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Nobody had objected to them using the Mayor's house. In fact, most of the residents of Crestwood were so shocked and demoralized that they probably wouldn't have noticed or cared if the Inquisition had set the residence alight and banished the cinders to the fade.
Solas woke before anyone else. A weak dawn light was starting to wend its way through the windows, lighting Crestwood with a gray, cheerless brilliance. It was an improvement over the rain, but not by much.
The Iron Bull was sprawled out on an almost ridiculously undersized bedroll, senseless and snoring, he didn't even twitch when Solas padded past. Inquisitor Adaar was little more than a blanket shrouded lump from which one grimy foot and the tip of one horn protruded.
When Solas had drifted into dreams the night before, Cole had been curled up in front of the fireplace, his nose nearly touching his knees while the flames baked his back. There was no sign of him now and the blanket he had been wrapped in was draped over Bull's massive form. It looked as foolish as the tiny bedroll, with the gaudy quilt covering less than half of the huge Qunari.
There were some villagers awake when Solas stepped outside. Grimm faced and mud spattered; the oily smoke from the funeral pyres on the ridge attested to their morning labors. They would find peace in the flames eventually, a healing for wounds they did not even know still hurt, but for now they were simply resigned to unearthing sins of the past.
“Ser?” A hesitant young Inquisition soldier approached Solas, his hand making a wavery salute that wouldn't have passed muster if Commander Cullen had been around. “I'm sorry to disturb you, but....if you're looking for that odd lad, he's most likely down at the old townsite.”
“Why?” Solas asked calmly. It seemed unusual that a soldier would be interested in Cole's whereabouts , and that a spirit such as Compassion would seek solitude when Crestwood was bursting at the seams with old pain, shock and grief. There were a great many people here who could benefit from Cole's gentle aid.
“Well....” The soldier hesitated, scratching at the somewhat sparse beginnings of a mustache. “There was a bit of trouble earlier. Nothing serious, mind, or I would have woken you or M'lord Herald. One of the locals took exception to something the lad said and roughed him up a bit. Not badly!” he added at Solas' stern glare. “Bloodied him a little, but he looked more scared than hurt.”
“And the aggressor in this incident?” Solas considered it fortunate that nothing like this has happened in Skyhold, but then, those who sought the ancient stronghold were slightly less likely to be innately ignorant.
“He's up at the pyres, seeing to his wife.” The young man shrugged, uncomfortable in the face of Solas' disapproval. “He feels bad about it....he isn't a cruel man, but he pulled his wife and their firstborn out of that muck this morning. Something that lad said just set him off....I know he's one of yours, but that young man isn't quite right sometimes.”
“I'll see to it.” Solas said a bit shortly, “and I am grateful you informed me.”
“Yeah, well, I asked the lad if he needed any help, but he just looked at me like it was the worst possible thing I could have asked...”
'It probably was', Solas thought as he turned away. Cole was compelled to help others, as was his nature, but he had not yet adapted to having that same consideration offered to himself.
The path down to the old townsite was slick with mud and dew. Stepping over old, waterlogged debris, Solas' feet stirred up a few confused mollusks exploring their newly waterless world. Cole was easy to spot, crouched on a seaweed streaked retaining wall with his hat tilted down over his face.
Solas approached quietly, although he suspected Cole would have been aware of his presence as soon as he descended into the old settlement.
“Yes.” Cole confirmed when Solas crouched next to him. “Your feet are quiet, but your mind is loud. Anger that burns with old regret.”
Most fade-born creatures, from the more complex spirits to the simplest whisp, shared an innate curiosity and joy in the real world. Cole was usually alight with questions, his voice showcasing his enthusiasm for even the most mundane of wonders in the world he had made his own. Now his voice was soft and flat, he sounded less like a spirit and more like a confused and hurt young man.
Tempering his concern, Solas looked curiously at what Cole had been toying with on the ground. A lopsided and ragged spindleweed plant had been carefully ringed with stones and driftwood, soil packed around its exposed roots. As Solas watched, Cole gently brushed grit and mud from its undersized leaves, spreading them out with earth stained fingers so the weak sunlight hit more of the plant.
“It's used to be small and hidden. Growing is harder. But the roots go deep, it is stronger than it looks.”
“I have no doubt it will flourish,” Solas smiled. “With luck your plant will fare as well.”
“It isn't mine.” Cole absently wiped his fingers on his pant leg, leaving streaks of mud on the leathers. “It belongs to itself.”
“It does.”
Cole fidgeted, face still hidden under his hat brim and dirty fingers tugging at loose thread on his sleeve. “I made it hurt more. I tried to help, but the words tangled and tore. How do I make the hurt better when I can't fix it if I go wrong?”
“It will be more difficult, but it is what you exist to do. You must adapt.” Solas said, not un-gently. “Do you regret this path, Cole?”
“No. Yes.” Cole wrung his hands. “Sometimes, but not really. It is harder to know what I think now.”
“Then all I can do is help you walk it, if you will allow it.” Solas cupped Cole's chin in his long fingers and exerted gentle pressure. “Let me see.”
Cole gave a shuddering sigh and let Solas tilt his face into the light. There was dried blood on his chin, and crusted in the corner of his mouth. He flinched as Solas ran careful fingertips around the darkly bruised orbit of one eye, gently but thorough as he checked for any softness that would suggest an injury more serious than just a spectacular black eye.
“I didn't try to hurt, but he did. 'Get away, freak! You have no right to be here, why couldn't you people just leave the past buried!' Words to wound, but he hurt inside. Old rot festering under his skin like a boil. He'd carried it so long he forgot the pain.”
“Some people cannot be helped as easily as others.” Solas rose, tugging Cole up beside him. “Come with me, lets get you cleaned up.”
The lake roiled and shifted, currents confused by its new shoreline. Solas sat Cole on a nearby rock, and after only a moment's hesitation, tore a long strip from the hem of his robes and dipped it in the water.
Cole sat passively as Solas wiped the worst of the blood and dirt from his face. It was a struggle for Solas to contain his outrage over the violent rebuttal Cole had received. It was bad enough that men visited such anger and violence on each other, to turn on a gentle spirit such as Compassion was unforgivable. Times such as this made Solas wish a benevolent creature such as Cole had never left the safety of the fade.
“You want me to go?” Cole looked at Solas with wide, hurt eyes.
“No, I do not.” Solas rested his palm against the unbruised side of Cole's face, thumb stroking unconsciously over his cheek.”I simply wonder if people deserve Compassion, or Empathy, Loyalty.....Wisdom.”
“Deserving doesn't matter, helping does.”
Cole turned his face to nuzzle against Solas' hand, his breath hot against the elf's cool skin. It was an unexpected intimacy, and Solas pulled his hand away, serene face troubled. It was hard to ignore the confusion in Cole's eyes, or the way he touched his fingertips where Solas' hand had been as if recreating his touch.
“You wanted to do more, different.” Cole frowned, brow furrowed. “Wishing, wanting but worried. 'I have no right, it's wrong to assume....' It's gone!”
“I apologize.” Solas looked away from Cole's too-wide, too-seeing eyes, it was unfair to burden the spirit with his own petty desires. The thoughts that came in the darkness that even he had trouble admitting to in the light of day. “There are some thoughts I would prefer to keep private.”
“But you hold it until it hurts!” Cole made an exasperated noise in his throat, and with all the grace of a falling stone, pulled Solas closer and kissed him.
It was everything Solas would expect from Cole: gentle, eager and utterly awkward. Cole's mouth was cold, his lips chapped and still tasting of blood; but Solas could feel residual fade energy licking over his skin like veilfire and his body howled in enthusiastic response.
“No...” Solas pushed Cole away, refusing to look at the spirit's stricken expression, or listen to his body's urgent demands.
“I did that wrong too?” Cole cringed, “I'm sorry....”
That was the moment, Solas realized. The knife edge between accepting loneliness and striving for companionship, between ignoring the weaknesses of the flesh, and indulging them. He'd tried so hard to separate himself from everyone, but he couldn't hide himself from Cole; gentle Cole who could strip away his defenses with a few words and a shy almost-smile. He'd never even known a spirit could manifest a physical form, that a spirit could exist, could flourish outside of the fade, and the connotations of that existence left Solas breathless. To have a companion who not only understood the fade, but was born of it......able to be part of both his waking and dreaming world.
“.....No, you didn't do it wrong.” Solas reached out with shaking fingers to brush hair out of Cole's shining eyes. Gulping down his guilt like a drowning man swallows water. “But there is a technique, if you would like me to show you?”
“Yes.” Cole was impatient, almost wriggling as Solas cupped his jaw.”Yes, please...”
Solas kissed him gently, carefully. Cautious of the bruises on Cole's pale skin as he pulled away far enough to brush a thumb over his lower lip, encouraging Cole to open his mouth a little. He tasted like the fade, like a dream's dream of lightning and metal; at the same time he was warm and living, eager in a way that was utterly tangible.
There was little doubt in Solas mind that Cole was touching his mind, he could almost hear it like distant strains of a song that grew stronger when he pulled Cole's long body closer. He searched for that song in Cole's mouth, chasing the notes of it on his tongue, fingers tapping out the rhythm against his back. Cole kissed him back almost too hard, as if he was desperate for Solas not to stop, his pulse thrumming under the elf's fingers.
“This cannot happen.” Solas whispered against Cole's mouth, the ache of regret like a physical pain. He rested his forehead against Cole's, his body shaking in reaction to the energy that seemed to exist under the spirit's skin. “I am not...you could chose anyone...”
Cole wrapped long arms around Solas neck, pressing close so his cheek rested against the elf's neck, his voice whisper soft. “I already chose....”