AUTHOR'S NOTE: YUP ANOTHER NEW FIC! For those of you who are following my Homestuck fic, "Home is Where your Love is" I apologize for the extended wait. I've been dealing with school, writing my novel, as well as trying to curb my Dragon Age addiction and the fanfic ideas that it spawns XD

This was an idea I came up with out of the blue. It uses my Dalish mage Inquisitor, Nimwen.

I do not own Dragon Age, it belongs to Bioware.

Anywho, on with the story!

Night One: First Signs

"Come now Solas don't be so stubborn!"

The elven apostate eyed the cup in his hand with mild distaste. A light steam wafted from the green liquid inside, carrying the herbal scent to his nose. He had been sitting at his desk in the centre of his rotunda, reading a passage from a scroll he recovered during a trip to the Storm Coast, when the Inquisitor came bounding in, and he suddenly found himself with a cup in his hand being served tea from what looked like a cooking pot. Nimwen plopped herself in the chair next to his (a new addition he brought in when the two had begun spending nights together pouring over old tomes and discussing magical theories) and demanded like an excited child that he try the drink.

"You are aware of my dislike for tea, lethallan," he said, trying not to offend her.

"But you haven't tried this tea! It's an old Dalish recipe the Keeper used to make all the time. I even got the herbs from the Dales."

"Tea meddles with my sleep," Solas explained.

Nimwen rolled her eyes.

"Surely you can spend one night without talking with spirits?"

Solas was about to once again politely decline once more, but made the mistake of looking up at the Inquisitor. Despite being a calm and wise woman more mature than her age would suspect, Nimwen could still be childish when it suited her. She pouted, yes pouted, at her fellow mage, giving him a puppy-dog stare that was only intensified by her large elven eyes. Solas knew that he was already trapped, but when his beloved went so far as to let out a "Pleeeeeeease?" that would melt the heart of a Pride Demon, the elf had no choice but to admit defeat.

"Very well," he sighed with the hint of a smile.

Nimwen grinned, leaning over to give him a peck on the cheek, and then poured herself a cup. They toasted their beverages and the Inquisitor forced herself to control her excitement as she watched Solas tentatively take a sip of the tea. The bald man blew on the cup before bringing it to his lips.

The proud smile that had adorned her lips twisted into an offended scowl when Solas immediately spat the liquid out.

"Solas! You are so rude!" Nimwen gasped, her cheeks reddening with anger. How dare Solas do such a thing, after she spent all that time brewing the drink, hoping she and her lover could enjoy something from her people. As if to prove his point, Solas began coughing, pounding on his chest, much to Nimwen's further irritation.

"I get it, you hate it. I won't make you drink it again, alright?" she snapped, pouring the rest of her tea back into the pot.

Solas did not stop coughing, and her anger faded to confusion when he clutched at his chest.

"Solas?"

He did not answer her, and she grew worried.

"Solas what's wrong?"

Her eyes widened when he attempted to stand, but ended up slipping from his chair to the ground.

"Solas?!" she rushed to his side and grabbed his shoulders. He looked up at her with wide eyes, those of a mad animal, as the colour began draining from his face. He still clawed at his chest and throat, croaking out choked noises where words should have been.

"Solas what's wrong?!"

Horrified, she watched as he began to cough up blood, his coughs dissolving into wheezes.

"Solas!"

Holding her lover close, the scared leader of the Inquisitor did the only thing she knew to do.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!"

"No way!"

"One hundred percent true, my dear."

"And she actually told you this herself?"

"Straight from the horse's mouth, as it were."

Josephine and Vivienne erupted into giggles, the Antivan continuing to look at the court enchantress with awed disbelief.

"I had no knowledge of the duke and duchess being so...unconventional," admitted Josephine.

Vivienne shrugged, taking a sip of her wine.

"Strong drink and a failing marriage will loosen up anyone's tongue, dear."

"But truthfully, a whip?"

Vivienne's plump lips smirked around the rim of her wine glass.

"And apparently a stick of butter is involved as well."

The two women giggled again, clinking their glasses together. From the start the two women had come to be good friends, both sharing a fondness for finery and good court gossip that went over most of the others in the Inquisition, and enjoyed the company of somebody who could remind them of their lives before the chaos that brought them here. They sat in Josephine's office, during one of the few times the Ambassador allowed herself a break, sharing a bottle of an Orleasian wine Vivienne brought in hopes of getting the diplomat to unwind.

As Josephine refilled her drink, deciding to treat herself with a second glass, she suddenly remembered a story she had been meaning to tell the mage.

"Oh Vivienne, did I ever tell you about the time when Lord Oswald was in Antivan and he-"

Josephine jumped at the sound of glass breaking. Her eyes found the shattered remains of Vivienne's glass scattered across the carpet, as well as the large red stain now on the woman's pant leg. The Antivan expected Vivienne to start going off at one of her finest outfits being ruined by wine, but the black woman's was silent, frozen in a look of surprise.

"Lady Vivienne-?" Josephine gasped when the enchantress began to convulse, strangled coughs erupting from her lips.

"Vivienne?!" Josephine jumped from her chair and she tried catching the other woman before she slipped to the ground.

"Guards!" the Ambassador yelled. She ripped open the clasps holding together the high collar of Vivienne's outfit, hoping that would help her breathe. It did nothing, and Josephine watched as the mage's dark skin grew ashen, and ribbons of ruby began falling from her mouth. Her chest heaved with laboured breaths and she gripped Josephine's hand so hard the Antivan was sure it was going to break.

"Maker's breath!" she cried when Vivienne continued to cough up blood. The mage's face was filled with panic that looked so foreign on the usually confident woman. The guards came bursting into the room.

Josephine looked up at them with fear and tears in her eyes.

"Send for a healer!" the Ambassador cried.

Iron Bull felt pleased with himself. He'd finally convinced Dorian to spend the night with him in the Qunari's quarters instead of the mage's. Dorian insisted that somebody of his status did not sleep on the scratchy-cotton-and-worn-out-spring-filled disaster that was Iron Bull's bed, but after an...extensive session between the sheets, the Tevinter lacked the energy to make the walk back to his own quarters and bed, and conceded to spending the night in Bull's room. The Qunari did not try to hide his smug amusement at seeing the Tevinter complain about Bull's cheap sheets and only one pillow, to which Dorian responded with a slap on the shoulder that felt like a mosquito bite to the larger man. Bull lay half asleep on his back, as that was the only way he could sleep due to his horns, with Dorian curled at his side. The mage's head rested on Bull's chest and his arm was slung over the Qunari's large torso. Iron Bull had one of his arms wrapped around his lover's waist, his large hand absentmindedly stroking up and down the Tevinter's side.

As much as he enjoyed sex with the man, Iron Bull found that nights like this, with the normally energized and fiery mage at peace against him, his moustache tickling the Qunari's skin and hearing the night-time mumbling that Dorian denied he did, brought him more satisfaction than their carnal activities. He shifted on the bed, pulling Dorian a bit closer as he did so. As he moved, he felt the Tevinter tense against him, and suddenly the heat of the human against him disappeared as he jumped up from the bed.

"What are you doing?" Iron Bull mumbled sleepily. He heard the sound of Dorian retching, and the Qunari groaned.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he growled, sitting up. He was not looking forward to the smell of vomit that was going to start any moment now.

"You didn't even have that much wine!"

His one eye looked at his lover and he became fully awake. Dorian was looking down at his fingers, spattered in the blood he had just coughed up, before slowly looking up at Bull with shock filled eyes.

"What the-" Bull didn't get to finish before Dorian tensed and began coughing violently.

"Dorian!" Bull ran to his lover's side as the coughs shook his entire frame.

"B-Bull-" the mage gripped the Qunari's bicep, the other hand latched around his throat in a vain attempt to stop the blood coming from his lips.

"C-can't...b-b-breathe…"

"Shit." Tevinter's olive skin grew paler and he began desperately trying to suck in air. Bull scooped up Dorian in his arms and made a sprint for the door. He cared not that he, as well as Dorian, were technically still nude. The spasming mage in his arms was the Bull's only concern as he ran to the front room of the tavern.

"So you see kid, that's the difference between Ferelden and Dwarven ales."

"I see." Cole still looked at the mug in his hands with the look of a quizzical puppy, much to Varric and Blackwall's amusement. The sounds of drunken merriment associated with Skyhold's tavern warmed the air as Blackwall, Varric, and Cole sat at their table, the two men spending the past five minutes trying to convince the spirit boy to try the alcoholic beverage. Cole took a drink, and the Warden and Dwarf erupted into laughter at the look of startled disgust on the boy's face.

"It's wet...but it burns," the blond said with surprise and dislike. Varric clapped the boy's shoulder.

"That's called alcohol, kid," said the dwarf.

"I don't like it," Cole said, glaring at the mug.

Blackwall guffawed.

"Nobody likes it," the bearded man said, taking a swig of his drink.

"If they don't like it, why drink it?" Cole asked, sincerely puzzled.

"They don't drink it for the taste," Varric smirked. "They drink it to get shit-faced."

"Burns in my throat, but feels warm in my gut, the pain in my heart is fading, but it isn't gone. Warms eyes, perfect lips smirking as she plays with my hair... 'nother drink, that's what I need. Drown this swill until I forget what she looks like…"

"Yeah kid, let's tone down the mind-reading thing okay?" Varric sighed, taking another drink and hoping the ale would dull the sting of Cole's quoting of one of his darker memories.

A shout caught people's attention, and all eyes turned when a naked Iron Bull came charging into the main room carrying an equally naked Dorian.

"Andraste's tits Bull, what the hell are you-?" Varric paused when the Qunari man looked up, and all the dwarf could see in Bull's eyes was pure fear.

"Someone get a healer!" he yelled desperately. The sight of a bloody Dorian had many people in a tizzy, including Blackwall and Varric. The Warden ran to Bull's side to help, Varric following. Somebody gasping behind him caught Varric's ear, and when he turned around he saw numerous people staring at Cole.

The spirit boy dabbed at the blood dripping from his lips, bringing his bloody finger to his confused eyes.

"I'm...bleeding." Cole was eerily calm as he showed Varric the blood on his finger as proof.

"Kid what's-" Varric's heart dropped when Cole's eyes widened and his knees gave out. Varric yelled out as the rogue crumpled to the floor, saved only by a tavern-goer who managed to catch the boy before he hit the wooden floor.

Varric ran to his side, dread increasing when blood started pooling from the blonde's lips at an increasing pace.

"Get a goddamned healer!" Varric snapped at nobody in particular. He removed the spirit's hat, pushing back his shaggy hair and forcing the boy to look at him.

"Kid, kid listen, can you hear me?"

Wild shallow blue eyes followed the sound of Varric's voice.

"V-v-var...v-varri…"

"It's alright, kid. I'm here," the dwarf tried his best to keep his calm front up, but he had a feeling Cole could already sense his distress. Cole's shallow breaths turned to full hyperventilation interrupted by wet horrid coughs that made Varric wince at their painful sounds.

"You need to relax, focus on me," Varric ordered. Cole's eyes darted to and fro with blind terror, as if hoping to find the antidote to his suffering. Tears pearled in the corners of his eyes and Varric felt his heart leaden.

"H-hurts," Cole whimpered.

"I-I know, kid. But don't worry, we'll fix it." Varric smiled hollowly, more for himself than Cole. In the background he could hear people yelling, scrambling around, and a sorrow-filled cry that couldn't have come from Iron Bull, could it?

Varric jumped at the frightened keening noise bubbling from Cole's throat. He started clawing at his neck, a sight even more terrifying given that the bottom half of his face was covered in blood.

"Kid stop it! Cole!" the dwarf grabbed the spirit's hands and tried wrenching them away from his neck.

"M-make...stop!" Cole sobbed pitifully.

"Where's the fucking healer?!" Varric screamed.

What little voice Cole had left dissolved into choked gurgles and wheezes. Cole spat up blood again and a spatter hit Varric on the cheek. The dwarf wanted to look away, but the desperate, agonized eyes of the spirit locked his gaze.

"H-h-help...me…"

"I can't," Varric whispered.

Vaguely Varric thought he heard Iron Bull screaming Dorian's name, but his attention was taken when Cole's eyes suddenly rolled back and the dwarf cried the boy's name when he went limp in his arms.

Chaos took the night with the sound of frantic voices and rushing bodies. From different corners of the keep, from different people, there was but one question that hung ominously over everyone's head like a noose.

What is going on?!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: DUNDUNDUUUUUUUUU!

Well ain't that a way to start a story. So what do you guys think? Should I continue this? I kinda want to :3

FAVS FOLLOWS AND REVIEWS ARE WELL APPRECIATED!