unmaker plot [october]

Bad dreams weren't new to the Iron Bull. He'd been having them since... he was a child, really. Anxious nightmares about being possessed by demons and the nameless fears of a child. During and after Seheron, those fears had gained names, had gained memories: fog warriors, Tal Vasoth, madness. Even after reeducation those memories haunted him, and more than once during his ten years in the south he'd woken up in a cold sweat, or worse. His room in Skyhold looked like a wreck for a reason, especially after he'd lost the Chargers.

Most people assumed it was because he was a barbarian Qunari, and that suited him fine. No one needed to know that the Iron Bull fought demons in his sleep when the memories were bad enough.

Usually a warm body next to him helped to keep the dreams at bay. He slept well with Dorian nestled against him, and despite the upset of arriving in Darrow and the occasional troubling thought, Bull had enjoyed relatively restful nights for the past year.

But the past month was like being in the middle of Seheron all over again. As soon as he drifted off, nightmares plagued him. For the most part he was quiet through them, or he woke and simply didn't go back to sleep. He was tired, but he could still do his job and he tried to wave off Dorian's growing concern. Just a rough patch. Maybe it was the time of year, maybe it was-- he didn't know. Some thoughts weren't worth humoring.

That night, though, they were bad. He could see the bodies of the children, ravaged by poison. He could see what remained of the Tal Vashoth, ravaged by him. The smell of the blood heavy in the too hot, too humid air of the island. And somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Corypheus laughing, promising him madness.

Something woke him. Bull moved without thinking, rolling sharply until his full weight bore down on the body that had touched him, hand around a delicate throat and squeezing.