Hello! This is my first time writing a DA fanfic, and while this is a one shot, it is a part of a much larger story that is currently being worked on. When that time comes, the main story will be under Rileyjuline. For now, this is my practice regarding Cole, so I hope I did a fair job in nailing down his speech. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! I only own what I own-which is Solona.
The soft cackling and flicker of light heated the wooden tavern. The fireplace seemed to resonate with mirth, its warm air wrapping the occupants into a lulling stupor-whose drowsy effect was only seconded by ale and mead.
In the far corner, Bull and his Chargers were choralling in victory. Another job had been accomplished, and as such, the tavern of Skyhold would have its very walls shaken to the core from the group's sweltering pride. A rowdy bunch, Bull's Chargers.
Sitting just beside a window, the howls of glory had almost drowned out the softly plucked strings of the bard's lute that had barely managed to reach Solona's ears. The young woman was hunched over her current table, writing utensil in hand, which was furiously maneuvering about the page, turning white various shades of black and grey. Many times she had needed to pause to dip the tip into a bottle of ink before continuing on once more.
Her object of such passion was simple, and natural, for several minutes a seed eater had come to roost upon the window sill, possibly seeking the warmth the fire emitted against the northern winds. The finch was small, black beak short and stubby, body stout and feathers ruffling to fight against the cold. Even the rays of the sun seemed to give the feathered creature no release, for its soft chirps of discomfort could be heard through the solid glass.
Solona had merely watched the creature, black eyes large and shimmering with light from the reflecting rays. It reminded her of the eyes of a Pride Demon-the eyes of such that she had known well. Far too well. But this docile creature was not a demon, no. It was her friend. A friend that was suffering, and seemed far too fragile to survive in the Frostbacks.
Yet despite the chill within the seed eater's body, the bird was alert, for a swift movement of hand from the young mage had frightened it off.
"Oh!" Solona had gasped softly, watching the bird fly off as she had allowed her cramping hand to rest, setting her tools down. At this point, it appeared as if the drawing would remain unfinished. Sighing, the mage slumped within her seat, so focused upon her cramping hand that she had failed to notice a presence from behind her person.
"The spirits like it when you put ink to paper." Solona had visibly jumped, swiveling around to face the voice as she had clutched her drawing to her chest, protective and wary despite recognizing the strange boy, "You make the images bleed onto the page from behind your eyes, filling every pore with grey. Not too black, not too white, but greying. The whispers that shape your dreams-your hopes, your fears, your pains-they like that, like being colored, molded and shaped from pen to sheet. You make them real. You give each shade and shape meaning, a fuller feeling, a greying grey that grasps at the ground to be real-realer. You make the spirits real by bringing to life the pictures behind your eyes. They are no longer looking at a picture of a picture of themselves, but rather them, without the picture of the picture, real. They want to thank you."
His voice was soft and enveloping, as the mist shrouding the mountains in which Skyhold resided. Solona had looked upon the young man, shaking her head, oceanic eyes white and black hair strangled, "Oh, Cole...Please, don't tell Cassandra! She will yell at me for wasting the ink and paper!"
The young mage had continued to fumble over what to say next, pink tongue licking a chapped lower lip, "Don't...Don't scare me like that. Please."
"I'm sorry. I won't scare you." The blonde spoke, head cocking slightly, "I won't tell Cassandra, either. She likes reading about the people Varric brings to life. You and Varric are similar."
"No we are not." The girl mumbled, still clutching her drawing to her chest, as if it were her child, "Varric is good at telling stories and talking to people. I could never tell stories."
"You both tell stories. Varric writes and talks, but he makes his stories real. You put ink on paper, and you make each line, each shade, each shape, real. Like...when you start out, you have a wound that seeped from your mind to your hand to the paper. That wound becomes a scar. So your shades, shapes and ideas are merely scars upon scars upon scars. You are helping the spirits heal, mend and soothe, bleed and scab from the ink. You help them tell their story." Cole replied, head bobbing in a rhythmic pattern as he spoke, eyes almost impossible to see through platinum strands.
"Why do I feel like you are talking about something else?" Solona questioned, frowning as her arms briefly fell lax as her eyes gazed upon her unfinished piece, scarred wrist hidden save to her.
"I am not. A dagger may be a way to let out pain, but it is still a dagger. Old whispers flow through your blood and taint the blade, taint your skin, taint the Fade red...but you are not like Erimond. You help people. You do good with what others fear." The young man with the odd hat spoke, tone gentle yet firm, trying.
The slightest upward tug to the corners of the woman's mouth birthed a soft smile, "It is good to hear that. Thank you, Cole."
"Yes." Compassion nodded briefly-once-fingers now twiddling and interlocking with one another foolishly, "I like your drawing. It is...pretty, striking, hopeful yet sad. It is very bright. I like the colors."
"Thank you, I..."Solona's smile remained upon hearing the boy speak in a slow drawl, though her lips had creased into a piercing lapse of emotion, brow furrowing in confusion as her eyes fell to her drawing before shooting towards the young man. Her blue orbs had repeated the cycle twice, resting upon the oddly dressed youth for a final time, "But...But you didn't see it?"
"I did. Yes. Each line speaks a story of its own. Together, they are your story, something you own as yours." Cole spoke, calloused fingers still intertwining with one another almost clumsily so.
A faint smile had once more graced the woman's features, Solona plucking up the courage to lay her work upon the table for all to see. Slender fingers had wrapped around the pen, the metal point once more being dipped within the black liquid as the apostate began to work once more-if gingerly and cautious.
"How do you know where to put the ink?" The young man questioned, watching almost intently, curious through blonde strands.
"I...don't know. I just try to draw in the right place. But if I don't draw right, the drawing will look wrong." Solona replied, pausing from her touching up as she looked upon the rogue, "...Do you sit? If you want, you can sit down. I could never stand for as long as you do."
After several seconds of silence, stillness, Cole has slowly moved and sat across from her, still curiously looking upon her drawing. Or passed it, "But...how would it look wrong? It is real, so how can it be wrong?"
"If I draw little sparks of lighting around the birdie, or put horns on it...or, or gave it little nug ears...it wouldn't look right. Do you see little nugs breathing dragon fire and having griffin wings and flying in the clouds when outside?" Solona asked, awaiting a response as the bard's tunes began to switch to a more softer, gentle melody.
"Yes. They are in your head, so they are right, real. There's nothing wrong about them looking right." Cole nodded, Solona pausing, trying to think on how to explain.
"But what's in my head isn't right. It's just funny pictures. A nug looks just like a nug. Do you see the same kind of nugs inside my head as you do outside?"
"But...a nug is a nug. The nugs in your head are still nugs, they are still real, just as real as the ones on the outside of your head."
"But the nugs on the outside of my head are real and make little squeally noises. Well...more real? The ones in my head are chubby, dressed as mages and...and don't squeal." Solona spoke, head beginning to hurt from their confusing conversation. Firmly she had rubbed her temples, looking upon him to see what else he would prattle on about.
"The nugs in your head would be more real if you put them on paper. I think they would like that." Cole spoke simply, the mage smiling slowly at his comment.
"I think they would too. But not today. I will have to finish this one first." Solona paused to look upon the drawing, eyes shining as an idea formed, "Would you like to draw?"
"Draw? I don't know. I never tried to draw. Is it hard?" The blonde questioned, head cocked in curiosity, the young girl laughing.
"No, it isn't hard. Fighting with a dagger is harder, I think." Solona smiled, dimples forming as she flipped her drawing over, blank slate facing up.
"Fighting with a dagger is simple. I just put the blade where it needs to be." Cole stated, looking as the mage pushed the ink canister towards him, the black liquid sloshing in the glass.
The girl had grinned, canines showing, "Not for me. I'm too clumsy with a blade. I was twiddling with a stick the other day and accidentally cut myself. I disrespected the knife." Solona laughed at herself, putting the feathered pen in his hand, his being larger than hers.
"...What do I draw?" The young man asked, eyes displaying confusion as he glanced toward the writing utensil in his hand, then to the blank paper just in front of him.
"Whatever comes to mind. Or what you see." The apostate smiled, watching curiously as she brushed some stray strands behind her shoulder, Cole making no move.
"...How do I know where to start?" Cole questioned, hand poised yet still, Solona laughing gently.
"Try to think of it as a dagger...but as a pen for drawing. The pen goes where it needs to go? But the pen tells a story instead with the ink?" Solona tried to reason, though was unsure if she was helping, "...Here...let's start by drawing something simple. Did you ever draw a bird with your hand?...Wait, nevermind. That was a dumb question."
"A...bird with my hand?" The boy was confused, the apostate gently taking the pen from his hold and planting her smaller hand upon the paper, tracing around her palm and in between her fingers, only pausing to revive the ink. Once finished, the young woman had made several additions to the make the hand appear more like a bird.
"Tada!" She grinned widely, spinning the paper towards him to show her childish masterpiece, "Now you can try!"
"Alright. I will try." Cole nodded briefly, Solona once more placing the pen within his hand, smiling, "Just trace your hand. It will be fun!"
The woman had watched eagerly, curiously as Cole had placed his hand upon the paper, following her example, the odd sensation of cold liquid and gentle metal on flesh causing him to squirm a bit.
"There you go!" Solona smiled, grin forming wide as the youth finished after some time, lifting his hand away. He had then attempted to add features such as the childish beak and feet, which had made the mage to laugh. Slowly, in the faintest of expressions, he had smiled too.
"It looks funny." The dark haired girl stifled a laugh, finding the odd proportions amusing.
"It looks real." Cole replied, setting the pen down gently, as if fearful of breaking the writing utensil before looking upon his hand, which was rimmed with black, "...There are stories on my skin...so many stories."
"Don't worry, Cole. There is ink on my hand, too." She had showed him, displaying the patterns of black upon her marked hand, "I'm glad you drew. It was fun."
"Thank you. I never tried drawing before. Thank you for helping me. But it should be the other way around..." Cole spoke, tone grateful, though waning.
"You are welcome." She grinned, blue eyes bright as a flicker of movement caught her attention towards the window, the seed eater having returned.
"Oh." Solona gasped, reaching and flipping over her paper as she continued to work upon the drawing, being careful to capture the details of the chirping creature, "Do you think the drawing looks like it, Cole?"
"Like what, Solona?" The man questioned, eyes curiously falling upon her drawing.
"The bird. Does my drawing look like the bird?" She prodded, hand cautiously at work, slowing as the project became finished, yet the blonde had remained quiet.
"I don't see a bird, Solona." Cole replied after several seconds of silence, the mage frowning at his answer.
"You don't?"
"No. I see the spirits saying 'Thank you'." The boy stated, the answer causing a small smile to grace the mage's features, "Thank you."