Chapter Text
The next morning held a coiled silence. Something had happened the night before that put everyone on edge. Breakfast consisted of required conversation and sideways glances at Praxis. Varric and Dorian were the only ones who even spoke to her and even then they were easily answered with a nod. Bull wasn’t sure if she noticed, or cared.
He did and didn’t like it. He offered to have Praxis ride with him, knowing this bubble of tension was going to pop eventually and he wasn’t sure how it would play out. If things turned out for the worst, he wanted to be in control of her safety.
Thirty minutes into the journey and Skinner was the first to break the silence, “So, Praxis. Your people. Dorian claims they have food markets the size of Skyhold. Is the boastful Shem full of shit?”
She laughed with an apologetic grin at Dorian who had long ago given up taking offense at anything Skinner said against humans. “I’m not sure about the Skyhold analogy, but some of them can get pretty large.”
Rocky reined his mount closer, “Is there really that much variety? Do they really ship things in from all over just to be in one market?”
Bull relaxed in his saddle as Praxis answered question after question. Apparently the same had happened to Dorian the night before and it only further piqued the Chargers curiosity when he was only able to vaguely answer. Today she was more open about her homeland than she used to be. With the inevitability of meeting her kind face-to-face, perhaps even returning with them, there was no reason to hold back for fear of homesickness.
The questions continued and lightened the mood in the group, which made traveling through the fluttering snow more pleasant. The Inquisitor still kept to himself though. Bull only half listened to Praxis’ stories, what did he care? He’d never see her lands. His attention was focused on Mahanon. The man hadn’t participated in the banter at all and barely spoke to Dorian who tried to coax him into private conversation. The man simply brushed the mage off and continued to keep to himself. As Bull began to categorize the possible causes, they heard a distant and distinct crack echo in the air.
The group stilled. Mahanon barely rose his voice, “A rift just ahead. Eyes open for demons.”
Mission focus took over. Quiet, razor sharp alertness replaced happy conversations, even the horses felt the change in mood and adjusted their gait. The group moved forward in a tight formation, the ranged units – Dorian, Dalish, Varric, and Mahanon – in the rear, Bull up front with Krem, Rocky, and Grim. Skinner disappeared to scout ahead.
“Stay with Stitches.” Bull stared at the healer as he spoke, his words meant more so for him. Someone had to protect her. Praxis slipped from his horse back onto her own and peeled away from the group with the Stitches.
They heard Skinner before they saw her. “Two pride demons, four rage, seven wraiths. Corpses everywhere.”
The corpses typically weren’t a problem. It was being so near Haven that had them all groaning. There was no question where the bodies came from – the unfortunate who didn’t survive The Fall. Dorian spit a curse in Tevene. Mahanon spurred his horse forward, setting a quicker pace. The sooner they were done with this, the better.
Bull gave Praxis a sidelong glance. She had no idea what they were facing. Pride demons were a bitch to bring down. Two of them? A fucking nightmare. Adding in all the other little wraith fucks made for a really bad day.
The closer they came to the rift, the more uncomfortable Praxis became. She squirmed in her saddle and made pained faces. With the rift open to the Fade, the magic she felt must have affected her. She thumbed her dog tag, then clutched it tight.
“Kadan, you alright?”
She jiggled her head, her thoughts refocused on him. “Fine. Fine.” She smiled at him. “It just feels a little funny. I’m fine.”
“You know, I hadn’t considered it before now. You may be able to put those Templar abilities to use.”
“No, Dorian. It’s not wise to introduce a new element into a fight without any practice.” Mahanon smartly cut the mage off from his suggestion. “Especially when we’re facing two pride demons. Surprises are not a good thing right now. That’s how people get hurt.”
“Well, not this time certainly, but it may be a consideration for later.” Dorian easily dismissed the idea at Mahanon’s sound logic.
“If there is a later.” The acerbic response from the Inquisitor answered Bull’s earlier question. He was bitter about the prospect of Praxis leaving. The tone spoke to the personal betrayal he felt.
Bull stored that information away to deal with later. The cracks of the rift were starting to make his ears pop. They were close. Stitches hustled among them, passing out potions and lyrium. Varric and Rocky exchanged bombs and grenades.
“Chargers! Horns up!” Krem’s voice boomed. Everyone split into formation, ready for the onslaught as the threat came at them.
The first wave was nothing but corpses. Bull kept his focus on the chests, avoiding the possibility of looking them in the face and recognizing one. Varric and Mahanon tried to lure some of the wraiths away from the rift, but the pride demons were too smart for that, always reeling them back in.
No one wanted to fight them en masse but it seemed they weren’t given an option. Bull yelled through gritted teeth, “Chargers! Let’s shove these demons back in the gapping ass end of the Void!”
Forging into the fray, the seasoned warriors battled. It was grueling and exhausting. A few of the wraiths were taken out, but more continued to pour from the rift. Little progress was being made. Each time Mahanon tried to disrupt the rift, one of the pride demons would lash out at him with its electricity charged whip. If there was to be any hope, they had to get one of the bastards down and out of the fight.
Bull had already downed two stamina potions and he could feel that he and Krem were getting close to hacking down their one demon. Suddenly, Krem was jerked from his field of vision, his body sent flying as the other demon cracked his whip. It seemed that Bull wasn’t the only one who was aware of the demon’s failing health. The Inquisitor leapt down from his position to get in close with a grenade, following through with a few shots of his arrows. With the added focus on the failing demon, the second one came down on Mahanon. His balled fist tried to crush the elf, but Dorian’s barrier held strong. The demon continued, unrelenting. The wraiths converged on Dorian. If he was going to protect the Inquisitor, Bull’d have to give up his own support.
It didn’t matter. Bull knew he could take it on alone, especially in its weakened state. He signaled everyone over to help Dorian and Mahanon. A few more swings and he had the damn thing finally falling to the ground. He had the urge to cut its fucking head off, but knew now wasn’t the time. He turned to assess the rest of the battlefield and his stomach sank. Krem lay at the edge of the fighting with Stitches working fervently on his wounds. The rage demons and wraiths had managed to separate the rest of the team into small groups, cornering them off from supporting each other and the pride demon was honing in on Mahanon. The Inquisitor was too distracted with the circle of rage demons to notice the impending death that was closing in on him.
Bull ran full speed. His entire body angry and stiff. He counted the paces between him and Mahanon – 40. Paces between the demon and Mahanon – 30. Although he knew he wouldn’t make it, he pushed anyway. If this demon shit was going to kill their only hope for sealing the breech, then he was going to be the first to completely fuck it over.
A flash of Krem’s shield surprised him as it pressed through the ring of demons. Bull didn’t slow his stride. What did shock him was the sound of Krem’s voice that came from behind him. The words were indiscernible and from the corner of his eye, he saw the Tevinter rushing with a limp back into battle with only his sword and a borrowed shield from Stitches.
The confusion was a fog that only lifted far too late for Bull to do anything. Praxis had taken Krem’s shield. It was she that he saw rush to the Inquisitor’s aid, providing a buffer between the demon and Mahanon. The monster struck down on the metal, splintering it into sharp slivers that sliced like razors into the idiot woman. As Bull neared, he noticed that the blows landed lighter and lighter with each swing. Something was pulling the creature away, sucking it back into the rift. He glanced at the Inquisitor but he was preoccupied with finishing off the last of the rage demons.
It had to be her. Fucking Dorian and his fucking ideas. How she was doing it, Bull didn’t care. He only knew that he needed to kill the demons around the Inquisitor so his freaky-ass magic hand could send the abomination back to where it came from.
With the pride demon exerting all of its energy on staying out of the rift, the Chargers were able to easily cut down the remainder of the demons. Krem bashed his shield into the pride demon, shoving it further towards the crackling opening. It was the last beast left in the field and the rift was weakened enough that Mahanon easily sent it screeching back into the Void. In the quiet that fell, everyone scanned their surroundings, checking that there wasn’t anything left behind
All except Bull. He and Stitches raced to Praxis. Kneeling beside her, Bull stamped down the urge to scoop her up in his arms. “Tell me what to do.”
Stitches grumbled and tore at her leather armor. Cut in several places from the shattered sheild, she was bleeding profusely. Bull didn’t need to hear Stitches say it. He knew she wasn’t going to make it.
“Chargers! Pair up and spread out. Find her people!” Mahanon acted where Bull could not.
Bull felt his world crumbling beneath him. Never had he felt so attached, never had his life hinged on the wellbeing of another in such a way. This couldn’t be happening. She was too strong, too stubborn to let this happen.
Stitches grabbed Bull’s arm, shaking him back to reality, “Chief. If they’re too far away, she’s not going to make it.”
“i-i-ce.” Praxis barely got the word out, her eyes rolled over towards Varric.
The dwarf stood stunned for a second, then a thought flashed to life. “Ice? The pond, you mean the pond?”
Relief relaxed the features on Praxis’ face. Bull turned on Varric, “What’s the plan? You know what she’s talking about?”
“Yes, but you’re not going to like it. Bring her.” Varric led the way and upon reaching the edge of the frozen pond, he tossed a small bomb to break open the surface. “You have to keep her in the cold water until her people show up.”
Stitches shoved Varric, “Are you fucking blighted?”
“I don’t see you offering anything!” Varric snapped back.
“Chief, I can’t support this. This is stupid!” The man blew out a heavy sigh and hung his head briefly in defeat. “However, I don’t have an alternative. She’s dying Chief. There’s no getting around it. If we don’t find her people, if they don’t have an answer, you need to decide how she goes.”
“Thanks. Dick.” Bull held Praxis slung across his arms. Stitches had gotten her to stop bleeding, but she was fading fast. “You want in the water? You sure?”
She wheezed a response and lacking any negative connotation, he took it as a yes. Lowering her into the icy water, she barely made a sound, further proof that her body was shutting down.
“Bull, you gotta…hold her down.” Varric was solemn as he spoke, reluctant to even say the words.
“Alright, now I know you’re making this up! Where did this fucking come from?!”
While Bull laid into Varric, Praxis used the last of her strength to submerge her head and took a deep breath.
“Tiny!” Varric yelled and pointed, but it was too late.
Bull had been right there. He was still holding her in his hands, the feeling going numb from the water. He was dumbstruck. How could she? How could she rob him of the chance to say goodbye? Her cold, lifeless form hardly floated on the surface. The dwarven metal legs anchored her in the shallow pond. Not once had Bull ever feared death but seeing it happen to her, to his heart, wrecked him. Even the torture of the Ben-hassrath re-educators couldn’t compare with this. He wasn’t ready for it. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. He wiped it away before it marked his face, but Stitches had seen and he immediately left – fear stamped on his face.
Varric made a flimsy attempt to be reassuring, “According to her stories, this should buy us about twenty minutes.”
Bull started a mental clock and listened to it tick off the seconds. Then the minutes passed by. No one spoke. There was really nothing to say. Stitches busied himself with caring for the horses while Varric kept a look out for the others’ return.
“Twenty minutes.” Bull’s muscles gave out, letting his massive frame slouch further into the chilly mud of the shore.
Stitches cautiously walked nearer, “Should I start a pyre? We can still wait Chief, I’m not…”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bull waved at him but never took his eyes off Praxis, his mind desperate to see her chest rise with life once more. “No sense in getting caught up in fantasies.”
Quirking his head to one side, Varric held out his hand calling for quiet. “Do you hear that?”
It was faint, but there was a distinct rumbling. At first it sounded too far off to give hope, but it was coming in fast. The roar soon became deafening with added subtle noises within the cacophony. He’d never heard anything similar in his entire life. It had to be her people. It had to be!
Large, metal wagons came lumbering along the old road, plowing their way through the snow in the mid afternoon sun. Seeing the machines so close, Bull was able to identify some of the sounds were the squeaking of parts working together. They were mesmerizing to watch as neither the terrain nor the weather slowed them down. Each one had a person sticking out of the top with a large weapon and Bull could make out two more through the front glass windows. Current unknown threat – 12. Krem hung on the side of the front vehicle and pointed to where they sat on the shore. With an added kick of energy, the machines drove right up to the banks. When they came to a stop in a perfect line with identical spacing between each one, that’s when the doors opened and the soldiers poured out.
Fanning outward, the group established a perimeter. Only the ones manning the mounted weapons didn’t leave the wagons. Bull assumed their weapons operated much the same as Praxis’ gun which meant, they have full control of the surrounding area from the easily defended positions. This group was not taking any chances.
“Over here, she’s…she’s…oh Maker!” Krem warded the newcomers over, but fell short at the sight of the limp, grey body.
Two men ran past Krem with bags in hand that matched the clothes they wore. One of them stopped short, nearly falling backward. “Holy shit you’re a big bastard!”
“Hey, newbie – ignore the minotaur, I need to get her trauma naked immediately. You start CPR.” The older man with short black hair easily pulled Praxis from the water and finished removing her clothing. The younger man looked to be about sixteen with his baby skin and he started counting as he pressed on her chest, when he hit 30, he blew two breaths into her mouth, then continued with his hands over her chest.
Meanwhile, the dark haired man retrieved a device from his bag which he had ripped open. The thing spoke in a haunting voice but the older man ignored it, telling his counterpart when to stop and start as he set up…something. Bull could barely keep up with the way he man worked. His craft was certainly one either used often or practiced often. He placed white round paper on Praxis’ bare chest. Her fully exposed body revealed every bump and bruise she’d suffered over the past few days, most from the last fight.
“Clear!”
At the command, the younger one threw his hands in the air and scooted back away from her body. Pushing a flashing light on the device, Praxis’ body jolted as the eerie voice stated electric shock delivered, continue compressions. They started the cycle again.
Bull looked up and found the rest of the Chargers had found their way back, probably drawn in by the loud entrance the wagons had made. Their expressions were wrought with concern, Stitches ground his teeth in frustration. Healing magic was easy to understand and explain. This was – not natural. Dorian and Mahanon were the last to arrive.
The older healer shouted, “Clear!”
The electric shock jolted her once more but this time a buzz sounded from the device. Stop CPR. Analyzing patient. Both men obeyed the disembodied voice and within seconds, Praxis curled in on herself and was wrenching up the slimy green water from the pond.
The senior healer took command away from the device, “Put her on her side in the recovery position. I’ll start an IV line, make sure her airway stays clear.”
Bull could hear the pain in each struggled gurgling breath she took. It was nightmarish and surreal. She was alive. A tamassran’s voice sounded in the back of his head but you know she’s possessed.
It’s what he’d been taught since birth and was a lesson reinforced throughout his entire training for the Ben-hassrath. The only way a corpse could be reanimated is if it were possessed by a demon. Looking on, he watched as the two men worked on repairing her as if she were a broken trebuchet. Is this what they had done to Cullen? Pieced him together like a broken toy?
“I’m not getting good blood pressure. It’s still dropping.”
“Fuck. How much did she lose? I can’t give her another bag of hextend, it’ll dick everything up.”
“What about blood?”
“None of our guys are a match, we’d have to ask for volunteers.”
Krem stepped forward without hesitation, using a knife to cut into his arm. “Take mine.”
The younger healer reeled back at the sight of fresh blood. After a second, he was back into work mode and collected four small drops on a piece of paper. The young healer watched as the blood dried, “Sorry bro, no match.”
Bull growled at the boy as he asked for Krem’s knife with an outstretched hand. “Do me.”
There was doubt clear in his face, but the urgency set him to work. He waved away the blade Bull wielded and instead tapped at his finger with a tiny box. Bull didn’t feel the prick, and was surprised to see he was bleeding. The beads of red pooled on a fresh tab, each circle taking on different patterns and shapes as the blood reacted to some unknown element that had been woven into the paper.
“God damn. You won’t believe this Tran, but he’s a match.”
“Bullshit.” Tran took the paper and held it at a particular angle in the sun, challenging the results. “Fuck me. Alright, you start his line, I’ll prep her.”
Sitting next to Praxis, Bull could spare a moment to look at her. The exchange hadn’t taken long, but what little color that had returned to her face was gone once more. She was unconscious again, but she was breathing. Faintly.
A new process unfolded in the crook of Bull’s arm. The boy opened his own bag and pulled out all manners of things. The Chargers had moved closer, all of them watching with rapt attention, except for Stitches who was cursing Krem under his breath as he bandaged his hand.
Dorian spoke over the crowd, “No need to worry. They do this sort of thing all the time.”
Bull scoffed at the statement. “Oh, so you’re some kind expert on their culture now are you?”
“Yes, I should think I am after the amount of time I was trapped there.”
Bull felt something change and the others’ silence attested to it as well. Everyone watched as Bull’s blood colored the clear tube that was buried in his arm then snaked its way into Praxis.
“You said we matched. How many different types are there?” Even as he posed the question, the only thing that repeated in his mind was ‘kadan – my heart. My Heart now pumps with my blood.’
“There are four blood types and each one can either have the Rh antigen or not. In her case, she’s type O, Rh negative. Where other blood types have more options for a donor source, not her kind. She has to have a perfect match.”
Krem spoke over Rocky’s head since the dwarf decided to take a seat for the odd show, “How did you know what to look for? I didn’t see you test her.”
Healer Tran spoke up while reading a tablet similar to the one Bull saw the pictures on months ago. He jiggled the thin slate of obsidian, “Before we left I received her full medical history. I know everything about her biologically.” He peeked over the edge of the slate to quirk an eyebrow at her current state. His eyes lingered at the new prosthetics. “It seems I have some new entries to create.”
“Some? Shit dude, she looks like someone tossed her ass in a blender.”
Tran ignored the younger healer and watched another soldier walk over to join the group. “Is she stable? Will she survive?”
“I believe so. It’s a little iffy right now. So long as she doesn’t get an infection, I’m optimistic.” Tran went back to his tablet, listening to the blips and reading the numbers the filtered across the surface.
The newcomer straightened his back and deepened his voice as he addressed the Chargers. Bull was pegging him with each move he made. Insecure – fresh – first mission. Weak.
“I am Captain Rothstien. I am in charge of this unit. Part of my mission is to retrieve Major Praxis and return her home.” He paused before turning on Dorian. “Are you Dorian Pavus?”
The Tevinter’s eyes darted briefly, a horrible tell that the captain didn’t pick up on. Regardless, Dorian fessed up with a curt nod of his head.
“The other part of my mission is to find her kidnappers and bring them to justice.”
“This is absurd! When the amulet – ” The mage’s mouth slammed shut the second the captain pointed his weapon in Dorain’s face.
“You will have an opportunity to defend yourself at a later time. For now, my team will secure this site.” As the man spoke, the perimeter team turned inward and closed in. They were trapped.
Krem snarled at Dorian who only shook his head in resignation, “I strongly suggest we don’t fight this. I know what they are capable of.”
Gathering up his shield and sword, Krem stepped over a log and threw his weapons at the captain’s feet. He spat at the man’s feet. “What now big man?”
“You and your people are my captives until I can determine your intent.”
Bull sat by helpless as the foreign soldiers restrained each of the Chargers one by one. The soldiers had the system down to a science for swift efficiency. They worked in pairs, one stood guard while the other executed the required task. His guys were moved from station to station, first removing weapons, then removing armor, patting the clothing to find any small blades or tools, written notes were taken, personal trinkets were placed back in pockets. The final station was a group of five soldiers that helped the prisoners sit on the ground, separating them enough that they couldn’t touch, a lone soldier went around and removed everyone’s boots. In the freezing snow and with the sun setting, taking off without boots would seriously hinder any escape attempt.
Up to this point, the only words that came from the soldiers were commands. They didn’t even speak amongst themselves. The quiet made it easy for Bull to whistle at Dorian in the pack of prisoners.
“So ‘expert’ how are you going to talk your way out of this?”
Captain Rothstien rose his voice to talk over anything Dorian had thought to say. “Dorian Pavus is under arrest and while he is in my custody, no one will talk to him until we get this story straightened out.” Nodding his head at a tall lean man who had dark eyes that seemed to be bottomless. He carried a certain air about him and without saying a word, the man put Bull on edge.
Rothstien gave his instructions, “Doc, need you to find out where Cullen Pavus is. Who’s in charge here? Him?”
The man named ‘Doc’ followed the captain’s hand gesture to Krem. “No. Not that one.” Doc paced the group, then doubled back to stare at Bull. Bull knew he gave nothing away, knew how to perfectly school his expression and yet, the man passed him a knowing smile. His white teeth shone brilliantly in contrast to his dark skin.
I wonder if everyone over there just buys perfectly straight teeth. It’s impossible each person is born with them.
The stray thought echoed in his mind as Doc left him alone to return to the captain’s side. “The organization here is…different. This is not a normal faction that we are facing, but to answer your original question – it’s him.”
Doc pointed directly at Mahanon who reacted with a sharp inhale and wide eyes. This complicated things significantly.
Varric gave a short laugh and aptly summed up the whole situation, “Well, shit.”