Astarion has no idea if he knows how to ride a horse. To say so would be embarrassing, so instead he says, "I don't care for horses. Temperamental beasts." Like looking in a mirror. "I thought I'd just ride on your back instead."
"Well," Astarion says with a sniff, "I'm certainly sizeable where it counts." Heh. But he definitely doesn't want to actually end up piggybacking across the country, so— "Perhaps horses in this realm are more gentle and well-behaved. I guess I can offer them a second chance."
Dick jokes are unfortunately the way to Bull's heart. "If you change your mind, there's a riding crop with your name on it." 50/50 on whether that's a joke, he's a freak. But they're coming up on the house now, so he hushes Astarion.
"Take ten," he says, "I'm just gonna knock, have a chat. Fereldens can be weird about thinking elves are gonna use them in some ritual sacrifice." Probably won't love the idea of a qunari this far south amd snooping around either but Bull can handle that.
Um, he does not appreciate being hushed. Especially because Bull was the one yapping about riding crops!!! But he keeps silent anyway, because this is a new and unknown territory, and he'd rather not get staked in the chest before he can really live. It works out, anyway. He's far too weak from malnourishment to really make any meaningful travel, but while Bull talks, he can go searching for some farm animal no one will miss.
There is one teeny, tiny little rock in his shoe, though: "You neglected to mention anti-elf sentiment when you were describing this place," he hisses. The broader racism he doesn't particularly care about—he feels no kinship with his fellow elves—but the individual effects are certainly unpleasant.
Bull pauses a moment. "It's not everywhere. The co-ruler of the country west of here is an elf. The Inquisitor is an elf. Plenty of people don't give a crap."
Then he sighs, spreads his hands, admits: "But some places in the South get weird about elves and theor elf gods. Probably think I'm think I'm gonna rape all their daughters and pillage their gold for the Qun. I cam teach you the right shit to lie about while we walk."
Astarion furrows his brow and gives Bull a Look™. He has no idea what an Inquisitor is, aside from an elf. Someone who goes around Inquiring, apparently. He also hasn't the foggiest idea what a Qun is, but all of this will have to wait.
"Fine. I'm just going to... take a walk around the property while you convince whichever hicks live here that we aren't interested in defiling or ritually sacrificing their daughters."
"Sure." Bull doesn't believe him but doesn't ask. "Don't get caught, feel like kicking this all off with another fight would be kinda... inauspicious."
He hesitates one moment longer about leaving Astarion to his own devices, then decides, fuck it. Whatever happens is what happens. He goes to knock on the door.
Turns out they're on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, in the Redcliffe farming region, which is a lucky break because Bull's been out this way a few times, and he knows where to find people who'll know him, safe passage up the mountains. The farmer doesn't know of Bull specifically, but respects the Inquisitor — not because of her status as Andraste's Chosen, or the magic hand that closes the breaches in the Fade, or even kicking the Venatori out of Redcliffe village a few leagues west. It's because she's kind to druffalo, apparently, and brought a lost one back to his neighbour. Usually Bull finds Lavellan's determination to undertake every minor errand personally kind of a character flaw, but today he's grateful for it.
When he heads back out of the house to meet Astarion, he's got a pack with some food and water, rope, a small compass, and a lantern.
Astarion is a bit more rumpled than he was before, has the beginnings of a bruise on his temple and horn scratches on his cheek. Fucking creature—some sort of bovine, he's not sure. He'd barely managed to get any blood out of it before it fought back, and now he has fur in his teeth. Note to self: slit their throats first next time.
He's smoothing down his hair when Bull comes back out. With a quick glance at the supplies— "What in the hells is the rope for?"
At first it's too dark to see Astarion's beat face, Bull still lighting the lantern while he walks. "Tying up the horses we're gonna buy," Bull says, and then, with a hint of a smile, "But I'm open to other suggestions." Yeah.
Once he has light, though, he glances over at Astarion, the red marks on his cheek. "You run into something out there?" he asks, because if it was a demon that's concerning and if it was an animal that's funny. "Or just get slapped by the farmer's daughter?"
Usually, a joke like that would garner—at best—a forceful exhale approximating humor. Now, Astarion laughs like it's sooo funny. He's starting to realize that the power dynamics here aren't in his favor; before, Bull had to include him because of his access to coin, but now there's nothing stopping him if he finds Astarion too annoying and wants to abandon him on the side of the road.
So, obsequious laughter, and a sidestep of how he really got injured.
"I... tried to pet one of those... cows." Not a cow, but he's not sure what else to call it. "Nasty little thing attacked me unprovoked."
Eager to get off that particular subject: "Go on, then. Which way to civilization?"
Bull's still thinking about that laugh. It's not the first time one of them has made a dirty joke, or Bull's said something flirty just to keep his hand in. It's the first time Astarion's acted friendly, though, and he can't tell if it's residual mania or he thinks Bull expects gratitude. Hm.
Either way, he pays so much attention to that he doesn't think much about Astarion petting druffalo.
"This way," he says, already walking. "We'll requisition mounts at Redcliffe, ride to Haven, I'll send word ahead so we have an escort up the mountain. Not gonna be a half hour stroll, but if we'd come out in Par Vollen we would have had a month's sea journey ahead of us, so the mage got us pretty close."
The meager amount of blood in his system helps a little, but he's still quite fatigued even just from the events of yesterday, and not particularly confident about keeping up physically until they can steal—he assumes??? What else does 'requisition' mean—some horses. (Not confident about whether he can actually ride one, either, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.) Another reason to be on his absolute most likable behavior now. If he's too slow, Bull might think twice about all of this, but if he can endear himself enough, he might receive some sympathy.
Honestly, he doesn't really hear the details of their upcoming journey. He's too busy forcing himself to trudge after Bull.
"And— you know, I hate to point this out, but those yokels didn't give you any tents." Meaning that if the sun comes up before they reach shelter, he'll burn to a crisp. "So it seems we're on a bit of a time crunch here."
"Redcliffe within the hour," Bull promises. "Re-lax, I'm not gonna letcha get a sunburn." Or however that goes. He isn't really taking Astarion's "allergy" too seriously, but he hasn't forgotten it.
Bull keeps his pace steady, a little slower than he'd move normally. Not for Astarion's sake, it's a soldier's even lope, conserving energy for the long walk. When he talks, it's with the same paced rhythm, making sure not to lose all his breath to it. "So you're gonna need a cover story for why you don't know anything about anything, because trust me, you talk about portals, people think you're crazy." Something about his tone and look conveys awareness that Astarion himself thought that of Bull's story back in the sewers.
"So. If anyone asks just say you were enslaved up north in Tevinter, but you escaped, and then say uh, 'thank the Maker'. People who are weird about the pointy ears will relax some if they think you're a good Maker-fearing Andrastean, that's pretty much the big religion in these parts, and they think anyone believing in anything else is outsider shit." He can go on like this for a full walk — he's for sure mother-henning, Astarion may feel like Bull could leave him behind at any second but Bull's major concern is that he's brought Astarion here to be murdered.
To his credit, Astarion does actually try to listen and learn. It's a lot of information to take in—what's Tevinter? What's the Maker? What's Andrastean?—but he does his best to internalize it, considering that the last thing he wants is to have someone come at him with a swinging pitchfork right after finding his freedom. A little self-consciously, he smooths his curls over the points of his ears, as if that'll hide his elfishness.
"I'm not really religious," he says idly, but he echoes the words regardless, trying the feel out in his mouth: "Thank the Maker."
His nose wrinkles slightly. He hates the idea of thanking any sort of deity for what he did. No god got him here. He and Bull and some dandy little wizard did that, actually.
"Is that where Par Vollen is, then? Tevinter?" He kind of hates how stupid he sounds asking.
"Nah, Par Vollen's even more north than Tevinter," Bull says. "They... squabble." Which is certainly one way to describe the war that defined his life.
He doesn't seem bothered by the question, though. "Hey, uh, I know this is gonna be a lot," he says, fairly casually, but he really can sympathise given he went through this in reverse. "But your average farmer can't place the Tevinter Imperium on a map, it's just a distant country where the scary mages live. You're smart," Who knows where he got that idea, "Skyhold has a library. My guys will look out for you." He doesn't actually say something so broadly reassuring as you'll be fine but it's clearly intended.
This should be reassuring, the idea that Bull and 'his guys', whoever those might be, are going to help Astarion out. Astarion is a cynic, though, and it only makes him more convinced that he has to watch out so that he doesn't fuck this up.
"You are," he says, a little slowly, trying to pick his words carefully, "so very sweet." He bats his eyes a couple times for good measure.
"...By the by," he adds, very casual. "What sort of creatures might I expect to run into out here? You know, ah. Gelatinous cubes..." Waving a hand, like it's whatever. "Mephits..." A split-second pause, and his eyes flick to Bull's face for just a moment. "Vampires? Any of those— awful, awful things?"
"Three for three on shit I've never heard of," Bull tells him with a sidelong grin, though 'gelatinous cube' is particularly evocative and he thinks he mighta heard the word 'vampire' at some point but it isn't ringing a bell. "Nah, it's mostly demons. Sometimes darkspawn, this side of the mountains — tainted creatures, like ogres and hurlock. But then," long-suffering, "It'll be demons again."
Oh. Bull goes on about some variety of monsters, but Astarion is barely listening. So, he doesn't know anything about vampires. Then perhaps he should get ahead of all of this before Bull finds things out in a less pleasant way. He can make this sound totally normal.
"Mm," he says so it sounds like he was listening. "By the way, I suppose I should mention. Do you remember how I told you about my, erm, drow heritage?" It's better than admitting that he's undead. "Well, drow also have... special dietary restrictions."
His tone is as forcibly nonchalant as he can make it. This is all very normal.
"So, ah, I can really only eat... very rare meat."
It's an automatic impulse to immediately flick back through his memory to try and remember if he's ever seen Astarion eating anything; weird that he didn't notice that.
"Huh," he says, considers asking how rare is rare but when he glances over his eyes catch on Astarion's marked up cheek. "Petting the druffalo, Astarion?" He at least sounds amused, rather than freaked out. It's hard to freak him out. "Okay. Guess that explains your teeth."
Astarion instantly presses a hand to his cheek to cover up the scratch marks, but it's too late. At least Bull doesn't seem horrified; it's a pleasant surprise, this going in any way well. It certainly helps that he has no concept of bloodsucking creatures of the night coming to seduce and kill poor, innocent virgins.
"Yes, that's— all drow have sharp teeth." Somewhere, on another plane, Lolth is pissed off that Astarion is using drowhood as his excuse. "And... you met Cazador."
The name is uttered like a curse. Better than 'master'.
"Obviously, he wasn't respectful of my particular dietary needs, and— well, let's just say I'm famished." It actually feels like a huge weight off of his shoulders to admit, even if it isn't the whole truth. He's fucking hungry. "I was hoping that maybe we could find some livestock in this Redwall place."
"Yeah," Bull agrees, kind of automatically while he chews that over. "Maybe before then, don't want you eating the horses." He's kidding! Though not about finding something in advance. Livestock near the keep will belong to someone, but there are animals in the Hinterlands. "You picky? I can try and catch you a nug"
No, he's not picky—he just tried to eat a druffalo, whatever that is. But he would like to maintain some dignity here, so: "...What in the sweet hells is a nug?"
"It's uh..." Bull gestures in the air with a hand that isn't holding the lantern, trying to sketch out a shape. "Like if a pig was a rabbit," he says. Decides not to mention the tiny pink hands it has instead of paws. "Dwarves breed 'em for eating, but they're wild and prolific all over the south."
A shrug. "They'll come investogate if we put food down. Anything else... you'd probably be better at catching creatures at this time of night than I am," he admits. Astarion has stealth for days, and Bull is pretty sure he can see in the dark, maybe as part of his Drow heritage.
This description is not helpful. Astarion imagines some sort of pig with fur and a cottontail. Kind of gross, but again— he can't be picky.
Although in reality he's jumping at the chance to eat anything, he makes a show of thinking about it, the only suggestion that he's performing the way that he shifts restlessly on his feet, antsy and anxious to feed. Particularly after having to be around all of Bull's very tasty-smelling blood yesterday.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Take ten," he says, "I'm just gonna knock, have a chat. Fereldens can be weird about thinking elves are gonna use them in some ritual sacrifice." Probably won't love the idea of a qunari this far south amd snooping around either but Bull can handle that.
no subject
There is one teeny, tiny little rock in his shoe, though: "You neglected to mention anti-elf sentiment when you were describing this place," he hisses. The broader racism he doesn't particularly care about—he feels no kinship with his fellow elves—but the individual effects are certainly unpleasant.
no subject
Then he sighs, spreads his hands, admits: "But some places in the South get weird about elves and theor elf gods. Probably think I'm think I'm gonna rape all their daughters and pillage their gold for the Qun. I cam teach you the right shit to lie about while we walk."
no subject
"Fine. I'm just going to... take a walk around the property while you convince whichever hicks live here that we aren't interested in defiling or ritually sacrificing their daughters."
no subject
He hesitates one moment longer about leaving Astarion to his own devices, then decides, fuck it. Whatever happens is what happens. He goes to knock on the door.
Turns out they're on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, in the Redcliffe farming region, which is a lucky break because Bull's been out this way a few times, and he knows where to find people who'll know him, safe passage up the mountains. The farmer doesn't know of Bull specifically, but respects the Inquisitor — not because of her status as Andraste's Chosen, or the magic hand that closes the breaches in the Fade, or even kicking the Venatori out of Redcliffe village a few leagues west. It's because she's kind to druffalo, apparently, and brought a lost one back to his neighbour. Usually Bull finds Lavellan's determination to undertake every minor errand personally kind of a character flaw, but today he's grateful for it.
When he heads back out of the house to meet Astarion, he's got a pack with some food and water, rope, a small compass, and a lantern.
no subject
He's smoothing down his hair when Bull comes back out. With a quick glance at the supplies— "What in the hells is the rope for?"
no subject
Once he has light, though, he glances over at Astarion, the red marks on his cheek. "You run into something out there?" he asks, because if it was a demon that's concerning and if it was an animal that's funny. "Or just get slapped by the farmer's daughter?"
no subject
So, obsequious laughter, and a sidestep of how he really got injured.
"I... tried to pet one of those... cows." Not a cow, but he's not sure what else to call it. "Nasty little thing attacked me unprovoked."
Eager to get off that particular subject: "Go on, then. Which way to civilization?"
no subject
Either way, he pays so much attention to that he doesn't think much about Astarion petting druffalo.
"This way," he says, already walking. "We'll requisition mounts at Redcliffe, ride to Haven, I'll send word ahead so we have an escort up the mountain. Not gonna be a half hour stroll, but if we'd come out in Par Vollen we would have had a month's sea journey ahead of us, so the mage got us pretty close."
no subject
Honestly, he doesn't really hear the details of their upcoming journey. He's too busy forcing himself to trudge after Bull.
"And— you know, I hate to point this out, but those yokels didn't give you any tents." Meaning that if the sun comes up before they reach shelter, he'll burn to a crisp. "So it seems we're on a bit of a time crunch here."
no subject
Bull keeps his pace steady, a little slower than he'd move normally. Not for Astarion's sake, it's a soldier's even lope, conserving energy for the long walk. When he talks, it's with the same paced rhythm, making sure not to lose all his breath to it. "So you're gonna need a cover story for why you don't know anything about anything, because trust me, you talk about portals, people think you're crazy." Something about his tone and look conveys awareness that Astarion himself thought that of Bull's story back in the sewers.
"So. If anyone asks just say you were enslaved up north in Tevinter, but you escaped, and then say uh, 'thank the Maker'. People who are weird about the pointy ears will relax some if they think you're a good Maker-fearing Andrastean, that's pretty much the big religion in these parts, and they think anyone believing in anything else is outsider shit." He can go on like this for a full walk — he's for sure mother-henning, Astarion may feel like Bull could leave him behind at any second but Bull's major concern is that he's brought Astarion here to be murdered.
no subject
"I'm not really religious," he says idly, but he echoes the words regardless, trying the feel out in his mouth: "Thank the Maker."
His nose wrinkles slightly. He hates the idea of thanking any sort of deity for what he did. No god got him here. He and Bull and some dandy little wizard did that, actually.
"Is that where Par Vollen is, then? Tevinter?" He kind of hates how stupid he sounds asking.
no subject
He doesn't seem bothered by the question, though. "Hey, uh, I know this is gonna be a lot," he says, fairly casually, but he really can sympathise given he went through this in reverse. "But your average farmer can't place the Tevinter Imperium on a map, it's just a distant country where the scary mages live. You're smart," Who knows where he got that idea, "Skyhold has a library. My guys will look out for you." He doesn't actually say something so broadly reassuring as you'll be fine but it's clearly intended.
no subject
"You are," he says, a little slowly, trying to pick his words carefully, "so very sweet." He bats his eyes a couple times for good measure.
"...By the by," he adds, very casual. "What sort of creatures might I expect to run into out here? You know, ah. Gelatinous cubes..." Waving a hand, like it's whatever. "Mephits..." A split-second pause, and his eyes flick to Bull's face for just a moment. "Vampires? Any of those— awful, awful things?"
no subject
no subject
"Mm," he says so it sounds like he was listening. "By the way, I suppose I should mention. Do you remember how I told you about my, erm, drow heritage?" It's better than admitting that he's undead. "Well, drow also have... special dietary restrictions."
His tone is as forcibly nonchalant as he can make it. This is all very normal.
"So, ah, I can really only eat... very rare meat."
no subject
"Huh," he says, considers asking how rare is rare but when he glances over his eyes catch on Astarion's marked up cheek. "Petting the druffalo, Astarion?" He at least sounds amused, rather than freaked out. It's hard to freak him out. "Okay. Guess that explains your teeth."
no subject
"Yes, that's— all drow have sharp teeth." Somewhere, on another plane, Lolth is pissed off that Astarion is using drowhood as his excuse. "And... you met Cazador."
The name is uttered like a curse. Better than 'master'.
"Obviously, he wasn't respectful of my particular dietary needs, and— well, let's just say I'm famished." It actually feels like a huge weight off of his shoulders to admit, even if it isn't the whole truth. He's fucking hungry. "I was hoping that maybe we could find some livestock in this Redwall place."
no subject
no subject
no subject
A shrug. "They'll come investogate if we put food down. Anything else... you'd probably be better at catching creatures at this time of night than I am," he admits. Astarion has stealth for days, and Bull is pretty sure he can see in the dark, maybe as part of his Drow heritage.
no subject
Although in reality he's jumping at the chance to eat anything, he makes a show of thinking about it, the only suggestion that he's performing the way that he shifts restlessly on his feet, antsy and anxious to feed. Particularly after having to be around all of Bull's very tasty-smelling blood yesterday.
His verdict: "That would be acceptable, I think."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
sends this out into the no notif ether and thank god I did because I posted prematurely!!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)