Cold, always cold. Shaking, shuddering, trembling. Her hands are numb, she cannot see. Her chest is heavy, gasping for each breath. She can't move, can't keep going. This is it, this is it. She cannot form the words, but I can hear it, I can see it. The snow traps her. Lost. Alone... Her end... and mine... (The slow building relationship of Cole and a Dalish herald, Va'Lithra)

"He wasn't right, he didn't fit, when he walked there were paw-prints, when he spoke there were fangs." Solas can't be trusted and Cole can see the wolf at his heels. It was unsafe, troublesome, and he needed the inquisitor to be safe, to be his.

((Cicero Oneshot)) Whenever the listener arrives home to the sanctuary Cicero is expected to entertain and amuse, but could it be that he's finally done exactly what the listener wanted? Of course not. No matter how hard he tries, he always loses.

Madness breeds obsession, and that is certainly true for the biggest madman of all, but when his obsession is focused solely on a woman he may never touch Cicero finds himself lost, and more alone than ever.