Archive of Our Own ^beta

“The rift is quiet.” Cassandra sheathed her sword, looking up to meet the faltering eyes of the soldier at her side. “Bring her… bring her forward.”  

The rift cast its sickening glow over the ground and the faces of the soldiers, pulsing, but silent for now. Bull stood to one side, watching, blood spattered across his body from the fight. Cassandra’s face was set, but he didn’t miss the quiver of her mouth as chains clanked from somewhere behind them.

The Inquisitor had arrived.

It had been eight months since the red lyrium shrapnel pierced Adaar’s armor, fracturing into razor pieces her shoulder. Eight months since it was removed, and eight months since the healer missed one tiny, insignificant shard. Seven since that pale-faced healer stood in the war room, her voice quivering as she delivered the news that there was nothing more they could do to stop the corruption.

The Iron Bull watched Adaar struggle against the soldiers who pulled her chains, digging her heels into the sand as she snapped and snarled like an animal. Bull watched, the pit in his stomach deepening. The last time he’d seen her, it hadn’t been so bad. The Inquisition mages had done what they could to keep the lyrium from growing, but it no longer did any good. The crystal split the skin on her shoulder, jutting from her neck and the side of her face in brittle clusters that seemed to grow twofold for each crystal plucked out. Saliva fell in thin strands from her chapped lips as she roared, and Bull tried not to remember how those lips had felt against his skin – how uncertain they were against his own, as though no one thought to kiss her before.

Five months since those lips last curled into a smile, a weak, pained thing that didn’t touch the fear behind her eyes, and four months since her mind had gone completely. Four months since they discovered there was one task her body remembered through the madness.

As she drew closer to the rift, Adaar’s posture changed, and her wild eyes focused keenly on the tear in the sky. Slowly, she lifted her bound hands and stood straight-backed as energy poured from her hand to the rift. A familiar thrum resonated through the air, pounding in Bull’s chest, rising and rising until it ended with a sharp crack.

Adaar let her hands fall heavily, knees buckling under the sudden weight of the shackles as she gasped for air.

As she remained silent, quivering, no one spoke. They barely breathed in anticipation of what was to come. Bull clenched one fist, whole body tense as they waited.

In the beginning Bull wished that her mind would return, even if the sentiment made him sick with shame. Her pain and fear were evident until the last scrap of her was gone, but even if it was in short moments he wished for a brief word, one of her curt conversations. In moments of weakness, he wished something to remind him that the woman he’d respected, the woman who’d invited him to her bed, who came apart under his hands only to laugh when it was done, sweating and breathless and smiling. 

Adaar took a few more gulping, sobbing breaths, then screamed.

Bull didn't wish that anymore.

Cassandra lowered her eyes for a moment, shoulders shaking, but Bull couldn’t make himself look away. It wouldn’t do any good if he had. The look on her face was burned into his mind.

“Please!” She sobbed, breath rising into a frenzy as her voice broke with the strain. “Please, kill me! Please, please, I can't - ”

She was an asset, Bull knew, something they needed to end this war. The decision to keep her alive had not been made lightly, but as Adaar wailed into the silence choking and coughing and struggling in vain to lift her hands to claw at the red lyrium, the logic seemed too cruel.

It didn’t take long until Adaar collapsed to the ground, gasping and whimpering until she fell limp.

Soldiers inched forward, waiting until they were sure she’d stay unconscious before lifting her and carrying her towards the wheeled cage she’d arrived in. The horse drawing it started forward with a word from the driver and Bull clenched the hand that had twitched towards the handle of his axe.

Two months since she’d started begging for death. Researchers scurried forward to collect whatever the rift had dropped and Bull turned away, finally closing his eye.

Eight months since this began, eight months since it had begun to crumble around them. How many months, he wondered, would it take for his resolve to break? Two? Five? How long until he could no longer keep his hand from his axe when she begged for death?

Cassandra barked an order to the soldiers somewhere behind him and he turned, opening his eye and setting his face. 

As he strode back towards the party, chest aching, he couldn't shake the thought that it should have been today.