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unprompted / always accepting @lostprawns said: dhavihal, dhavifen, dhavi — little fingers wrapped in your mother's hair. they called you something else but you were too young to know it. it's okay; you're still you. // from cole!

She has tried to avoid Cole. It's nothing personal, really, but there is no doubt in her mind that Cole has stayed close with Solas these long years, and thus technically any proximity to him is a risk. How much contact can the spirit maintain with Solas, she wonders. How much of their plans can he share, even with Solas locked away?

—How much has he already shared?

But Compassion finds her, whether she wills it or no, one night in the kitchen as she makes tea to stave off her growing nightmares. Even with more control in her dreams, Fear is a difficult foe to best, and her Fears are especially strong. Cole's words startle her, and she looks up at him with wide, tired eyes. Yes, a very difficult foe indeed.

His voice is gentle, as it has always been, plucking up an unspoken fear and soothing away its spikes. That she is no longer herself—that somewhere along the way, she has lost a piece of herself that cannot be retrieved. Not with the name she lost as a toddler but with the abandonment of Dhavihal, her softness. Her Compassion.

—Will this be reported back to Solas, as well? Is she to have any privacy at all—is he to be entitled to all of her?

She smiles for her friend, a grateful expression, and nods. "Thank you, Compassion," she murmurs in an attempt to mollify his purpose. "Shouldn't you be resting?" she then asks, moving to deftly redirect the conversation from the mounting fears that grow around her. "Or, I suppose, you don't need rest as much as the others do, do you?"

there's a wariness that follows compassion through the lighthouse now. it comes from the new inhabitants; they all know that it loves solas, that it has been by his side for years now, and they don't want to trust it. but that doesn't mean that they can hide from it. here in the crossroads, where the fade meets the waking world in a strange delta, it has never been easier for compassion to hear what calls it.

— how much has he already shared?

still, it keeps a light touch these days. a gentle hand pushes away a wisp that has drawn near to scent her anxiety. her question is ignored as the rhetorical thing that it is, and compassion says instead: “you don't believe me.”

— will this be reported back to solas, as well? is she to have any privacy at all, is he to be entitled to all of her?

the monumental damage that inquisitor has wrought will not be a simple thing to unravel. it could do it, probably, in a better time. a more peaceful world, that left her pacing in the kitchen less often than she does. herald, vanquisher, keeper. they haven't found out about the statues yet. the dread wolf's lifeline. compassion will not be the one to take that away from him, but it can give dhavifen something else.

“solas doesn't know that you're here.” yet. it would surely be inevitable, but compassion won't be the first one to tell him. “and i don't report to him. he wouldn't ask compassion to be a soldier.” nor a spy — in so many words.

as the crow flies. as the mother of monsters wept midnight tears. as weisshaupt became emmrich volkarin's grave. khima and bellara screamed their name from somewhere past the wall of pulsating boils. emmrich, delirious with terror, thrashed against liquid death. taint soaked their gloves. damn the consequences. not like this, please, not like this, i won't die like—

emmrich awoke in a flurry of limbs, pawing feverishly at their hair, nose, and eyes. cole's forearm colliding with one of emmrich's hands pierced, though didn't silence, the terror that pursued them through the veil. wild-eyed, they recoiled up their mattress. "i didn't—i could have—"

was that not the eternal caveat?

compassion doesn't press, even though it knows that emmrich would feel better if it did. some people can be overridden whether they want to be or not, for their own sake. even powerful mages. but when they were in close contact with each other, day after day residing in the same place, it was harder to keep all the threads together without hurting anyone. and, as many of its mortal friends had pressed upon it some years ago, doing that was considered a bit mean-spirited by most.

“he isn't here,” it says, removing itself from emmrich's writhing lap to sit over to the side of the bed and wait. emmrich's terror is immense, and pulls at it continuously. “you usually sleep for much longer. he went to go play with spite before the assassin wakes, too.”

it never takes a body and remains spirit-form Compassion forever