.
“We’re almost there, Bull,” Adaar said softly, laying her hand on his bare bicep. Camp was at the base of the slow incline they were on, and Bull was surprising the urge to sprint the last length.
He grunted in reply, feeling like words could easily betray him at this point. His throat felt tight, his limbs were shaking slightly, and while Dorian wasn’t bleeding anymore, his breathing was definitely more shallow.
“Sera, go ahead, have them get things ready for us,” Adaar ordered.
“Right.” Sera dashed off before she was even finished speaking, nimbly making it down the slope without slipping even once.
By the time they reached camp, it was buzzing with energy. Vivienne was waiting for them outside the healing tent, looking as cool and collected as ever, as if Sera had never delivered news of Dorian’s injury. Bull could see something like concern flicker to life in her eyes briefly, at the sight of the open wound and all the blood smeared across both Dorian and the Bull, before she held open the tent flap.
“Set him inside on the cot, if you would,” she said firmly, Bull ducking down into the tent to keep his horns from snagging.
There were already two others inside the tent, who backed up as far as possible to give Bull enough room to maneuver. Elfroot, clothes, and a fresh bowl of water were set up on one stand, an assortment of other medical herbs and items on another. Carefully, Bull lowered Dorian down to the cot. He went to brush back the black locks sticking to Dorian’s forehead, before realizing there was still blood sticky on his hand. Instead, he ducked down to press a kiss to his clammy forehead. He hoped that this wasn’t the last memory he would have of Dorian, of the usually vibrant man pale and bloody in a rickety cot.
“Very good, my dear,” Vivienne said, her hand delicately touching his shoulder, “As much as I know you’d like to be here, you must leave. There’s hardly enough room for us healers, let alone a man of your size.”
“Take good care of him, ma’am,” Bull mumbled, straightening up to give Dorian one last worried look. The thought that this could be the last time he saw Dorian alive reared it’s head again, making his stomach lurch and his eye sting.
“Of course,” Vivienne stated, but made no promises, “He is in very capable hands.”
Bull pressed a quick kiss to Vivienne’s cheek, before hurrying out of the tent. The smell of blood and pungent odor of elfroot was making his head swim, and he needed some air. He wouldn’t stray far from the tent, just in case anything went wrong, but he felt the need to get all of Dorian’s blood off his hands and chest.
“Here,” Adaar said, holding out her canteen and one of her scarves. Bull wondered briefly how long he’d been staring down at his hands before taking the items from her. It seemed impossible to get all the blood off, finding it caked under his nails, knowing there was stray spots of blood on his pants, his shaking hands making him slosh water all over himself.
“Thanks, Boss.”
“Vivienne’s good at what she does,” Adaar stated.
“Yeah, but the doesn’t always mean anything. The phoenix got him pretty good.”
Adaar nodded, looking downward. Normally, he knew exactly what to say in these situations, how to dispel everyone’s worries and fear. This time, it felt like everything was falling apart and he felt at a loss for what to do.
Bull rubbed his face into the crook of his elbow, which wasn’t stained red with Dorian’s blood, “Fuck. I’ve never told him…”
As he trailed off, Adaar looked up at him expectantly. Bull breathed out a long, slow breath, trying to steady himself. Adaar waited patiently for him to finish his thought, letting him take his time with it. It was strange and new, the way he felt about Dorian. The other man was beginning to become rather central to the Bull’s life, and wasn’t that something. Upon his return from outings without Dorian, Bull forewent going directly to the tavern in favor of seeking Dorian out in the library. Whether they were in the tavern or on the road, he found himself gravitating towards Dorian more often than now, being near him a reassurance. He worried for Dorian, made sure he brought his warm robes when they were headed to Emprise du Lion and his handkerchief for any possible allergy flareups. Seeing Dorian injured on the battlefield always felt like a blow to the gut, but Dorian was strong and smart and quick on his feet. Normally, he would be fine. This time —
“I’ve never told him how much he means to me,” Bull finally muttered. Sure, he told him how good he was in bed, how pretty his was, how much he liked him being around. He always meant it, but he’d truly never expression just how deep those feelings ran. He was never sure how Dorian would take the information - if the mage would withdraw again, like he did a few times when Bull made a misjudgment, if he would try to keep his distance like he always had with lovers in the past and never let it be something more. It’d been easier to ignore the feelings rather than admit them to himself, which had made it impossible to admit them to Dorian. Now, he regretted not doing it before.
Adaar nodded slightly, patting his forearm, “I know you mean a lot to him as well. He’s seemed … happier, more at-ease since you two started your … thing.”
Bull grunted slightly. That was a relief, at least. Adaar and Dorian were close, and she would know better how Dorian felt than just about anyone.
“I hope you get your chance to tell him,” Adaar said quietly, voice sounding hurt and strained.
“Me, too. Thanks, Boss.”
It seemed like ages before Vivienne emerged from the tent, but it had only been hours judging by the passing sun overhead. Bull had kept near the tent, sitting on a slab of stone in as much shade as he could find without wandering far, able to hear the hustle and bustle from inside when he listened closely. Sera had tried to offer him some food and drink at some point, but he waved her away without say much. She tried to start a conversation, but it ended up being rather one-sided and she gave up after Bull didn’t say more than a few words at a time. Instead, she sat next to him, chewing slowly on her hunk of bread, occasional nudging him with her elbow.
All Bull could think of was the possibility of losing Dorian. Nights would be long and cold and empty, his days would be less interesting and lively without that certain spark that Dorian brought to them. At times, being apart from the man had felt like a struggle, and the thought of day after day without him made his stomach uneasy. He tried to push it all down, knowing there was nothing he could do right now, and worrying himself sick wasn’t going to make it easier on anybody. He breathed in, he breathed out, in focused, measured breathes. The tide goes in, the tide goes out…
At the sound of the tent flap opening, Bull stood hurriedly. His knee twinged after sitting for so long, but that was irrelevant right now.
“Ma’am.” Bull’s voice was tense with worry. There was a few spots of blood on her normally pristine robes, but Bull knew healing could be messy business.
“Dorian will be fine,” Vivienne reassured, “He’ll need rest. It may be best to send him back to Skyhold once he’s awake again, and I’m sure you would like to take the trip with him. It might leave a bit of a scar, which Dorian will undoubtedly be irate about.”
Bull couldn’t help but smile as relief flooded his system, “Thank you, Ma’am.” He felt like picking her up and swinging her around, with how happy he felt. He settled on planting another kiss on her check. She allowed it, her mouth pulling up into a faint smile, before shooing him towards the infirmary.
Inside, Dorian was asleep, looking less worryingly pale than before. Most of the blood had been cleaned from his skin, and bandages were wrapped securely around his chest and shoulder. Unsure of how long it would take before Dorian woke again, Bull settled down in the corner on an overturned crate that looked study enough to hold him, and waited.
The sun had set and the desert had grown cool by the time Dorian stirred. Bull had wrapped a blanket loosely around him at the first sing of a chill in the air, and hoped that would keep Dorian warm through the night. The healers had been in a few times, to check up on Dorian’s progress, and left a lantern burning in the corner. Dorian let out a soft groan now, shifting in the cot. While still making sure to stay quiet, Bull perked up slightly in the chair, watching Dorian intently in the low light. It was the first real movement Dorian had made all day, and it was reassuring.
Dorian blinked awake, eyes darting around as he took in the canvas tent above him. He turned slightly, letting out another groan as it jarred his shoulder, and spotted the Bull.
“Bull?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Dorian lifted his hand towards Bull, stretching out his fingers. Bull had to lean forward only slightly to reach Dorian’s hand, due to the small confines of the tent. He stroked over Dorian’s knuckles, studying his face.
“How you feeling?” Bull asked, reaching out with his other hand to run a knuckle over Dorian’s cheek, “I should tell Viv you’re up.”
“M’fine,” Dorian answered, voice heavy with sleep and elfroot.
Bull grunted.
“Are you alright?” Dorian asked, tightening his grip on Bull’s hand. He blinked up at him, gray eyes bright and alive and Bull was so fucking relieved.
“Better now that you’re awake.”
Dorian couldn’t help but smile a little.
“Dorian,” Bull said, voice uneven and serious, “I wasn’t sure you were going to be alright. Then I realized I never told you…”
“Bull.” Dorian cut him off, brows knit, “It’s alright. I’m here now.”
“Yeah, so I have to tell you how much you mean to me. If something happened and you didn’t know-”
“I already knew,” Dorian assured softly, giving his hand another firm squeeze.
“I love you, Dorian.”
Dorian’s breath caught in his throat. He’d heard those words from a few men before, but he never believed it quite as much as he did now. He had known that Bull cared, cared more than anyone else had before, from the looks Bull gave him across the crowded bar or across the battlefield, from the patience and kindness he showed him no matter how irritable or prickly Dorian was being. Tears sprung up in his eyes and his heart ached in the best of ways. He found that he couldn’t form words, instead gaping slightly at the man.
“I just needed you to know,” Bull stated as tears began to trickle down Dorian’s cheeks. He leaned forward to kiss them away, moving downward to lightly kiss his lips, grateful to have this moment.
“You’re terribly dull and I hate you,” Dorian muttered between kisses, because it was easier to say than the truth.
Bull chuckled affectionately: “Yeah, I know.”

