Dragon Age: Inquisition fic -- Honesty
A short scene with Blackwall and Cole before Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, in which they discuss honesty, always a tough subject!
Blackwall/Elleth Lavellan background, fairly gen
The Herald’s Rest is a good tavern despite being new, and Blackwall has to admit he enjoys the company. The Chargers are sometimes rowdy, but Bull keeps them from doing anything that will get anyone permanently thrown out. Sera’s a fit, but in a good way. Maryden is even a good bard, though sometimes her repertory is a little on the soppy side. Harding and her folks are more there for fun than drink, but there’s always an interesting story.
Speaking of interesting stories, Varric always has one, though sometimes Blackwall has the uncomfortable feeling he’s taking notes. They’re all going to appear in a sequel to The Champion of Kirkwall, if they live so long.
And Cole is odd, but that’s only to be expected considering. After the time Cole asked for his advice on how one grows a beard, he figures the spirit boy just needs some help learning the ropes of humanity and doesn’t get insulted when he asks something either perfectly obvious or entirely tactless. However, it’s a busy evening when he suddenly appears next to Blackwall at one of the upstairs tables while Maryden is playing one of her soggy love songs and asks, “Why don’t you want people to know you had Inquisitor Lavellan in the stables?”
Blackwall nearly chokes on his ale. “That’s private,” he manages.
“But why is it private?” Cole’s innocent blue eyes are completely disingenuous. “There isn’t a reason you shouldn’t, is there? Empty like a bottle, needy and greedy. Then she sees you and it’s like her chest goes green. She wants you to fill her up.”
“Will you shush?” Blackwall hisses. Nobody at nearby tables seems to have heard. “Cut the filthy talk about my lady Inquisitor!”
“Why is it filthy if I say it but not if you do it?” Cole asks.
“Because.”
Cole just sits there, his hands folded, waiting for an answer with nothing but curiosity on his face.
“It’s between us,” Blackwall says more kindly. “You don’t talk about a lady that way. About someone you respect.”
“The others say….”
“People say a lot of things in taverns, and most of them are boasting and aren’t true. And even if they are true, they never get back to the people they’re said about. But you don’t say things like that about people you know and that everybody else knows unless you’re trying to be mean.” He thinks that covers it.
“Straw and warm horse smells and her breast in your hand and her trying not to cry out when you….”
“Cole, stop it,” Blackwall says firmly. “Get out of my head.”
“She slapped your arse in the hallway outside Josephine’s office when nobody was looking and then smiled at you as she went in.”
“Out of my head!”
Cole looks somewhat abashed. “I’m sorry. Are you ashamed she slapped your arse?”
“You have to learn that some things are private,” he says. Time for a different tack. “It’s part of being human. Learning where you end and other people begin. You don’t get to have their memories and thoughts and feelings unless they give them to you.”
Now he looks interested. “How do they give them to you?”
“They tell you. If they want to.”
“And if they don’t want to?”
“You don’t get them.” Blackwall takes a big drink of his ale. “We’re flesh, not spirit. We don’t blend into each other. We’re separate. We decide who knows what about us.”
Cole seems to be digesting that for quite a long time. “But if you knew how she’s hollow you could help. I could help her by telling you.”
Blackwall shakes his head. “It’s hers to tell,” he says gently. “When she wants. If she wants. I’ve no right to her secrets.”
“But you love her.”
Blackwall puts his head in his hands. “Cole, out of my head!”
“Don’t you?”
“I’ve no claim on her and I’m in no position to love anyone. We’ve no promises, and that’s how we like it. I respect Inquisitor Lavellan and I am proud to fight beside her,” he manages.
“That’s all true but not all truth,” Cole observes. Then he stops, his head to the side as though something suddenly occurs to him. “But it hurts you for me to say that,” he says sadly. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then stay out of my head,” Blackwall says. “Cole, if you want to be human, you have to learn to talk to humans the way we talk to each other. We don’t call each other liars and we don’t tell each other’s secrets unless we want to start a fight. We try not to hurt each other with our words, if we care about each other.”
Cole’s mouth purses like a four-year old trying on a new idea. “So it’s not always good to be honest.”
“Not if being honest hurts people for no good reason.”
It seems like he’s thinking about it. “So the things you don’t say….”
“Would hurt her to no good cause.” He squirms, and he knows Cole feels it. He knows Cole knows it. “Let it be, Cole.”
Cole looks meets his eyes. They’re as clear as the summer sky after a storm. He knows everything. “I will, Warden Blackwall,” he says.
Blackwall/Elleth Lavellan background, fairly gen
The Herald’s Rest is a good tavern despite being new, and Blackwall has to admit he enjoys the company. The Chargers are sometimes rowdy, but Bull keeps them from doing anything that will get anyone permanently thrown out. Sera’s a fit, but in a good way. Maryden is even a good bard, though sometimes her repertory is a little on the soppy side. Harding and her folks are more there for fun than drink, but there’s always an interesting story.
Speaking of interesting stories, Varric always has one, though sometimes Blackwall has the uncomfortable feeling he’s taking notes. They’re all going to appear in a sequel to The Champion of Kirkwall, if they live so long.
And Cole is odd, but that’s only to be expected considering. After the time Cole asked for his advice on how one grows a beard, he figures the spirit boy just needs some help learning the ropes of humanity and doesn’t get insulted when he asks something either perfectly obvious or entirely tactless. However, it’s a busy evening when he suddenly appears next to Blackwall at one of the upstairs tables while Maryden is playing one of her soggy love songs and asks, “Why don’t you want people to know you had Inquisitor Lavellan in the stables?”
Blackwall nearly chokes on his ale. “That’s private,” he manages.
“But why is it private?” Cole’s innocent blue eyes are completely disingenuous. “There isn’t a reason you shouldn’t, is there? Empty like a bottle, needy and greedy. Then she sees you and it’s like her chest goes green. She wants you to fill her up.”
“Will you shush?” Blackwall hisses. Nobody at nearby tables seems to have heard. “Cut the filthy talk about my lady Inquisitor!”
“Why is it filthy if I say it but not if you do it?” Cole asks.
“Because.”
Cole just sits there, his hands folded, waiting for an answer with nothing but curiosity on his face.
“It’s between us,” Blackwall says more kindly. “You don’t talk about a lady that way. About someone you respect.”
“The others say….”
“People say a lot of things in taverns, and most of them are boasting and aren’t true. And even if they are true, they never get back to the people they’re said about. But you don’t say things like that about people you know and that everybody else knows unless you’re trying to be mean.” He thinks that covers it.
“Straw and warm horse smells and her breast in your hand and her trying not to cry out when you….”
“Cole, stop it,” Blackwall says firmly. “Get out of my head.”
“She slapped your arse in the hallway outside Josephine’s office when nobody was looking and then smiled at you as she went in.”
“Out of my head!”
Cole looks somewhat abashed. “I’m sorry. Are you ashamed she slapped your arse?”
“You have to learn that some things are private,” he says. Time for a different tack. “It’s part of being human. Learning where you end and other people begin. You don’t get to have their memories and thoughts and feelings unless they give them to you.”
Now he looks interested. “How do they give them to you?”
“They tell you. If they want to.”
“And if they don’t want to?”
“You don’t get them.” Blackwall takes a big drink of his ale. “We’re flesh, not spirit. We don’t blend into each other. We’re separate. We decide who knows what about us.”
Cole seems to be digesting that for quite a long time. “But if you knew how she’s hollow you could help. I could help her by telling you.”
Blackwall shakes his head. “It’s hers to tell,” he says gently. “When she wants. If she wants. I’ve no right to her secrets.”
“But you love her.”
Blackwall puts his head in his hands. “Cole, out of my head!”
“Don’t you?”
“I’ve no claim on her and I’m in no position to love anyone. We’ve no promises, and that’s how we like it. I respect Inquisitor Lavellan and I am proud to fight beside her,” he manages.
“That’s all true but not all truth,” Cole observes. Then he stops, his head to the side as though something suddenly occurs to him. “But it hurts you for me to say that,” he says sadly. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“Then stay out of my head,” Blackwall says. “Cole, if you want to be human, you have to learn to talk to humans the way we talk to each other. We don’t call each other liars and we don’t tell each other’s secrets unless we want to start a fight. We try not to hurt each other with our words, if we care about each other.”
Cole’s mouth purses like a four-year old trying on a new idea. “So it’s not always good to be honest.”
“Not if being honest hurts people for no good reason.”
It seems like he’s thinking about it. “So the things you don’t say….”
“Would hurt her to no good cause.” He squirms, and he knows Cole feels it. He knows Cole knows it. “Let it be, Cole.”
Cole looks meets his eyes. They’re as clear as the summer sky after a storm. He knows everything. “I will, Warden Blackwall,” he says.