Chapter 9

When her fingers moved easily within his stretched hole, she knew it was time. She picked up the saartoh nehrappan and eased one end within her soaking pussy, then fitted the straps around her hips and thighs. She made a few adjustments, then oiled up the leather, making sure every inch was thickly coated. It was a strange sensation to stroke the make believe cock, though not unpleasant as each movement shifted the part inside her.

She tapped Bull on the hips. "Lift up a little higher, and keep your shoulders to the mattress, I don't want to hurt you," she waited until he made the necessary changes to his position, then continued, "Now push out as I push in." He gave a quick jerk of his head to show he understood. She placed the head of the leather cock against his hole and slowly entered him.

"Talk to me Bull, tell me what's going on in that handsome head of yours?"

His body was shaking so hard she thought he might shatter; for a brief instant she wondered if it was too much too soon, but she pushed that negative thought aside. The wound had been festering for a long time, it was well overdue for a lancing.

As she felt the muscle give way, she asked him again. "What was the final straw that made you get up that day and hand yourself over to the re-educators?" His breath caught in his throat.

"Ashaad."

She flicked through the ranks she knew, a Qunari scout or archer if she remembered correctly. She stayed still, not wanting to disrupt his thoughts. "We'd worked together for months now; two of only a handful to have lasted so long in Seheron without succumbing to Asaala-taar."

She knew that term easily enough; soul sickness, had heard stories about how it affected two soldiers for every one casualty. She spooned her body over his, pressing deep into him, one hand resting over his, the other wrapped around his chest.

"You're nearly there, Bull." He exhaled, a long painful drawn out breath.

"He came to me one morning, told me he didn't feel right, that he thought it was time to return back home, take another role in the Qun." Sweat rolled down his face, along his back, not the type you'd earn from a good fight, but a bone deep coldness that covered his skin.

"I need space, Adaar." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder than sat back on her heels. He nodded his thanks, then continued. "I told him he was doing fine, to give it another week and see how he felt after that."

His hands drew into tight fists as he struggled on. "I saw the dullness, the loss of spirit in his eyes, but I didn't care. I was already walking on shaky ground, if he'd left I didn't think I'd be able to go on. Ashaad was saying the words I wanted to say, but I was too stubborn. I thought if I could fight against it with every fibre of my being, then he could too. We would support each other as we always had."

She watched his profile as a multitude of emotions rose to the surface and worked themselves across his features, anger, pain, sorrow and guilt. He'd closed his one good eye, squeezed it tight to hide from the feelings, to hide from her. He didn't want to witness the revulsion that would cloud her face, couldn't bear to see the love leave her eyes, and yet, he needed to finish the story, tell someone of the dark secret he'd carried for so long, for too long.

"I stayed close to him that day as we fought the Vints, but I still wasn't fast enough. I saw him run towards a group of three Vints, bellowing his arrival, giving them plenty of time to prepare. I started running, but the fireball was already moving swiftly towards him. Then he turned a split second before the fire engulfed him, met my eyes and smiled. He looked so peaceful in that moment as he waited for his death. Then he screamed, his mouth gaping wide, as his body burst into flames, his hair shrivelling, his armour melting into his skin.

I could smell the stink of his burning flesh as I took down the Vints, smelt it for weeks afterwards. I don't remember killing them, I just swung my axe, all I could see was Ashaad's smile, all I could hear was his screaming."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat there listening to his torment. She couldn't let him suffer alone, his body vibrating with all the pent up emotions, his face pressed into the mattress with shame. She cocooned him with her arms and body and had to swallow several times before she could get her throat to work.

"Guilt is perhaps one of the hardest emotions to fight against, especially where the death of a friend is involved. If you try to feel better, to smile and laugh, you feel the weight of that person's death on your shoulders. A reminder that they aren't there to enjoy the moment with you, and the guilt starts all over again, pulling you down with it's greedy fingers, sucking all the light from your soul.

But at some point you have to realise that your friend wouldn't want that for you, wouldn't want to see you dragged through the pit of despair because of them. They would want you happy, enjoying the life that they were no longer able to."

Bull shook his head. "I killed him, I might as well have set him on fire myself."

"Your words may have swayed him, but the fact that he couldn't manage another day tells me he waited too long to bring the matter to someone's attention. Would you say he was a strong man?" Bull nodded. "One of the strongest."

"Then he could have said no, it may even be that he wanted to die on the battlefield. It's hard to say what thoughts run through the mind of a desperate person. What you need to remember is that you didn't take away his choice that day. He made a conscious decision to go out and fight as he made a conscious decision to die."

"You can't take responsibility for his actions, only your own. So yes, make atonement in whatever way you need to, for the words you spoke that day, but know that the decision to die was his, and his alone. Honour his memory by living your life to the fullest."

He didn't move, made no sound, and she knew that she was losing him, could feel him pulling further and further away from her.