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An Easy Choice

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Between Bull's hand axe and Dorian's magic, it took a panicky three minutes to hack through the door. When it finally flew open, five Templars rushed at them.

Bull slammed into them headlong, scattering them like chessmen. "Kadan!" he yelled, seeking any sign of the fiery little elf. 

A monstrous shriek echoed from below, making his hair stand on end. The tower interior was too dark to see properly, except in the flashes of magic coming from Dorian's staff. He spotted a door and ran for it.

He almost went ass over tea kettle as he burst through the door. Only a split second of light revealed stairs that he clattered down noisily. 

It was even darker at the bottom of the stairs, and not even the magic above was enough to break it. Steps pounded his way, bringing with them the fetid stench of gore. 

Bull hefted the small axe, but a hulking form smashed into him before he could fully react, taking him to the floor with a crunch. Whatever it was screeched and pounded a fist into his face and slammed the back of his head into the ground hard enough to make sparkles fly in his vision. 

He could feel the thing rear back for another heavy hit, and shoved upward with all his might. It toppled and Bull followed the sound with a vicious swing of the axe. It found purchase, but the thing kept moving, coming back for another tackle. 

This time Bull was ready and caught the form, twisting sharply to take it to the ground first. It struggled, but two decisive chops later, he hit something vital enough to keep it down. 

He staggered to his feet. His vision had adjusted only slightly, leaving nothing but looming dark shapes.

"Kadan!"

The barest whisper of a whimper caught his ears. He moved toward it. "Come on, Kadan, tell me where you are."

His foot found her first, thankfully only nudging her thanks to his gliding shuffled step. He crouched and felt her prone form. Shallow, ragged breaths jerked her body, and the alarming scent of fresh blood filled the air.  Hers, judging by the slick coating his fingers as he skimmed over her. 

As gentle as he could, he tried to lift her into his arms. Flint gave a strangled sob, and writhed in what he could only assume was pain. Bull stopped his efforts and found her tiny hand instead. Her grip as she clung to him was a shadow of her normal strength. 

"Dorian!" His voice echoed through the space, adding another layer to the panic ringing through his entire body. 

It was probably seconds, but it felt like hours before a brilliant blue glow started flying down the stairs, blindingly bright.

Dorian, smartass supreme who always had something to say, said nothing as he rushed over and examined her. Then, whispering strange words, a soft glow began to spread across her head and chest. 

Bull's eye finally adjusted, revealing devastating damages to her torso and face, along with disturbing amounts of carnage scattered on the floor. He squinted and found the lifeless form of a creature so defiled by red lyrium that it was barely recognizable as a humanoid.

Dorian muttered a few curses, then gave him a sharp pat on the arm. "We need a proper healer, but she should be comfortable enough for you to carry her."

Bull lifted her as though she were glass, and moved to the stairs.  Varric arrived at the top holding a torch. 

"Five Templars in this whole place," he said, his voice acidic with disgust. 

Bull didn't care, not while Flint was struggling to breathe. "Let's go."

As they headed for the battered front door, a host of Inquisition soldiers met them, shouting and aiming arrows their way. 

"It's us, you idiots," snapped Dorian, flicking a hand dismissively when an arrow was loosed. A shimmering arcane shield flashed, snapping the arrow on impact. 

"What the everloving hell is going on here?" came Cullen's voice from the darkness. 

"Your big bust is a bust," said Varric. "Nothing here but a skeleton crew."

Bull charged forward. "I need a healer."

"Maker's breath. What have you done?"

Guilt crushed him. "Shut up and get me a healer!"