Is it entirely too obvious to ask for "things you said with too many miles between us" for Adoribull, because uhhh I want that.
A soft purple glow, a huge empty bedroom. A breeze at the window, one glass of wine shattered on the marble floor, dark wine flowing slowly along the grout.
âThey wanted you dead?â
âA great many of them do.â
âBut they were stopped.â
âThis time. A little bruising, Iâll wear a different robe for a few days.â
If heâd bled out on the floor of the Magisterium heâd never have seem Bull again. If heâd died today at the hands of an upstart magister, it would have bolstered the moderates theyâre trying to swing for the Lucerni, if only for a time.
The Bull listens to him say as much, injects prompts at all the right points, makes all the right noises, like anyone offering an ear and no solutions.
Dorian sobs into his wine glass.
âPlease, tell me to leave. I donât want to be here, I canât do this.â
âYou want me to die, Bull? I could, at any moment. They only need be a little smarter than they were today.â
âI donât want you to die, Iâm worried about you all the time.â
âThen tell me to come home, please. Iâll come home to you, just tell me to.â
âDonât make me ask you for something you canât give, kadan.â
He throws his second wine glass at the wall, where it shatters in a spray of glass and red; Dorian sinks to the floor with the crystal cradled in his hands, sobbing. Knows full well that the Bull is right, that he knows the regret that will plague him when he wakes in the morning, this desperate misery all forgotten to drunken melodrama.
âOh, amatus,. I miss you terribly.â
âI miss you too. When youâre really ready - if you wake up tomorrow and youâre really ready to give it all up, Iâll meet you at the border and weâll never look back at Tevinter.â
All the room has is purple light, a haze of tears caught in his eyelashes, the scent of red wine in the air.
âI will come home to you.â
They both know it wonât be tomorrow.