#( asharen / cole )

[mercysought]

ok a small thing since I will touch upon this in one of my replies for Tas. And it's related to Cole's personal quest (and so, his nature)

In the personal quest for Cole, Asharen being so close to Cole will be the one talking with him (instead of being Solas or Varric). The quest gets resolved with her talking with him. The gist of the conversation revolves around the fact that killing this man will not make Cole feel better, fix anything. It will only bring more pain and suffering. However, that does not mean that he needs to forgive him either, or feel his pain. Cole doesn't owe this man anything. The man's actions should be judged but not by him, and he is not a butcher either.

Asharen leaves it up to Cole, in the end. What does he feel he should do. The type of person he wants to become. She doesn't think that killing a man will ever be the type of person he would want to be. That being said, if he chooses to kill the templar (and so become more human) she still accepts it. She also didn't stop Solas from killing the mages that hurt wisdom. sometimes that's just how the chips fall and the best she can do is advise, she isn't going to press it.

Ultimately, if I'm writing with a Cole, I will always go with the choice that they have made for their own cole. If I'm not writing with a Cole, I tend to have him as becoming more a spirit: choosing to spare the man not out of compassion but because even if he wants to be more tethered to this world, refusing to continue the path of bloodshed in pursuit of justice instead of compassion is a choice too.

[theharellan]

‘ the trap is loneliness, and no one escapes it. not even me. ’ she looks at the lonely mountains, glancing over her shoulder to the bustling crowd beneath. Cole had just been there, keeping her company, but upon seeing Harding he had left. Truthfully, even while standing in the bustling markets of Antiva City she had never felt quite so alone. All these people knew who she was, and because they knew they retained their distance. Out of deference, fear or fearful curiosity that they might say something wrong. Ask the wrong thing. The end result was the same. Asharen stops eating the last tangerine that she had found in the kitchens, lifting it up to him ‘ will you not tell me what troubles you ? ’ from Asharen!

In spite of the gathering clouds, Compassion leaves warmth in his wake, the lingering feeling of a friendly hand on one's shoulder. Somehow, it leaves Solas colder as the feeling fades, him and Asharen stand as two distant towers upon Skyhold's ramparts.

"Others have before," he tells her, a reassuring sentiment rendered melancholy by the implication that it is his observation, not his reality. "In the right company, I have found it may be forgotten, for a time."

A semblance of a smile wears at his face, and it is noticed; perhaps his eyes do not pinch as they ought to, or his lips bend unnaturally towards his ears. Whatever is the case, he has stumbled in a performance he has put on a thousand times before this, from the first time he smiled for the sake of the All-Mother's joy. His smile is dismissed as summarily as it was summoned, and in its place, a troubled frown.

"I worry for Cole," he admits, willing to admit to his troubles upon behalf of his friend. It had not saved Wisdom, but perhaps... "Varric- Master Tethras- means well, but good intentions do not preclude harm. There is a chance that if Cole is encouraged towards his line of thinking, he will regret it later."

@mercysought

[mercysought]

His face looked wrong. The way that Hakkon wore Ameridan made her feel uncomfortable, and she guessed that was part of the reason why he did it. It was Ameridan's voice, his face, yes. But that mean spirited quirk of the lips was enough to put her off the entire situation.

The concept of possession was not one that she was unfamiliar with. She had read some notes about some cases of possession that worked more like a parasite and host instead of a full, immediate take over. There was Cole, of course, whose existence wasn't so much possession of a living host but of remembering a living host too closely in hopes they could keep living through them. Morrigan herself was in a specific situation that was harder to place, not quite this either but being able to pull from knowledge and feelings that were not truly her own.

If Asharen truly wanted to stretch, she supposed her own situation with the Well of Sorrows could be seen akin to those two situations, however, she would truly need to be stretching to reach such a conclusion.

She is still watching him in silence as he apologises, her brow quirking lightly.

   "You are trying to flatter me." she hums, giving him a clipped smile, holding her brass hand over her flesh one, feeling the coldness of the metal against it. Which was saying something however, he would not be the first God trying to court her ego and she had had enough to those, elvhen, Avvari or otherwise for a lifetime "I am wiser than to fight a dragon one on one, or head-on, for that matter."

She pauses, her brows knitting together for a moment as she studies his face. When she had received the letter from Rook she had feared the worst and now? The fact of more, and more loss was going to continue being a constant in Asharen's life, she knew this, but it didn't mean she wished to see it come to fruition any swifter than necessary. That she saw him walking, that she knew he was in there? And yet to talk to Hakkon, the same dragon that they had slain so many years ago, how long until the tables turned and he would pull the rug from under them? Ameridan and her both.

   "How?..." she starts but her words disappear as she attempts to place her thoughts into line. She takes a good look at him again, lips strained into a line. She could only wonder, for now, given what she knew of Ameridan how much of a difficult thing this had been. If it had been a choice at all "How does it work? Between you and Ameridan."

@mercysought petitioned a very benevolent and humble god

"I thought our meeting overdue, Asharen Frost-thaw."

Cold and callous Hakkon watches the Fade-scarred lady who healed the sky, heart hammering with emotions not his own. Ameridan's spirit is strong even when he slips into the background of their being, listening but not leading; what he feels Hakkon feels, a faraway fire in the depths of them. The heart that isn't his beats with the fear that she will be unforgiving. The hands wants to close around the prayer that she will understand. The head wants to bow while it waits for judgement. The mouth wants to say, again: I am sorry I had to do this. I am sorry you must see me this way.

Yet Ameridan remains silent, as promised, down in the depths of them. Asharen must know who it is she is working with now --- both of them. It is Hakkon who watches the woman who once killed him through pale, piercing eyes, and Hakkon who lifts the head instead of bowing it, mouth set in an insolent quirk.

"I must, at least, apologize." (He feels Ameridan stir in surprise at this, but if he hopes Hakkon would beg forgiveness for his actions, he will be disappointed.) "In my dragon's-pride, ages bound, I did not consider you a worthy foe. I should have challenged you to duel."

A duel? You were a dragon, Ameridan says in his mind. Do not use my mouth to speak nonsense.

[mercysought]

drabble between Asharen and Cole, discussing Rift Magic in Skyhold and the meaning of purpose

   "Asharen."

The voice is sudden, and impactful, making her jump out of her own body and making her turn on her knees to face the voice. Cole was a bean-sprout of a spirit, thin, lanky and tall - and much like any sprout looking for any source of warmth.

   "Creators!" she sneers, leaning down to grab her staff and dragging it closer across the stone. The library underneath Skyhold was a perfect place to hide, hide from most of other soldiers, hide if she needed a quick nap, hide if she wanted to do something that she shouldn't be doing instead of sleeping "Cole!"

She calls, half laughing, half exasperated. Jumping to her feet she cleans off the dust from her robes.

   "Thought you were Josie," she feels more guilty when the words come out of her mouth. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Josephine's protests and demands that she should rest, however, her day only had so many hours and if she wanted to spend some of them doing her own investigations then she needed to make sure that she fit it somewhere.

Sometimes the sacrificial lamb was sleep.

   "Don't sneak up on me like that!" she whispers, slowly walking closer to him with a larger smile.

Truth be told, she was glad that he was there. Cole had this way of knowing when people needed him most, and in this case, he knew that she worked through her thoughts best when she had another to talk to. She could call Solas, but she had this nagging feeling that he too would take Josie's stance. While she would have loved his company, at this late hour she would have expected him to be planning his newest mural while dreaming.

   "I'm sorry." he whispers, now matching her tone and hunching down. Pale eyes look to her from beneath the wide-brim hat "It's late, I thought you might want company."

   "Yes." she beacons him closer, turning once more to where she had been leaning "Yes, let me show you what I found out."

The floor of the underground library was covered in dust with the exception for the Inquisitor's footprints. She had tied the bottom edges of her robes up on her belt to avoid disturbing it more. In the absence of a place to write, when forgetting a notebook, she had taken to taking quick notes and alterations on the dust. Not long lasting, but enough to put into practice some theories that were not meant to last long anyway.

   "I found this small tear, earlier." she whispers, leaning down against the two collapsing bookcases of books that had been too damaged for her to successfully pull out. That was how she had initially found it. Having discovered this space, she had taken upon herself to attempt to parse through it. Well, attempt truly being the operative word.

It was small and unstable tear. No larger than the palm of her hand. It had been a dull pulse on her wrist that had warned her of its presence. Standing to the side, she allows Cole to peek "Usually I would close it without a thought, but... I was thinking —"

Asharen sits where she had. Around the area where the dust had not been collected (where the Inquisitor had been sitting) multiple runes and drawings could be seen. Some areas had been completely wiped clean. Sitting once more, she crosses her legs, beckoning Cole to join and sit beside her by the green light of the crackling tear. Small sparks poured from Asharen's hand; if she looked bothered she didn't look it.

   "The Veil is like..." pausing, she glances up to Cole, making sure that he was paying attention, if he was still interested. Not everyone would, she knew. But Cole looked at her fully, interested, attention solely on her as her fingers went down to the floor, in a surrounding area with dust drawing multiple crossing squares "A fishing net."

Drawing around a grid of eight small squares, all corners touching each other she stops, finger still on the floor, eyes lifting to him.

   "It has weaves, each interlaced in a thin enough manner as to allow for movement from one side to the other through its larger spaces. Like water, or in this case... something else." she wasn't quite sure what it was, truth was told. It was not air for air existed in both instances; an easy answer would be just magic but that answer too was unsatisfactory. She draws arrows from the left and to the right and vice versa. Eyes glance up to Cole once more, and he nods.

Still, the thought stood: thin, carefully crafted, lightweight. The Veil stood as a very thin layer between the world that Cole had come from and their own.

   "The tears happen when," she starts erasing some of the lines "these links are broken. Worse than broken," with the base of her fist, she erases whole parts, enough to keep some links together but jagged in a way that a pulled apart tapestry was "they are ripped across multiple levels causing the space between to become unstable. Dangerous" dangerous enough to explode at the smallest aspects of magic, substances such as lyrium. When large enough, enough to allow for spirits and demons alike to cross and do untold damage to themselves and others. Light eyes, lift and she smiles - knowingly "to anyone that doesn't have this:"

She lifts the hand where the anchor shone brightly a dull, green dangerous light.

   "The anchor."

   "Yes. The anchor." she nods "Like a fine needle, it seems this was designed specifically with this in mind. One end to weave, another one to potentially tear."

She pauses, turning her own hand to see. The other hand touches it. Even with the sparks it felt like... like nothing truly. It felt like touching her own hands in the strangest of ways. Whatever material it was lodged within, shinning brightly, felt warm to the touch as it would skin and yet - all at once - it was... foreign. Snapping back, she feels Cole's eyes on her once more "But, but-!" she restarts, smiling and growing further as she gets up "Do you want to see something cool?"

Cole nods and her smile curls further as her hand goes to the small pouch by her belt. From inside she removes a small shard of glass. She had spoken with Dagna, though their discussions were frankly too short to produce exactly what they both wanted. Still, this was the fourth attempt at something that Asharen had thought up. Turning, she holds it in between her thumb and indicator.

   "After the last lesson with Solas, I was thinking about this..." she hums, lifting the small shard and moving the hand with the mark behind her back. In the air as she did, thin lines of green crossed upon the air. It was a slow process, each time it was done the letters were jagged "Rift magic deals in much the same way with the veil, we pull and push across the veil. Weaving and unweaving in a controlled manner. It needs to be precise, careful. The cuts need to be thin enough and careful enough, so that to not disrupt the balance and disrupt the user or have unintended effects."

Pausing, she turns to Cole. The green light from the runes gives him a sickly hue though from this angle it illuminates his face completely. The runes seem to keep his focus and so she continues.

   "Rift magic does not become unstable because there is that balance." she smiles, finishing writing "Which means..."

The runes disappear, like a finely woven end; and the small tear reacts. It pulls on itself, thinning for a second while the sparks seem to grow more intense. After a second, it returns once more to its original size, as loud as it had been originally. Sighing, Asharen places the thin piece back in the pouch, scratching the side of her head. The braids had long become undone; after all, she had initially been prepared for sleep.

   "It... doesn't quite work yet. I'm still working on it, but theoretically?..." pausing, she smiles to Cole "The anchor is a shortcut. But anyone could do this, close a tear, using specific runes and Rift Magic." or cause them. But that was a thought and concern for another time. When they didn't have a large Breach already opened in the sky. The most important aspect was that perhaps even people without magic could, perhaps, do this "Carefully enough. This is a small tear, but it's possible."

She needed to try again, take notes, and take them to Dagna. Truthfully, she should close this small tear and wait until another one similar to it could happen. Silentely praying she hopes that it could do so in her quarters so she wouldn't need to sneak out.

   "Like the first beam of sunlight after a dark morning: she gazes upon the world with a light anew. The world remained the same, turning the same, but it felt so much warmer, welcoming. Brighter. It shines because you shine brightly upon it too. This. This is what I was made to do! This is my purpose."

Asharen looks to Cole who seems to beam at her through the dull green light. She hadn't quite thought of it that way. The thought of purpose was never one that she had ever given much thought, never a topic that she felt was of true use given the life that she led before Inquisition. The clan needed to survive and she was needed. But she was there, needing to close the Breach and her clan survived still. Sitting besides Cole, she looks at the small breach and then back to Sole, giving him a huge side hug.

   "Yes, Cole, that sounds exactly right."

[mercysought]

I was thinking about Asharen and the Well of Sorrows ritual that she performs and I think that the only person that she spoke to (though didn't ask for permission or advice) was (a spirit) Cole.

[mercysought]

it’s so good to hear you laugh. you don’t laugh enough. | cole to asharen <3

Asharen cannot stop herself from laughing at hearing his words. A certain swell of warmth, comfort and love wrapping not only herself but her arms. Her hand feels warm against him and while there is no left hand to close the hug, she holds him tightly against her all the same. He feels solid against her frame though she feels she might snap him in half if she holds him any tighter. She still takes that chance as she speaks into his shoulder "Perhaps you should visit more often. I don't seem to have an issue laughing when you are around."

There aren't also that many simple reasons to laugh. Reticently, she lets him go with a sigh, falling back and feeling her weight sink into the grass in the small island that connected to the eluvian she had kept. Her arm itches, but she stops herself each time she thinks about scratching it. Allowing it to rest against her stomach, the folded sleeve rising and falling with her breath. Her other arm propping herself up as she looked beyond, her feet swinging off the edge.

She had considered, talking to him about where her mind had been; why she didn't laugh quite so easily anymore. She considered it, but she didn't wish to bring the mood down; she wanted to enjoy his presence, feel that warmth for however long they had before he had to leave. Before she had to return to her studies, to attempt to quell the voices that had started making themselves more and more audible.

It is hard, Cole, feeling like you are losing hope. She plucks a piece of grass absently. At first it had been just barely a whisper at the back of her head as soon as she woke up. Easily mistaken by the passing merchants on their way to the city. The odd nightmare that felt too real and lingered in her eye lids long after she woke up.

And then it started impacting her mood, her thoughts. She had considered giving up, more, isolating herself further from the few letters she still received. Lingering in the bitterness. It pulled at the lower hairs on her neck, tender with each passing moment. What was the point of it all? Of struggling against a stream. Asharen had never really seen the sea, but she had heard from some anecdotal notes that the sea pulled long before large waves crashed against shore towns. She had read about the eerie silence, the fleeing of animals, the stillness of the air. Asharen had never seen it, but she was starting to feel like she was the one standing in an empty, thread bear beach where the water had been completely pulled.

Why struggle? Do as Solas said - wise as he was - enjoy the last few months, close your eyes beneath the sun, do not waste your breath in lost causes. Asharen grimaces, blinking and realising how much she had plucked from the ground; red from the repeated motion, green from the grass. And that, that she could not stand.

   "Oh, I have something for you!" she turns her body to pull a small strip of white fabric from inside the large loose and billowy yellow robes she wore. Unfurling it over Cole's lap small orange, red and bright yellow flowers are placed at odd places, connected with less than perfect lines. It was a strip of fabric, embroidered with all sorts of plants and flowers and the smallest little dagger and hat.

In the center, his Cole was embroidered too. More neatly than the rest "One of my nieces embroidered it. It's for your hat." she points towards his large brimmed hat. At ten, she wouldn't be expected to embroider anything worth selling but they needed to train the embroidery which often meant that a lot of gifts around the Lavellan clan were often revolving around offering pieces of the adult's own clothing to allow the children to attempt their hand at something nice "When I was staying with them I would tell the children some stories about Skyhold. I don't think she fully understands it all, but —"

Shrugging, she laughs "whenever I spoke about it she always asked about you."

Brushing her shoulder against his, she smiles. The fabric in which this was embroidered wasn't anything nice. It had been from an older sheet of Asharen's but it was still likely one of the nicest and longest pieces that could work for it. Were times different she could have likely afford something nicer, still, she hoped Cole would like it anyway "I think you are her favourite. The Iron Bull is a close second."

BEYOND THE STORM // accepting . @wrathvine @lastburden

[mercysought]

[ COMFORT ]: the sender, noticing a visibly upset receiver, solemnly moves to their side, and places a hand on their shoulder in an effort to comfort them. — MARA & ASH AHHHHH

   "The depths of what I didn't know just keep going further and further," the Inquisitor stands before one of the many impressive murals within the Lighthouse. One of the few that had been unveiled by one of the statues.

She wondered, momentarily, briefly, what such statues were composed of. Perhaps pieces of the fade, holding onto particularly strong and terrible memories, regrets. And she wondered what it meant that she had found one herself. Without fight, without anything that she should just have found one. The thought lingers, briefly, and then it washes itself off her shoulders.

Asharen does not touch the wall; though that had long since dried; much like her time in the Rotunda, she holds her arms tightly behind her back. But Solas was not there, it was just the two of them. The Inquisitor and Tamara and the silence of the Lighthouse "the more I try to bring light to my questions and fears, bring some closure I just find myself looking into more of that same darkness."

   "How..." can we ever hope to reconcile this?

What hope could they have to patch over these old ancient wounds in a way that could be fair, that it could be enough? She had made the mistake once of believing that she could hold such a light and power in her hands and now she knew very little. The words die in her mouth and she attempts to keep the hope in her tongue, this stubborness that she holds onto because there is so little else that she feels she still holds true within herself.

The more they look into the abyss, the more hurt the abyss spills out and the more hurt she feels. Hurt for the Solas, for what he must have gone through, for the actions that he had followed through - for love, friendship or anything she had seen a glimpse of that ire when the spirit of wisdom had been twisted so many years back. She had not held him back.

And now, looking at these murals, she thinks that she should have. But who is she to dictate such things?

It now made a lot of sense, a lot of smaller things that she had found odd, a lot of strong emotions and opinions where she had felt - at a time - had been more than she had first anticipated. Her thought goes to Cole and the decision he made and Asharen cannot stop herself from thinking, from feeling this deep, awful pit in her stomach: Was this what you were envisioning when you spoke to me about it, when you asked to talk to him? The past happening again?

Asharen takes a step back from the mural, scratching the top of her head before tapping her closed notebook against the soft fabric of her chest. There was so much to think about, so much to consider, and yet all that she wished to do in that moment was walk. She wished to walk, continue walking until her feet couldn't feel anymore. How could things turn out like this?

And what of the titans? How could they ever fix this? Atone for this? For the pain that they had caused? And what did that mean for the dalish and the current day elves that had reaped its benefits? Or had too much time passed already? How can you hold onto hope to fix this when the pieces were laid out in such a manner?

She feared what else they would find. Looking at all the washed out murals she knew that the rest of the group would be happy to sit down and talk and yet she felt sick. Perhaps that too was a flaw, an indicator that she was simply too close but she was unable to dissect this in any other way that didn't make her shake in ire or in sadness.

Mara's hand is warm on her shoulder and with it Asharen gives a small smile as her head tilts downwards, resting her chin against her notebook. Her cold brass hand comes to rest atop it, giving her a soft squeeze before the Inquisitor turns her back on the wall.

@st4ysoft @ever4sking // shoulder touch // selectively accepting

[mercysought]

Oh, Asharen tying her prosthetic's grommets onto her arm with laces made out of the veil when in pinch?

this is probably not going to make any sense to anyone but those that know but here's a tl;dr: asharen often works rift magic through small pieces of, what looks like glass, that resemble sewing needles. Weaving and cutting through the veil and pulling the fade. Some of the pieces are actually large enough that they might resemble fishnet needles

kinda like I speak about it here in my drabble with cole (early in the inquisition timeline)

[mercysought]

❝ compassion. hate. two sides of the same coin. ❞ cole to asharen

arcane season 2 // @ourdawncomes // accepting

   "I always thought it would be indifference."

She says without much thought. She had found that small peninsula in the further northern most edge of the Crossroads she had been able to physically walk towards. Her eyes prickled with fatigue but the warm, orange sunlight that peered through orange clouds made her feel better. Sitting at the edge, with her feet dangling, her open notebook rested to the side: notes, many small and scribbled out notes of different arcane formulae and different thoughts and theories.

A rudimentary drawing is done at the centre, a mimic of the dagger that had belonged to Solas and Rook had used. And the same dagger that Solas had used to betray Rook (and, if she were to be selfish) and herself. Again.

The small charcoal was turned between her fingers. The path of tears had been cleared many hours before; truth be told she didn't even know that she had more tears to cry for him, and yet there she was. Another reflection of a different time, twisted like a river with its surface rippled by the wind. She only had her red eyes now, and her mind raked with thoughts and fatigue.

Half focus kept on pulling information she could from the well, piercing whatever scraps she could about the dagger so that they may be shaped into something that could help them. When Emmrich had reached her with what had happened after the fight with Ghilan'nain, Asharen wished she could say she had hardly believed it. And yet, it was not surprise that had crashed into her chest once more.

It was anger. It was the same anger as many years before. And sadness. It wasn't hate.

   "Though perhaps that is the other side of love?"

She finally adds, finalising the thought she had been chewing on before her thoughts had wandered. Her prosthetic had been left a few steps away, behind her, forgotten. Cole might disagree but her feelings should have no part in this equation except help her fix this; she would digest them later.

Grabbing the notebook, she turns into in her hands, keeping it over her legs and breathing deeply. She needed to think, and she needed to think fast. She was not built for it, for indifference. For a hatred that was necessary to steel herself and pressure her focus into a knife's edge.

   "Cole?" she hums, hunching on herself and feeling the warm breeze wrap her briefly. Lifting her eyes, she sees him. Cole and not quite him. How she hated too, that he should find her so often in a state of disarrayed thoughts "I know I do not make for best company, but... Would you sit with me? For a moment? Before I must go again?"

[mercysought]

I don't know if there is an eloquent way of saying this since it's been mostly spread across thoughts but speaking from a strictly solavellan standpoint: Asharen goes into Veilguard 1. full believing she has at least somewhat moved on (until that letter comes up) 2. still very much still digesting the anger towards him. Not necessarily the anger of her heartbreak (though for sure that as well) but the building anger of all of his actions and she actually wonders through the game, feels hesitant, how and if she can forgive him

varric was one of the few that remained there post trespasser, the one that was constantly there in aiding her when no one else was. One of her best friends (since he is part of the group I often take through Inquisition). Depending on the Rook, he potentially leaves a friend/mentee/pupil to fully just rot in the fade suffering the same fate as what he wants the Evanuris to do.

It's a rough pill to swallow. And yet, she will still advocate to sparing him and helping him, because for her - death is probably closer to what Solas wants / expects. There should be consequences to his actions but those consequences being death for his actions is not the right path, not for Asharen.

(which is, also, in part why Cole ends up going a more spirit route during Inquisiton, since it's much of the same line of thinking that Asharen has when she talks to him about what he wants to do. But this is a topic for another post)

Up until the very end she is still wondering if she can forgive him (regardless of what rook tells her during that one meeting), and it is only upon seeing him and seeing how genuine he actually is that she does forgive him, and trust me this comes as a surprise to her too.

[theharellan]

"No harm was intended," he answers, a polite nod conveying his thoughts before his words do. "And I am grateful for the offer."

Albeit unaccustomed to it. How long has it been, he wonders, since he dwelt among company who stopped to ask if he needed help? Who would even stop to conceive of the idea? It is no small effort to present a front beyond such things as comfort.

But perhaps it is not uncalled for. He feels the question of Cole's nature under his own skin, the undersides of his nails itch with fear, like he would have to tear out his own nailbeds to satisfy the sensation.

He palms the stone of Skyhold's ramparts, in that moment, the rough cut of a mason's chisel is as comforting as the furs that line his mattress. The veins in the backs of his hands are blue as the lyrium they were drawn from, stark against his pale skin. He stands as the very image of what Cole stands to gain, or lose, with the choice before him.

And none of it need be a choice at all, if not for his mistake.

He breathes, lungs swelling with air and Veil.

Asharen is beside him, her eyes watching. Lips doling out advice he did not ask for.

But he would be remiss if he does not admit she has a point.

His open palm curls into a loose fist, and he sighs, "No, I have not."

Below, Cole's hat makes a wide shadow on the earth, round enough to eclipse Harding when he leans a little left. Despite himself, he smiles. Cole... makes him smile.

"He asked me to bind him. Such trust is dangerous, and my words, even meant in his best interest, might exert undue influence. I would not want him to make a choice on account of my fear. And Varric...

"Varric has made his feelings on spirits apparent."

She is in mid motion to eat another piece of her tangerine when his reply catches her off guard. Ah, there was a mistake in her logic.

There was also a third option, which was just listen. Being in a constant mindset of fixing things she often forgot that was an option: some things were just not something she could help, or fix. Some times there were just things that she shouldn't even attempt. She was coming to realise, as Inquisitor, she had... had a lot of power. And that power often meant that the decision between intervening and simply staying her hand was all the harder. The consequeces for picking the wrong choice on either sides would come home to roost.

Such as in this instance.

   "Forgive me, the way you were speaking I thought —" pausing, she inhales the cold air and steeling herself. She didn't like feeling like she was disappointing him, but that shouldn't be the point. She had been trying to help, but her intentions had little to do with impact. She gives him a clipped smile, lowering her eyes back to her fruit "Nevermind."

Turning to the fruit in her hands, she starts splitting more of it and pulling at the white veins from it, pushing those against the already peeled skin on the opposite side. She wasn't sure what advice she should be partaking, getting more knowledge about how spirits could be influenced was good to know but she was hardly the only person that influenced Cole. Nor was she someone that should tell him how to be one way or another. For anyone but himself, Solas and Varric included.

He hadn't asked, but she would say it anyway.

   "It feels to me" she starts, glancing to him "that you should be telling him this."

Not me. Cole was his own... person? It was still odd to think of it that way but the more time she spent with him talking the more she realised the lines were... not so much blurry and they were simply not there. It was odd, strange, terrifying. Wonderful?

As if she had been looking at the world without realising that she could have just pulled a door open and seen a whole more of it. She doesn't look at Solas, choosing instead to throw the tangerine in her mouth, nails sinking into the skin of the fruit.

Given they were to continue travelling, to find more suffering but also more joy. Undeniably, regardless of Solas' concerns, Cole would be changed by it. They would all be changed, one way or another. It would impact him, at the very least. But Cole had chosen this, chosen to be there. To intervene or to watch. Glancing up to Solas she continues "Have you told him what you told me? Or Varric?"