Well, it's been a while since I've written anything, so I'm sorry if this is pretty rough. But it's a little plot that's been bouncing around in my head since I finished Inquisition.

Keep in mind I wrote this while dead tired and have some more editing to do, and there may be more changes as I write further chapters. Hell, I don't even know how long this will end up being. But just know that more will come, and more of this will make sense.

Regardless, I'd like your thoughts! I'm always looking to improve and I want to know if anyone would enjoy seeing more. Feedback is awesome. :)

~Spoon

Somewhere in between the hours of the frigid night and the long rise of the afternoon sun, fewer and fewer souls remained in the small office. Where once the space had contained Cullen's carefully laid maps and books and charts, it had now become a disheveled shelter for those held prisoner in their lack of direction. Papers were scattered across the desks and floors, trays of barely-picked foods laying forgotten. The only thing more unsettling than the persistent silence was its presence in such charged air.

The first to leave the haphazard planning team in the hours after their return was Josephine, unable to let herself idle in quiet grief, sputtering quietly that she had various correspondences to attend to; the last being Cassandra, noting in an unsteady voice that Bull would no doubt destroy the barracks if left unattended in his state. Hurried soldiers and stewards and other manner of visitors bustled in and out throughout the days and nights throughout, carrying weightless news or warm plates of food.

Those who remained did so with wordless resolve.

Leliana's quill was the most consistent source of movement, her scouts continuing to send word as the search grew on. Every few minutes she sighed as she signed and sent another note. And still their efforts had been fruitless.

Dorian, his wit long since dried and gone with his voice, stood silently at the port that overlooked the main gate, his eyes vaguely searching for something far beyond the mountains. His fingers played slightly with the cask he'd sent to be filled hours ago; it had never once lifted to his lips.

Vivienne remained in the corner, her posture having yet to falter despite the long hours and days they'd spent in waiting. Her lips pursed, fingers curled stiffly around themselves. It wasn't clear whether she remained for hope of news or her own determination.

Cullen, who had yet to sleep over the course of their days in this confinement, sighed in exasperation over his multitude of maps. Most of their faces had been marked with red, each ink stroke another line of failure. He tiredly ran his hands across his face and up through his disheveled hair, starting slightly as his eyes had pulled closed for a moment.

He dragged his view to the corner of his desk. Her shoulder piece had yet to be moved from where it had been set when first brought to Skyhold. The smooth, crystalline scales had been dislocated and burned, the cloth beneath torn into ragged strips. No one had dared touch it. It felt wrong. It would only find peace with its original owner.

Cullen knew just what she would say.

"You're being ridiculous," she would sigh with a smirk. "That armor was heavy as a damn nuggalope, anyway."

The former templar turned his head sharply to the side as his stomach turned, twisting away from the view of the armor piece.

The movement was not lost on their spy, her quill stilling mid-sentence. "Cullen—"

"Don't," Cullen rumbled. The silence returned for a long few moments before he sighed, eyes closing as his fingers pressed against his temples. "She has to be somewhere. It's been five days. Five damn days."

"We've got more and more people on the search by the day," Leliana offered curtly. "Varric's report from the coast is due any hour, and Blackwall —"

"Then get more men out there! The soldiers we tended to could be out looking by now, we could—"

"It wasn't your fault," a quiet voice offered from the corner, making the room's inhabitants jump slightly. Cole had curled himself into a ball on one of the end tables, his eyes down turned. Even his eyes, already so naturally dark, wore heavy bags beneath them. He'd been spotted in multiple places across the hold since their return, tending to as many of the broken hearts as he could. "Her last thought was that she was happy that you would be safe."

From the window, Dorian turned and froze. "Her last thought? But—"

Cullen stiffened, his legs feeling suddenly cold. "Cole, do not—"

Cole's face turned to sadness, one strangely his own. "Tired, aching, fire in her skin. It's over, Corypheus is dead, it's done," the boy started, before clenching his eyes shut. "Her hand reaches to the sky, the heavens grabbing her, tearing at her. Maker, it hurts!"

"Cole, stop," Cullen snarled, horror shaking his frame, standing and taking a step forward. Leliana dropped her papers, taking a ready step forward.

"The fire spreads, it takes her shoulder. I'm going to die. I'm dying. Maker help me… I should have told him. I hope he knows. Warm smell of pine, my fingers through his gold hair. He's safe. That's all that matters, that's all that—"

"Cole, stop!" Cullen finally roared, grabbing the nearest item he could - a heavy iron candle stand - and throwing it to the floor with as much force as he could muster. The thundering crash left silence in its wake. Cullen breathed heavily, his face twisted, his shoulders slumped. Leliana remained stone-faced with her arms ready to strike the commander if necessary; the rest of the room remained still in shock.

Cole sucked in a quick breath, shaking. "Gone."