kicks D O WN UR FUCKN DOOR. Write a drabble about Bull's mind and what it goes through as he realizes the Herald is choosing to save the dreadknought and not his kiddos. >)
Mathematically it would make sense; thereâs 100 people on that ship and in return for letting a handful perish, they will get the full backing of the Qunari Armada. The Inquisition has been promised better reports, perhaps more man power. What The Iron Bull can provide is trivial in comparison.Â
50 men at most, Â including his six closest companions, the ones who are being served on a platter, ripe for slaughter. It had been such a purposeful decision to keep The Chargers under that number, it would have been easy to gain more mercenaries as they rose in prestige; but Krem had understood his reluctance, never pushed for more. The Qunari might try and use them as foot soldiers, to gain and expand their presence in Thedas before an invasion, that wouldnât matter now would it. All The Bull could claim to the Inquisitor was that they would have his loyalty, be he had already given his word that he would be a bodyguard, would see this through until the finish or until he was killed.
âTheyâre my menâ; it was all the plea he could give, that would fall on deaf ears as it were. Fingers twitch minutely, he thinks of grabbing the horn himself, of call-
Itâs dark there, so dark that when the door opens to let a re-educator inside, you begin to look forward to it. By that point time is meaningless, itâs been lost long ago, as the sense of self is slowly slipping away, molten metal to be pounded into whatever shape, whatever tool they deemed fit.
âYou did not have permission to act as you did Hissrad. Your decision cost many their lives.â The voice repeats it every time he comes back, reminds him that he can not make those decisions. He had gone out of line, everything needed to be done in the proper order, if they did not have order than they were no better than those Tal-Vashoth, no better than the dirty bas. A sweet voice would whisper to him about how The Qun can make those judgements for him, if he was committed to re-education as he had said.
Hand stops moving towards the horn on his belt, this decision is not his to carry out anymore; it is left to his superior. The rain continues to pelt them as wind whips, he can feel it seeping into his bones, into scars, making his body ache. âWe need to hold that hill at all costsâ He doesnât even recognize his voice when he relents, agrees to the decision made for him.
While it would be said in reports and whispers that Seheron had effectively broken Hissrad after eight years of service, running the island better than anyone had or could ever do after him; Seheron wasnât the final swing that broke the blade. It was the loss of his Kith, witnessing his closest friend run in, an arrow through the throat. Blood bubbling out of his mouth as Vasaad gasped, tried to speak and fell dead at his commanders feet, never to fight along side him again. Re-education molded him into something of use once more, an effective tool now named The Iron Bull. The Inquisitor tries to stop The Iron Bull from watching the carnage, acts like it is a gift of mercy that a benevolent God has bestowed upon him. Should he weep with gratitude, allow them to feel better; he will not give them the solace of believing he would not watch.
The bite is in his voice, a sneer almost visible as he bites back âYes, I do.â Gatt tries to offer a word of comfort, say that heâs sorry, that it wasnât easy- Hissrad wants to snap his neck. Better than anyone, Gatt should know how 'not easyâ it was for him; he was there on Seheron, he watched as Hissrad broke before his very eyes. Watched as he was no longer fit for service and turned himself in.
âDoesnât matter. The Qun demanded it.â His words may comfort them, but they mean nothing to him now. He turns his back after he knows theyâre dead, after any question of what he was has been clearly stamped out, the bodies on the hill are the proof.
The Iron Bull was just a charade.He meant nothing to anyone, but to the men he served with, who served under him, who laid down their lives for his inability to stand up. Hissrad is nothing more than a useful tool, one who must complete his job now, for he really is just playing the part of a Tal-Vashoth and thatâs all it will ever be, a farce.
