It's a lot to keep up with. He really, really is trying, actually listening to somebody when they talk for what's probably the first time in decades if not centuries, but there's a lot of moving parts. Not sure what Vints are—bad guys, clearly—or what Seheron is. Tal-Vashoth is some qunari word, he assumes, for a banished person. Hissrad? No clue.
He gets the gist, anyway. Bull got put in a shit situation and now he's being punished for it. It obviously weighs on him, and Astarion picks at that thread on his shirt again; there'll be a hole there soon if he isn't careful. He doesn't have any experience with things like showing empathy (or feeling empathy), and now he's not sure what to say.
"Well, they can go fuck themselves," he lands on. Probably not the right thing to say.
It's fine, it's the saying of it that he needs — works like the massage, long seconds of pain and then release. The only other person who even knows this is the Inquisitor herself, and she's kinda busy being all things to all people.
Astarion's response makes him laugh, shaky, fond. "Yeah," he agrees, more emphatic this time, a grin in his voice. Squeezes one of Astarion's shoulders "Listen, you're tight enough I could go for a long while yet, but I really gotta get out of this tent. Put your shirt back on, I'll go catch a nug."
He's not sure if he handled that interaction right. Maybe he should have probed more, or probed less, or been more sensitive. Astarion has never really cared about someone else's feelings before, at least not in ages, and the skills to be considerate of them have withered over time.
Bull seems all right, though, and that's all he has to go on. He slips his shirt back on with some reluctance, uncertain how to contend with the fact that he sort of wanted it to continue. It had been novel to be touched in a way that wasn't a prelude to sex. "Thank you," he says while Bull's eye is still closed. "That was..." A beat. "Fine."
Just fine! "Oof," says Bull. He likes this a lot fucking more than the fake flattery, though. "Room for improvement, then." He turns himself away from Astarion, opening his eye as he goes for the ties of the tent flaps, just to make sure he doesn't accidentally get an eyeful. "Guess you'll have to take pity and help me practice." He's determined to reduce Astarion's back to a warm jelly, and it has basically nothing to do with getting him on a horse.
Outside, he stands and stretches, looking around the field bathed in the last pinks of sunset, the sun well below the Frostback mountains to their west. Twilight's always a little early in this part of Ferelden. Pads across the grass to the horses, murmuring something softly to them, getting some carrots out of the packs.
Astarion remains in the tent, lying back down and replaying the past fifteen minutes in his head. The day has barely started, and it's already a big one. That's the longest he's ever voluntarily let someone touch him, and definitely the most he's ever opened up to another person. Bull didn't make him feel shameful or lesser than at all. It feels weird. Good weird.
When he finally emerges, he first peeks his head out to make sure he isn't about to burst into flames. The last few rays of sun make his face tingle a little bit, but he's pretty sure he'll be all right, so he steps out of the tent and makes his way to the horses, too. His horse seems to have warmed to him a bit over the ride, and unfortunately, he has to admit that he's warmed to her, too. Not that he really knows how to interact with her. "Hello," he says, and awkwardly pats her on the head.
Then, casually regarding Bull, as if he didn't just spend the last five minutes ruminating over him: "How much longer will we have to travel?"
Bull hands him the bushel of carrots so he can make himself useful. "Here, feed them these. Mind your fingers." No instruction, but it's not that different than the apple, both horses are pretty happy to feed themselves from Astarion's hands.
Anyway, his actual question, as Bull ransacks the satchel for the last bits of cheese. "If we push hard, we might make it before the dawn. Otherwise we should stop at the foot of the Frostbacks, I don't think we're exactly provisioned for camping up the mountain pass, in the snow."
Astarion hesitates a little with the carrots, evidently worried about having his fingers bitten off. The horses are gentle, though, used to being hand-fed, and Astarion suppresses the urge to smile as they take the carrots from him. Luckily, he has a reason to frown soon after. "Snow?" he asks with a scowl, tone making it clear that he's going to bitch about being cold the entire time.
"Snow, all year 'round," Bull confirms. That's probably why they're called the Frostbacks, huh. He's gonna go repeat his nug-catching technique from the evening before to try and get a couple of squealing awful pink creatures.
In brand new information there's apparently a pulley elevator through the mountains so the Inquisition isn't climbing Everest every time they go home? Who knew. Let's pretend that's what Bull said too.
Presumably feeding the horses is about the extent of Astarion's contribution to camp life; Bull lets him eat his grisly meal while he gets his armour back on and packs the tent up.
The nugs are not exactly fine dining, but he's pleased by the support of his special dietary needs regardless. The ache for something more, something thinking is still there, but he does his best to try to smother it down. Maybe once they reach their destination he'll be able to sneak away and pick off somebody no one would miss.
He tosses the exsanguinated nug corpse on the ground, then approaches his horse again, awkwardly but gently petting its mane. After last time, he's fairly sure he could get on her back himself, but he finds himself impulsively saying, a little pompous and lordly, "Well, go on. You can help me up again."
"Oh, sure," Bull says, coming around to help. "Put your left foot in the stirrup, I'll give you a boost. Gonna put my hand on your leg," he says, a shade different to last time, a two second warning before he does it. "And up you go." Easily lifting Astarion so he has the clearance to swing his other leg over. Adjusts his posture a little this time too, trying to make the ride easier: "Just gonna touch your back - keep this straight. Imagine a string pulling from the top of your head. One straight line all the way down to the saddle. Relax your knees."
Horrifically, he's embarrassingly charmed that Bull remembers to warn him before touching. Just like he'd asked. He gets that strange sensation again, which he's beginning to identify as 'positive sentiment'. Very foreign.
"You're quite obliging, aren't you?" he says as he adjusts himself in the saddle, and even his hiked up chin can't hide that he's obviously happy about that fact. Being listened to and having his requests fulfilled for the first time in his life is kind of a high, actually. "I like that in a man."
He reaches over, pats Bull on the head the way he'd done to the horse. Teasingly, obviously. "Thank you for your service."
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He gets the gist, anyway. Bull got put in a shit situation and now he's being punished for it. It obviously weighs on him, and Astarion picks at that thread on his shirt again; there'll be a hole there soon if he isn't careful. He doesn't have any experience with things like showing empathy (or feeling empathy), and now he's not sure what to say.
"Well, they can go fuck themselves," he lands on. Probably not the right thing to say.
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Astarion's response makes him laugh, shaky, fond. "Yeah," he agrees, more emphatic this time, a grin in his voice. Squeezes one of Astarion's shoulders "Listen, you're tight enough I could go for a long while yet, but I really gotta get out of this tent. Put your shirt back on, I'll go catch a nug."
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Bull seems all right, though, and that's all he has to go on. He slips his shirt back on with some reluctance, uncertain how to contend with the fact that he sort of wanted it to continue. It had been novel to be touched in a way that wasn't a prelude to sex. "Thank you," he says while Bull's eye is still closed. "That was..." A beat. "Fine."
High praise coming from him, honestly.
no subject
Outside, he stands and stretches, looking around the field bathed in the last pinks of sunset, the sun well below the Frostback mountains to their west. Twilight's always a little early in this part of Ferelden. Pads across the grass to the horses, murmuring something softly to them, getting some carrots out of the packs.
no subject
When he finally emerges, he first peeks his head out to make sure he isn't about to burst into flames. The last few rays of sun make his face tingle a little bit, but he's pretty sure he'll be all right, so he steps out of the tent and makes his way to the horses, too. His horse seems to have warmed to him a bit over the ride, and unfortunately, he has to admit that he's warmed to her, too. Not that he really knows how to interact with her. "Hello," he says, and awkwardly pats her on the head.
Then, casually regarding Bull, as if he didn't just spend the last five minutes ruminating over him: "How much longer will we have to travel?"
no subject
Anyway, his actual question, as Bull ransacks the satchel for the last bits of cheese. "If we push hard, we might make it before the dawn. Otherwise we should stop at the foot of the Frostbacks, I don't think we're exactly provisioned for camping up the mountain pass, in the snow."
no subject
no subject
In brand new information there's apparently a pulley elevator through the mountains so the Inquisition isn't climbing Everest every time they go home? Who knew. Let's pretend that's what Bull said too.
Presumably feeding the horses is about the extent of Astarion's contribution to camp life; Bull lets him eat his grisly meal while he gets his armour back on and packs the tent up.
no subject
He tosses the exsanguinated nug corpse on the ground, then approaches his horse again, awkwardly but gently petting its mane. After last time, he's fairly sure he could get on her back himself, but he finds himself impulsively saying, a little pompous and lordly, "Well, go on. You can help me up again."
no subject
no subject
"You're quite obliging, aren't you?" he says as he adjusts himself in the saddle, and even his hiked up chin can't hide that he's obviously happy about that fact. Being listened to and having his requests fulfilled for the first time in his life is kind of a high, actually. "I like that in a man."
He reaches over, pats Bull on the head the way he'd done to the horse. Teasingly, obviously. "Thank you for your service."