A/N: Another Cole story, this time with Hawke. I just can't seem to stop writing him. Please R&R! Feedback of any and all kinds is appreciated.
The weight of the city is heavy enough. Stretching, suffocating, strong. How does the Inquisitor handle the world? Cole followed the Champion's pain to the battlements, slow steps strong, loud and lingering to make himself heard. Varric always said it was better if people could hear him. He tried to remember, but it was hard.
Hawke was hurting; muffled, muted, matted and tangled and old. She turned her head at his arrival, blue eyes like lyrium. Lightning, life, lyrium. Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him. People still eye me warily. Better if I stay out of the way. Her blood hummed, fire and light and healing. A gift tucked beneath her skin, making her curl and crackle and crinkle.
Cole sat on the edge of the battlements next to her, close to her arm pressed against the stone. Metal snaking down her arm radiated heat. Wind tossed a strand of hair loose as she sighed. The sound cried.
"I can help…" He peered at her beneath the brim of his hat, drumming his heels against the wall of Skyhold. The stone spoke a song without a melody, without a rhythm. He ignored it.
She chuckled softly, lyrium breaking away to stare at the stone. "I'm sure." Finger traced the grooves, following the path and the pattern. "I'm just thinking. Not much you can help with."
Her head was full, brimming with thoughts as her heart was brimming with feelings. Twirled, twisted, tangled. Fears and pain curled over one another, old mixing with new, running back into old again. Caring and compassion, curing the cruelty in the streets. Cole plucked at the knot, freeing a worry. "Tired. Maker, I'm tired. Could lay down and sleep for a week."
Lyrium snapped back to him, wide and worried. "You… oh. You're him." The worry wavered, though tension remained. A hollow smile cracked the corner of her lip.
He didn't know this him. She said no more, blinking slowly. He tipped his head. "I'm Cole. The weight is heavy, but it's better if you don't carry it alone. Remember the things that make it lighter."
She blinked, words sinking slowly into her soul. Her voice was sharp when she spoke again, soft. "I've heard a lot about you. Varric's letters were… detailed."
Detailed. Have to drag Hawke back into this mess. Shit. Another thing I'll kick myself for later. "Varric likes me. Kid, says the stone. A friend."
Hair swaying, she nodded. "Good to have friends."
"Bag of gold coins tinkles into Anders' hands, shaking silently. Eyes meet mine. 'Hawke, I…' No. No more forgiveness. 'Just… go. Okay? Go. I don't… I'm done.' Broken words. Sound of the door as he disappears. Silence. Different hands around my waist, pulling, murmuring. Tears into a strong shoulder." Cole tugged at the knot harder; it snagged, almost snapped. Hawke's eyes narrowed slightly, sharpened to daggers. Dangerous. Deadly. Drawn to hide the hurt.
Both of them were silent. Cole shifted against the wall, quiet, quick. "Good to have friends. Killing them doesn't help them. I know."
She looked at him, narrowed eyes widening again. "Being a martyr was what he wanted. And…" A head shake, hair coiled into windy knots. "He didn't deserve what he wanted."
"There can be no peace." But there can. Kill him, spare him, words whisper and warp. A friend, once. Can I kill a friend?" Hawke winced at the words, watery eyes started to fill. "You made a choice. Choices, choose, cold. Half of Thedas wants his head now. Should I have…? Could I have…?"
Lids fell to hide the lyrium. "You're really insightful, aren't you?" Smile, flickers, false, fake.
Cole raised his eyebrows, feeling them disappear behind his hair and his hat. "I'm making it worse." Varric had mentioned there were hurts words couldn't heal. Deeper hurts. He didn't understand.
Open eyes. An empty laugh, lacking life. "No, Cole, you're okay. There's just no cure for Anders." Betrayed, blind. She blamed herself.
"Not your fault, Hawke. Kirkwall has only that mage to blame." The words came from her, yet weren't hers. Attached, repeated, clinging. Cole knocked a heel against the wall again. Still hollow.
She had gone still. Hands together, pressing, pinching. "…Where did you get that from?" Voice soft, scared.
Cole wasn't sure what she meant. It was deep, connected to her heart. Her, and not. He pulled on his hat. "…You. And not you. Words belong to him, but you hold on to them. Clutching, close, comfort." He blinked, twice. "I'm bad at explaining. You miss him. Nothing is going to keep me from you. Except you left. That hurts too." Another knot, coiled around her heart.
Gentle, guilt, gone. "They need my help. Again. War, wondering, wavering. Should I go? I have to go. They need me. Apologies on paper, words ache. I'll come back. Don't follow me. Please." That hurt wouldn't go away, either. Hawke confused him.
She turned away. Arms rose to cross over her chest. "I should have told him, face to face. But he would have stopped me." Could have stayed. Could have been happy. Couldn't ignore the need. Couldn't risk losing him.
"He'll forgive you." Cole rose, standing on the edge of the battlements now, close to the sky. He reached a hand to brush the clouds. "He always does."
Hawke angled to see him again, neck tilted to let lyrium meet his eyes. "You can know that from here?" Words apprehensive, but face light. Hope.
He dropped from the wall, eye to eye with her. Hurt still crisscrossed her face, tired, timid, torn. Hidden as best she could. "He's loud. Touch makes the lyrium sing, contact with her magic. Her tears dry now, anger gone, asleep. Running again, new hunters. Doesn't matter. Nothing is worse than the thought of living without her."
Her eyes closed again, the edges of her lips flickered in a smile. Honest. She felt lighter, lessened. Still struggling under the weight, tight, trapped, but lighter. She was silent for a long time. Cole waited; he could be very patient.
At last, she spoke, face full, flying, freer. "…Thank you, Cole. You're incredibly good at this. Even if it is a bit... odd." Soft words. Lyrium found him again, bright and new, a raw vein recently discovered.
Thank you. Odd. Good. Words reached him, filled him with… something. A strange feeling, fluttery in his throat. Not angry. Not asking him to change. He was good.
"I wanted to help."