AN: For the sake of time, I'm choosing to skip over that whole Crestwood business and have Hawke and Warden!Alistair just come to Skyhold together. Also, Cole's quest is usually post-Adamant but I'm moving it up for plot reasons.
Thank you for reading, and as always reviews are always deeply appreciated!
Chapter 13: Trouble in Skyhold
Errol sat cross-legged on her new bed at Skyhold, still in her underwear, idly eating the warm bread that the serving girl had brought up just minutes before. Her room was one of the first to be ready, and it was actually very nice - the bed was soft and didn't even smell like mold, and there was a fireplace and an amazing view.
She had been there for a over a week now, and people were already pouring in to the fortress. How word spread so fast in a world without cell phones she'd never understand. Between investigating the nooks and crannies of the massive building and deciding the setup, assigning offices, arranging for the new war table, helping refugees, advocating for Cole, and breaking up fights between Varric and Cassandra over the appearance of Hawke and Alistair, Errol barely had time to sleep, let alone visit the Fade or deal mentally with being a spirit and the Inquisitor.
She sighed, turning over the object in her hand. The sudden reemergence of the Champion of Kirkwall and her Grey Warden friend had been another wrench thrown into the works. Apparently all of the Wardens were hearing a false Calling, likely engineered by Corypheus, and now Hawke and Alistair were gone again, off to investigate a gathering of Wardens in the Western Approach. Errol was set to follow them in a few days time. Another day, another sure to be near-death experience. And that wasn't even mentioning the ball at Halamshiral she'd have to face when, if, she returned - a night of attempted murder and intrigue at the heart of the Great Game, which Leliana and Josephine were attempting to teach her. Apparently the seamstresses were already hard at work on a fancy dress and painful shoes.
Errol shook her head. This was all part of her life now. Being a spirit, leading the Inquisition, saving the world - this was what she signed up for, and she couldn't go crying about it anymore or wallowing in her own depression. She had made a promise to the people the day she accepted the title of Inquisitor, and she would live up to it. She needed to find her way out of the darkness, step by step.
Mostly, that meant accepting that she was a spirit, and finally having a real discussion with Solas in the Fade. Everything he knew she had to know. How to protect herself, what her powers were or could be, what she should be worried about, everything. She also had to reach out again to her fellow companions - cutting them off was only hurting herself, and she had Cole by her side to make sure that nothing would slip by and hurt the cause. She needed friends now. She needed laughter and hope and the occasional drunken night out.
First things first, though. She had to wrench herself out of this depression. She needed a jolt of happiness. She was the leader of the Inquisition damnit! She had magic and good friends and weird yet sexy men in her life! She would drag herself out of this funk by her own hair if she had to.
Errol put the iPod down on the mattress and frowned at it. It wasn't real, she knew that now. Well, it was real in the same way she was; it was a replica, made of the Fade, created by her own memory and expectations of what she would find in her pockets. She made it. That meant she could make it work.
She held her hand over it and concentrated, reaching out with her magic and running it gently through the technology she didn't understand but wasn't really real anyway, it was her creation, it was her memory of the music. She shuffled through the songs in her head, went deep into her thoughts to pull out every song she could remember, the feel of clicking through them, the sensation of music, the light of it when it turned on…
It lit up. Errol squealed with joy, marveling at the small Apple symbol on the screen. Clicking through, she realized that they were all there, even the songs she didn't remember. Tentatively she hit play, and the weak speakers began to croon The Avett Brothers.
No, not right. She needed to move. She needed mindless, pure, unfiltered joy. And more sound. Definitely more sound.
Giggling madly, Errol raced down the stairs, locked the door, ran back up and cast a soundproof barrier around the room, and then, circled inside of the barrier, several amplifying points. She scrolled through, hit play, and jumped on the bed, still in her underwear, only the mountains before her.
It was time to dance.
Cullen paused at her door and took a deep breath. He'd had little chance to speak with her since they reached Skyhold; she'd been different, somehow, after the battle. Withdrawn, quiet, paler, and her smiles didn't reach her eyes. He knew the signs of a warrior post-battle; he'd lived them himself. He knew the depression one could drown in. That's why he was here, after all. To make sure she was really okay, both with her internal battle scars and with the new mantle of Inquisitor hanging over her shoulders. No one seemed to know her anymore. The only people she spoke to freely were Cole and Solas, and he didn't like how the sight of her laughing at something the elf said made his stomach clench.
It couldn't be jealousy, he told himself. She wasn't his. There wasn't anything to be jealous about.
Still, he'd felt a connection with her. Or maybe he was seeing things that didn't exist. He wasn't one of her traveling companions, after all; he had always been trapped at Haven while she went traipsing about the countryside, usually with Solas.
There was that stomach clench again. Maybe there was more to his desire to punch the elf in the face than his insufferable arrogance. What did they talk about all the time?
"You just going to stand there looking at her door or are you going to knock on it?" Iron Bull drawled.
Cullen whipped around to see the giant Qunari leaning against the wall with an amused expression on his face. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough to know that you have some serious thoughts regarding our new Chief," he said, smirking. "I see your armor's been freshly polished. Looks good. Fur is nice and fluffy too. And you shaved off that perpetual stubble, though that was a bad move: the ladies tend to like the stubble."
Cullen scowled. "What are you doing here?"
"Boss said she wanted to try sparring against someone who wasn't Cassandra."
"Why?"
"I think the Seeker is starting to believe the hype about her being touched by Andraste. Not great for training. Blackwall's got his whole 'my lady' thing going on, wouldn't give her the full experience. That leaves me. I figured we'd get started sooner rather than later. Girl has some issues to work out, if you haven't noticed."
"I have," Cullen muttered, then turned to the door, straightened his back, and knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder, then tried the knob. Locked.
"That's odd," he said. "The serving girl brought her breakfast not fifteen minutes ago and she's not been out since."
Iron Bull pushed past him and used his massive fist to pound very loudly on the door. It echoed through the halls, but there was no answer. The room was silent inside.
Cullen was starting to get worried.
"I can break it down," Iron Bull said decisively.
"Who's breaking what down now?" Sera's interested voice asked, and a moment later she and Dorian walked into view. He was scowling down at her, his arms crossed.
"Don't think you're going to get out of it that easily. I will not have my silken small clothes replaced with… with… cotton blends, you monster!"
"I can open that for you, if you want," Sera said, ignoring him completely. "Why you want to go breaking into Inky's room, anyway?"
"She's in there and awake but not answering," Cullen said worriedly.
"And the room is silent as death," Iron Bull finished.
Dorian reached out with light fingers and touched the door. "Soundproof barrier," he said immediately. "Put into place from the inside. She's not answering because she can't hear you."
"Who put it there?" Cullen asked, reaching instinctively for his sword. Dorian shook his head.
"I can't tell. It's possible she did, but I don't know why she would." His eyes lit up. "Perhaps she's engaged in a tryst?"
The tightness in Cullen's stomach squeezed to an almost sickening degree.
"At this time in the morning?" Sera asked, yawning. "Too early."
"No one's come in her room since the serving girl left," Cullen said, as if reassuring himself. "Sera, can you open the door?"
"I said I could, didn't I?" she asked, rolling her eyes and pulling a pin from her belt. She knelt and, after a few seconds of jiggering, the door opened.
They all stepped into the silent room and walked up the stairs, one by one passing through the soundproof barrier so that suddenly—
Cullen's ears were assaulted by something he had no way of categorizing. "By the Maker, what is that racket?" he asked, but it was so loud no one could hear him. Then he reached the top of the stairs, and he didn't care about the sound anymore.
Errol was… jumping on the bed. Singing, and… moving suggestively. Practically writhing, back arched, ample chest heaving and skin glistening with a sheen of light perspiration. In nothing but her small clothes.
And the players gonna play play play play play
And the haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate
I'm just gonna shake shake shake shake shake
Shake it off, shake it off!
"This is amazing!" Sera exclaimed, her words drowned out by the music.
"…damn," Iron Bull said appreciatively.
Dorian almost fell over laughing.
Cullen knew his face was bright red. He knew he should stop this, move into her field of vision, wave his arms, let her know that they were there. He knew it was very, very wrong to be watching her like this. But he couldn't move. She had instructed the seamstresses to fashion her small clothes in the style of her homeworld, and they clung to her chest and bottom like a second skin as she moved to the music.
Heartbreakers gonna break break break break break
And the fakers gonna fake fake fake fake fake
I'm just gonna shake shake shake shake shake
Shake it off, shake it off!
As if to demonstrate she dipped and swung her hips and shoulders, then jumped high on the mattress, her legs arched behind her.
So I keep moving, can't stop won't stop grooving
It's like I've got this music in my mind
Saying it's gonna be all right
Her eyes closed, she moved her hands up her body, her fingers skimming her breasts, and then lifted them to her hair as she swayed in gyrating circles. Cullen was sweating. His pants had become uncomfortably tight. This had to stop. For his sake more than hers.
His eyes fell on a small, rectangular device sitting on the desk. The music seemed to be emanating from that, though magically amplified so that it bounced around the room. He lunged for it, then randomly hit at its smooth paneling until the music suddenly cut off.
The silence was resounding.
Errol stopped dancing. She opened her eyes curiously, then gasped as she took in her onlookers.
"Oh shit!" she screamed, and started throwing pillows at them. "What are you doing here? Get out, get out!"
"Just enjoying the show!" Dorian called as Cullen turned and forcefully started to push them out. "You're very flexible!"
"Yeah, come for the music, stay for the T and A!" Sera yelled, cracking up.
"Out!" Cullen snapped, then turned to apologize. She had fallen in the middle of the bed, looking dazed and flushed. The sight of her, her eyes huge, hair a mess, clutching a pillow to her mostly-bare body, almost undid him. "I… I apologize, Inquisitor," he said, looking down, his fists clenched, his body trembling like it did when he first went off lyrium. "When we knocked and received no response, we thought that something might be wrong. We never imagined…"
"Cullen," she said in a breathy voice, and he made the mistake of glancing up again. She was just sitting there, legs akimbo, like she didn't know what she did to him, and the urge to cross the room and push her down and cover her mouth with his, to feel how warm and flushed her skin was, how thin and easily tearable her strange small clothes were, was almost overwhelming.
His voice was a hoarse rasp. "Please, come and speak with me when you are properly attired."
With that, he fled.
It took a long time for Errol to get herself together again. She felt inexplicably like she'd done something wrong, but she knew she hadn't - she was allowed to do as she pleased in her own room! But the way he looked at her, like he wanted to march over and punish her… as he would say, Maker's breath…
Now the feeling of doing something wrong was fading, and all she wanted to do was to get him to look at her like that again. At first she thought his hands had been shaking because he was so upset, but what if it was something else?
"No, no," she chided herself, standing and moving to the wardrobe. "You are being stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid." She sorted angrily through outfits. "You. Are. So. Stupid. Argh!"
She finally chose a pair of men's pant's, a silken shirt, a leather vest, and comfortable boots. Here, at least, she could go without armor. She pulled the pants on with more force than was necessary, suddenly missing Jules more than ever, or even her mom. Someone she could giggle with boys about, or in this case, rage about boys. She didn't think she'd ever been this frustrated in her life. With the exception of one Fade kiss by a shifty and strangely sexy elf-man, she'd been without for over a year, and now the man she wanted to ravage her had just seen her in nothing but her panties and bra and he had just walked out—
"I am so going to buy Dorian that drink," she muttered, jamming her feet into the shoes and running her fingers through her short hair. Maybe it was the hair. Everyone seemed to hate the hair. Maybe no one wanted to fuck her because of her terrible, terrible hair.
"Enough," Errol said aloud, shoving the last of the fruit and bread into her mouth. "You're not an animal. Time to get this day started. That means—" She blanched. Talking to Solas in the Fade was next on her list. That was fine. She'd be fine.
She shook her head, her short hair swinging around her face. "I hate my life."
She found him in the circular room he had taken to haunting. She wasn't sure why he had chosen this room, as it was open and offered little privacy, but maybe it was that they had given him carte blanche to paint on the walls, and that it was just downstairs from the library, where he was always darting up to in search of a fresh tome on history or magic or the Fade or something.
"Ah, the prodigal one returns," he said, not looking up from his inspection of an artifact as she walked in. Errol stopped, brow furrowed.
"How do you know that phrase? The prodigal son is a Biblical story."
He finally looked up. "Interesting. Here it is a Chantry tale. The prodigal daughter. There does seem to be some crossover between Andraste and your Jesus. I would like to study it more once this is all over, though I'm not sure how beyond simply asking you questions."
"I'm not exactly a scholar," she said, walking to peer over his shoulder at the glowing stone he was inspecting.
"You're all we have. That makes you the foremost expert."
"What's that?"
He poked at it, and its glow sputtered and went out. "I'm not sure. Perhaps nothing. Something one of our scouts dug up." He straightened. "It's been nearly ten days. I was starting to worry I'd have to come to you."
"Heaven forbid," she said dryly. He merely regarded her.
"I assume you've taken the time you need to process your… situation?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not an answer."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"That you are," he conceded. "And I assume you are here for more answers. Do you wish to continue this conversation in the Fade, where we may speak freely?"
She nodded. "Yeah, but I just woke up an hour ago. I'm not exactly sleepy."
"Ah." He turned and rummaged through one of the desk drawers, emerging with a bright red leaf. "Chew this when you're ready. It's a mild sedative. It will only last around one hour, so you won't miss the whole day."
Errol took it from him tentatively, their fingers brushing. "Okay. So where should we do this?" She glanced at the cot he had set up in the corner. She knew he had a proper bed somewhere but she wasn't sure where. "We can't just lie down on the floor, this is an open room. People might step on us."
"Shall we retire to your room then?"
She blushed furiously at the thought of him in her room, lying down next to her in her bed. "No!" He raised his eyebrows. "People might… get the wrong idea."
He gave her a brief, knowing look, then shrugged and turned away. "Then we shall sleep apart. Physical distance is no matter, as you well know."
She clutched the leaf. "Is now a good time?"
He pulled out his own red leaf and started to walk to his cot, his bare feet silent on the stone floor. "Of course, Inquisitor."
Errol wasn't sure if hidden in his tone was a subtle jab at how long it had been since she visited him. Either way, she swallowed the lump in her throat and walked quickly back to her chambers. She noticed as she climbed into bed that it had started to rain, and the sound soothed her as she chewed the bitter leaf and slowly drifted off into a drugged sleep.
She's back in his room, except now the walls are fully painted. It's what he wants the room to be when it's finished, and it's beautiful.
"Wow," she says, inspecting it. Her feet are bare but her robes are warm, her hair long and tucked behind pointed ears. "Solas, this is incredible."
"It will be. This is just a possibility, the dream of it." He doesn't sound like he's talking about the painting.
Errol turns. He's lounging on his desk, dressed in his usual flowing Fade robes. As always, he's more animated here, his eyes brighter, almost feral, his hands curled around the edges of the desk, his body taut as if about to spring, like this is the real him, finally let loose in the Fade.
He's still restraining himself, however, for her. "You have questions," he says, standing and approaching her, and it's a slow, graceful unfurl, until his hands are tucked behind his back, straight as an arrow.
She nods, and touches the talisman that still rests at the center of her chest. "What is this? I already figured out that I can't become possessed. Does it do anything? Is it keeping me from becoming a demon? Is it like Cole's talisman, once his works, to keep anyone from controlling me?"
"It does nothing. Only you can keep yourself from becoming a demon."
She glares at him. "That's some information I could have used a little earlier!"
He shakes his head. "Right now, you cannot become a demon. You're still tethered to your human body in your world. As long as it is still alive, there are limits to your spirit form and your abilities. This is a blessing and a curse. Your powers are limited, but your form is more stable, and you cannot become a demon and no one can control you. However, should your mortal body die in your world that tether will be severed, and you will become fully a spirit, more powerful yet more mutable. Then, becoming a demon will be a worry. It's why I've been training you to keep a handle on your emotions." He pauses, surveying her thoughtfully. "What I want to know is, how are you already not dead? A body without a spirit cannot survive on its own for long."
"My world has better technology," she murmurs. "They have me on something called life support. But if they think I'm brain dead, they have the option to remove that support. Cut the cord. Willingly let me die because they think I'm already dead."
"Then you must prepare yourself. It could happen at any time."
"What about returning home?"
He frowns, as if he dislikes the question. "If it is something you truly wish to do," he says with disdain, "I will research avenues once Corypheus is defeated. It must be done safely. If done via a near-death experience, as happened before, you will reenter your body only long enough to die." She looks shocked, and he nods. "Yes. Had you remained any longer in your world, you would have perished. Returning here saved you."
She rubs her temples. "So that's why Cole gave me that warning," she says softly. "I didn't… I almost stayed."
"But you didn't. You don't belong there anymore."
She doesn't know why, but she reaches out and touches his robe. It's soft, heavy like wool but not scratchy, and it feels real.
"What am I?" she asks. "Really. I'm not like Cole, but I'm not a demon. What am I?"
He catches her hand and entwines her fingers with his. "You are different than most spirits, than any spirit I've encountered," he says, his voice a comforting lilt. "Spirits come in two varieties. They are either concepts: Compassion, Love, Empathy, Wisdom, or those concepts are twisted into demons: Rage, Envy, Hate, Despair. While they are complex in their own ways they will never truly have the depth of feeling that we do because they are a concept. They are their own people, but they lack the nuance, the shades of grey, the ability to reason and comprehend as we can.
"The other kind of spirits are what we call ghosts, but they are really just memories, imprints of the dead. There are no true ghosts - the souls of the living cross over once they die, and to where we do not know. Only an echo can remain."
He presses their palms together, his fingers longer than hers. His voice is becoming more animated, growing louder with each word. "But you are a true living spirit, with your mind and morals intact. A person made of the Fade. That makes you incredible. You can be what you want, you can manipulate the Fade in ways that other spirits can't comprehend, better than any mortal mage could dream. You are truly unique, and the Anchor only lends to your abilities. Without your tether to your living body, you could truly be great. Immortal, nigh unkillable. Kin to the gods of old."
He has a look in his eyes, an excited, hungry fire, and Errol knows that he wants this, wants this more than she's seen him want anything. She takes a step back, breaking their physical contact. "Why is this so important to you?" she whispers. "Why does it matter? I don't want to be like a god. That's what Corypheus wants."
He seems to take umbrage at that. "Corypheus is not a god," he growls, moving toward her, and a shiver runs down her spine.
She holds up her hands placatingly, confused by his sudden intensity. "Those gods are all gone anyway, either vanished or turned into Archdemons. I'd be alone. I want to be a person. I want to be human again."
"Why?" Solas asks. "You deserve better than humanity. You deserve more."
Her legs hit his desk, and he's closing in on her, a wolf stalking his prey. He has that look in his eyes, like he did before he kissed her in Fade-Haven, but she needs answers.
His left hand lands on the desk, effectively ensnaring her, but she catches his right hand before he can raise it to her face. "More than human?" she asks. "Such as what? An elf?"
Her questions catch him off guard and he freezes. Her eyes widen.
"I knew it," she hisses. "All of this time I was wondering, going crazy trying to figure out why I couldn't stay human in the Fade with you, why I always became an elf. It wasn't me. Maybe it was the first time, that was a mistake. But after that it was YOU. You're the one making me look like this."
"I'm not making you look like anything," he says, exasperated. "It's not merely physical appearance. In the Fade, you are an elf. You could be anything. You are no longer confined to a human form."
"So why am I never a dwarf, or a Qunari, or an animal?" she asks. "Always an elf? Is that the only way you'll want me? You have to twist my form into something acceptable?"
"Your misunderstanding is still thinking that you have a form."
"You're avoiding the question," she snaps. "Are you or are you not the reason I appear as an elf in the Fade?"
Solas doesn't answer. She tries to push past him but he holds her fast.
"We're not finished," he says.
"Oh, we are so finished," Errol says, her voice shaking. "You want me? Come get me in the real world. Until then you're just a manipulative liar who can't stand that I'm a human. And the worst part is? I knew it all along."
He tries one last time to reach her, but she knows the tricks of the Fade by now, and with one deep breath she pulls herself up and out and she's awake again, blinking and furious in her room, rain spitting against the windows.