Chapter 17: Sum of All Fears

Errol didn't sleep well that night.

She tossed and turned, going over the previous few days in her head. How had it all gone so wrong? She kept seeing Cullen's face as he stepped away from her in disgust. You're not even human! The ache that accompanied his loss, like she was completely unloveable, untouchable, a monster. And then Solas came and…

She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. She had never intended for that to happen. She had just been so shattered after Cullen, and the way Solas looked at her, the things he'd said to her, his voice pitched to a low growl, the way he'd made her feel desirable again, she hadn't been able to resist. It had felt amazing at the time, but in the cold dark hours of the night, alone in her bed, she knew it hadn't been the right choice.

Rejected or not, she loved Cullen.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She loved Cullen, she fucking loved him, and he couldn't even look at her.

She finally crawled out of bed just as the sun was cresting the horizon, shadows like dark bruises under her eyes. This couldn't go on. Even if it meant being alone, she had to tell him, or risk losing herself.

She thought of the nightmares, the ones where her huge wings were touched, ever-so lightly, and they crumbled to dust, and she wondered if this was what those dreams meant. That if she let someone in, the wrong someone, she would be changing herself for them, and losing herself in the process.

Or not. The dreams were more ambiguous than that, bigger than merely who she slept with. She washed her face, the cold water chasing the thoughts away. She'd think about that later.

Errol braided her newly-long hair, then dressed in leggings and a high-necked tunic that draped down to her thighs. She pulled on soft leather boots and, after checking to make sure that she was almost as covered as Leliana, made her way to the Great Hall.

It was still quiet, but it wouldn't stay that way for long; soon, the breakfast bell would ring and the place would be filled with servants carrying long tables and sleepy-eyed people shuffling in for their first cup of tea.

She made her way quickly to Solas' room, closing the door behind her. Even the rookery above was silent, the birds still resting and occasionally fluttering their feathers as the sun just started to spill warm light over them.

"You're here earlier than expected," a very quiet voice said, as if trying not to wake anyone else up.

Solas was painting the walls, but laid down the palette and brush when he saw her. He smiled a little and attempted to snag her around the waist, but she stepped away and shook her head.

"Solas, I… we need to talk."

His smile faded and he put his hands behind his back, surveying her. "Ah. You have shadows under your eyes. Trouble sleeping?"

She looked down. "About yesterday… it can never happen again."

"Never is a very long time."

She looked at him sharply. He didn't seem upset, more curious and almost weary, like she was a child throwing a tantrum that he would simply have to wait out. "I'm sorry, but I mean it. I never meant to toy with your feelings in any way, but I…" She wanted to say my heart belongs to someone else but she couldn't get the words out. "I've been through a lot and I just need to be alone. I can't. You and me… it isn't right. I was vulnerable last night and I made a mistake. It won't happen again." He was still staring at her. She wrinkled her brow. "What?"

He sighed. "I should have expected this," he said, stepping closer to her. "You still think like a mortal and have a limited perspective on everything, including time." He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "Don't worry, vhenan, I will not touch you in that way again without your permission, but I am patient, and you are wrong."

"I'm wrong?" she hissed. "You can't tell someone they're wrong about their own heart, Solas."

His voice was gentle. "Your nature recognizes me as what I am. Your true equal. Your mind will catch up."

She knew he wouldn't answer if she asked what he was, so she just shook her head. "You are such an asshole."

"An asshole?" He leaned forward, his breath hot on her neck, words murmured intimately. "You clearly didn't think so last night, when you were begging for me as you came."

She stepped away, her fists clenched. "We're done."

He inclined his head, his voice ever-so slightly mocking. "I disagree, but if the Lady Inquisitor must be on her way…"

She shot him one last glare, then turned on her heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind her, the sound reverberating through the tower and waking the birds, their squawks nearly drowned out by the sound of the morning bell and the shuffle of feet as Skyhold awoke.

Errol drowned herself in work over the next few days as they prepared to leave for Adamant Fortress. She avoided Solas' room at all cost, and during the many meetings in the War Room tried to walk the fine line between keeping her head down and acting like everything was fine. Cullen acted the Commander in front of Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra, but never met Errol's eyes across the table, and there was a tension in the air that everyone was aware of. When not in meetings, she spent most of her time either with Dorian, who she would coax to bring her books to the tavern so she wouldn't have to risk passing by Solas' room, or Varric, who made her comfortable because he never hit on her, even jokingly, due to his being in his own tortured relationship with the real Bianca.

Finally it was time to head out. Errol was looking forward to being on the road again, except this time the thrill of freedom was hampered by the fact that they were traveling with the army, including Cullen. Riding next to him but speaking only a few terse words was incredibly painful, made all the more awkward by Solas riding at her back. She had brought him simply because she needed someone besides Cole at her side who knew what she was, who could help if she changed or if everyone turned on her. She knew, despite their issues, that he would fight for her, and she was grateful that she at least had that.

Cole rode on her other side; he was awkward with the horse, still unused to riding an animal instead of slipping along ahead as a spirit. Next to him was Blackwall, who she brought with the hope that maybe he could talk the Wardens down from this insanity. Varric was there as well, Bianca strapped to his back - he was the best shot they had and perfect for picking off snipers on the walls.

Everyone else they had left at Skyhold in case they didn't return. Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine could lead the Inquisition if Cullen and Errol died; Vivienne was a respected mage and Dorian would further their cause even though he still wasn't completely trusted by the masses; Iron Bull had the Chargers to aid in battle; and Sera and her Red Jennies were helpful even if no one wanted to admit it. The Inquisition would live on, and that made Errol breathe a little easier.

"The Inquisition won't be better off if you die," Cole said blithely, and she heard Cullen's sharp intake of breath. "You're all tangled up inside, a pearl of pain, but you're still the beating heart, the sharp claws of the Owl. They can't make you forget that. They can't change you. You alive is better than you dead. You dead only brings more death."

"Cole, please don't," she said wearily. "You're just making everyone upset."

"I'm telling the truth," he said, a bit petulantly. "I don't like it when you have those thoughts. What must you think of me if you think that of you? Demon, monster, unloved, broken, shameful, hidden, hated, haunted."

"Hey Sunshine, what's he talkin' about?" Varric asked.

"Just nonsense," Errol said flatly. "You know how it is."

Cole looked hurt, but she just pushed her horse to go faster, missing entirely the look of pain and regret on Cullen's face.

The siege was bloody, as Cullen knew it would be.

He fought hard, with the muscle memory of someone who had been in many such battles, and watched her out of the corner of his eye. She fought through the Wardens and demons with single minded determination, until blood and gore covered her clothes and face, her staff lighting up again and again with fire and lightning and that strange Rift magic she'd been studying. Her face was set and determined, not even blinking as she tore down another foe, moving up toward the battlements.

He remembered reading the reports from her first trip out to the Hinterlands, how she reacted when she killed rebel mages for the first time. She nearly went into shock. She had been so innocent, arriving from a world where she never had to kill. And what had this world done to her? Chewed her up, stripped her of her innocence, of her bright-eyed optimism, of her literal body and sense of self, and he—

She had come to him, seeking hope, seeking salvation in a world gone mad, and he had turned her away. After all of the atrocities he himself had committed, he turned away the woman who was saving them, who was tearing herself apart to save a world that wasn't even her own, who wanted to give herself to a broken former templar who once wanted to kill innocent mages for no good reason other than his own hate. And he turned her away as if she was a monster.

He cut down another enemy as she called lightning to her staff and flung it at a demon, and felt sick. He was the monster. This wasn't Kinloch Hold, this wasn't Kirkwall, this wasn't the Fade or one of his nightmares. This was strange, wonderful, incredible living Errol in front of him that he cast aside because of his own brutal, crippling terror. He had barely looked at her since her admission, afraid of what it might mean to admit that he was wrong. Being with a spirit went against everything the Chantry taught, everything he believed in, everything the templars stood for. It was everything he feared. But he wasn't a templar anymore, and he wasn't afraid anymore.

Then she was gone, up the stairs, fighting her way to the battlements. He tried to follow, desperate to keep her safe, but there were too many enemies. He threw them off as quickly as he could, but his ascent was slow, and now his men were screaming, pointing to the sky, and he was throwing himself under cover as the dragon rained electrical fire down on them.

The dragon. No! Could Corypheus be here? Panic tightened in his gut. The moment the great wings passed overhead he emerged and ran toward where the beast was hovering. It would be after her, that's where it would go. He had to protect her.

He emerged into the ceremonial area just in time to see her group disappearing around a far corner. He sprinted fast, past the rift, past the bodies of dead Wardens, past a table with an old Warden on it, his throat slit.

When he finally found them, they were across a long walkway, and there was a dragon between them.

The dragon approached Errol slowly, one clawed foot in front of the other, a hissing growl rising up in its rotting throat. She skittered back, holding her staff out, standing in front of her companions as if she could save them by sheer will alone. Cullen clutched at his sword uselessly. What could he do?

She caught his eye for a split second and smiled, a grim, fatalistic smile that said she knew she was going to die. He shook his head. No. That couldn't happen.

Then Warden Commander Clarel opened up her hand from beneath the beast and shot out a beam of lightning straight into its soft underside. It roared, tail flailing, knocking Cullen back. The walkway shattered, stone crumbling like glass, and Cullen lifted himself just in time to see Errol and the rest of them falling, flailing, and as he screamed for her she opened up her left hand and the Anchor pulsed and a rift opened and swallowed them and they were gone and Cullen was left gasping and alone.

Errol was falling, falling forever. The air stuck to her, became part of her skin, seeped into her, peeled off, dug in, fell away. It wanted to dismantle her and put her back together.

When she touched down the world flipped and she landed hard, her face to the dirt. But it wasn't dirt. It was the impression of dirt, just as she was the impression of a woman. It was the same stuff as she was, and she could feel it here.

"Nooo," she moaned, scrabbling for purchase like she was going to float away again. She didn't like being here. It made her feel like she was coming apart at the edges, like she was less real. "No, I'm real, I'm real, I'm real." It was hard to breathe.

"'Course you're real, Sunshine," Varric said, crouching by her and taking hold of her arm. "It's this place that isn't fuckin' real. Wherever we are."

"We're in the Fade," Solas said, wonder in his voice. "Errol opened a rift. We came through… and survived. I never thought I would ever find myself here physically. Look, the Black City, almost close enough to touch."

"That's great and all, Chuckles, but a little help?" Varric snapped. Cole had found his way over to Errol and was clutching at her like a child, both of them gasping for breath.

"I can't be here, we can't be here," he muttered, rocking them back and forth. "Made of too much, made of too little, halves that don't make a whole. This place is wrong. I made myself forget when I made myself real, but I know it wasn't like this. You feel it," he said, placing his cheek on top of Errol's head. "Made wrong, it seeps into you, trying to twist, to turn. We must leave."

"What's he talking about?" Blackwall said gruffly, his hand on his sword. "Besides saying that this place is creepy. I understood that."

Solas crouched in front of them. "Errol. Cole. You must be calm. We will make our way out of here as quickly as possible." He touched Errol's arm. "Errol? Look at me."

She opened her eyes and the pupils were blown wide, covering her irises with black. "It's tainted," she rasped. "Wants to get inside."

"It can't," he said firmly. "Remember what I told you about your body, and what I gave you. You're safe. This part of the Fade is simply under the thrall of a powerful demon, likely one of some type of Fear." He grasped her hand and helped her stand. "Come."

She stood, shakily, willing whatever it was to get out of her mind.

Alistair looked at her with alarm. "Yeah, let's get out of here. Your eyes are incredibly scary right now."

"Could it be because we're here physically, instead of just dreaming?" Hawke asked, standing perpendicular to them on a floating piece of rock. "Errol, was it like this when you walked out of the Fade at Haven?"

Errol shook her head. "I don't remember."

"In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby, in the main hall," Alistair said, still shooting Errol nervous glances. "Can we get out the same way?"

"We have to try," Errol said, and she knew her voice sounded harsh and raw. The mark on her neck pulsed. Protected or not, she had to get out of here. "Let's go."

The spirit of the Divine, or the spirit that thought it was the Divine, led them through the Nightmare's realm, but with each taunt Errol felt herself shattering a little inside. Made as she was from the Fade, the darkness of it reflected her very essence like a cancer, sickening her from the inside. She just pressed on, and waited for it to turn to her.

"There's nothing like a Grey Warden," it sneered at Blackwall. "And you are nothing like a Grey Warden."

"Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We're so very much alike, you and I."

"Dirth ma, Harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar Solas ena mar din."

"Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium, you brought Hawke here…"

Finally it was her turn. It spoke in English, but there was something strange about the way the words sounded, familiar yet foreign, like listening to a song from childhood she hadn't heard in a long time. "You are a naive child. A wolf and a lion ravage your corpse, and you worry over which to offer up the choicest meat. You are neither an Owl nor a Butterfly. You are simply dead and do not know it yet."

"Oh believe me, I'm well aware," she said, and noticed that her voice had the same unusual ring to it. The Nightmare laughed.

"Your spirit friend can't protect you forever. They will turn on you. They all will, once they have picked your bones clean."

"It would be best if you don't engage it," Solas said, touching her elbow.

"Which are you?" she asked softly, and he tilted his head.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What language was that thing speaking just now?" Varric asked nervously. "It's like nothing I've ever heard. And you answered him in it."

"What are you talking about?" Errol asked. "It was English."

They all stared at her. "What's English?" Blackwall finally asked.

"What we're all speaking," she said slowly.

Varric looked at her blankly. "We're speaking the Common Tongue. Always have been."

She looked at Solas. "So you… didn't understand what it said?"

He shook his head. "When you… came through the Breach and formed a…" She knew he wanted to say body, "an impression of this world, your mind absorbed information - how to breathe our air, move, walk, everything. It must have picked up on the dominant language in the room as part of that process."

"So this whole time I've been speaking another language?"

He nodded. "It is fascinating."

"Great, it's fascinating, but our Inquisitor still has demon eyes and her skin is going a little… greyish, not your best look, by the way, and in case you've forgotten we're still in the Fade, can we please leave the language lesson for later?" Alistair asked uncomfortably.

"Right," Errol said, pushing her sleeves up. "Let's follow the Divine. I need to get my memories back."

—the rest was fragmented, falling—

—the sight of herself coming through the Breach, only now she remembered being ripped from her body and send spiraling through the darkness, reforming from the Fade, awash in green, a scream tearing from her throat— "What the hell are you doing to her?"— the orb rolling to her, the pain as it sealed itself to her palm and somehow made her more real, carved herself a whole body out of fire and magic, and oh, the relief of realizing her companions only understood the confusion and pain in the jumble of images and not the implications as they looked at her with pitying eyes and not with fear, that she was safe for one more day—

—the graveyard, standing in front of Solas' tombstone, the words 'Dying Alone' etched in crumbling marble, while Cullen's said 'Being Leashed' and hers said 'Losing Myself'—

—the Nightmare, huge and clattering, an Eldritch Abomination, Hawke hurtling toward it with her sword drawn, war cry on her lips—

—stepping once more through the void and wiping all of the demons from the fabric of existence like they were stains, and the world was solid around her again, unchanging, but she could still hear the screams of the decaying and rotten Fade behind her and as the rift closed her pupils shrank and the grey retreated from her skin and then there was nothing for a long, long time—

Cullen couldn't breathe when he saw them step from the rift without her. He stared at the swirling vortex of green, as if he could force her to appear through sheer will alone.

"Please," he whispered silently, senselessly. It was a prayer, a beg, a plea to a vanished God. It was nothing. "Please."

The portal wavered. Alistair emerged but Hawke didn't, and for a moment Cullen couldn't see Errol, half hunched and hidden behind him. She looked exhausted and dazed, and stumbled into Blackwall's shoulder with a look in her eyes like she didn't know where she was. She raised her palm and the few remaining demons vanished. A cheer went up and she smiled weakly. The chains eased from Cullen's neck, and for a moment he felt that they had actually won the day and everything was going to be all right.

Then she collapsed into Blackwall's arms, and Cullen's heart stopped again.