A/N:

So, I got sick :(( I've been mostly bedridden and mute like when I had covid, but I already used my free covid tests this year, so I just warned my family to avoid get-togethers. In the midst of the holidays too! Anyway, I usually write content three chapters ahead of the last update, so I only had to fill in scenes for this one. Hopefully I'll be up soon, and if not I have two chapters already in the works.

Thanks for all of your support, and happy New Year's!

;

Grand Chancellor Roderick Asignon had finally returned from his campaign of denouncing the Inquisition in Val Royeaux. Oddly enough, his presence in Haven wasn't causing the greatest stir.

Since Therinfal Redoubt, Varric had been making small talk with a young man seemingly in his early twenties, a scrawny but agile blonde who had directed the scouting party through the fortress and swiftly unlocked doors in their way. Since the bulk of the Inquisition's forces had accompanied Ellana to Redcliffe, Varric knew that he and the others in Therinfal Redoubt would have never been able to escape without "Cole's" help. When Leliana caught wind of this, she questioned what a young man would have been doing among Templars in a stronghold. Cassandra interpreted Cole's forgetful presence as hedge magic, to which Vivienne stressed the risk of possession. Cassandra and Vivienne debated if Haven could tolerate the danger Cole posed.

When Ellana's party entered the Chantry, they found Cassandra, Vivienne, and Varric arguing over Cole's presence.

"He's a boy!" Varric defended.

"He is not a pet," Vivienne sharply warned, "nor is he trained to resist demons."

Cassandra turned to the party as they entered the Chantry. "Ellana. The recruited mages will channel their magic into you as you seal the Breach. The rift in the sky already raises the possibility of possession. How do you feel about the presence of a hedge mage?"

"I want to help," Cole babbled softly. "I won't be in the way. Tiny, no trouble, no notice taken unless – Ellana. You're trying to heal the holes. That's your name. Unless Ellana wants me to."

Varric gestured, as if it was clear. "See?"

Solas frowned down at the blonde tracing a brick on the floor with his finger. "Cole might be able to cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him, but these are not the abilities of a mage. It seems Cole is a spirit."

Cassandra and Vivienne exhaled twin noises of disgust. "An abomination!"

"He has possessed nothing and no one," Solas determined.

"A demon, then," Dorian amended.

"If you prefer," Solas replied, "although the truth is somewhat more complex. Cole appears human in all respects – a unique existence. If he wants to help, I suggest we allow him to do so."

Ellana's lips twisted. "I'm not sure how much more complexity I want around me before I try sealing the Breach."

Cassandra's hand drifted to her sword grip. "As you say."

Carver cleared his throat. "I agree with Solas."

The man whipped his gaze to Carver, quietly stunned.

"You do?" Ellana gaped in surprise. "Considering your training, I would think…. What if I ordered Cassandra to dispose of Cole?"

"Then I would intervene," Carver frankly replied.

The air charged with tension.

Dorian's brows danced. "Ooo, drama."

Ellana's composure cracked. "You would fight Cassandra in defence of a demon?"

"A spirit," Carver corrected. Now Solas was definitely staring. "If you wish, then request Leliana to have her agents watch him, but I don't believe Cole is malevolent. Therinfal Redoubt proved a nightmare. If Cole were a demon, would he have interfered and saved people's lives?"

Ellana hesitated. "What if I — fail," her voice caught, "at sealing the Breach, and the energy drives him mad?"

"I hope you'll kill me," Cole stated, startling everyone. He peered up from where he sat crouched on the ground, and stilled upon meeting Carver's eyes. "Lost. Lonely blue, then bright, a babe no longer. You aren't him. You're the friend."

Amazement lanced through Carver's chest.

Could it be? The same Compassion that had introduced the real Carver to the gentle corner of the Fade since Carver had been a child? Yet Cole's immediate cradling of his head suggested that the spirit was suffering from mild amnesia. He behaved convinced that his form lacked inspiration, even though Carver knew that Compassion had crossed the Veil and taken the form of the original Cole who had passed away. Forever young. At the same time, Cole recognised Carver's appearance because the real Carver had been taking similar forms for as long as the original Hawke could remember. Perhaps Cole was unconsciously blocking his memories of the original Cole in a manner of selective amnesia? Carver's lightning-quick thought dissipated with Cole's continued muttering.

"I refuse to be like them," Cole flinched, living from one emotion to the next. "If I turn into a demon, you must kill me, please."

Eyes darted between Cole, Carver, and Cassandra, before eventually landing on Ellana. The situation rested in her hands.

A taut silence preceded her nod. "I'll ask Leliana to have Cole monitored. Cassandra, let's meet with her, Cullen, and Josephine in the war room. I'm ready to seal the Breach."

The group dispersed, Carver hastily retreating for his shared room. The crunch of snow behind him drew his gaze to Solas heading the same direction, likely for his own cabin split between the sage, Researcher Minaeve, and Apothecarist Adan. Solas met Carver's gaze, and the latter quickly returned his focus ahead. They walked in silence.

A heel-turn. "Are you following me?"

Solas slowly blinked. "My cabin is that way."

"Right." Carver shed his paranoia and continued walking.

"That was brave of you."

Carver halted, facing him. "What?"

"Standing up to Cassandra," Solas elaborated, holding his hands behind his back.

Carver purposefully misunderstood with a snort. "Cassandra can be intimidating."

Solas watched him. "You would have died protecting a spirit."

"An innocent." Carver's brows furrowed. "I thought you knew or have deduced everything about me. Besides, Cassandra and I would have yielded at the first nearest maiming, and Ellana would have stopped us before then."

Solas' gaze slanted aside to the muddy snow of Haven.

Carver left him there.

The Inquisition's army needed to spread out in Haven and stand ready for any situation that could arise while Ellana tried to seal the Breach. Carver coordinated with Maker's Breath and Xanthe per Cullen's instructions, a task that consumed his energies for the rest of the week. When Carver finally found a moment to breathe, he sought overgrown land behind a furrier workshop for privacy. The corner of Haven was unpopular due to the workshop's odour and the area's acoustics that overwhelmed it with an ambient clamour. Carver rounded the workshop, only to swiftly reverse and press his back against the building.

Ellana and Solas were seated on a boulder, the sage cradling Ellana's glowing palm in his.

"You told me so, do you not remember?" Ellana's melodic voice faintly drifted through the air. "Spirits are like people, defined beyond their appearances."

"I remember," Solas quietly replied. "Your decision about Cole nonetheless surprised me."

"I shouldn't have hesitated," Ellana lamented. "So far as we know, Cole has only aided us, and yet I nearly judged him for what he can't control. I would have wanted someone to believe in me when I had woken up in a jail cell with a foreign mark on my hand. And yet…."

"You find the Breach daunting," Solas intoned.

"A decision made in fear would have condemned Cole," Ellana spoke roughly.

Solas made a noise in the back of his throat. "In my studies of the Fade, I have seen few others regret their delayed response to aiding a spirit. Most would not consider it an option at all. To them, spirits are a mystery or a tool the world would ill venture to understand."

"Your words are kind, but goodness alone doesn't drive me." Ellana's voice fell. "Obviously. Look at how I hesitated. The truth is I'm terrified of failing. Everyone's behaving as if Thedas' problems will vanish once the Breach disappears. What if my interaction with the Breach merely incites another explosion?"

"I posit that the Breach is merely a result of the explosion," Solas shared, "not a contributor. One cannot blame glass for the fire that birthed it. The worst that may happen is your Mark tears the Breach open wider."

Ellana shakily sighed. "Somehow, that's comforting." A rosy laugh. "Since we've met, you've been reassuring me with wisdom and delighting me with your stories of the Fade. Even now, you're willing to follow me into a bog just to continue monitoring my Mark and easing the pain. I would not be able to move confidently without you. Ma serannas, Solas. I don't deserve your faithful companionship."

Solas' voice subtly strained, imperceptible. "…The Mark appears stable." The rustle of fabric, indicating a release of Ellana's hand. "And you credit me too much, Ellana. I humbly accept your gratitude."

A phantom arrow of guilt struck Carver despite not sitting on the boulder himself. He took it as a cue to silently leave the pair to their privacy.

When Carver next saw Solas, the man and Thom were by the haystacks for Dennet's mounts. The stables sat near the first of several trebuchets that guarded Haven, while another ring of trebuchets stood within Haven's walls. Carver had recently inspected them with Speechless, now on his way to examine the others. The rest of Carver's soldiers were scattered across Ferelden to monitor rifts for Ellana to seal, and to report demonic activity, so only a minimal company of Carver's soldiers remained in Haven. As he neared the stables, he observed that Thom must have caught Solas in conversation as the mage sighed.

"Sera's involved?" Solas checked. "So this question will be offensive."

"Yes, probably." Thom coughed. "Sorry. See, you make friends with spirits in the Fade, so…are any more than just friends? If you know what I mean."

"Oh, for…really?"

"It's a natural thing to be curious about!" Thom defended.

"For a twelve-year-old!"

"It's a simple yes or no question."

Solas shook his head. "Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that."

Thom lit up. "Aha! So you do have experience in these matters!"

A snort leapt out of Carver's throat as he passed.

Solas shot him a look and remarked crisply, "I did not say that."

"Don't panic," Thom jovially chuckled. "It'll be our little secret."

"…Ass."

"Now who's twelve?" Thom barked, laughing, before noticing Carver. "Ser."

"You're under Captain Xanthe, right?" Carver idled. "What's your rank?"

Thom nodded. "She's well up there, but yes ser, I'm one of her sergeants."

"Notify me when you would like to be a lieutenant." Carver's lips twitched. "No one else has managed to provoke profanity out of Solas."

"I did not––" Solas interjected.

Carver left him in the snow again.

Ellana successfully sealed the Breach, subduing the swirling lake of green fire in the sky into harmless ribbons, like an aurora.

It was beautiful.

Haven danced in joy and relief.

Carver stood at attention by Haven's gates while festivities lit the village behind him. Maker's Breath's soldiers covered Orlais the way Carver's did Ferelden, while Xanthe managed Haven. On this occasion per Carver's advice, she had maintained fully-attentive security around Haven as before the Breach's sealing, but Carver couldn't help contributing his own pair of eyes to the night's watch. Varric eventually found him in the drifting snow with a steaming bowl of venison stew in the dwarf's hands.

"Hey Shiny," Varric chided, "you're missing out on the food. The same as usual, but it tastes better with our recent victory."

Behind the merchant prince followed Sera and Thom, the former who quirked a brow. "Yer one ovem big armours."

"A captain," Carver replied.

Sera shrugged. "Tha's what ah said."

Thom chuckled teasingly. "Standing guard, soldier?"

"Sergeant," Carver greeted. "The three of you were brave at Therinfal Redoubt, from what I've heard. The Templar Order is responsible for many wrongs, but no man or woman deserves such a fate. I'm glad you and a couple Templars managed to escape that place."

"Aye," Thom deflated a degree. "This conflict hurts everyone."

Sera burped. "Yer dunna support mages or Templars, Thom?"

Varric snorted. "I think none of us here do."

As the three warmly jested between each other, Carver observed Thom's jaw hidden by a growing beard. Possibly a tribute to the warden's fallen mentor. It was nowhere bottomless enough to conceal bread rolls like Sera's rugged layers, from which she would ferally tear into her goods while Varric occasionally spooned his bowl of soup. Above Thom's dark beard, weary cheekbones eventually peaked with a squint.

"Firelight…?" the warden trailed off.

Carver whipped his head in the direction of Thom's gaze, spotting flickering motes of light descending the mountains facing Haven.

"Sound the alarm."

A bemused shape of Thom's beard answered Carver's command. "It could be anything."

"Do it, sergeant."

Carver descended from the gates and pivoted to Haven's outer ring of trebuchets. He found Harritt, his smiths, and a few soldiers lounging on a trebuchet with mugs of hot cider in their hands. One of the soldiers recognised Carver's armour, its colours and fit similar to the other two Shielders in the Inquisition's ranks. Everyone in the Inquisition was a volunteer and either wore armour they previously had, or armour hurriedly fashioned by Harritt and his smiths. Whoever Carver was, he held a high position.

The soldier blinked slowly, caught between his buzz and surprise. "Ser?"

"Wind up the trebuchets," Carver ordered. "We're under attack."

The soldier straightened up. "Demons, ser?"

Carver turned to peer at the torches in the distance, already spilling closer to Haven. The echoing stamp of feet drifted up from the valley between Haven and the opposite mountain like a war drum. The enemy could be red Templars or the Venatori. The distinction hardly mattered.

The soldiers stared agape. "R-Ready the trebuchets!"

Harritt, his smiths, and the soldiers leapt to action, spreading the word and arming Haven's trebuchets. Carver hastened further away from Haven's walls and found the borders of Horsemaster Dennet's stables. Unhinged red Templar horrors had already run ahead of their troops to attack. Dennet and his stableboys were desperately freeing the horses, harts, dracolisks, and war nugs from the stables while Roderick vainly swung a shovel around at the invaders. A red horror knocked the tool aside, and Roderick lost his footing, tripping backwards.

Carver dismembered the red horror just as it thrusted a lyrium claw at Roderick. Another flick of Summer Sword, and the horror collapsed, headless. Carver grabbed Roderick's arm and hauled him up.

"That was brave and foolish," Carver scolded, turning to the others. "Run to the Chantry, all of you – and bring the horses!"

The terrified horsemaster and stableboys frantically nodded and fled, but Carver gripped Roderick's arm tightly. "A secret exit from Haven's Chantry. Do you know of any?"

"A secret…?" The chancellor straightened, exhaling shakily. "Maker willing, I'll guide everyone through it."

Carver and Roderick together ran for Haven's gates, before Carver split off to prepare Haven's inner ring of trebuchets.

Ellana grabbed his arm as he passed by. "What's going on?"

Cullen panted behind her from running around Haven. "We're under attack!"

Josephine caught up with them. "What colours are they flying?"

Carver pivoted for the trebuchets. "None!" he tossed back.

Josephine's squawk followed him, contributing to the air of emergency that was rapidly consuming Haven. Mugs, tables, and tents toppled to the ground as everyone hurriedly fled to the Chantry or addressed the invasion. Dennet's herd of mounts crowded the Chantry's main doors as Thom and Dennet calmly led the animals through. Carver caught Adan and Minaeve nearby struggling to move massive earthen jugs.

"Leave it!" Carver ordered.

The two scientists swiftly moved on to cradle as many smaller jugs from their workspaces as they could, before fleeing to the Chantry. The heavy thudding of active trebuchets shook the air around Haven. Carver found Xanthe coordinating the inner ring of trebuchets.

"Carver!" the woman recognised between shouting orders. "The northern-most trebuchet isn't firing!"

"I'm on it," Carver dismissed her help and hustled to the north.

Red Templars breached Haven's walls as the outer ring of trebuchets slowly quieted. Carver cut down a red marksman and ran behind a red knight for protection from a horror's volley of lyrium spikes, before stabbing both. He winced at spirit damage he suffered from the horror's reflexive barriers. The technique resembled mages' shields, except the area of effect had to have also harmed the horror with spirit damage. The red Templars were willing to hurt themselves just to hurt an enemy. Carver finished off a red shadow with a wrath of heaven, before the ground quaked.

Ellana, Cassandra, the Iron Bull, and Solas were fending off a red behemoth from the jammed trebuchet.

The behemoth axed its monstrous lyrium fist down again, cracking the ground as Cassandra and Bull rolled aside. Ellana and Solas launched fire and boulders at the behemoth's head, but their sweat was visible from afar. Their mana reserves had limits.

Carver ran in. "Fire that trebuchet!"

Ellana and Solas switched out with him and hurriedly wound the trebuchet back, before rolling ammunition into it. The behemoth fell just as the ground suddenly fissured from a distantly enormous fireball. Carver's hair rose at a familiar high-pitched, reptilian trumpet of war.

SHRIIEEEEK––

BOOM!

The air split with raw power, tossing Carver like a rag doll. Bull's body slammed into him with the explosion. Gravity spun. Carver barely heard Ellana's cry to retreat.

"Dragon!" Cassandra roared, hauling Bull off of Carver and supporting the qunari as they fled.

The brace around Bull's bad ankle had shattered. Carver dazedly picked himself up and charged after their figures, which were already vanishing into the tossed up snow. As if the dragon had brought it, a storm had picked up, rapidly climaxing into a blizzard. At the Chantry's steps, Carver turned to see Solas' blurry grey figure chasing after his shadow with equal hurry, before Carver realised that Ellana wasn't with them. Solas followed his gaze to the wall of flames that had consumed all sight of the jammed trebuchet. The mage's posture stilled.

Carver bolted past Solas.

"Carver!" a shocked exclamation followed the action.

He didn't glance over his shoulder, sprinting for the trebuchet. Never had the small village of Haven stretched impossibly far as it did now. Every laboured breath left Carver with a sting.

––THUD.

The trebuchet launched ammunition into the mountain across Haven, and in a blink, an avalanche was already hurtling through the valley for Haven's gates. Carver stabbed Summer Sword into the ground and crouched down with both hands before a tidal wave of ice and rock crashed over him.

…

..

.

A mountain, this time.

Carver was moving up past towers and temples now.

.

..

…

In truth, merely the wane of the avalanche's crash had swallowed Carver, like the last frothy fingers of seawater curling up against a cliffside for the sky. Ellana had been in the heart of nature's wrath. The fact grew devastatingly clear as Carver clawed his way to the surface past splintered wood and packed, rocky snow. His helmet had become a bowl of debris that he promptly emptied by lifting his visor and bending over, but his frozen fingers refused to relatch the visor shut afterwards. Despite the exhaustion and shock scooping the strength out of him by the minute, Carver condensed the world into an apple in his hand, flaring his surroundings with white fire. A misshapen sea of velvet grey had consumed Haven and the valley that had divided it from other mountain faces, as if the valley's former existence had been an illusion. Carver couldn't even seek direction from the skies, draped as they were with low-hanging clouds.

Where would he find Ellana in all this?

On a normal day, the Mark softly rippled from the woman's hand like a green mirage. Near a rift, it could briefly blind the unsuspecting with a burst of energy. At night with misleading silhouettes of trees, rocks, and falling snow between Ellana and the nearest living being? Carver could just as well search for a candle in a storm.

"Ellana…!" Carver faintly howled.

Remorse panged through him every time he propped himself up on debris with Summer Sword. He would need to carefully inspect his blade later. He had to believe in a later, else his will would collapse under the weight of more than a mountain.

"E…lla…na…!"

Carver climbed higher, hoping to gain a broader angle of the devastation. His foot slipped on ground Summer Sword hadn't tested, and Carver tripped, tumbling down backwards, then on his side, until his head finally ceased spinning and throbbing. He picked himself up between shapes he at first mistook for horses or people, but quickly proved to simply be more trees and rocks. The shattered hope cut deep into Carver's steadfastness. Then colour distantly flared amongst the grey, before Carver found his feet flying for a crevice between two juts of rock that contributed to a mountain peak.

Air rushed in and out of Carver's lungs like razors as he skittered down to Ellana's trembling form. The woman shakily looked up from her fawn-like legs at the incoming grey shape moving to swallow her. Carver tugged his cloak free of his shoulders and tossed it around Ellana, a fresh bite of icy wind slamming into his body. He ignored it.

Their teeth chattered.

"C-C-C…."

"S-Save your energ-gy." Carver hugged her tightly with one arm, serving as Ellana's own walking stick as he tested the ground ahead of them one leg and arm at a time. "Y-Your mark is a b-beacon…sh-show it."

Ellana clutched his cloak around her and peeked her left hand out, her hair whipping the limb and both of their faces. The attempt was unlikely to grab attention, if the two of them were even within sight of anyone. "W-Where are w-we going?"

"N-No idea," Carver confessed. He was focused on shielding Ellana from certain death, and little else. "I-I go where y-you go."

Despite their bleak situation, despite suffering a change in the Frostbacks' skyline, Ellana….

Carver blinked rapidly.

Ellana laughed.

"My f-faithful knight."

The music filled the cavities in Carver's spirit that the past several events had cut out of him. Carver's stiff face weakly cracked into a smile. Then Ellana slumped against him.

"E-Ellana…?"

Carver's heart leapt into his throat as the woman became a wordless sack of rocks in his arms. Maker, she was out cold. Carver scooped her up – Keeper armour, cloak, and all – and trudged through the snow more hurriedly, nearly falling over on his face more times than he could care to count. Frustration burned through the ice building in his veins. Where he previously couldn't carry his own weight, he would lift Ellana above waist-high snow and debris for hours if he had to. As energy from his frustration dwindled, it certainly felt like it.

He didn't know if he was carrying a corpse.

Finally, Carver couldn't right himself in time from poor footing, and he tripped, falling forwards into Ellana. Her marked hand tumbled out as they fell, arm landing stretched out on the snow. Carver couldn't tell if he had imagined firelight over a crest of snowy rock ahead of them. Eventually, he realised he also wasn't imagining voices.

"It's the Herald!"

Firm hands picked him and Ellana up from the ground, shaking snow off of them. Ellana was swiftly carried to the heart of crowded tents and campfires while two burly people slung Carver's arms over their shoulders and dragged him between them. They deposited Carver into a cot where Chantry sisters immediately tended to his armour and wounds, and as the warmth of a campfire bled into Carver's sore body, his eyes slid closed.

Cole's voice faintly trickled into his ears. Bony fingers tapped on the side of Carver's neck where a blade had once kissed him. "You don't want to die, despite the pain. Very well…I won't help you, friend of Carver."

;

A/N:

Solas' reaction to Carver and Cassandra's "almost fight" gives me the same energy as the quest where Cole either becomes more spirit or human:

Solas: We cannot let Cole kill that man.

Varric: I don't think anyone was going to suggest that, Chuckles.

While Solas can read people well, his beliefs sometimes dive into the driver's seat, commanding his first reaction.

Also, given that Cole can see into dwarves' emotions like Varric and a dwarven Herald, I've allowed Carver to likewise be exposed to him. Cole doesn't appear to be a straight-up mind reader unlike in other stories I've seen, but rather somewhat of an empath who is sensitive to "loud" emotions and who can quote heavy memories. I'll be writing Cole as such.

As for Sera's Derbyshire accent, I tried to write it more naturally than I heard it in-game, according to the voice actress' intention. She's a fun little rogue :D