i am real.

╳—: spireborn.

[ she’s managed to resist the hair and the freckles   for a solid two months. he’s dangerous, likely,   but she still finds herself in the room above the   tavern. there’s two different escape routes. she’ll   be fine. ]

‘Hi there. If you don’t mind, could I touch                           your hair, please?’

        NO ONE EVER ventures up here, to the very top floor of the tavern. not unless they were coming in from the battlements. cole stays here and listens---listens to laughter and songs and chatter from below, things he may never be able to be a part of. yet he does not mind, so long as he can help in whatever way.

        cole stares the moment she appears. visibly befuddled, he wrings his hands in front of him and opens his mouth to speak. ah, but she’s too fast---the query is met with shocked silence, but then...

wow omg ;_; thats...a huge compliment thank you. please dont be nervous to approach me. i might not reply immediately to messages or threads all the time but if you come to me with an idea ill be happy to listen...

spireborn

It had been exactly a week since the Inquisitor’s famed defeat of Corypheus and things at Skyhold were changing and moving. Some people chose to return to their homes, free of the many threats that had terrorized them. Some chose to stay on and continue to serve the Inquisition. Maryden chose the latter, not exactly wishing to make a return journey home for a long while. 

So here she sat in Skyhold’s courtyard, leaning against the outside walls of the tavern, quill and paper in hand, taking some much needed time outside Herald’s Rest to start penning more songs now that she had the opportunity to do so. So many ideas in her head to put to paper and eventually into song; she wanted to honor certain exemplary members of the Inquisition as well as ease people back into a more peaceful state of mind. It would give her something to do and later, when she finally performed her songs, she’d feel less  lonely. Yes, performing always did the trick.

        THE COURTYARD IS nearly devoid of people, of sound, making it a lonely place indeed. cole never lingered there long. he would help, then he would leave. now that people could remember him, it was a bit more difficult to do that. they expected to see him now. some came looking for him. and with the threat of corypheus over, he has no excuse to hide himself away from the world.

        maryden halewell---her quill scribbles across the paper, but cole cannot see what she’s writing as she faces his general direction, the back of the paper to him. cole does well not to seem like he’s “skulking,” as josephine called it. he sits cross-legged on the ground, fumbling with blades of grass between his thumbs and forefingers.

        but he watches, and watches intently. maryden is a woman filled with loneliness that rivals even cole’s own. he does not prod too deep for the source, but he knows he can help her if he pleases. if she’ll let him. that’s what he learned: only help if they let you, and be careful with them. be slow. don’t force yourself into their minds.

the temple of mythal dominated his large slice of the fade; it was familar to him, comforting the elf where none else could be had. the temple itself was one in its prime, crumbling walls and moss no longer claiming the ancient architecture rather embellishing the strong, gilded stone. faint whispers of the denizens echoing from within, the prime of arlathan, the times he pined for. It was there he hunted, dressed in the guise of a massive, copious garnet eyed, abysmal wolf. starlight clung to his ragged form despite the shadows that dripped venomously from his pelt extinguishing all in his wake.  he had not been the least bit surprised that cole, the spirit he had taken under his wing, discovered his place of sanctuary. perhaps he had allowed the boy to seek him out, he was the bridge between world and as of late his thoughts turned more towards the waking world rather than the dream realm he loved with his entire being. it was because of her and despite how desperately he bid his own mind to cease the corrosion every time he caught the smallest hint of her scent or heard her laughter echo through the fade.. he was slowly killing himself, but it would be worth it once the world had been righted once more. The wolf stared silently at the boy as he uttered the hardest question Solas had ever had to answer. ‘why?’ The pain that choked the spirit’s voice nearly caused the elf to become undone.  And if anyone deserved an answer.. it was he who had faith in him above all else. The Wolf slowly rose his head to the emerald-tinted sky and released a howl that shook the very heavens before he allowed his body to mold, and transform into the familiar shape that Cole knew. His expression was forlorn, but remained, firm ad absolute, he had to believe without a doubt he had made the right choice. ❝I cannot give you the answer you seek, Cole. I’m acutely aware of the pain I’ve caused the Inquisitor— but she will learn to wield that pain like a blade and it will strengthen her. ❞ he willed his voice not to crack and break before the spirit, betraying the pain that poisoned him so. yes, he had to believe in his words with the utmost conviction to convince himself he hadn’t broken the sole soul that could have given him the redemption he so desperately sought.

        THE HOWL IS enough to make cole shake briefly. lips purse tightly as the boy-spirit attempts to understand. he cannot. it’s hard. if solas had loved her, why had he left? why had he caused her pain? to make her stronger? cole can’t understand. he loves someone as well, but he’d never cause her the pain solas caused the inquisitor. it feels wrong, too wrong. cole is someone who eradicates those that cause hurt, but he can’t bring himself to strike out against solas.

        solas had been his guiding light through the treacherous yet fantastical world. so was varric. so was the inquisitor. they helped him when he thought he had to help, they helped him through his pain that still haunts him now but is tended to by a lovely minstrel whose voice soothes him beyond all else.

        throat tightens. cole directs his gaze to the side, jaw setting and teeth clenching. cole is no longer the lost, broken spirit he was two years ago. he is a man now. he is human now. perhaps he still requires some guidance, but he is not clueless, no longer painfully naive to everything around him. he tries to accept solas’ words. no, not solas. fen’harel. the dread wolf. the inquisitor had spoken of his plans. plans that would ultimately cause hurt.

        ` she doesn’t talk about you anymore, ` he says dryly, ` but i see it. pain prodding at her heart, filled with hate and betrayal but an unmatched love. a spiritual connection. slipping through the cracks of her very being. solas, var lath vir suledin. `

        but he knows.

        the wolf before him---the biggest of the lot---shifts, transforms into a man that is all too familiar. cole stares blankly, twists his hands into the leathers he wears and frowns. no, he does not hate solas. not really. but he is disappointed, sad.

        solas had hurt the inquisitor, made her upset, took her arm. the last part is perhaps, for the best, as it would have killed her. but...