Chapter Text
Bull hadnt wanted to bring them into Par Vollen at all, but the job had brought them there and the money would be good. He had to take Dalish’s bow away from her, strap it to his own back, and he had to remind them all to keep their eyes down and mouths shut. They didn’t understand the Qun, they didn’t know how much the structure helped, and they would never turn viddathari and he didn’t want to force them to.
The city was a noisy, tamassarans trying to keep the younger qunari in line, the soldiers practicing, and the blacksmiths pounding on their metals. The job was done, for the most part, but he had a feeling there would be more to it. They wouldn’t want him to come back, especially not with the Chargers, just to pay him. They would send someone out for that.
Skinner’s hand went for Dalish’s but a glare from Bull made her stop. Love wasn’t a thing in the Qun. They didn’t want to draw more attention than they already were. People would ask questions and questions would turn to interrogations and interrogations could lead into conversion. He didn’t want to lose any of his boys to fall for that.
They were to meet with Arterad, to get paid, to turn in the loot, to get the next part of their job. Bull kept reminding himself of that, kept planning on it, didn’t let his mind wander to other places. This was Par Vollen, this was home. This was as things were supposed to be, but the people here felt wrong, felt bad, and he couldn’t shake that. This was all he had known for so long but now, now he thought that there was maybe more that they could strive for.
The screaming wasn’t so far off not to alert him and then he was thinking too much, not keeping himself on track. He moved before any of the others heard it, Krem calling out after him, but it didn’t matter. Someone was hurting.
The screaming grew louder as he charged towards it, sobs and agony cracking the voice that the sound came from. A prisoner of war perhaps, being tortured for information, or a criminal, being forced to repent. But there was a desperation, a plea for help, that he couldn’t ignore.
The tent was guarded, but loosely, and the large men surrounding it only nodded to Bull before he ducked inside. They all had their arms crossed. They were there to stop whoever was inside from escaping, not to prevent interlopers.
The screams were cut off short by the arvaarad, larger even then the Bull himself. His horns were long and they curved back around his white hair. His hands were so big that he could hardly fit one around the human’s neck, which he squeezed to cut off air supply. The human was broken, his back a mass of bloody wounds, his face broken and beaten in. For the moment though, he was quiet, the only sound coming from him a wet gurgling.
“What’s all this then?” Bull tried to keep his voice calm but every nerve was telling him to rush forward, to pull the human out of the arvaarad’s grip.
“Got ourselves a new bas saarebas.” The arvaarad explained, “Having a hard time breaking it though. Doesn’t like following orders.”
“Maybe your orders are too hard.” Bull knelt down in front of the mage. There was no fight left in him, no will to cast a spell against his torturer. There were no holes in his lips though, he hadn’t been bas saarebas for long. “Is he viddathari?”
The arvaarad released the mage’s throat, shifting his grip to his thick black hair. The mages sputtering and wheezed, swallowing down air as best he could through such a damaged face. “A mage? Viddathari? You’re joking, right?”
This was wrong. They couldn’t make bas saarebas out of those who weren’t part of the Qun. Bull kept his mouth shut though. Looked over the mage. He was thick, muscular, and the darkness of his skin showed him as being from Tevinter. A prisoner of war then, forced to join the Qun. Not unheard of.
“You hurt him too much, he could explode on you.” Bull reminded and the mage shook, tears cleaning away blood from his cheeks. He could hear voices behind him now, The Chargers, but none of his boys were coming in. He didn’t want them to see this. He couldn’t stop it.
The arvaarad gestured at the leather of the tent. They were tattooed with dark lines, sigils and wards to block the fade from entering. The mage couldn’t even cast a healing spell if he so much wanted to.
“Hissarad.” The arvaarad cocked his head. He knew him then. Bull hadn’t even spent enough focus on the torturer to recognize him. Seheron though, of course Seheron. Caasitan had been the arvaarad in another squad, but a squad that his traveled next to. “You’re little friends are waiting, you’re employer is waiting too. No need to watch what happens here.”
“Right.” Bull’s mouth was a tight line, his eyesight blurry. He remembered Caasitan, remembered how he’d treated his saarebas, how he’d made all those near him bend to his orders. He didn’t want to be there for this. “Nice catching up with you.”
He knew that he was shaking when he left the tent, made it back to The Chargers once more, in a way that he couldn’t hide. The screams picked up once more and his shaking hands turned into shaking fists. They were all looking up at him, waiting for his word, for an excuse to go in there and tear things up. All but Grimm, who’s eyes were locked on the tent’s opening, seeing the brutality inside.
He shook his head and marched away from the tent. They wouldn’t all be killed for the fate of one saarebas.