A/N: A very happy new new year to you all!

FFnet must really hate me. I've tried posting this twice and yet it refuses to show up in the story, despite the heading saying there are 7 chapters. So if this is a double post, I am sorry, but I'm getting really frustrated.

ANYWHO...

So I honestly hated writing this chapter. It's been through many incarnations, and frankly I'm not happy with any of them. I was wanting to skip the whole thing but I felt that would be lazy, and bad story telling. So let us all read this and then pretend it never happened. I promise a much better chapter next time around.

Many innumerable thanks to Apollo Wings for her help with this. She gave me some direction that helped pull this away from being awful to being passable.

Also many tanks to Jraice for pointing out that Buttercup is actually Sera's nickname (which I totally knew but somehow forgot during the writing of this chapter.) I went back through and fixed it now.

Okay, enough with the self criticism.

A small note on healing magic. I found it odd that not a single mage in DA:I had a basic healing spell in their arsenal. Yes, knight enchanter has that one that heals the party, but no basic, generalized healing spell. Where as in DA2 and DAO it was a readily available option. So I just said "screw it. Solas can do basic healing." I figured of all those I kept alive in this world he would be the most appropriate.

R&R lovies. Your reviews keep me going, even when writing gets difficult.

Evanthe hovered outside the servants quarters, trying to rein in her emotions. The sun was just now cresting over the horizon, officially marking it as morning. After her volatile conversation with Solas she had felt off kilter, over burdened. It was as if her emotions, tangled as they were, did not have enough space to live in her skin. She felt stretched out, anxious, and the need to scream until she was empty of everything was something she had to physically fight against. Even in the midst of chaos the man had an effect on her. Solas managed to bring out everything in her she had been fighting to keep inside. Her anger, her stress, and the lingering feelings that she was trying desperately to keep at bay; they all swarmed to the surface of her emotions when she was in his presence. Even as furious as she had been it had not escaped her notice that, for a fleeting moment, the two of them had been pressed close; nothing but a few scant inches and their shared sense of hurt keeping them separated Even now she could feel the presence of him along her torso and she grit her teeth against the sensation. It seemed as if she was to besieged by the phantom touches of men all morning long. Solas...Cullen...gods, Cullen! What was she to do with that? If Solas was right, and it was her own mind playing tricks with her desire, then what exactly did that mean? Shaking her head, Evanthe banished such thoughts from her mind. She didn't have the time or, frankly, the desire to untangle the stew of emotions churning inside her. There were far more dire situations to tend to than her confusing feelings for the men under her command.

Taking a steadying breath Evanthe drew herself up tall and knocked quietly upon the closed door. Bull's non-committal grunt came in reply, and she took it as an invitation to enter. The two men were perched upon narrow beds in varying states of relaxation. When they saw her Varric gave a warm smile that didn't quite meet his crimson cloaked eyes, and Bull...well, Bull did little more than glare.

"If it isn't Goldie," Varric welcomed warmly, causing Evanthe to raise one eyebrow in amusement.

"Goldie?" she echoed, laughter edging the word.

"On account of those gold flecked peepers you got ," the dwarf supplied. "It's not one of my better ones. Still kicking around ideas. I could always call you 'branches,' but it lacks poetry." Evanthe laughed, raising a hand to trace the vallaslin that framed her eyes. 'Branches' would have indeed been fitting, bringing attention to the pale green tattoo that sat upon her face like a delicate mask, but there was something decidedly off about the moniker.

"You could always call me Evanthe," she replied drolly crossing to sit next to him.

"Where's the fun in that?" Varric replied in mock horror. "Don't worry. I'll come up with something. What brings you to our little slice of home sweet home?" Before Evanthe could answer, Bull saved her the trouble, grumbling from his post across the room.

"Come on, Varric, you know. She's come to look in on the freaks." Bull said the words with all the malice in him, his deep baritone growl rumbling in his chest. "Shit, we should charge her two coppers for the show."

"Two coppers?" Varric snorted, "please. Where's your sense of business? We're worth a silver a piece, easy."

"I came to see how you were fairing," Evanthe answered, her voice filled with compassion. "Cesare came to see me-"

"And told you how truly fucked we are?" Bull muttered, pushing to his feet. "Trust me, boss, we already knew that."

"You aren't...fucked," Evanthe argued weakly, the curse coming awkwardly to her tongue. She was still unused to the colloquialisms of the greater world. "Cesare says-"

"I know what the mage says," he spat. "Don't need the lecture, not when I'm living the shit. It's a part of us. Can't be cut out."

"True, yes," Evanthe conceded, "the lyrium is a part of you. But it has stopped spreading. With any luck-"

"What makes you think we've got any luck, Goldie?" Varric chuckled. "Don't know if you've noticed, but shit's gotten weird since you've been gone."

"...you'll be able to lead somewhat normal lives," Evanthe continued pointedly, keeping her focus on Iron Bull.

"Normal lives?" Bull thundered. "What's normal about hearing some demonic choir echoing in your skull? It never fucking stops."

"It's true," Varric agreed, his voice showing the first trace of sorrow. "Bartrand used to talk about the song. Even after I got him away from the idol, he claimed he could still hear it. Now I know what he meant. It's...horrifyingly beautiful. Makes it hard not to go batshit after a while."

"Then we must...find a solution," Evanthe offered desperately. "Have Cesare concoct an antidote, there must be an antithesis to this. You just needs give me time."

"You can drop the optimism, boss," Bull grumbled. "Varric and I know the score."

"The score?" she echoed, not liking the implied meaning of the phrase.

"Not this again," Varric sighed, leaning back. "Look, Horns, I know you're feeling extra twitchy 'cause of our new accessories, but that doesn't mean you go runnin' off into the realm of stupid."

"Do you see another way out of this?" Bull demanded. "I'm goin' mad listen to this damn song. I can feel it growing inside me, claiming me. A demon would be better than this, and that's when you know it's gone way beyond bad."

"What are you talking about?" Evanthe protested rising to her feet.

"The Qun is pretty damn clear about possession, boss," Bull replied quietly. "It's not to be tolerated. Ever."

"The Qun?" Evanthe cried in exasperation. "Is that what this is about?"

"What did you think it was about?" Varric supplied, "Mood swings? Horns here has got it in his head to take the easy way out. Hasn't shut up about it since doc magic left."

"Bull, take a look around," she pleaded, "The Qun doesn't exist anymore. Neither does the Chantry or-or my clan, or a great number of strictures by which we lived our lives. Hard as it is, we can no longer cling to the rituals and faiths that defined us. This new world won't allow it."

"It's all I've got left, boss," Bull muttered quietly, pushing himself to stand upright. "It's that last tie. Don't ask me to sever it." Evanthe closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward of the head ache that was quickly forming in the center of her brow. This was so much worse than she had envisioned. She had been prepared for illness, anger, even vague indifference, but what Bull had been hinting at was more than she could handle. The clan had strict edicts when it came to such a thing, taboos that had been indoctrinated into her since she could understand words. What Bull was suggesting went against everything she had ever been raised to believe in; and while she may be far from the obedient Dalish her clan desired her to be, she nonetheless was horrified that the Qunari would even be entertaining the idea.

"But you aren't possessed," she argued. "No demon has taken up residence in your flesh, Bull."

"Demon or lyrium, I'd say hearing voices in your head is a pretty clear sign that you're not alone with yourself," Varric offered and Evanthe spun upon him in outrage.

"Do not tell me you too are complicit in this madness!" she cried and Varric held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Now, now, let's all calm down. Of course I'm not complicit, Goldie, but I don't think arguing semantics is the best way to win your argument, here."

"You're right," Evanthe muttered, turning back around to face Bull. She had been trying to apply logic to a situation that by it's very definition, lacked such a thing. If she was to have any hope at all of reaching Bull she had to approach this from a different angle, but gods only knew what that angle was. "Please take a moment to think upon this, Bull," she pleaded, racking her brain for some sort of sentiment of his to draw upon. "Have you spoken to your men? The Chargers? I'm sure they would have more than a few objections to-"

"The Chargers are gone, Boss," Bull laughed bitterly. "Hadn't you heard? Crem and my boys died protecting Haven when Corypheus burned it to the ground. Cullen says they went out like heroes, down to the last man. I'd be proud if I wasn't so fucking depressed about it."

"A heroes death, all of them," she murmured, chasing the edge of plan as she mulled over his words. She was sorry to hear of Crem's passing, indeed all of the Chargers deserved to me mourned, but in that moment Evanthe coldly realized she could use their passing to her advantage. The idea made her feel unclean, as if by being so calculating she had somehow been tainted, but she did not have the luxury of time on her side. She needed Iron Bull to fight, to hone his grief into revenge and wreak havoc upon her foes. If she needed to play upon the memory of his departed to achieve that, then so be it. She could only pray that it would work.

"And yet you wish to perish in a manner completely opposite," she offered at last, voice a bit harder than before. Bull frowned at that, put out at the suggestion. Evanthe swallowed hard and soldiered on, praying that she had chosen the right path. "The Chargers were valiant, dedicated, working for a common purpose at their leader's behest They believed in you without question, and when you were taken from their side, they continued to fight for you, for the path you chose. They were mighty...and you...you are weak. They deserved better than you."

"Sure you want to go down this road, boss?" Bull warned, his back tensing. It was almost as if his anger made him stand straighter, holding him up when his will could not.

"There is no road to traverse, Bull," she replied calmly. "There is no argument to be had. You say the Qun demands your life for something beyond the bounds of your control. A sacrifice that means less than nothing anymore. The men you trained, however? The Chargers gave their lives in exchange for others, in the hopes that wives and children may live when they could not. They were not bound by some theocratic code of honor, and yet theirs is the nobler sacrifice"

"You don't understand," Bull argued. "It's more complicated than-"

"It's not complicated at all," Evanthe interrupted with a shrug. "It is quite simple in fact. Should you choose to go down this path...then you are a coward, Bull. And blessings be that the men you once led went to their deaths ignorant of that fact."

"I'm not a coward," he growled in response, taking a menacing step towards her. Evanthe braced herself but refused to back down. She was tensed, prepared to take the blow she knew would eventually be coming. To be sure, it would hurt, but if rousing the man's anger and sense of pride was the key to pulling him from his lachrymose state than so be it.

"You play the part well enough," she answered calmly. "Hiding in the shadows and bemoaning your fate. I thought you were a leader of men, a Qunari warrior of legend. You have suffered a nightmare most would not be fit to bear and now, when you are free, you find it to be too much. The suffering is always the easiest, Bull, it's the healing that is hard. And it appears you've given up. You say you are not a coward, I say there is no other word to describe you."

"What do you want from me, Evanthe?" Bull demanded, the use of her real name underscoring the seriousness of the situation. "You want something, ask. Don't dance around with pretty words and your Dalish superiority." She had always been 'boss' to him, a moniker that was at once familiar and yet kept her at a safe distance. It had been the Qunari's way of drawing the line, allowing a bit of friendship while at the same time recognizing her station. Evanthe could not recall a single instance in which he had ever called her by name, and hearing the syllable flow low and dark over his tongue was deeply unsettling.

"I don't want anything from you," she answered. "Not as you are now. You're useless to me. I thought you a better man this, turns out I was wrong. The chargers too. Pity for them their faith was so misplaced." Evanthe turned to leave, silently praying that her gambit had worked. When she heard Bull roar in defiance and felt his meaty hands clutch at her and swing her hard against the wall, she knew it had. She could feel her stitches, so carefully placed by Cullen the night before, parting under the strain and she gasped at the sensation. She loathed the idea that she would have to get them replaced, but that was a worry for another time. Right now she had her hands full with a thoroughly pissed of Qunari, which was exactly what she wanted.

"Andraste's sweet freckled ass," Varric exclaimed, "go easy Bull!"

"How's this for useless?" Bull thundered, slamming her once more into the wall. Evanthe grunted, struggling to find her voice.

"It's a start," she panted at last. Bull snarled, his grip tightening in preparation to lash out yet again, but something in her face must have stayed his hand, because all at once his expression softened and he released her, stepping away with a lurch. Evanthe crumpled to the ground, unprepared for the sudden release. Wincing a bit, she struggled to her feet and stared placidly up at the man, no trace of disapproval or malice in her gaze.

"You didn't mean a word of that, did you?" he asked with a deadly calm.

"Of course not," she replied, with a sorrowful shake of her head. Varric cursed softly, but offered no opinion and Bull simply stared at her for what seemed an eternity At last he bared his teeth in what some would call a smile, others a challenge and let a dark chuckle escape from his throat.

"You conniving little-" he started, earning a smile form her.

"Maybe. But it worked, didn't it?" she argued and Bull grumbled something in Qunari, the jist of which was clear enough. Evanthe had a feeling he was bestowing upon her some less than flattering names, and as such declined to ask for a translation.

"That was stupid, Boss," he said after a while. "I could have killed you."

"Killing yourself over some bit of religious law would have been stupider," she countered as strode to meet him, forcing her head back to stare up into his battle scarred face. "If you want to die, I can't stop you," she offered quietly. "But I'd rather you die on the field of battle, surrounded by the bodies of your foes. That is the end I would wish for you, Bull, not this. Maybe it was stupid of me, but it was the only gambit I had. "

"I'm with Horns on this one, Goldie," Varric piped in. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to poke the bear?"

"No," she replied, still staring up at Bull, "she told me to shoot it. Or would have if I'd been a hunter."

"You've got spine, Boss," Bull muttered, stepping away from her, "I'll give you that."

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked gently.

"For now," he answered, settling back onto his bed. "You pissed me off enough that I just want to prove you wrong. Doesn't matter if you meant it."

"Good," she replied straightening a bit and making her way to the door. "Then I want you on the practice field in two hours. You're joining in on drills."

"Sure that's a good idea?" Varric answered. "We aren't exactly normal anymore. Being around other people-"

"Will be good for you," she answered. "I won't have you isolated, not when there is little to no risk. I need every man I can get to bolster our forces, and that includes you two. The men need to get used to you, and you need to distract yourselves from...the song. It may not ever go away, but you can learn to tune it out. Training is the first step towards that."

"And what exactly are we training for?" Varric asked as he swung his legs around to dangle off the bed. "Our eventual, yet heroic, demise?"

"In two weeks time I'll be heading an expedition into the deep roads-"

"And there's a statement that always leads to goods things," Varric muttered with a eye roll

"To rescue King Alistair and Harlow Tabris," Evanthe continued. "I'll need people I can trust to accompany me...or stay behind. I am loathe to leave Skyhold at a disadvantage."

"Of course," the dwarf exclaimed cheerfully, "The world's gone to hell on the back of a halla and you decide to take a holiday with the darkspawn. Because shit wasn't complicated enough."

"Complicated or not, these are my orders. Are the two of you prepared to follow them?"

"Sure you want a weapon in my hands, Boss?" Bull grunted, "I'm still pretty pissed at you."

"Pity for you that I'll be paired with Cullen," she replied dryly. "But feel free to imagine my face on one of the practice dummies."

"In that case, you'll have to make a new one by the time I'm done."

"So long as it keeps you here, I'll make you a thousand," she answered with a smile. "Eat a decent breakfast, gentlemen. I expect you on the field by ten bells."

~oOo~

Evanthe was too off kilter to eat, and so she roamed about Skyhold's halls, familiarizing herself with its secrets. Not for the first time she was struck by how much the fortress was in disrepair. The place was massive, but every corner bore crumbling stone, piles of debris, and holes that allowed the elements to filter in without objection. There was so much to be done to bring it back to its former glory, and yet, it remained impressive nonetheless. Skyhold, for all that it was a crumbling fortress, had a stark kind of beauty about it. Evanthe could see what the great walls had once been, the remnants of tenants past still lingering in the halls. A banner here, a bit of stained glass there. It was a patchwork of cultures and kingdoms woven together with the stitch mark of battle scars and siege marks. And the Inquisition was part of that now. Idly Evanthe wondered what the next inhabitants would make of the place. If they would look upon the golden eye of the Inquisition and think it just another artifact to be found in the fortress, or if they would remember what it had once meant. The thought was at once comforting and disturbing One one hand it was humbling to be reminded that no matter how awful current circumstances were they would all, eventually, be nothing but a bit of history. A set of dates and names made important only by how they related to what came after. On the other...to think that in the grand scheme of time what she accomplished here could end up reduced to nothing more than a fraying tapestry hung on a stone wall was nearly defeating in its futility.

Such thoughts occupied her mind as she stared up at a chipped and sun-faded mosaic that took up part of an atrium's wall. She was so absorbed in piecing together the picture before her that she did not hear the approaching sound of footsteps that heralded an interruption to her musing.

"Enjoying the artwork?" Cullen asked from right behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin.

"Dread wolf curse you!" she cried, clasping her hands to her chest. "Don't do that!" Cullen laughed, the sound so joyous and easy that it seemed out of place. It was enough to have Evanthe forgetting her surprise and she smiled, relaxing her arms.

"I thought the Dalish were supposed to have keen hearing," Cullen admonished lightly, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Yes, well, I was never a very good Dalish," she replied, turning back to study the mosaic once again.

"I wasn't aware there was a standard of rating for such a thing."

"There is nothing but," she snorted, eyes tracing a faded piece of tile. "It's one giant competition, from which hunter brings back the most pelts to which elder can recount the most of our forgotten history. The People are constantly chasing a culture that no longer exists, forcing the pieces together in some misguided attempt at remembrance, but it's almost as if a tally is being kept somewhere, marking each one of our accomplishments and downfalls against some unknown standard."

"Sounds a bit like the templars," Cullen mused as he stepped into place beside her. "Depending on who your knight captain was there was an almost suffocating amount of pressure to be the model soldier. I saw templars take the strictest of vows, eschewing anything that could be considered less than holy, all in an effort to gain ground with their superiors. I was very nearly one of them. The pressure to be perfect is a heady thing."

"And yet here you are, far away from the Chantry, chatting up a mage," she remarked wryly, the edges of her mouth curling into a grin. "My but how the perfect have fallen."

"That you think I was anywhere close to perfect is a compliment in and of itself," he chuckled. "And I could say the same of you, Herald. Here you are engaging with a shem. Quite scandalous behavior."

"Ah yes, but my people merely distrust humans. Your kind has a tendency to lock mages up and forget about the key."

"Yes, well, fortunately for you I left my apostate hunting days far behind me."

"As if you could possibly catch me were that not the case," she boasted, turning to face him with a mock sense of outrage.

"Says the woman whom I snuck up upon not five minutes before," he countered with a grin. "You'd be hardly a challenge at all."

"Maybe not to catch," she shot back, unable to keep the smile from her face "but to keep is another matter entirely. I don't take lightly to being held down, commander. Something you'd do well to remember."

"A warning I shall take to heart should ever the occasion arise," he countered, voice gone a bit lower in pitch. Somewhere in the midst of their conversation the tone with which they spoke had changed. Become lighter and yet all the more charged. Evanthe could not pinpoint just when their words had crossed from friendly to flirtatious, but she felt it now, and she blushed, embarrassed by her involvement.

"Bull and Varric will be joining us in the practice yard," she blurted out in an effort to change the subject. Cullen gave her a small smile before nodding, a silent acceding to her wishes.

"That is good," he replied, "though I do worry about the lyrium. We've battled against our fair share of red templars since Corypheus took power...I've seen what the lyrium can do to a man, and none of it pleasant But it does afford those affected some rather unique skills."

"Skills I'm hoping we can eventually put to use," Evanthe muttered, spinning out all the ways in which they could use the tragedy to their advantage. "I worry about them as well, though not for the same reasons."

"And why do you worry?"

"Everything is so different, Cullen," she sighed as she turned away, rubbing a hand across her face in agitation. "Not just the world but the people. I knew this was going to be...difficult. But every moment I spend here it becomes more and more apparent that difficult is not nearly an adequate enough word. Bad enough the sky split in two and the land bleeds, but I find that such things are not the worst casualty of all this."

"What is?" he asked quietly, placing a hand upon her shoulder in comfort. Evanthe sighed and turned around to face him, staring up into his at once familiar and yet much changed face.

"You are." Cullen blinked at that, clearly not expecting such an answer. "Leliana too. Varric, Bull...even Solas...all of you are much changed in not just body but mind and I find that...disquieting. All of this would, perhaps, be more easy to bear if but one of you managed to hold on to who I thought you were. Instead I find myself having to learn each one of you anew, and I never know when I'm going to tread too close to something best left unsaid. You all have psychic scars that run deep, and I find that I can not effectively navigate them. You're all strangers to me...each and everyone. It makes this all quite...lonely." She felt small and wrung out by the time she was done. A part of her felt selfish for daring to feel such a way. These people had suffered unimaginable pain for over a year, and here she was wishing they could just forget it all and go back to who she thought they were. It was a juvenile and useless desire, but it still pricked at her nonetheless. Living in this new reality was painful for so many reasons, but she of all people had no right to complain, not when she had been absent for so long.

"You probably think I'm a selfish elvhen'alas for saying all that," Evanthe muttered when Cullen had not spoken for quite some time. "I'm sorry. I did not mean-"

"I don't think you're selfish," he rushed to interject. "Nor do I think you a...elvhen'alas, despite not knowing the meaning. I-"

"Well if it isn't our fearless leader!" Dorian chirped as he rounded the corner of the hall, interrupting the pair once again. Evanthe, grateful for the distraction, turned to greet the man, an apology for her earlier behavior readied on her tongue It died stillborn when she saw the companions that accompanied him. Solas, in freshly laundered clothes stood stoically beside the Tevinter mage, his expression carefully blank of any emotion. Cole hovered behind the two, his body tense as if prepared to flee at the slightest provocation. Evanthe was eager to speak with Cole, wanting to learn more of the boy, but she fiercely wished he had been in better company. In fact, Evanthe was now painfully aware that both Cullen and Solas occupied the same space, and memories of her dream from the night before came rushing back. If only the ground would crack open and swallow her whole, she thought, it would perhaps make this encounter slightly more bearable.

"Dorian, Cole," she croaked out, skipping over the elf entirely. "How are you?"

"Pretend not to see. Blank. Must not be affected. But she can still feel his body against hers. Lips that aren't his but his. Dreaming and yet no one's fault but her own. She desires both. It won't go away and she remembers more than she wants to," Cole rambled, plucking her thoughts from her head much to Evanthe's mortification. When he had finished he turned those soulful eyes upon her, clear and lucid and answered her initial inquiry. "I am well."

"Sounds like someone's having quite the scandalous line of thought," Dorian piped in with a grin. "How marvelous." Evanthe felt her face heat, and she quickly glanced away from the boy, only to have her eyes land upon Solas, who had infuriatingly quirked an eyebrow upwards in amusement.

"What is the boy on about?" Cullen asked in confusion, glancing between her and Cole.

"It's nothing," Evanthe insisted, shaking her head. "Really."

"But you suffer," Cole pressed. "It hurts to keep thoughts knotted away. The more you try the more they come undone. Constantly cutting away at the thread but it grows back like weeds, demanding to be acknowledged You have to stop tangling them up, they want to be heard."

"Yes, Cole," Evanthe said steadily, the effort to remain calm a herculean task, "but we must work on your sense of privacy. Not all thoughts are to be shared with the world."

"But the world shares them with me," the boy countered, confusion evident in his voice.

"Even so, Cole," Solas interjected, "not everyone is prepared to face their thoughts head on. Much less with an audience in attendance." Evanthe irrationally hated that he was helping. It made her feel petulant, irritated. It would have been so much simpler if he had gloated, making some snide comment about her hidden feelings, but no...he had to help rectify the situation, which was simply infuriating.

"Like how you keep your other self pushed down, his thoughts buried under grief and regret?"

"No, Cole," Solas replied softly, his already pale skin blanching out upon hearing the boys words. "That is different and you must not speak of it." Evanthe frowned, having somehow found herself lost in the conversation. She opened her mouth, eager to have Cole clarify his cryptic statement, but the boy cut her off, still focused on his bungled attempt at social interaction.

"I'll start over," Cole offered, quickly striding to stand before her. "I'll make her forget and then she won't feel so red. Why does her skin match her thoughts?"

"Because our fair herald is blushing, my dear boy," Dorian supplied, still endlessly amused by the situation. "And such a becoming flush it is. I can understand why a man might want to...what was it? Press himself against her?"

"It's alright, Cole," Evanthe quickly interjected in a desperate attempt to change the subject. "I'm quite fine. You don't need to make me forget."

"But I did it wrong," he argued.

"You made a mistake, nothing more. Hardly worth altering my mind at all," she reassured him with a smile. "I see you've made yourself known. Making friends?"

"Solas has always been my friend," Cole muttered. "He understood without needing the words."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Evanthe asked in a deceptively light tone. "And Dorian? Is he playing nice?"

"I'm always nice," Dorian replied affronted, "even when I'm not. Worry not, mistress mine, the boy is in good company. We shant corrupt him, I give you my word."

"Why is he in your company at all?" Evanthe asked.

"I want to help," Cole answered. "Dorian says it used to be better before. Quieter. And that it can be again. He told me I could be a part of that."

"Cole is a spirit, Evanthe," Solas murmured quietly, "a resident of the fade. Would it not be beneficial to have his aid in this?"

"A spirit?" Cullen echoed, his voice wary. Cole shrank back at bit upon hearing the tone, as if putting distance between himself and the templar would soothe the words.

"So that's what you are," Evanthe murmured, turning the thought over in her head. "I had wondered."

"You knew there was a spirit in residence and you didn't see fit to inform the rest of us?" her commander demanded, and Evanthe clenched her teeth at his tone.

"I suspected, nothing more," she replied tightly, "not that it matters. Your fears are misplaced, commander. Cole means us no harm."

"Spirit is often just another word for demon," Cullen argued, shooting a reproachful glare to the boy in question.

"I'm not a demon," Cole protested quietly, the words automatic as if he had been forced to recite them countless times.

"He's not," Solas chimed in. "Demons posses the weak, feeding upon a host until there is nothing left but husk. Cole is different; a spirit in human form. He is quite the remarkable aberration. I have not seen his like in...quite some time."

"Herald-" Cullen began.

"Evanthe," she reminded him for the hundredth time.

"I am not comfortable with this," he continued. "This boy presents a very real threat-"

"This boy," she retorted, moving over to stand protectively in from of Cole, "is responsible for your life, commander. Yours and countless others. It was he that gave warning of Corypheus attack, allowing you to flee as best you could. He has been here all along, and if he truly meant you harm he could have murdered you all in your beds a thousand times over. Cole is not a danger, Cullen."

"That is a matter of opinion."

"And in this, mine is the only one that matters," Evanthe countered, her tone brooking no refusal. Cullen spared one more wither glance for Cole before tightly bowing, his hazel eyes filled with displeasure.

"I shall see you on the field, Evanthe," he said formally before angrily taking his leave.

"I'm sorry," Cole murmured from over her shoulder. "It's hard for people to understand. It's why forgetting is better. I could follow him, make him not remember."

"No, Cole," Evanthe soothed, turning to face the boy. "His aversion to your presence is a problem only for him. Do not let his anger frighten you. Given time he, and anyone else foolish enough to not see your good intentions, will eventually warm to the idea of your presence. As I said before, so long as Skyhold is under my command there will be a place for you in its walls."

"But he's angry at you," Cole argued, staring after Cullen's retreating form.

"I know," she sighed, "I suppose that does not bode well for our training session."

"Afraid the commander is going to play a bit rough?" Dorian asked, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Afraid he won't be playing at all," Evanthe replied, repressing a grin at the thinly veiled double entendre. "I have a feeling I'll be covered in more bumps and bruises before the day is out."

"Then you must let Solas tend to them when you are finished," Dorian offered innocently, brushing past her with nonchalance. "The man is quite brilliant with medicinal craft. Or so I've been told." Evanthe could not stop herself from glancing at the man in question, her heart hammering off rhythm. Solas, to his credit, look just as unsettled by the suggestion, though he was trying to hide it behind that damn infuriating wall of indifference.

"Should you need it, da'vehanan," he offered quietly after a time, "I would be...happy to provide your with care."

"I'll take my chances with Cullen," she replied stiffly, walking away with all the pride she could muster. It was only when she had gone a good twenty paces did she realize that her words could very well have meant something beyond stitches and salves.