Master post here. Link to AO3 here.
Purple is a good color on Iron Bull.
“Madame,” Dorian says approvingly, eyeing the deep blue-violet of the tight-fitting coat, the silver slashes, and the emerald accents, “your taste is exquisite.”
Vivienne turns to him, the deep red silk of her gown rustling. She is standing at his side, as close to shoulder-to-shoulder as she can bear, one hand on her hip. Her dress is one-shouldered, the collar of it beginning in the center of the neckline. It rises, growing out of the drape of the satin, curving up partially around her neck, the vermilion of it showing off the elegant lines of her collarbone, neck, and jaw. Smooth, dark skin almost glows. “Naturally, my dear. As is my sense of dramatic fashion.”
“I would not have chosen purple,” Dorian demurs. “I find black to make more of a statement.”
“That is so pedestrian, darling. Small wonder people have low opinions of magisters.”
“Small wonder, indeed. Madame, sometimes I even wear gold and red. Shocking.” Dorian makes an exaggerated expression of surprise, pushes his eyebrows as far up his forehead as they’ll go.
“That does elevate you above your countrymen.” A sniff.
“Um, watching you two is entertaining and all, but can I move now?” Bull asks, breaking into the conversation.
Thierry walks over from the other side of the salon with something shiny dangling from his hand. “Not yet, Master Iron Bull. Madame de Fer has commissioned this eyepatch for you. You must put it on.”
“Ma’am, you didn’t have to!” Bull exclaims.
“Don’t be silly, Iron Bull, how could I not?” Vivienne takes the eyepatch from Thierry, and promptly hands it over to Dorian. “Now if you could be so kind as to put it on, darling. But turn around first, so that we do not see.”
Bull’s shoulders slump. “Aw. But it’s such an awesome -”
“No,” Vivienne says, ending the argument.
Dorian laughs quietly to himself as he goes to Bull. The Qunari turns and inclines his head, pulling off his eyepatch. Dorian slips the tie over Bull’s left horn, doesn’t look overlong at the old ruin of his eye, affixes the patch swiftly and adjusts it. It gleams gold in late afternoon sunlight streaming in from the windows, the lyrium crystals and amethysts encrusting it sending up sparks of violet and blue.
He feels the touch of Bull’s finger, a caress, on his chin. “Thanks, kadan.”
Dorian can’t help but color a little. “Ah - you’re welcome.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Amatus.”