faderift | [Open] You're out of time

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[Open] You're out of time

WHO: James Norrington and You.
WHAT: Even Knight Commanders need to blow off steam
WHEN: Backdated to after 'Can't We All Just Get Along?'
WHERE: Skyhold proper - courtyard and Herald's Rest
NOTES: Warnings for violence, possible R-rated actions of sexual nature, and a Templar cursing like an Antivan sailor.

To say that Knight Commander Norrington came back from the Warden Camp in a 'mood' was something of an understatement. The moment he entered Skyhold proper, he was pulling on his full Templar armor, grabbing his sword and shield, and going directly to the practice dummies.

Later on, one could find him in the Herald's Rest. There are at least two bottles of wine in front of him, and he is not dressed in uniform. In fact, he's dressed down to the point of just tunics and breeches, singing softly to the song that the bard is belting away in the front of the tavern. He looks like he could use the company - or at least another bottle of wine if you are inclined.

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Cole gives a small, half shrug at the concise comment. He always says what he means.

"The Templars had the power. Sometimes, people find it hard to realise when the group is wrong, especially from a position of power. Or... that's what I've been told. I don't really understand groups. Just people. You're a good person."

He swings his legs, looking forward at the bottles, not at James. "I'm scared of Templars. They hurt me, then they killed me."

James pauses, because that is something he always has to remember. The Templars were the ones who supposedly held the leash -- but honestly, wasn't it the Chantry? Yet the Chantry used the Templars to crack down on what they feared - and what they feared was magic.

Another sigh, another shake of his head, "...We cannot be tools any longer. Not to the Chantry, not to the mages. We have to be answerable to ourselves, and our own sins." He frowns into his cup, "Nor the Seekers, for that matter."

He wasn't sure why he was sharing so much with this strange boy -- he just instinctively felt he could trust him. That compliment -'You're a good person' seemed to resonate more with Cole than it had with others.

"Thank you." Is his simple response, but the warmth falls into guilt, and pain, at Cole's answer. "Ah ... ah you were one of the abused mages, then? Or just someone they thought had magic? I am sorry, for what you suffered -- "

Waitaminute. "Killed?"

"It was Lambert who was making every thing really awful at White Spire. It wasn't good, but he kept applying pressure and then came himself to make it be how he wanted."

Cole listens. He genuinely listens, even if he doesn't always look. That quiet attentiveness makes him seem like someone you can talk to.

"Yes. Dark cell, deep in the Pit, leave it there so it can think about what's coming, but they never came back. Water trickling down the wall, parched mouth moistened, enough to drink, nearly, but the hollowness aches, gnawing and twisting in my gut- I don't want to die alone."

Looking closer, there's hints of something not right. His skin is too pale, veins visible. His face unhealthily gaunt.

"Lambert ... yes. The one who 'decided' to pull us from the Chantry. Idiot." James muttered, before he stared again, "What do you mean, 'made it out how he wanted'? He wanted the mages to rebel?"

Ah. Aaaaaah. Wait.

James leaned in and squinted at Cole very, very hard. "You ...are not human, but you are also not a demon. I know demons. You are not like Anders - you are not an abomination made flesh. I would sense that. What ... what are you, Cole?"

"Yes, wanted to hurt, wanted them to fear, wanted the excuse to make them scream and cry and know terror before the brand touched them..."

He broke off, wrapping his arms around himself. He squirmed under the attention, clearly uncomfortable being the focus of anything. "I'm Cole. This is my body. I'm not using anyone else's. And I'm not a demon. Though I nearly was, but I'm not now!"

Something in James shuddered at that description, his voice harsh and low, "So he was a monster after all -- good to know Seekers are monsters to any and all under their 'jurisdiction'."

Well that didn't make much sense - if he wasn't a demon then he must be a spirit of some kind. James faintly snorted, "I've never heard of the embodiment of 'Cole' before."

"No. Not all Seekers. Cassandra is good." Not subjectively good, just genuinely, with her whole being, good. "Reed is... I think Reed is okay. He's not bad."

Cole gave a very slight, shy smile. "Well, I am. But... before I was Cole, I was Compassion."

"Yes, well. Seeker Cassandra tends to see the problem before her and take care of it. No muss, no fuss. She is also not an insane person trying to put every mage or templar to the sword." James stated, his tone dry, "I have not much use for Reed or Darton."

Now he is going to blink. "Compassion. I ... well. If any place needs it, it's Skyhold. Or rather, Thedas."

"There- isn't a lot of Compassion right now," Cole whispered softly, like it was a great secret. "But I'm on this side. I can change things."

He can act with compassion and warm people. Help them want to help each other. "I don't know Darton. I met Reed once. He didn't try to kill me." Which was a low benchmark, but was Cole's standard benchmark.

"No ... no there is not. Not even my own heart, I'm afraid." Yet there must be a glimmer, if the spirit himself came to help. He was not without merit, apparently. He sipped from the flask again.

"You really need a higher measure of a person, Cole. 'Not killing me' shouldn't be how you base someone's soul."

"It's there, but you've put armour around it. Lots of people do. That's okay." He nodded to himself.

"For a Seeker or Templar, it's all I can ask. I try not to judge people, beyond whether they want to hurt others or not. Everyone has hurts, feelings, needs. Being scared or disliking me is fine. Just- I don't like when people try to kill me."

"... it is the nature of loss. To armor yourself from losing again." He sighed as he offered back the flask, before he drained the whole damned thing. "Except I do not seem to do anything but lose those I care about."

He gives Cole a long and thoughtful look, before he breathed out softly, "... Well, I can understand that well enough."

"For mortals, yes." Cole didn't. Couldn't. But he also didn't grieve like them, so it seemed a fair trade.

He took the flask back, fingers stroking over it, able to feel the lingering traces of James' frustrations, as if he couldn't just read them from the man himself.

"Do you think I could help Cade?"

"What do spirits feel? Do they feel loss?" Now, this stranger spirit-boy captured the scholar's attention, and he looked at Cole with real interest.

He sipped at his wine, before he sighed quietly, "I wish to the Maker you could, Cole, but I do not know if he would let you."

"... Grief and Despair do. Most spirits feel what they are." Not Cole. But Cole wasn't most spirits by any stretch of the imagination.

"That was what I was worried about. I'd like to help, but I think maybe me being there would make him hurt more."

"... Despair I know well." As a demon and a feeling. "Grief - is there a spirit called grief?

Honestly they had spirits for everything these days.

A slow nod, "Could you perhaps help him ... in ways he could not see?"

Cole shrugged. "Probably. We- They're just reflections of what mortals feel. If you grieve, why wouldn't a spirit be Grief? It just doesn't have any need to contact mortals."

He thought about it. "Maybe. I'm very good at not being seen if I don't want to be. If I went and saw him, maybe I could find what would help."

Or at least, what might take the pressure off for a bit.

"I never thought of that - hah - we create our own nightmares and dreams, don't we?" He tapped his fingers against his own glass, before he spoke quietly, "If you could help him, Cole, I would be very grateful. He ... he is in a lot of pain. I am not sure how much of his mind is actually able to be like other people's, after all he has been through."

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[Open] You're out of time

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