I know lots of people think Cole is a nuisance but, to be honest, I love the little confusing bugger. If only for his striking and more than once touching observations. Well, everyone is entitled to their own opinion.

Enjoy!

Wintersend 10

Cole was cringing on his cot in the small by him so beloved space above the tavern. He felt at home here, this was his safe spot. But at this very moment the safe spot didn't feel that safe. He was riddled with feelings of guilt. He had failed her, he had left that already damaged woman to face that dangerous environment on her own. He hadn't been able to persuade Solas to help her. Violently he turned on his other side. He never should have called him the Dread Wolf, it had been a huge mistake. He had sensed the very moment the name had left his mouth the elf had gone rigid. He still didn't understand why he had done that; for some reason his transition from spirit to human being – well, more or less human being, as human as it could get he guessed – had left him with awkward twitches. He still was able to read, or rather sense, minds and thoughts and feelings but it had become harder to do something about the pain that surrounded him since he couldn't move along people like an invisible entity anymore. Yes, he felt liberated now he had lost his own trepidation and had let go of his anger and anguish – the dwarf Varric had been right about that – but at the same time he mourned the loss of the ability to do something about all that pain he encountered every moment of his existence. The Inquisitor, and he couldn't help smiling at the image of her, had tried her best to guide him through this new and frightening path. She had even gone as far as to take him to Val Royeaux to show him there were good times to treasure and he didn't have to fuss over everybody's fate anymore. She had not alone shown interest but real concern in his well-being. He, at least, could still feel that and he loved her for it. He, as a Spirit of Compassion as he still saw himself, admired her for the very compassion she showed for the people around her. Regardless. As he had done and still tried to do. He wished he could tell her about Solas but knew that was a no go.

He had known Solas for what or who he was before they both adapted their human form. He remembered he had met him in the Fade, lost and confused. He remembered the Orb. He remembered the desolation that had radiated from the Dread Wolf at that time. He had tried to console him but the elven god had turned him away, dismissing him for the simple spirit he had been at that time. They both had been more than surprised to meet again in the human world. They had made a pledge to never reveal their identity, although come to think about that, his own identity had been smeared along the surface of the living world within no time while the Dread Wolf still lingered in the shadows, hiding himself as he had always done. He had made a mistake, a grievous one, and he tried his very best to make it right.

This much Cole understood. And he could sympathise with it. It was a pity, really, that Solas saw him as some kind of experiment, as how a spirit hurled out of the Fade would behave in what the humans called the real world. He tossed again. This was not what bothered him the most at the moment.

He couldn't stop thinking about the woman people called the Champion, about how lost she felt, how terrified. How fragile she looked, how troubled. He knew Corypheus was after her although he didn't exactly know why. He just knew this also had something to do with the Orb. Though the woman had no knowledge of that artefact. Not even in the faint way the Inquisitor had been drenched with it, and also without any knowledge about what it was and how it worked, and just wielded the green spot on her hand to close rifts. She could do that without being killed. It mystified him.

He turned on his back and rubbed his eyes. No. It had something to do with blood. Her blood. Cole frowned. Her Father's blood. He frowned deeper. They had some relation, Corypheus and she. In some way he was scared of her. Afraid she held some power over him. A power she didn't even knew existed, a power she could wield but didn't know was there. A power that went beyond the green spot. Older. More terrifying. He had heard his voice haunting her, he had heard the words he had thrown at her to make her feel small and vulnerable. To wound her. He wanted to break her – ah – spirit and till some level he had succeeded. But he had not driven her mad. Not completely.

Again Cole turned on his other side. And then suddenly sat up. He held his breath and screwed his eyes shut. And then made a decision. He could not return to the Fade as the spirit he had been, not as such. But he remembered what he had once been and he could at least make an appearance.

He could help her.

He would help her.

Helping had always been his goal. That had not changed.

Cullen was rummaging through the papers on his desk. Everything was ready for the march on Adamant Fortress but he wanted to make sure he hadn't overlooked even the smallest detail. He looked up when a shy knock sounded on the doorpost and saw Fenris standing in the opening. His already opened mouth, ready to yell he was not to be disturbed, snapped shut. The elf looked exhausted if not despondent and completely spent. It was not hard to notice the dark shadows under his eyes. The little smile he gave him couldn't cover his inner pain, how much he undoubtedly tried to. Cullen realised he must be eaten up by worries and fears over Marian Hawke and, frankly, he admired him for his composure. At the same time it pained him to see him like this. Wasted. Consumed by fear. Besides his outburst the other day he had shown nothing but serenity and patience and Cullen wondered if he would have been able to do the same if it were his woman who had gone lost. He realised, and was certain Fenris realised it too, they both reminded the other one of the gruesome occurrences the night Kirkwall fell apart and solely because of that horrible event worked on each other's nerves. Before his thoughts carried him away though the elf spoke.

'I owe you an apology,' Fenris said without further ado. He didn't even blink an eye and his hands stayed still.

Cullen cocked his brow. 'Do you?' Inwardly he blew out some air. The accusations the elf had thrown into his face that other day still itched. Because he simply had been right. Yes, they worked on each other's nerves. Because they shared the same memories. Evelyn had been on the verge of attacking Fenris and he had just been able to grip her arm to restrain her from doing that. Because, again, the elf simply had been right. Meredith had gone mad but she had gone mad ages before what happened in the Gallows courtyard. He remembered he had been staring gobsmacked at the statues she had brought to life and someone – he wasn't certain who at that time but by now knew for sure it had been Varric – had whispered in his ear, 'And what is the difference between her and a blood mage now? Between her and the ones she wants to fight?'

There had been none.

And thus he had had no answer.

He should have interfered much sooner. He should have – he groaned softly and rubbed his brow.

Fenris took a step forward. 'Yes I do. I lashed out at you while you didn't deserve that. If it hadn't been for you we would have been dead in the Gallows. You made the other Templars step back and let us go free. You defended us against Meredith and convinced your fellow Templars to do the same. I owe you my life. We all owe you our lives.'

Cullen felt a twitch, or rather a jolt of guilt and gave him a small smile. Even more vividly he remembered the statues come to life. 'If it hadn't been for your ferocious fighting we would all be dead.' He heaved a hand to forestall Fenris's predictable words. 'You were right, I could have intercept and hacked off Meredith's idiotic actions way sooner. I should have.' He sighed and bowed his head. 'I ...' he hesitated but then clenched his jaw and looked up again. 'I allowed to lead myself by the ways of hate and fear too long because of what happened to me years earlier.' Fenris said nothing but reacted by just raising one dark eyebrow and Cullen sagged. His predicament had only last a few days, the elf's had stretched over numerous years. He realised that what the elf had gone through was much worse than what he had had to endure. And that it had taken much longer. And yet that same elf had without second thought, or perhaps a third after some contemplation, taken his stand and that stand had been behind his woman. Who was a mage. Damn. Perhaps with some questions but then again. He had followed her into the fray because he loved her and, perhaps, even because he felt she was right. Or at least had a point. He had been tortured by mages. Or by a Magister who had owned him which was perhaps even worse, and nevertheless he had stood by his woman who was a mage. He could still see the determined way in which he defended her and defied Meredith. He felt very humble.

'I have been a fool, a bias idiot,' he murmured. He wondered if Evelyn had been the one to take the grave decision, he had been courageous enough to follow her.

'Yes, I don't doubt you would have,' Fenris said and only at that moment Cullen realised he had said his thoughts out aloud. He uttered a brittle chortle. 'Well, I'm glad you at least think so.'

Fenris let out a sudden laugh. 'I like to think it is quite hilarious we both detest magic and couldn't help ourselves to fall in love with a mage.' He cocked his head and added with a wry smile, 'it almost makes us brothers.'

Cullen couldn't but laugh himself. 'I like to think that's a good thing.'

'I can only agree,' Fenris smiled. And became serious the moment after. 'I want to find her, Cullen, and drag her out of whatever black pit she has fallen in.' He clenched his fists and his mouth became a straight harsh line. 'I am serious. If I have to run to Adamant Fortress on my own to save her I will do so.' He took another step and this one was almost threatening.

Cullen looked into his eyes. 'The army is ready to march out at this very moment. And so we will. We will find the Champion. We will find your woman and save her. I promise you that.'

Fenris refrained and nodded. 'I know I can count on you.'

'Right,' Hawke said, looking around, 'don't you just hate it when this happens?' Her expression became pensive. 'Although, come to think about it, I don't believe it ever happened before. At least not to me that is. Not like this. Hm. Does that mean I suddenly changed into a spirit?' She patted herself. 'Feels solid enough,' she murmured nearly absentmindedly, 'no signs of airiness or some kind of fiery skin whatsoever and Isense a definite lack of horns and tails and pretty dangling delicate golden chains connecting my nipples.´ She wriggled her nose in disgust at the remembrance of the bumping into the unsavoury squirts. ´And I'm pretty sure I am not dreaming.' She tilted her head. 'So in that case there's indeed only one likely explanation, I've ended up in the Fade in the flesh. Never knew that was even possible.' She plopped down on a rocky outcrop and puffed out some air. She felt utterly confused if not bewildered, even somewhat giddy, but, to her own surprise, not scared. She knew deep down she should be frantically running around, screaming her lungs out in terror or like a trembling rabbit be hiding behind one of those rough hewn pillars that surrounded her, huddled-up into herself, but instead she was remarkably calm. She prodded her mind scrupulously to make certain she hadn't shot through the barrier of hysterics to end up in the stale realm of pure horrified rigidity but no matter how much she examined her feelings or whatever stern questions she asked herself, she had to come to the strange conclusion there was no trace of fear whatsoever to be found. This was silly. All this time she had been afraid to lose her sanity to whatever verbal attack the monster launched and now she found herself physically hurled into the Fade her mind shot into the calm mode.

And she knew it had nothing to do with her being a mage. She had faced and braved the Fade before, on several occasions, but normally she would enter the strange realm in her dreams. The only difference between a mage and a non-mage was a real mage could steer their – dreams – by lack of a better word. The danger of encountering demons was highly overrated and only advertised by the likes of Meredith and Mother Petrice, though the latter had spent her energy far too much on people running to the Qun, mostly due to her own zealous ideas.

It was like, now she had fallen into, well not a dream as such but more a nightmare, she became calm. After all this had been one of her dreads. Not the greatest fear, true, but nevertheless one she didn't want to suffer.

'Right,' she said again

Her contemplations got disrupted by a low resonating sound that echoed through – the air by lack of a proper description. Just as there existed no time in the Fade there also was no real air, there was no need for the mixture of nitrogen and oxygen to keep humans breathing since they never entered the Fade alive and spirits nor demons needed it to stay in existence. Nevertheless Hawke, to her own amazement, could breathe and what she inhaled at least didn't suffocate or poison her. It became weirder by the moment. And now it seemed like a voice tried to make itself be heard but since it uttered no comprehensible words as yet Hawke paid it no heed – again, as yet. There were too many baffling issues to deal with. For starters there had been the dragon-woman. She seemed to make a habit of popping up at the strangest of moments; be it as a real dragon, well seemingly a real dragon, while whisking away the Darkspawn that were attacking her and her companions, or again as a dragon when she had sealed the promise to deliver back the amulet she had been trusted with. At that occasion, and to be honest also at the first encounter but back then she had been too dazzled and occupied with other worries to pay attention, she had spoken rather prophetic words. Something about shaping the world. Something about leaping into the abyss. She had taken those words, at both occurrences, for granted, not even having a faint grasp at what she was she hinting at and, honestly, not giving a damn. But then she turned up in Skyhold and apparently whisked her away.

And right now, sitting on the stony outcrop in the strangest of environments that only could be the Fade, she contemplated for the first time what the hell Asha´bellanar, as the Elves called her so she had learned, or Flemeth, the name the humans knew her by, at least Aveline had known her by that name, had tried to tell her. Shape the world. Hurl yourself into some creepy abyss. That was all good and well but she now had hurled her into the Fade. For what fucking reason?

In the meantime the disturbing background rumble became louder.

Hawke propped an elbow on her thigh and rested her chin in her hand. Time to go over the situation and possible solutions, if available anyway. 'Thus that means I will not leave the Fade when I wake up since I'm not sleeping.' She let out an exasperated grunt. 'I have to find another way out.' She heaved her head and shouted, 'Thanks a lot, Dragon-lady!' She deflated somewhat. 'And what was that gibberish about me being a teacher? Conquering fear. Yeah right. Easy said, less easy accomplished,' she grumbled. She frowned. If so, then why didn't she feel anything remotely to fear at the moment?

And then what had once started in the real world as a bothersome murmur like an irritating itch she couldn't get rid of, and after that had become a biting menace and had soon developed into a booming roar, started to make its existence clear. She realized it was the sound she had discarded moments before (or hours or perhaps even days, again, time was a fickle thing in the Fade). It was the sound of fear. The sound of terror. The voice that had made her run away from her loved one. The voice that had persuaded her to leave behind everything and everyone she loved. The one that she had thought to have killed and had come back to haunt her.

But this was his great mistake.

He had perhaps succeeded in frightening her but, being Marian Hawke, Marian Hawke stood up and laughed.

Because, as Hawke finally experienced, the harder the idiot yelled, the lesser impression he made. She straitened her shoulders. It was a pity she didn't have her staff with her but even without a weapon or device of magic whatsoever she could manage. She waved her hands. 'Your threats are growing old,' she yelled, feeling relieved. She flexed her fingers, 'I'll have you for breakfast!' she shouted out loud.

But then the monster showed her why he really wanted her for.

To give back memories.

And how they would hurt.

Thank you so much for reading!