"Be polite, she's about to carry you a long way," Bull chastens him. "Hold on with your knees, keep your hips loose. You've got this."
With that he's returning to his own horse, who is picking up the other's nerves, snorting hard. He swings into his own saddle, nudges the horse to start moving and Astarion's falls into following. Just a couple hours until they'll have to stop and set up camp, but that's still a long beginner ride.
With no idea how to actually make the horse stop, he completely depends on his following Bull's lead. Symbolic, really, considering he's forced to follow Bull's lead here, too. He doesn't make much conversation during the ride, too focused on trying not to fall off and get his head trampled or some other equally embarrassing way to die. Finally, though, about an hour in:
"Gods, this is torture." He's trying to be on his best behavior, but unfortunately, he also has piss poor 'mild discomfort' tolerance. "You didn't say it was going to chafe."
Bull laughs, sorry, but it's sheepish. "Forgot," he admits; not just because he's been riding a long time but because qunari are thick-skinned: "Not really a problem for me."
He drops his horse back a little, so that his is just a nose ahead of Astarion's, though both horses have settled into the journey and are mostly following a road that they've travelled far more than their riders. Leans back, reins slack in one hand. "You're gonna be miserable tomorrow," he says bluntly, since chafing aside, he knows how many rarely used muscles are gonna get loud once Astarion's off the horse. "More miserable. I'll pick some elfroot, chewing it'll take the edge off."
Uuuuuuuggghhh. Astarion groans, shifting uncomfortably on the horse. He really does hate these things. "Maybe I should have given the piggyback ride more consideration." At least he would have been able to use the horns to hold onto; his back hurts from trying to stay upright.
"You're sure you don't happen to know a teensy bit of healing magic?"
Bull gives him a flat look, even though he has kind of come around on the stuff after experiencing a world where it's relatively safe. "No magic." Aside from the uh, dragon blood Reaver stuff but since there's no demons involved that just doesn't count to him.
Bull makes an executive decision since the night's mostly gone, and slows his horse down, starts scanning for somewhere amidst the bucolic fields of green and hazel that might work for a camp. Looking for something to tie the horses to, maybe a stream so Astarion can soak his chafed thighs. Or injure himself on running water. Whichever. Eventually he veers them off the road and onto the grass.
"Okay, we're gonna stop. Tighten your legs, lean back a little, put some pressure on the reins." He demonstrates on his own horse with a soft whoa.
sends this out into the no notif ether and thank god I did because I posted prematurely!!
Astarion would be offended at Bull making the executive decision to stop without even asking, but he does hate this, and it's sort of nice to have someone making unilateral decisions that benefit him for once instead of the other way around. So, he just says, "Do I have to say whoa, too?" Kind of lame!
He's fairly sure the horse stops mostly because its companion has. All the same, he feels a little thrill of pride at having made it happen (whether or not it's earned). He's awkward trying to maneuver off, probably because he never maneuvered on without help. "And now I'll just... jump off, as you do."
Bull ambles over to take his horse's reins. Taps Astarion's leg just above the ankle. "Weight in the stirrup, swing your other leg over to join it. I'll catcha if you fall off." Solemn about it.
Astarion's really not sure how to take the fact that Bull hasn't mocked him once, even when he's had ample opportunity. On one hand, it feels strangely nice. On the other hand, it feels too good to be true, like the other shoe will drop any second. He follows Bull's instruction, not quite falling off but certainly stumbling a little as he hops off, owing mostly to his sore legs.
He'd rather be the one who gets to control when the shoe drops, so he turns back to Bull, saying, "Well, go on already. Tell me how incompetent I've been."
Bull glances back at him as he leads the horses to be roped to the tree he picked, giving them a once-over as he goes. "You did great," he disagrees. "She didn't throw you, right?" Big win for a first ride. Bull reaches into the saddlebags. "Come feed her one of these apples. Flat palm." Demonstrating on his own how to balance the fruit so the horse can just pick it up with her mouth.
"...Oh." What the fuck? He's so thrown by the complete lack of reaction that he can't even be mad about it. What, Bull isn't even angry that Astarion assumed the worst of him? It's unpleasant, but Astarion almost wishes he was—anger, he knows how to respond to. A calm, even keel, he doesn't. Better the devil you know, and all that.
He's slow to gravitate to Bull's side, mostly because his legs already hurt. When his horse takes the apple, her mouth tickles his palm, and the corner of his mouth tugs up slightly. Slightly!!
"You know, when we met, I expected you to be just another boring mercenary type," he says, idly. "But you're rather interesting. Are all your people like you?" He doesn't clarify what he means by 'like you'.
Regardless of what he means, Bull has to admit the answer is probably no. "Nah," he says quietly, feels himself smiling as well, not at all immune to interesting from Astarion. Feeds his own horse an apple, rubs the long nose a little before moving around to unbuckle the saddlebags. Keeping his movements even more chill than usual on the horses' behalf.
"I got kicked out of my people," he says. He isn't sure he wants to get into explaining qunari and the qun, bas and Tal-Vashoth, but adds nonchalant: "Supposed to kill me on sight. Luckily qunari are pretty rare this far south."
Yeesh. Astarion grimaces; sounds complicated. He wants to ask what in the hells Bull did to get 'kill on sight' as a punishment, but even he knows that's annoyingly nosy, and while he wouldn't usually mind, he's hesitant to give Bull any reason to want to be rid of him.
"Mm." He copies Bull's movements, attempting to pet his horse on the snout. It's awkward, a little disjointed. He hasn't shown affection to another living being in centuries. "Well, being an exiled rebel is far more raffish than the alternative, anyway."
The horse whickers softly, looking at Astarion with her big wet eyes, then tries to mouth at his fingers in case he has another apple.
Bull also makes a slightly horse-y sound at raffish, brow lifted, gaze lingering for a moment. "Yeah, that's what I figure too. C'mon, let me show you what elfroot looks like."
Elfroot, as it turns out, is the flat-leaved weed that's been in abundance along the road, two or three by this tree alone. Bull strips a whole plant, plucking off all but the top leaves. "Every army in every country in Thedas basically runs on this stuff. They brew it up like a tea into a potion, drink it in battle. Burn it in the steam lodge after big battle. Sap can close wounds, roots treat digestive issues. Chew some of the leaves and you'll stop feeling like you got fucked five ways from Sunday." He'll wait until Astarion tries some to mention, "Bitter, though."
Astarion takes the tiniest bite off of a leaf, clearly hesitant even before being told of its bitterness. He hasn't had anything in his mouth that he's had to chew for a very long time, and just the mere texture of something mushy-solid between his teeth makes him want to gag a little. The actual taste is even worse, and he chokes out, "This is disgusting." It does help, though, so he forces himself to keep chewing (albeit not without making some very displeased faces).
There's still a bit of darkness left before the dawn is upon them, but there's no way he's getting back on that horse tonight. So, he leans against the trunk of the tree, hands clasped innocently: "Well. What do you say you pitch a tent?" He really hopes Bull bothered to get some sort of shelter. He probably should have checked. "I'll... supervise."
"You're such a princess," Bull ribs him, but there's something in his voice that says he's dangerously fine with it. They do have a tent and bedrolls, which Bull will unpack and set up on easy autopilot, tapping in pegs with the butt of his axe. Doesn't bother to light a fire since it'll warm up once the sun rises, just hooks the lantern by the tent flap.
"Fucking hate camping," Bull says cheerfully, taking a swig from the waterskin and looking at his handiwork. "Not - the set-up," lest Astarion think that's a jab, "Just miss my own bed. Really counting the days for that reunion." Even his room in the Blushing Mermaid had been too small and closed in for him to ever enjoy being there.
"You know, the day is so long." Actually, he has no idea how long the day is here. Is it the same as on Toril? Guess he'll find out. "How—" He poses languidly against the tree, cringing a little as he puts weight on his still-sore muscles. There's still elfroot in his mouth, and he makes himself swallow it. "However will we pass the time?"
Bull considers him, the lean against the tree, the airy tone. Lowers the water slowly. Head tilting like a dog hearing something humans can't. Jaw shifting.
"You don't have to do that," he says, keeping his tone as carefully neutral as possible — it's different from his usual laconic nonchalance, like maybe for once he actually is a little pissed. "Pretend you're into me."
"Why would you think something so preposterous?" he asks, although Bull is pretty much right. Astarion doesn't even know what it would feel like to be into someone, it's been so long. Honestly, it's come as a surprise that he doesn't feel the same abject hatred he usually feels for everybody toward Bull. Maybe even sort of likes him.
"Look at you. You're so..." It's difficult to come up with something to say, not because Bull is so unappealing, but because it's been so long since he engaged with the part of himself that potentially could find other people appealing. "Nice," he finishes, because that's the thing he actually likes about Bull.
It probably wouldn't be terrible. He seems like he'd be considerate. Astarion would still feel bad afterwards, but that just happens.
"I just thought you might want me to pay you back, is all."
Nice. Bull turns rueful, lifts a hand to scratch the side of his jaw with a little grimace. Like, sure, but he hates having it pointed out. He's a terrifying beserker, actually, get it right.
This is a weird fucking line to tread. For one thing, it's not like he's done a bunch of introspection on what he feels for Astarion, but it's not platonic camaraderie. Somewhere outside the brother-in-arms/fuckbuddy dichotomy he relies on to navigate his close relationships.
But on the other hand: "You flinch when I touch you," he points out. He doesn't take it personally, but he's been reining in his physicality because of it. Folds his arms. "Killing me with this. Pretty sure I wouldn't be back here without you, you don't "owe" me anything."
This has got to be the first time anyone has ever tried to talk their way out of sleeping with him. It's ridiculous and hypocritical, but he finds himself a little offended at the idea that he might be considered unfuckable. Just because Astarion isn't quaking with desire doesn't mean Bull shouldn't be!!!
"Fine," he says, chin tipping up. It's incredibly fucking embarrassing to strike out like this, but he can still maintain some sort of dignity. "It isn't like I'm hard up for it."
Obviously put out by being rejected for what must be the first time in his un-life, he stalks away to the tent, pulling back the flaps. Like every insecure man who gets turned down, he immediately starts in with the you're not even that pretty. "I'm tired, anyway."
Bull rubs a hand hard over his face, muttering something in qunlat to himself. Presses a fist of the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard and loud. Line completely veered off and crashed out. Probably better than the outcome where they fuck and he hates himself, but, you know, barely.
Okay. Okay. He can't argue about who has more prospects in the back-end of Ferelden (but it's him, thanks.) He considers seriously just dragging a bedroll out onto the grass and letting Astarion have the tent for the day, but no. It's not his tantrum. And maybe he's proving a point about how nice he actually is when he just follows Astarion over and ducks inside the cramped interior.
"Then go to sleep," he suggests, in the tone of then perish, settling down onto his own bedroll and unbuckling his shoulder pauldron.
Edited (as if Bull wears anything on his chest like cmon) 2025-10-21 15:28 (UTC)
Astarion flops down on his bedroll, fully-clothed, shoes and all—yes, throwing a bit of a tantrum. It shouldn't bother him. He didn't even want to. But being superficially appealing is also the only thing he's good at, so to have failed in that makes his neck heat in humiliation.
"Elves don't sleep," he says to the top of the tent. "We meditate. It's all very elegant."
"Huh." Is that true? Well, whatever, maybe it's true for drow. Feels like Solas is always off sleeping somewhere.
Bull puts his cover-nothing armour to the side and starts in on his boots. Glancing over at Astarion more than he'd like and less subtly than he thinks.
He can practically feel the eyes on him. "What?" Astarion snaps. "Don't tell me you're going to be precious about this."
Actually, he's incredibly worried that this was a huge misstep and that now he's fucked everything up. Bull had been nice to him, and now he's going to change his tune. Fuck, Astarion really must be incompetent.
But he can still fix this, maybe. "It's not like I was asking to hold hands." Just in case Bull is afraid that he's fallen in some sort of pathetic love with him. Bull seems like the sort of guy who prefers things very casual, so he's careful to be as nonchalant as he can, shrugging a little. "Honestly. I just thought a morning of tented passion might help pass the boredom."
Caught looking! Bull leans back on an elbow, stretching out, feeling the crackle of joints and the pull of old scars. "Cute. Listen, Astarion, it's not that I'm not— You've seen you." Unaware that Astarion has not, in fact, seen himself in a while. "And the bitchy princess thing really works for me. It's. I dunno." He sighs, frustrated at himself and Astarion both. "You wanna repay me, come join my guys, let's do some jobs together, kill some shit. Not whatever this is."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
With that he's returning to his own horse, who is picking up the other's nerves, snorting hard. He swings into his own saddle, nudges the horse to start moving and Astarion's falls into following. Just a couple hours until they'll have to stop and set up camp, but that's still a long beginner ride.
no subject
"Gods, this is torture." He's trying to be on his best behavior, but unfortunately, he also has piss poor 'mild discomfort' tolerance. "You didn't say it was going to chafe."
no subject
He drops his horse back a little, so that his is just a nose ahead of Astarion's, though both horses have settled into the journey and are mostly following a road that they've travelled far more than their riders. Leans back, reins slack in one hand. "You're gonna be miserable tomorrow," he says bluntly, since chafing aside, he knows how many rarely used muscles are gonna get loud once Astarion's off the horse. "More miserable. I'll pick some elfroot, chewing it'll take the edge off."
no subject
"You're sure you don't happen to know a teensy bit of healing magic?"
no subject
Bull makes an executive decision since the night's mostly gone, and slows his horse down, starts scanning for somewhere amidst the bucolic fields of green and hazel that might work for a camp. Looking for something to tie the horses to, maybe a stream so Astarion can soak his chafed thighs. Or injure himself on running water. Whichever. Eventually he veers them off the road and onto the grass.
"Okay, we're gonna stop. Tighten your legs, lean back a little, put some pressure on the reins." He demonstrates on his own horse with a soft whoa.
sends this out into the no notif ether and thank god I did because I posted prematurely!!
He's fairly sure the horse stops mostly because its companion has. All the same, he feels a little thrill of pride at having made it happen (whether or not it's earned). He's awkward trying to maneuver off, probably because he never maneuvered on without help. "And now I'll just... jump off, as you do."
no subject
no subject
He'd rather be the one who gets to control when the shoe drops, so he turns back to Bull, saying, "Well, go on already. Tell me how incompetent I've been."
no subject
no subject
He's slow to gravitate to Bull's side, mostly because his legs already hurt. When his horse takes the apple, her mouth tickles his palm, and the corner of his mouth tugs up slightly. Slightly!!
"You know, when we met, I expected you to be just another boring mercenary type," he says, idly. "But you're rather interesting. Are all your people like you?" He doesn't clarify what he means by 'like you'.
no subject
"I got kicked out of my people," he says. He isn't sure he wants to get into explaining qunari and the qun, bas and Tal-Vashoth, but adds nonchalant: "Supposed to kill me on sight. Luckily qunari are pretty rare this far south."
no subject
"Mm." He copies Bull's movements, attempting to pet his horse on the snout. It's awkward, a little disjointed. He hasn't shown affection to another living being in centuries. "Well, being an exiled rebel is far more raffish than the alternative, anyway."
no subject
Bull also makes a slightly horse-y sound at raffish, brow lifted, gaze lingering for a moment. "Yeah, that's what I figure too. C'mon, let me show you what elfroot looks like."
Elfroot, as it turns out, is the flat-leaved weed that's been in abundance along the road, two or three by this tree alone. Bull strips a whole plant, plucking off all but the top leaves. "Every army in every country in Thedas basically runs on this stuff. They brew it up like a tea into a potion, drink it in battle. Burn it in the steam lodge after big battle. Sap can close wounds, roots treat digestive issues. Chew some of the leaves and you'll stop feeling like you got fucked five ways from Sunday." He'll wait until Astarion tries some to mention, "Bitter, though."
no subject
There's still a bit of darkness left before the dawn is upon them, but there's no way he's getting back on that horse tonight. So, he leans against the trunk of the tree, hands clasped innocently: "Well. What do you say you pitch a tent?" He really hopes Bull bothered to get some sort of shelter. He probably should have checked. "I'll... supervise."
Yeah, he's not doing manual labor.
no subject
"Fucking hate camping," Bull says cheerfully, taking a swig from the waterskin and looking at his handiwork. "Not - the set-up," lest Astarion think that's a jab, "Just miss my own bed. Really counting the days for that reunion." Even his room in the Blushing Mermaid had been too small and closed in for him to ever enjoy being there.
no subject
"You know, the day is so long." Actually, he has no idea how long the day is here. Is it the same as on Toril? Guess he'll find out. "How—" He poses languidly against the tree, cringing a little as he puts weight on his still-sore muscles. There's still elfroot in his mouth, and he makes himself swallow it. "However will we pass the time?"
no subject
"You don't have to do that," he says, keeping his tone as carefully neutral as possible — it's different from his usual laconic nonchalance, like maybe for once he actually is a little pissed. "Pretend you're into me."
no subject
"Look at you. You're so..." It's difficult to come up with something to say, not because Bull is so unappealing, but because it's been so long since he engaged with the part of himself that potentially could find other people appealing. "Nice," he finishes, because that's the thing he actually likes about Bull.
It probably wouldn't be terrible. He seems like he'd be considerate. Astarion would still feel bad afterwards, but that just happens.
"I just thought you might want me to pay you back, is all."
no subject
This is a weird fucking line to tread. For one thing, it's not like he's done a bunch of introspection on what he feels for Astarion, but it's not platonic camaraderie. Somewhere outside the brother-in-arms/fuckbuddy dichotomy he relies on to navigate his close relationships.
But on the other hand: "You flinch when I touch you," he points out. He doesn't take it personally, but he's been reining in his physicality because of it. Folds his arms. "Killing me with this. Pretty sure I wouldn't be back here without you, you don't "owe" me anything."
no subject
"Fine," he says, chin tipping up. It's incredibly fucking embarrassing to strike out like this, but he can still maintain some sort of dignity. "It isn't like I'm hard up for it."
Obviously put out by being rejected for what must be the first time in his un-life, he stalks away to the tent, pulling back the flaps. Like every insecure man who gets turned down, he immediately starts in with the you're not even that pretty. "I'm tired, anyway."
no subject
Okay. Okay. He can't argue about who has more prospects in the back-end of Ferelden (but it's him, thanks.) He considers seriously just dragging a bedroll out onto the grass and letting Astarion have the tent for the day, but no. It's not his tantrum. And maybe he's proving a point about how nice he actually is when he just follows Astarion over and ducks inside the cramped interior.
"Then go to sleep," he suggests, in the tone of then perish, settling down onto his own bedroll and unbuckling his shoulder pauldron.
no subject
"Elves don't sleep," he says to the top of the tent. "We meditate. It's all very elegant."
no subject
Bull puts his cover-nothing armour to the side and starts in on his boots. Glancing over at Astarion more than he'd like and less subtly than he thinks.
no subject
Actually, he's incredibly worried that this was a huge misstep and that now he's fucked everything up. Bull had been nice to him, and now he's going to change his tune. Fuck, Astarion really must be incompetent.
But he can still fix this, maybe. "It's not like I was asking to hold hands." Just in case Bull is afraid that he's fallen in some sort of pathetic love with him. Bull seems like the sort of guy who prefers things very casual, so he's careful to be as nonchalant as he can, shrugging a little. "Honestly. I just thought a morning of tented passion might help pass the boredom."
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)