Author's Note: Part literary experiment and part random writing project, this has been sitting in the back of my writing folder since I finished The Knot. I really enjoy writing Cole, so I figured I would try a scene that was solely dialogue flowing back and forth between him and Leliana. Enjoy.
"What about Varric?"
"He wages a war within, trying not to turn into what turned him away in the tunnels. Thoughts of the Deep Roads are dangerous, dragging him into a darkness that he desperately tries to deny. Bartrand was a bastard, but not everyone has a betrayer for a brother.
"Instead, the pen flows onto parchment, putting peace into a place it isn't permanent. They call him a liar, call him a cheat, a rogue, but he spins stories that secretly sing truth. They're all true, in their own way. Try not to terrorize him, Sister. He's seen so much, it's… hard for him to tell the truth to one he fears to follow. Hard to hear the tales beyond Hightown."
"He's afraid of me?"
"Afraid of what you represent. Terror. Torment. Contention. Feet sink into the muck, rain falling all around. Bianca kicks in my arms, and a Templar falls. "You minx! That was beautiful!" Just words. Like stories that you never see until they've already been sold. His heart is hardened by hate, Sister. By her."
"By her, I assume you are referring to Hawke."
"No, no, no. Hawke is different. Hawke is healing. Hawke is home. But the blind beauty, the beat behind the heart of the bow… Bianca."
"His crossbow is named after someone he knows?"
"Yes, but… he won't let me see that. It's buried beneath all the blame, down deep where I can't delve. Sworn to secrecy, sworn to never tell what really happened that night beneath the Paragon's statue…"
"Right… shall we move on?"
"Please."
"You claim you knew Justice during your time spent in the Fade. Does this mean you had a chance to observe Anders as well?"
"Anders… I saw him on occasion, though he did not see me. He was… distracted. Driven by a destiny that was not fully his own, but instead forced on him by a face he figured to be a friend. Justice betrayed more than just Hawke that terrible night in Kirkwall."
"Explain."
"Anders was passionate and powerful and pained by the plight of the imprisoned mages. Those feelings were real, Sister. But he was also gentle and good. He liked cats, not killing. He just wanted to help. But Justice was different. He was rage and retribution and raw red wrath. Not always, but at the end it was evident he was not as he should be. A demon."
"Hawke herself claimed along similar lines. She believed Justice had been corrupted into a spirit of Vengeance."
"Vengeance borne in blood, brought to bear against the brutality of those who believed mages should be bound. We should be free. We should be able to choose the path we walk, not have it forced upon us. A life in a cage is not a life worth living. Anders believed this too, Sister. But the healer never wanted to harm the harmless. The flames that consumed Kirkwall were fed by his hand, not by his heart."
"Yet he was the one that created the bomb that destroyed the Chantry, Cole. His actions, his hands ensured that hundreds of people died."
"Justice had corrupted that too, planting little poisonous pockets of pain in him. Withering him away from within. At the end, there was nothing left of the man who used to make balms for the children's sore feet in the Darktown alleys. The man who helped the hurting, who tried to heal the hatred. There was only a spirit, so soiled with evil and fear that he destroyed another innocent man, a friend, amid so many more. Make no mistake, Sister; Hawke's blade spilled Anders' blood, but it was not what brought the killing blow.
"Oh? You're saying Justice killed him?"
"The body was blamed even as the being within was burned and broken. Anders was a shell, so twisted and soured by Justice's judgements that he became something he would never have sought himself. He knew so before the end, when Justice's betrayal was brought to life. Do it, Marian. I won't apologize. I know I face death for this, but it had to be done."
"Cole? Are you all right?"
"He loved her, even though he always knew she would never be his. That was why it had to be her who hurt him while he held his head high. Do you understand? It had to be her blade that pierced his heart, even if it broke hers."
"And what of the Champion herself? What do you know of her?"
"Too much. She is open, like the pages of a well-worn book, but open only to the most important parts. Death, destruction, disfigurement… Her mind, it catches on these things. She won't let them whither, holds them hard against her heart. She is twisted by her hate, Sister. Her humor has been hardened into something she doesn't want to see."
"Yes… it is unfortunate. Hawke was a valuable ally once."
"She remembers. Fondly, but with… regret? No, no. Wistfulness. Wishing, wanting, waiting for things to go back to the way they were before. Back when it was just mages and Templars and a merry band of misfits trying to put the world back together.
"It hurts, Sister. It hurts so much and in so many different ways. But she can't heal the hurt, can't move past it because there will always be people who pursue her. She has been hunted all her life. It may hurt, but the hurt is familiar now."
"Can you tell us where she is?"
"No. No, she is long gone now. She wants to come back, but she knows she can't. She knows what the Templars will do to her."
"Hawke never seemed to have an open hostility toward Templars before."
"That's because they weren't hurting her or her friends. But she knew what they were capable of. Chaos, corruption, and cruelty. She was just a girl when she was maimed. Other children point and laugh across the yard. Eew. What's wrong with her face? She looks like a darkspawn!"
"Ah… you refer to her facial scarring. She mentioned a Templar wounded her when she was only a child."
"Hearing mother's voice. Arguing with Father. She'll never be beautiful now! She's going to be cursed with that scar and it's all your fault! These words haunt her for years afterward, sticking in her like the scar on her skin.
"And later, when her father moved them to yet another town. New faces, new places, but it's still the same story. Lights flicker outside one night. She sneaks out to get a better look, though later she wishes she hadn't."
"What did she see?"
"Templars. They had caught an apostate boy with a demon in him. He'd killed two other Templars before he was restrained. The flames flicker as the boy screams and struggles against his bonds. The Templars look on, silent and staring as smoke rises into the sunset sky. I scream, then father pulls me back inside and tells me never to spy on the silent knights again."
"What did she see?"
"Templars were… they were burning the boy at the stake. The entire town had turned out. Some were cheering, others clapping. There was hate in their hearts, and Marian felt it and never forgot it. She turned to the Templars, Sister, but never trusted them."
"I wish… I wish things could have been different for her. Marian was a good woman."
"She thinks the same of you, Sister. Bitter betrayal sours the senses, but she still looks back on you with fondness. A friend among all the fear, among the fighting. One of the few."
"I was lucky to count her a friend. I would help her if I could."
"She would shy away from such sympathy. The path she treads is treacherous and terrifying, but she will walk it without others with her. She must face her fears from a place of solitude. Anything else would only put the people she loves in greater peril."
"I know the feeling."
"I know you do."
"Thank you, Cole. This conversation has been… most enlightening. Now I'm sure Varric will be looking for you."
"Do you think he will read me another chapter of his book?"
"Anything is possible, child. Now you should not leave him waiting."
"Sister?"
"Yes?"
"I see the same sorrow in you. The same doubts, the same fears that plagued these others. It hurts to hear, but I can help if you let me."
"It is a kind offer, Cole. But I cannot accept."
"Why? Why would you want to wear the pain like this? Why keep it concealed?"
"You enjoy helping others. It is an integral part of you, no? And sometimes… sometimes pain can be a part of us too. We can't get rid of it, nor would we want to. Our sorrow can define us just as surely as our joy."
"I think I understand. Thank you. But Sister?"
"Yes?"
"You do not need to cover yourself with your cowl. Lift your face to the light from time to time. Your Warden would have wanted it that way."
"I… will consider it. Thank you, Cole."
"You're welcome."