Cassandra: So, Cole, Varric tells me you were a spirit of compassion.

　　Cole: Yes.

　　Cassandra: How does compassion become such a deadly killer?

　　Cole: Templars.

　　Cassandra: Ah. I'm truly sorry.

　　Cole: Don't be. You and Cullen care. That's more than most.

　　Cole: Voices sing, but the hawk has flown away and cannot hear them. Standing by the door, legs stuck. I shouldn't be here.

　　Cole: Where is his sister? Is she crying? Can she breathe? I couldn't breathe. Pain twists, but for which one?

　　Cassandra: I knew the story more than I knew the woman.

　　Cole: It isn't your fault he died.

　　Cassandra: Perhaps not. Sometimes knowing that isn't enough.

　　Cole: Can you know it more?

　　Cassandra: Be easy, Cole. I will be fine.

　　Cole: The frame holds, hand at the waist gently moves as body and thought spiral.

　　Cassandra: Cole!

　　Cole: Notes drip through the air. (Hums.)

　　Cassandra: That's... not the song they were playing.

　　Cole: Yes, but that's your favorite song.

　　Cole: Where would the Inquisition go?

　　Cassandra: What do you mean?

　　Cole: The Wardens wanted to help, but they hurt people instead. You would have sent them away, Cassandra.

　　Cassandra: I believe it may have been safer, but we cannot know for certain.

　　Cole: If the Inquisition stops helping, where would we go to keep people safe from us?

　　Cassandra: We must pray that it never comes to that.

　　Cole: Prayer isn't a place. It would not save them from us.

　　Cassandra: The Wardens fell. The Inquisition need not follow suit.

　　Cole: The Wardens thought the same. So did the templars.

　　Cassandra: Then we must be vigilant.

　　Cole: Warden-Commander Clarel wasn't like you, Cassandra.

　　Cassandra: Thank you, Cole... I think. I never met Clarel, but I will take that as a compliment.

　　Cole: She fell because she fell. That's how Erimond convinced her to hurt people. He made it look like bravery.

　　Cole: She called it a choice, but it was a lie. She was afraid.

　　Cole: You aren't afraid. You won't fall.

　　Cassandra: Thank, you, Cole. I appreciate that.

　　Cassandra: What of Magister Erimond? Do you sense a secret pain in him?

　　Cole: No. Erimond is an asshole.

　　Cassandra: (Laughs.) Well said.

　　Cole: Shield catches the blow, blade comes down, shiver through the hilt as it cuts. Another bandit falls.

　　Cole: A good strike, Lucius would have been proud. The bandit's eyes meet mine as he falls, so afraid. Such a waste.

　　Cassandra: Please leave my mind, Cole.

　　Cole: You don't need to feel bad.

　　Cassandra: I do not feel bad. The bandits needed to die.

　　Cole: Not that. You feel bad for being proud of it.

　　Cole: You couldn't help the bandits. Some people have to die. Being happy for your skill doesn't make you cruel.

　　Cassandra: Thank you... I suppose.

　　Cole: Do you ever take off your armor and talk to it?

　　Cassandra: No.

　　Cole: It might say something nice.

　　Cassandra: What is it, Cole? Why the odd looks?

　　Cole: Light pastry with blueberries, sticky on your fingers. Small hands reaching as Anthony tears his in half.

　　Cole: But when you got to the kitchen, they were all gone.

　　Cassandra: Ah, yes. They are delicious, but do not last long.

　　[Human Cole]

　　Cole: I would get you one, but they see me in the kitchen now. They ask if I want a glass of water, a piece of bread. They want to help me. It should be the other way'round.

　　Cassandra: Sometimes it's difficult to accept the kindness of others, but it can be worth the effort.

　　[Spirit Cole]

　　Cole: I could get you one. The cooks don't see me.

　　Cassandra: Just because they don't see you doesn't mean it isn't theft.

　　Cole: Your elbow made him smile.

　　Cassandra: Who are you talking about?

　　Cole: The blacksmith's apprentice. He repaired the armor. He was too shy to ask if you were satisfied.

　　Cole: He saw you smile as you tested the joint. It made him happy.

　　Cassandra: It was fine work. I will remember to thank him when we are back at Skyhold.

　　Cole: My elbows don't make anyone smile.

　　Cole: You don't like dead people, Cassandra.

　　Cassandra: Was that a question? Am I supposed to?

　　Cole: The ones in the dark city. Wrapped in cloths that smell like sunflowers. You hated the singing.

　　Cassandra: Ah, the Grand Necropolis. Yes, I never saw the point.

　　Cole: Maybe dead people like the singing.

　　Cassandra: I would rather not think about that.

　　Cole: Your uncle misses you, Cassandra.

　　Cassandra: No. He wrote you a letter. There was pain on the page.

　　Cole: Stop going into my quarters. How many times must I tell you?

　　Cole: No. He wrote you a letter. There was pain in the page.

　　Cassandra: Stop going into my quarters. How many times must I tell you?

　　Cole, I found a locket on my pillow earlier...

　　Cole: It was Anthony's.

　　Cassandra: It was my grandmother's, actually, but it had Anthony's portrait inside. I thought I'd lost it.

　　Cole: You did lose it. I had to fight a rat for it.

　　Cassandra: Oh? Thank you.

　　Cole: He wasn't a very big rat.

　　Cole: Cassandra, who's... Regalyan?

　　Cassandra: No one to concern yourself with.

　　Cole: You were thinking about the time you—

　　Cassandra: Now I'm thinking about something else. Can you guess?

　　Cole: My hat wouldn't fit there...