killedwithlove | PSL: For kremdelacreme

Krem thought it and Cole was reacting. Fighting on the defensive made more sense to him, plucking thoughts and intentions and moving to counter them. He darted in close, almost like he was about to tackle Krem but then he was flinging himself to the side and over one arm, using the sturdy shoulder to counter balance himself.

It left him open. It also left him able to follow the motion through and bring a knife hard and low, under a breastplate. He didn't drive the knife hard, but he was intending on completing the motion, for a touch that with extra strength would be an instantly killing blow.

Krem knew that Cole was picking up his intentions and moves straight from his head, and while it irked him, as it likely did most of Cole's real opponents, he could respect using the knowledge gleaned directly like that. Cole was very good with the tools that he had, most definitely a worthy opponent.

If it weren't for the chain mail layered between the leather and metal of his breastplate, that strike would have done a hell of a lot worse than simply knocking the wind out of him. Krem stepped back, holding his breath until his core wasn't quite as painful, then taking it shallowly. His blade spun in his hand, then flickered out of sight. A thud in the dirt marked where it had ended up, a centimeter away from Cole's foot, quivering slightly with the blade half buried in the hard-packed soil.

With the blade out of his hand, Krem was free to make his move, his arm wrapping around Cole's and holding it straight, locking his elbow, while the other hand shoved up toward his chin hard enough to crack his teeth together if it connected squarely. Cole might have pulled his punch, so to speak, but Krem doubted he could really damage the boy, not close-range like this.

Up close and in knife range, Cole was devastating in combat.

The locked arm would hold almost anyone else. Cole twisted, tried to move, couldn't get away from the blow he knew was coming and so instead he moved

Moving wasn't like walking, or shifting, or anything else mortals did. Moving was Cole tilting his head back, almost anticipating the blow and then vanishing from Krem's grip, leaving black and green smoke in his hands as Cole slipped into the cracks in reality and back out of reach again.

"You're very good," he said mildly. As if he hadn't just tweaked reality to let him move.

"That was cheap," Krem replied with a pout, catching himself before he could pitch forward with the momentum of his strike. He straightened up, hands on his hips, huffing and pulling his knife from the dirt with a hard tug. He wiped it off on his pants and sheathed it again, then stepped forward to be right there in front of Cole, looking up at him from under his hat.

Rather than remaining surly, he just reached up and took hold of the brim of Cole's hat, pulling it down over his eyes then lightly prodding his nose. "We should do this more often."

Cole canted his head, not quite sure what was cheap about it. It was free, so he supposed that was cheap.

And for all his grace and evasiveness in combat, once the sparring was clearly over, he simply let the tug and bop on the nose happen, reaching to rub at his nose rabbit like after it was done. "Yes. Spirits don't fight like mortals. And there are a lot of spirits out and lost because of the rifts."

He pushed his hat back up so he could see.

"I doubt they all fight like you, but it would still be good practice," Krem agreed, then went to pick up his maul, putting it over his shoulder and coming back to Cole's side to bump him gently. "You want to do anything now?"

"No, not all. Rage just attacks mindlessly. Solas says if you survive the first thirty heartbeats, you'll know everything they can do, because they can't hide anything, just attack. Pride can't back down, because it knows it is better than you and that it need not fear."

He moved with the bump and leaned in for a moment. "I have to wash. Solas says you should wash after every battle if you have the chance to do so."

"You put a lot of store in what Solas says, but what about what you think?" Krem asked, tone casual enough, but brow furrowed. He personally didn't care for the apostate, and he knew the Inquisitor shared that sentiment, having heard him griping at the Iron Bull about Solas every so often. Krem's concern was for Cole at the moment though. "Do you believe you need to wash? This wasn't a battle. You're not bloody, barely dirty, and obviously you don't sweat."

"Yes. He protected me when Vivienne and Cullen wanted to destroy me, he explained the mortal world better than anyone else had, because he understood me better than I understood me." Solas wasn't well liked, Cole knew that, but he didn't care because Solas didn't care.

"I don't know. I didn't know bodies needed washing, but people seemed happier once Solas told me to start doing it. Except Dorian, who told what I was doing barely qualified as bathing, because there was nowhere near enough hot water or relaxing involved in what I did. But then The Iron Bull threw him into the river as well."

Dorian had screamed indignantly and blossomed with a soft peach fondness that he was so casually accepted by the group. "I don't sweat. I do bleed."

"Cullen's a Templar, it's only to be expected of him to think like that, and Vivienne's a loyalist. They both like to think they know best in these matters, but nobody asks what you think. I don't even think people remember that you've got a mind of your own, until you speak up," Krem said thoughtfully. That soft frown was back on his face, at least until he had to imagine Dorian sitting in a river after having been thrown there.

Back to the idea of Cole wandering off to bathe, Krem just shrugged. "And you've done neither in the last hour I think. If you want to go, I won't stop you. You do still smell like nug after all." And he had to have words with Bull. He knew that there was a report from Bull's Ben-Hassrath contacts that needed to be discussed before it was brought before the Inquisitor. It had to be important, if the Chief wanted to sit with them in an official capacity.

"A lot of people don't think I do have a mind, that I just echo what's around me without thought or presence, acting without conscious intent. A thing that seeks only to help. Or harm."

Not everyone who had realised what Cole was took it well.

Cole looked to where the Chargers generally bunked down. "Worries, wriggles, worms inside. The hooks sink deep, bite into his flesh and pull in opposite directions, rending his soul. You should go and talk to The Iron Bull. It's important."

"People can have their suspicions as much as they like. Doesn't change who you are or what you can do for them." Krem offered a mild little smile, then glanced around briefly before lifting up onto his toes and pressing his lips back to Cole's in a quick, chaste kiss.

"Go take your bath. I'll be back and then we can figure out something else to do."

The way Cole had phrased that wasn't lost on him, and Krem was worried as he headed off to meet with the rest of the Chargers. He could help assuage whatever fears for the mission that Bull had, he was certain. He'd done it before, and this couldn't be that different.

By the time Krem came back and took his seat at the corner of the tavern, he actually looked pleased with the situation. He was looking forward to going back to the coast and seeing a real Qunari dreadnought up close and personal. Then there was the idea of an alliance with the Qunari, something that the Iron Bull was hoping for, even if he did look a little worried about the idea of it. He knew if the Inquisitor was involved in the proceedings, things would go well enough. Perhaps even stop an invasion the next time the Qunari tried it. No more worrying about a real war between Tevinter and the Qun. It was a bolstering thought.

Cole smiled at the brief kiss, that barely there twitch of the lips and tilt of the head that suggested he'd like something, but wasn't sure why it had happened.

He watched Krem leave before heading off to the well to draw a bucket of water. He washed off in the cold water and then wandered for a while, helping out where needed.

When he came to find Krem again, up in the tavern, he already had a fairly clear idea of what had been discussed. He made his way through unseen, stopping next to Krem. "I don't understand the Qun. I know it matters to The Iron Bull, but I don't understand it. I don't think I can."

Krem briefly leaned toward Cole's voice, nudging him with his elbow gently.

"I don't think any of us understand the Qun, but the way Bull talks about it, it sounds like something for when people want to relinquish all of their control and most of their autonomy, not have to think for themselves for a while. The way they do it is strange. Brainwashing, emotional manipulation. I can't abide it, personally," he sighed, looking up from the tankard he'd been sipping from and ducking back under Cole's hat so that it wouldn't nudge his head whenever Cole moved.

"You still smell like nug, by the way."

"That's what I don't understand. Why you wouldn't want to be an individual. Even spirits are different. Compassion is not always the same Compassion. Rage is angry for different reasons."

And there was a lot of Rage around the Qun. "You should never force people to be something just for you. I don't like that they hurt people to make them behave. I don't like it from the Chantry, either."

He leaned against the wall, so his hat stayed out of the way, over Krem. "Do I?"

"Not everyone cherishes their individuality. Some people've had so much bad happen in their lives they think that relinquishing that control to someone else will make the pain stop. But when they realize how it'll be done, they get angry, they fight back, because it's in their nature. That's when the brainwashing starts, because you don't just voluntarily leave the Qun. They don't allow it, not without labeling someone a traitor. Tal-Vashoth, that's what Bull called it."

Krem took a moment to finish the last of his drink, then put the tankard aside on the top of a barrel. He shook his head, pulling some at his gauntlets. "I've seen enough pain in my life. Made a lot of friends who were slaves under masters that would hurt them for making a simple mistake. I hated it. I'd never do that. The Chantry, they hurt people with words, strip them of rights and credibility. In some ways, they're just like the Qunari."

"You're not very good at washing, are you?"

Cole understood these things. But some part of him would never embrace it, not emotionally accept it.

Mortals made life so difficult for themselves, for each other, it didn't make sense to him. They wanted to hurt each other and he didn't understand that either.

"Dorian says I'm terrible at washing," Cole agreed, glad to not linger on the hurts and pains.

"Next time, try scrubbing as well. Even if the water's cold, it'll help. If you manage to find soap, even better. Surely Dorian will lend you some." After all, someone that smelled like dog, and then dumped water over themselves in the hopes of washing, just ended up smelling like wet dog.

"If you can see marks, scrub them. With a cloth, or just your hand if you don't have anything clean enough."

Of course, being taught how to clean up by a mage when you were a close combat fighter wasn't as helpful as it might seem.

"I can find soap. I have some, I found it after the laundry workers were done."

"Sometimes the smelly bits don't have marks so you don't think to scrub them." Krem shrugged. He didn't care either way if the smelly parts also had marks or not, he just bathed as quickly as he could manage most times. Another one of those thoughts that he didn't like to dwell on.

"I'd also advise warm water. Get a pot and warm it over a fire until it's just starting to steam. Trust me, it works wonders."

"There's pools of hot water under Skyhold," Cole commented. "I found them when I went exploring, and Solas said they were hot springs, produced by the... the... heat vents of the mountain?"

Something like that.

Krem nodded at that. "That makes sense. Never really explored far in this place myself, but the mountains are full of steam vents and natural springs. Makes sense to build the keep over one."

"KREM." Bull's voice rose over the rest in the tavern, drawing his immediate attention. When The Iron Bull yelled for anyone like that, it was impossible to ignore. Giving Cole an apologetic look, he immediately went to his commander to see just what was going on. He was dragged out shortly after that, without time to let Cole know he'd be leaving.

It was maybe an hour later when the Inquisitor blew through to round up his team, and the Chargers, plus two elves and a mage, set out on their trek to the Storm Coast. It would be at least four days two and from, and the mission itself would take at least a day once they were there. There would be no word until the alliance was secured or denied.

Krem left and Cole realised he wouldn't have a chance to come back and say goodbye. He gave a small wave as Krem left and trusted The Iron Bull to look after them all, and the Inquisitor to keep things running smoothly.

Whatever was happening, he wasn't taken along. He accepted it quietly and instead went to talk to Solas.

Cole could fill the time until Krem got back. There was a lot to do. There was always a lot to do.

There was so much to do around the hold, Cole was bound to have a great deal to do over the time that they were gone. The Inquisitor's party was the first to return, looking worn out and bruised up, but otherwise no worse for wear. The Iron Bull looked disgruntled, standing quietly at the Inquisitor's side before returning to the Herald's Rest.

The Chargers' return was later in the day, getting on toward sunset, and all of them were either limping or holding themselves up on their weapons. They'd had a hell of a mission, and most of them looked satisfied with the way things had turned out. Krem was no exception, though he was favoring one of his sides, the end of his maul being used as a crutch. Part of his chestplate was dented inward but he'd refused to take it off. He stopped over near where he'd seen Bull and the Inquisitor talking, before making his way up through the tavern and straight to his quarters. He paused at the door at the top to see if Cole was standing amid his belongings, before heading out again. He was tired enough to lay on his face and sleep in his leathers.

When the Inquisitor returned, Cole was at the gate waiting. He didn't speak, just took in the feelings, memories, impressions, pains.

He felt Krem's pain in The Iron Bull's worry, the way his ribs ached as he breathed and the breastplate dug in but cradled at the same time. There were flickers of the deeper wounds, the way his chest felt too big in the wrong ways, the frustration of the leather vest under the armour, but those weren't worse than usual.

When they came up the path, Cole wanted to be there, but he had to be on the rafters at that moment, waiting for the injured bat to show itself so he could catch it and untangle the string from it.

Which was why he turned up in Krem's quarters through the window with a bat clinging to the front of his shirt. He was quiet and unexpected, but he spoke nearly immediately. "You'll regret sleeping without undressing and having your ribs bound, but it feels like my body's made of lead. Do you want me to go get a healer?"

PSL: For kremdelacreme

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