Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing of Mass Effect or Dragon Age
Author's Note: I finished DA:I and was all set to write a piece about Lavellan and Cole, after the end. But, it looks like a bunch of other amazing authors have already done that very well! However, the more I thought of it... this seemed to be just as valid an end-cap. And, perhaps, now that I've written I can stop ranting quite so much about certain aspects of ME:3 ;) Written quickly - so I apologize ahead of time if it's not quite as focused as it should be.
In her dreams, she can never catch up.
The trees meld into the shadows around her, darkness and mist obscuring all sense of beginning or end, and the boy from the base runs, always, always just out of reach…
She can't save him.
She didn't save him.
And the voices of everyone else she didn't save echo and slowly dissolve her strength as she just….keeps….trying…
And failing.
It will all end in flames.
Again.
"You are a fierce protector, Siha but some things are out of even your control…" his voice, his ghost, trails along her ear and she shudders.
He's gone.
She knows that. Even in her deepest dreams, her most confused imaginings, she never forgets the fact that Thane is dead.
It's been burned into her. Stabbed through her like a blade, which everything else now pulls and rails and tugs against.
She will never forget.
"You should listen to him, though," like a drop of soap scattering oil, the voice that speaks so matter-of-factly cuts through the dense haze around her. She whirls, startled, to find herself no longer alone.
The young man, standing less than a couple of yards away, shifts his weight uncertainly under her fierce gaze. He is dressed in leathers (strange, leathers, too. Like a costume) and a rather ridiculous hat obscures most of his face.
"I like this hat," he says, and in the shadows she senses him blinking, "I found it on the side of the road on a man who used to raise mabaris. They loved him, even when he sold them from their mothers."
"Who are you?" Commander Shepard demands. "What are you doing here?"
Where is here?
"I'm Cole," the young man says and then he gestures, "I heard you. I was sleeping. No, wait. I don't. Not really. But I was listening for Lavellan and I heard you. You were lost, are lost, here in the woods. But it isn't real, you know."
"I'm not lost," she corrects. "I'm trying to find…"
The boy. Where is the boy? She needs to hurry. She can't fail him again.
She looks away from Cole, thoughts jerked away from his intruding presence and set back on the rails of her dreaming.
"He's not real either," Cole points out, "He's dead."
She knows this. She doesn't want to know it, but she knows. "I should have saved him."
"Sometimes you can't save them. Little boys run. They do things. They make mistakes and die and sometimes they do everything right and they die. People move and flock and flare and you try to gather them up. You try to help them when you can. And that's good. But, sometimes you are helpless. Sometimes you can't." He pauses, "It's … hard."
There's regret in his tone and it speaks to her, tugs at her. She looks back at him and catches sight of guileless blue eyes, earnest and filled with pain.
"…there's no one else," she says finally, quietly. "I have to try."
"I know."
And she believes that he does. Somehow, she believes that he understands.
That coaxes the words, the sentiments she hates herself for having, from her lips, "I….just…. I'm not sure I… care anymore," the admission makes her close her eyes, "whether I succeed or not."
"You miss him."
"Yes."
"It's a hole. A pit that you didn't have until you met him and he saw you. You have friends. But they need you, now. And you think there's no one left you can need. So you fall, and you pretend to care because you do care and it's who you are. Like her."
Her lips twitch upwards and she looks at him again, "Sounds incredibly whiny when you put it that way, kid."
A smile suddenly appears on his face, "Varric calls me that, too. Does that mean that we're friends?"
So young.
"Sure," she says, "We're friends."
"Then you aren't alone, are you?" he says simply. Then he hesitates, "Though, maybe you are like Lavellan and it's the little room at the top in the corner that's his that wants for furniture and fillings. And my hat won't fit, can't help, just like hands with three fingers won't," His own fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, "They would though. I think. They want to. You just don't realize it."
She shakes her head, "I can't ask him for that. I can't ask any of them for it. They need me to be strong."
"No. They just need you. Not strong isn't bad. Not sometimes." Cole steps forward, "They worry but don't know how to help. And friends aren't alone. " Each word is emphasized firmly, and he stops, standing right in front of her.
Then, grave and deliberate, he steps in and hugs her.
He hugs her.
The act itself is startling enough, but it's even more startling how the simple gesture shakes her, strips her hurt bare for viewing, even as it starts to sooth it.
She swallows and raises her own arms to return the embrace. Hands rest awkwardly on the young man's back and she gingerly pats.
"Not him. Not even your other self. But you called me kid and you like me, so it's okay."
Apparently hugs were not something lightly given. And she'd seemed needy enough to require one, anyway. Never one to take advantage, Shepard loosens her hold, lips quirking in slanted humor.
The young man catches his breath at the motion and then quickly squeezes harder, apparently unwilling to let her go.
"…. I miss Solas, too," he confesses wistfully.
The woods are still dark and she can still feel the prickle of distant flames on her skin. The ache of grief remains, as does the circling terror of failing...
However….
"….friends aren't alone," Shepard reminds the young man quietly.
Comfort given and received.
And when Shepard wakes up some endless time later…
…when she fastens on her armor, bracing to face a crew dancing on the precipices of despair courtesy of the daily death counts coming through the holonet….
…She remembers.