Reader Questions: Kill or Redeem (Sympathy for the Dread Wolf)

I wrote recently about some of the questions I get from readers and followers. So I've started a series of posts I'll note as "Reader Questions." They'll be a little hastier, a little more "off-the-cuff," but I hope they'll still prove helpful or mildly amusing.

Onward!

Another popular query I get—perhaps the biggest one—is about my sympathetic stance on Solas. 

I really appreciate these questions, and care about being as fair as I can be in my analyses here.

And yeah, let's face it, a lot of people really, really hate Solas. Which I completely get. Who can blame them? His honesty with us about his own actions and plans in "Trespasser" is pretty damning. Even if he's not sure what tearing down the Veil will do, it's apparent he expects it to sow chaos across Thedas, and that many lives (even those of people he loves) may be lost.

And yet... I still chose "Redeem."

So let's address this.

What the Road to Hell is Paved With...

Am I biased? Oh, hell, yes. I'm absolutely a Solas apologist, however much I try for a dispassionate view. I attempt to remain impartial, but it's no secret after my zillions and zillions of words here that I love the guy (and many other wonderful companions). I've written all sorts of posts here where I attempt to try to understand and analyze what drives Solas, and I've definitely been open about how much I both loved his romance and still hope to redeem him in Dragon Age 4. 

First off, I'm a sucker for tragedy, and the sheer irony and sadness of Solas's situation is fascinating to me. Like all the best anti-heroes (or villains), he began his path with the very best of intentions. He saw evil being done and did what he could—freeing the slaves, leading rebellions, ending wars, punishing murderers. He wanted to save his people, and yet in the end, despite the very best of his intentions, he doomed them instead—and in every literal way you can imagine. He took away their immortality. He trapped them in a world without magic (or at least, comparable to their previous lives). He crashed their beautiful suspended cities, killing thousands as the Veil removed their abilities to float and fly. He trapped their spirit-friends beyond an almost impenetrable barrier, and he (worst of all) put them on a path that directly led to their exile and enslavement. 

It's all terrible and sad, especially when what he was attempting to do was (to him) simple and absolute punishment where it would hurt the perpetrators most.

But the fact that Solas's name means 'Pride' is no accident. Time and again, he's shown that he's often blinded by his own intellect. Here, for instance, nothing but the sundering of the world itself would suffice for his vengeance. And for that act, his people paid.

And they're still paying, even thousands of years later.

So there we are. And speaking dramatically, as a writer? This is pure catnip for someone like me, and is incredibly fun and emotional from a story standpoint.

However, I also truly want this blog to be for everyone, so I do try to ensure that I'm including analyses and insights that are useful no matter what you chose at the end of "Trespasser." 

Love Doesn't Equal Approval

This is a good place for me to note that, even if you're one of those who enthusiastically hates Solas, our points of view are not as far apart as you might think. I really do see and understand this, and it's made for some exciting debates for me across the world of Dragon Age!

For one thing, as a writer, I love Solas as a character just as I also love many other deeply shaded characters who are not always good people, or who have done things that are despicable or downright villainous. I love them for the writing art and craft involved in their creation (damn your ability to write poetic tragedy, Weekes!), for the nuance and complexity that went into them, and I appreciate them for their believability and dramatic resonance.

So I can absolutely love Solas, and yet still see him pretty clearly. Just as I also love characters like Anders, Lestat, Stringer Bell, Loghain, Hannibal Lecter, Gollum, Mrs. Coulter, Kylo Ren, or Boyd Crowder. 

Loving a character doesn't mean I agree with what they do. It doesn't mean I support their agenda or actions. It just means I enjoy the character as the fully fleshed and believable, imperfect person the writers (and actors) have convincingly brought to life. Many of those I list here are antiheroes as well as villains, but they are presented in ways that allow us to see their humanity and frailty, their self-doubt, and even their capacity for love. That's exciting, and so much more fun than a one-note bad guy (like we all thought Corypants was, while Solas, just like Anders, was right next to us all along).

Sympathy for the Devil

I'd also argue that, where Solas is concerned, great care and deliberation was taken by Patrick Weekes, as well as by the rest of the artists and technicians on the Dragon Age team, to make him as three-dimensional as possible, to show us all of his potential complexity, tenderness, weakness, genuine empathy, and self-doubt. (That is, if we romance him or garner high friendship with him—otherwise, we'll just see supercilious cold Solas, who stays remote and hidden, and whose despair and disdain for Thedas only grows when faced with a corrupt or antagonistic Inquisitor.)

But if we romance him? Holy schnikes, the devastation, the feelings, the tears, the blanketforts! All thanks to—it turns out—a suggestion from the divine David Gaider to Weekes. (My favorite part is that Gaider admits later that "The sheer wickedness of it appealed." Of course it did.)

I mean, let's face it, I was so upset when Solas dumped me (um, I mean, my Inquisitor—DAMMIT) that I called my best friend. And, as you may have seen from my humiliating admission here... there may have been tears.

So, yeah, I chose "Redeem." I always have. I just can't go with "Kill." 

Actions Vs. Plans

As you know... I think Solas is traumatized at the time of Dragon Age: Inquisition, and that he's still a bit mad. Still, he seems to like planning to tear down the Veil a lot more than he actually likes taking action to do so. 

Even two years later, he still hasn't done it. Even when he's all-powerful and eye-blinking people into stone (after a considerate warning, of course). 

I'll go into this further when I explore "Trespasser" here, but the facts are pretty incontrovertible. In terms of his most immediate recent actions, Solas:

• Manipulated the Orb to Corypants (hoping to unlock it and take out Cory in the meantime)—this is NOT OKAY, and Flemeth/Mythal seems to have distanced herself as a direct result
• When the act led to worldwide apocalypse, he helped the Inquisition (even risking almost certain suicide in Haven). Keep in mind—if he's truly evil, he could have joined Corypants, who seems to have treated his lieutenants with respect and even empathy (see also Samson and Calpernia) so it was a definite option for Solas to get close to the Orb with much less risk to himself
• He led the Inquisition to Skyhold and gave them a headquarters
• He fell deeply in love with the Inquisitor but would not sleep with her while deceiving her about his identity
• He personally helped to defeat Corypants (even when it directly led to the breakage of the Orb)
• Two years later, he saved the world from a Qunari plot
• He then saved the life of the Inquisitor, even if it meant also saving his greatest rival. To whom he also told all of his plans for the sake of honesty and openness.

I guess my point is, I think Solas just isn't that good at being bad. His baseline is to be honorable and honest, even when it doesn't profit him and in fact may severely hamper his goals. 

Ravens from the Blanketfort

A sympathetic Solas may be painful for players, but in the best way. it's also smart, engaging, and a subtle way to play for our hearts over our brains.

Because, of course, ultimately, I think the writers wanted us to like Solas. There's good reason for this both dramatically and technically. It's more emotional, more painful, more surprising. It packs a bigger whammy and has more impact, when we realize the Dread Wolf was next to us all along. The impact of that realization, first of all—walking with a god. And that we cared about him, and made him care, too. And to realize we maybe even loved him.

So, for me... between "Kill" or "Redeem," I'm gonna go "Redeem" every time. 

Just know that, for those of you readers who chose "Kill," I'm still with you, I'll still blog about your options as best I can (despite my admitted bias). We'll see what happens at the end of the story. 

Want to make a bet? Whoever was wrong has to buy the pride-cookies!

Works for me.

Meanwhile, see you next time... and thanks for the debate! Please feel free to continue to tweet, DM, or comment your questions and thoughts here... I love hearing from you, and (love Solas or hate him) I appreciate your reading my Thedosian rambles more than I can express.

Demons and Archangels: The Journey of Cullen Rutherford

Yes, Cullen's hotness in Dragon Age: Inquisition is actually visible from space.

Cullen: No one ever listens. Not until it's far too late. Maker turn his gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn't doomed us all.

Spoilers, as always, for all of Dragon Age (Origins, Dragon Age II, and Inquisition)!

This is the first analysis of several overdue discussions I'll be posting on our Inquisition's ridiculously beautiful Commander Cullen. Here, I'll start by examining his earliest origins and influences, and will be progressing through a look at his romances and other quests to follow. 

And fair warning—I love Cullen, but I'm also going to be tough on him here and there. However, I think it's important to point out his flawed and less than stellar moments as we follow his journey to the humble and reluctant commander he becomes in Dragon Age: Inquisition. I think his journey is far darker than it may appear to be, at first, and I think there are many, many times when he actively fails the tests set before him. But I do think he eventually triumphs. Which is what makes the entire journey so satisfying for me.

As written by a team of writers who gave him real nuance throughout the trilogy, Cullen was written by Sheryl Chee in Dragon Age: Origins, Jennifer Hepler in Dragon Age: II, and by Brianne Battye in Dragon Age: Inquisition, with editing by  Cori May. Cullen is voiced, and with beautiful range, emotion, and inflection throughout all three chapters of Dragon Age, by Jonny Rees.

So let's look at his progression through the story from a big-picture perspective.

But before we do... I guess I should start by admitting a Dragon Age sacrilege. And it's a pretty serious one.

No, really... here goes: 

Cullen's not my type.

Is he beautiful? Of course he is. Cullen in Dragon Age: Inquisition is the kind of gorgeous that renders ordinary humans verklempt. His eyes are as changeable as the skies above Honnleath. His cheekbones could cut metal. His lips are firm and beautifully formed, and the little scar on his upper lip only accentuates their perfection. His body was evidently carved by Michelangelo. His golden hair curls slightly, waving perfectly back from his face in a casual, accidental tumble that no doubt requires zero effort from him at all. His voice is both manly and gentle, and when he sings, little birds perch on the branches to listen in bliss.

In other words, it's a scientific fact that Cullen's hotness is actually visible from space.

But to me, his beauty was almost a handicap in Dragon Age: Inquisition. At first, all I saw was the pretty, pretty man, a readymade Prince Charming, and while I admit I did my fair share of gazing (because I am actually alive and fairly low on the Kinsey scale), I also waved a hand and went, "Nope." For a long time, I just was never really interested. I tended to prefer characters whose beauty was more subversive or hidden because it felt more real to me—Bull, or Solas, for instance. The kind of person where one day you wake up and go, "Oh, my God, how did I not notice how gorgeous you are?" When it's too obvious, for me, it's less fun.

Then I flirted with Cullen in my third playthrough, and he was shy and embarrassed and just horrible at it. Awkward. Sweaty and stammering. Terrified of all human contact. Here was the most beautiful man at Skyhold... and thanks to life's cruel conspiracies, he was a social misfit, a secret loser, a man haunted by his own past and terrified at the prospect of an actual date. I'd also just done a full trilogy playthrough and I was definitely feeling a little judgmental toward him for his decisions in the first two games. The only thing that made it better for me was that he was so visibly haunted, sleepless, guilty and penitent here.

Flawed, damaged, sleepless and haunted? And the worst flirt ever? Suddenly, I'd never found him so attractive in my life. 

Cue my Dragon Age: Inquisition romance with Cullen. When I was, suddenly and definitively, very interested in Hitting That.

Surviving Trauma

One of the themes that shows up over and over again in the Dragon Age trilogy, and especially that of Dragon Age: Inquisition, is that of survival over trauma. Of triumph over personal loss and adversity. And I don't think that's accidental. It's one of the things that made me fall in love with DAI even above and beyond the other previous and beautiful game chapters. Life is tough. What doesn't break us makes us stronger, and what does break us makes us both grateful and humble for what we still have.

The end result, for me, is when it comes to stories, I'm a sucker for damage, and for triumph over it. So I loved the fact that when we meet each and every Advisor and Companion in Inquisition, there is a beautifully complex person waiting there. A life already built, a history, complete with yearnings, guilts, regrets, torments and fears, all private and hidden and waiting to be confessed and (just possibly) healed.

I think this theme of overcoming the trauma and damage life inflicts is a deliberate and too often overlooked subtext in the games, and it's a wonderful thing to notice and appreciate. It's an idea each chapter of Dragon Age has addressed, and each time in a new and expanded way. 

In Origins, for instance, this theme was explored through, well, an origin story. Through the tale of a certain kind of young hero who must triumph when tested by the very direst of circumstances, corrupted and sentenced to an eventual cruel death in the very flower of their youth and innocence. In the underrated Dragon Age II, it was presented through one person's poignant attempt to support family and to keep on living a normal life right in the middle of the maelstrom, as her city (my Hawke is a girl) fell into chaos and destruction around her. And in Inquisition, I felt, those stakes were raised even higher as the Inquisitor must rise to an almost insurmountable challenge. Personal life, home, family, love, all of that is gone as Inquisition begins, and because I am a forever fool for headcanons, I always found that notable and tragic. The Inquisitor, after all, did not emerge from a vacuum. As Dragon Age: Inquisition begins, they are simply present at the Temple as a nobody, there to take note of events, as a regular person interested in (and worried about) the world.

Then the sky tears, demons fall, and suddenly the Inquisitor has abilities she never, ever wanted or imagined. Thus begins, for me, a gorgeous and slightly melancholy hero's journey that Joseph Campbell himself would have loved.

Just keep in mind that the entire time your hero is doing all of these things? Closing rifts? Saving worlds? They're also battling trauma and loss.

Just like everyone else we meet. And just like Cullen.

Refusing the Hero's Mantle

One of the best things about Cullen's character design is how plainly haunted
he is by what he has survived. He may be gorgeous, but his pain and
suffering are clearly visible on his face in the deep shadows around his eyes.

What the Dragon Age trilogy does well every time, I feel, is the way it plays with classic tropes and then spins or subverts them. There's the hero's journey, and there's also my other favorite trope—that of the merry band of misfits who must triumph against impossible odds. But then the Dragon Age writers complicate that hero by stacking the deck before their journey begins (the Joining) or by forcing them to ask themselves (to quote Solas) "what kind of hero they'll be" right after they've just survived catastrophe, imprisonment, loss, and a near-death experience. And that's just the first hour.

Bioware also adds complexity to that little band of misfits by giving us characters who are so rich and nuanced and complicated that they fully deserve their own novel treatments. Sten, with his brutal alignment to a terrifying ideology yet still with a simplicity and capacity for loyalty, love, and softness (and cookies and kittens). Leliana, with her simultaneous pulls toward life as an adept assassin... or life as a gentle, pious servant of the Chantry. Alistair, with his chance to stay an anonymous and brave warrior against the Blight... who must then answer (or refuse) the call to serve as the unwilling sovereign of his entire people. Zevran, the assassin on a mission of self-annihilation and suicide, who instead finds the possibility of loyalty and love. Morrigan, the secretive daughter of a mythic figure (she has no idea HOW mythic), the Witch of the Wilds... even from the beginning, they're all wonderfully drawn and complicated figures.

And don't forget Hawke, who never ever wanted any of this shit, and who simply wanted to live a nice quiet life in Kirkwall. Until the world went to hell and she had to step up. And step up. And step up. (A feeling my canon Dragon Age: Inquisition Inquisitor knew all too well, since she'd had no desire at all for power, fame, or even color-coordination.) And Anders, Fenris, Aveline, Merrill, and Isabela all deserve columns of their own (and they'll get them, eventually). Each of them survivors in some fashion, each brave and cowardly, compassionate and cruel, tender and irrevocably flawed.

Each one of these characters feels guilt for actions taken and (most of all) not taken. Guilt for actions in which they may have actively colluded. Guilt, sometimes, for simply surviving.

Leading that pack is, of course, the Inquisition's commander himself, Cullen Rutherford. And yet Cullen isn't arriving new and fresh to the scene in Inquisition. We've watched his journey from the beginning. And yet Cullen, as a participant in each of these chapters—is also similarly weighed and challenged by circumstance, and each time, his reaction is different and believable.

For instance, in Dragon Age: Origins? He's no hero. He fails. 

And fails hard.

The Tender Templar

Cullen in his fetal, DAO form. He's basically still a caterpillar here. He's
not bad, he just needs to cook a little longer to achieve maximum hotness.

Cullen Rutherford was born in 9:11 Dragon, to parents in Honnleath. When we first meet Cullen, he's a sweet young lad, a naive Templar barely out of his teens proudly serving as a Templar at the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold, on the shores of Lake Calenhad.

Through conversations, correspondences and Codices, we learn that Cullen was a sweet child who looked up to his older sister Mia (to whom he lost most of his early chess matches), and who was not necessarily an immediate leader, even of younger siblings Branson and Rosalie. 

What he was, was good. 

Even as a child, Cullen was good. Thoughtful. Kind. A boy who looked out for others. Time and again, all he really wanted to do... was protect. Support. Help. (And... I have to interject here... who does this remind you of? I'll address this later, but I think the parallel is not an accident.) 

And he wasn't just kind or seeking justice and order... there was a spiritual component. He was also devout. He believed in the preachings of the Chantry, and wanted most of all to serve the Maker.

When he was eight, Cullen declared his decision to be a Templar. His family teased him a bit but his adored older sister Mia was his champion, and he eventually convinced his family of his seriousness. She also evidently supported his early training efforts, purely on his own, until he was noticed by a visiting Knight-Captain, and brought into the Templar order for training at the age of thirteen. He was later in this than most, but his dedication soon had him surpassing the other trainees around him, and he flourished.

When he was eighteen, Cullen took his final vows and began the strict religious and combat regimen that included devotion to the Maker and Chantry, along with the required and voluntary addiction to lyrium that would boost his Templar powers against magic. He was then assigned to the Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold, under Knight-Commander Greagoir. When the Blight began in earnest, his family fled to South Reach, but while his siblings survived (shepherded, I have no doubt, by the indomitable Mia), Cullen's parents both perished.

It's a sad story, like so many in Thedas. But there are a few noteworthy details to this period of Cullen's life that I think are, once again, worth highlighting, especially in our first meetings with him in Origins. 

The Boy Soldier: Cullen in Origins

In Origins, Cullen is the sweet, slightly naive Templar who (if we play a female Circle mage) has been charged with killing her if she does not survive her rite of Harrowing, something he dreads, since he's also in love with her.

But our intrepid future Warden survives, and there's a little banter with Cullen that pretty much echoes what will become most of his future attempts at flirtation (please note that there are several Warden dialogue choices, so here were mine):

Cullen: Oh, um, hello... I uh, am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly. What? I'm fine. I... uh, I'm just glad you're all right. You know.

Warden: Would you really have struck me down?

Cullen: I would have felt terrible about it. But... um... but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded. 

Warden (flirting hard): Maybe we could go elsewhere and continue our discussion?

Cullen: (horrified) Elsewhere? What do you mean?

Warden: I've seen the way you look at me...

Cullen: Oh, my goodness. If you're saying... what I think... that would be really... inappropriate and... I couldn't. (pause) I—I should go.

And... He RUNS AWAY.

It's both wonderful and awful and incredibly embarrassing. Poor Cullen. But it's a memorable introduction, at least. (And bonus points for the sly "I should go" departure line that would become famous through the ages in Mass Effect.)

Torture and Death

Cullen as a captive after the atrocities at the Kinloch Hold mage circle. What he
witnesses here warps and twists him for nearly a decade to come.

When next we see Cullen, it's after the horrific events of the Kinloch Hold mage circle, in which possessed mage Uldred has almost destroyed the entire tower thanks to a following of corrupted blood mages, inflicting a catastrophic wave of terror and damage through a rain of demons and Abominations.

The Warden fights through all the levels of the Tower and eventually comes upon Cullen, killing his captors and attempting to reconnect with him and let him know that he is safe. The conversation with the deeply traumatized and tortured Templar, however, does not go well—please note that I include my own female mage and party member responses, below, which can of course vary slightly depending on your own choices. It's a pretty lengthy dialogue section but one I think it's important to quote in its entirety:

Cullen: This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong. I know, only too well. How far they must have delved into my thoughts.

Wynne: The boy is exhausted. And this cage, I've never seen anything like it. Rest easy. Help is here.

Cullen: Enough visions! If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others. But I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs. (Pause) Sifting through my thoughts. .. tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have... using my shame against me... my ill-advised infatuation with her... a mage, of all things. I am so tired of these cruel jokes... these tricks... these...

Warden speaks: (I'm real)

Cullen: Silence! I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone! (a pause, and Cullen is visibly confused) Still here? But that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them. (pause) I am beyond caring what you think... the Maker knows my sin, and I pray that He will forgive me.

Warden: (There's nothing wrong with liking someone.)

Cullen: It was the foolish fancy of a naive boy. I know better now. (pause) Why have you returned to the Tower? How did you survive?

Warden: (This was my home.)

Cullen: As it was mine. And look what they've done to it. They deserve to die. Uldred most of all. They caged us like animals... looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left...

Sten (if in party): Be proud. You mastered yourself.

Cullen: Be proud? What is there to be proud of? That I lived and they died? They turned some into.. monsters. And ... there was nothing I could do.

Warden: Stay strong.

Cullen: And to think.. I once thought we were too hard on you.

Warden: We're not all like that.

Cullen: Only mages have that much power at their fingertips. Only mages are so susceptible to the infernal whisperings of the demons.

Wynne: This is a discussion for another time! Irving and the other mages who fought Uldred... where are they?

Cullen: They are in the Harrowing Chamber. The sounds coming out from there... oh, Maker.

Wynne: (We must go save them.)

Cullen: You can't save them. You don't know what they've become. But you haven't been up there. You haven't been under their influence. They've been surrounded by blood mages whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts.

Alistair: His hatred of mages is so intense. The memory of his friends' deaths is still fresh in his mind.

Cullen: You have to end it now! Before it's too late!

Warden: No.

Cullen: Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk? To ensure this horror is ended... to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, you must kill everyone up there.

In my playthrough... the Warden refuses.

Wynne (to Warden): Thank you. I knew you would make a rational decision.

Cullen: Rational? How is this rational? Do you understand the danger?

Wynne: I know full well the dangers of magic, but killing innocents because they might be maleficarum is not justice. I know you are angry— 

Cullen: You know nothing! I am thinking about the future of the Circle. Of Ferelden.

Warden: (It's not as bad as you think.)

Cullen: I am just willing to see the painful truth, which you are content to ignore. But what can I do?

Sten speaks up in favor of Cullen's brutal belief and choices (not surprising given the Qunari and their incredibly brutal stance on mages)—however, a mage with good persuasion can ask him to rethink his stance.

Cullen: As you can see, I am in no position to directly influence your actions, though I would love to deal with the mages myself.

Warden: Perhaps I can free you.

Cullen: Don't waste time on me... deal with Uldred, if that is what you plan to do. Once he is dead, I will be freed.

Warden: Stay safe. It will be over soon.

Cullen: No one ever listens. Not until it's far too late. Maker turn his gaze on you. I hope your compassion hasn't doomed us all. 

And then we go save everyone. And everything so far is totally forgivable and understandable. Then, unfortunately, we meet up with Cullen again, freshly freed from his cage. In a meeting with the Warden, First Enchanter Irving, Greagoir, and more, a newly-rescued Cullen unfortunately if understandably goes completely bonkers:

Poor Cullen is... (cough) to put it bluntly... not okay:

Irving is rescued, order is restored, and he meets with Greagoir, the Warden, and Cullen.

Cullen: Uldred tortured these mages hoping to break their wills and turn them into abominations. We don't know how many of them have turned.

Irving: Don't be ridiculous.

Cullen: Of course he'll say that, he might be a blood mage! Don't you know what they did? I won't let this happen again!

Greagoir: I am the Knight-Commander here. Not you. 

Irving: We will rebuild. The Circle will go on. And we will learn from this tragedy and be strengthened by it.

Greagoir: We have won back the tower. I will accept Irving's assurance that all is well.

Cullen: But they may have demons within them, lying dormant! Lying in wait!

Greagoir: Enough. I have already made my decision.

Um... yeah. So. Not Cullen's finest hour. Admittedly.

The Aftermath

There has been plenty of justifiable criticism of Cullen's harsh reactions to his captivity and torment. He's basically immediately calling Greagoir to enact the Right of Annulment, and to kill ALL of the mages, and that's pretty brutal stuff.

HOWEVER.

I want to point out that he says this stuff literally minutes—minutes—after being rescued. He is very much not in his right mind, he's absolutely still back in that cage, and while I'm glad Greagoir immediately overruled him (in my playthrough, at least), few responsible people would have taken Cullen's hysterical outcries as real orders or as the recommendations of a sane person.

The irony is, of course, that the Right of Annulment (I keep wanting to type "Rite of Annulment" but that's not the phrase) has been invoked and carried out (depending on DAO character choices) 17 times in Thedas at this point in time, sometimes in instances in which it was later proven the mages were either innocent or murdered outright for political reasons (Antiva, Dairsmuid, and others).

But as far as Dragon Age: Origins, keep in mind, Cullen is a 19-year-old kid here who's just been tormented and teased with visions of the woman he loved and was too shy to approach. As Bull notes later on in DAI, people are pretty easy to break. We're not that complicated. The demons were able to warp Cullen's love and twist it into something ugly and shameful. Because, well, that's what demons do.

Then on top of that, he pretty clearly implies that the blood mages tortured him mentally and deliberately as well before leaving him to the cruel play of the desire demon. And then he watched everyone else with him die horribly, and then heard the additional deaths and tortures all around him, even when he couldn't see them.

So I tend to forgive Cullen's outburst here, although he doesn't get a total pass from me for one key reason: As a Templar, in this moment in which he is unable to master himself, to me, he has failed his first major test. Because he's not just a guy who's been traumatized. He is a Templar with the power of life and death over the mages, and in his own hysteria here, he is willing to sacrifice dozens and potentially hundreds of additional lives simply because of his own fear. And what's troubling is, he wields the power and legal right to do so. It is only Greagoir who stops the unthinkable from happening (if that's our choice).

I don't forget that. And—to be fair—neither, I think, does Cullen. Not for an instant.

I think now, for instance, is a good time to flash back on an admission Cullen made when we first encounter him in captivity. He says: "And to think.. I once thought we were too hard on you." I think this is so important because it demonstrates the empathy and the 'real' Cullen he was meant to be. He wanted to be a protector, a good Templar, but already even as a young man here barely out of his teens, he had begun to harbor doubts about the system's fairness to the mages under Templar care. (And that was in what was, reportedly, one of the fairer, gentler Circles!).

The Kinloch Aftermath

It's worth noting that Cullen was still recovering after these events for some time, and was definitely not seen as stable by Greagoir. If you play the Dragon Age: Origins DLC "Witch Hunt" with a Warden who was a female mage, for instance, you will overhear two gossiping mages at the Tower talk rather callously about the fact that Cullen was sent by Greagoir to Greenfell, to the Chantry there in order to "level out."

As far as Cullen's story goes—it appears that he did in fact calm down at Greenfell, but that Knight-Commander Greagoir then felt it best to send him elsewhere, so he was sent to serve the Circle in Kirkwall, in 9:31 Dragon. Once in Kirkwall, Cullen was promoted to Knight-Captain and was assigned to serve as Knight-Commander Meredith's second in command there.

Talk about the worst possible time and place. Poor Cullen couldn't have been sent to a more trauma-inducing location in all of Thedas (except, maybe, for the White Spire). And unfortunately, every paranoid thing Cullen may have ever thought about mages would have been reinforced and supported by the increasingly crazy Meredith, as well as by Kirkwall's incredibly high percentage of blood mages.

Cullen in Kirkwall

When we meet up with Cullen again in Kirkwall, he's visibly calmer, older, and more confident. He's also made a giant leap in hotness from his DAO appearance (this will become a continuing theme with Cullen from chapter to chapter), and makes for a rather kingly, almost angelic golden figure here.

In Dragon Age II, Cullen's metamorphosis continues. My favorite thing about
his character design here (other than the circles under his eyes) is how visibly
curly his hair is, since I secretly think he hates that and tames it in DAI.

One thing I find interesting about Cullen's character design in both Dragon Age II and Dragon Age: Inquisition is that his suffering is visible. Yes, he's beautiful, but his eyes are haunted and pink-rimmed, with deep purple shadows beneath. From our first glance in Dragon Age II, we can look at Cullen's face and see that this is not a man who gets a lot of restful sleep. He's haunted by his past sufferings.

Cullen has a rather difficult role to play in Dragon Age II, because he is still damaged, and still wants so badly to be a good Templar, a good soldier, a good leader. And despite his experiences in Kinloch, I do get the feeling in most of Dragon Age II that he's attempting to be just and fair in his interactions with mages, despite the fact that (bless his heart) a good percentage of those are actually either practicing blood magic or doing insidious or potentially demonic things (seriously, Kirkwall is just the worst place ever). He also admires Meredith, who is charismatic and for many years, at least, appears to be tough but also someone who can be reasoned with.

Yet as the years pass in Kirkwall, the madness grows in Meredith's eyes, and Cullen is forced to examine both his own prejudices and the realities of the situation before him. He admits in several conversations with Hawke that he has increasing doubts about what was once so clear to him, yet even so, he defends the usefulness of the abhorrent Rite of Tranquility on mages (ugh), and at another memorable point (what I'd argue to be Cullen's lowest in the trilogy), he says some pretty vile, unforgivable things if you happen to be a mage supporter:

Hawke: Blood mages have infiltrated your ranks. They have been implanting your recruits with demons.

Cullen: Sweet blood of Andraste!

Masha: Demons! Did you say something about the recruits and demons?

Templar: I didn't want to tell you, Masha. They—they were horrible. Those mages see the rest of us as just ants to be crushed. They won't stop until they've destroyed the Chantry and the Templars forever.

Hawke: Mages have been systematically abused by the Templars for a thousand years.

Cullen: How can you say that after what you've seen?

Carver (hilariously, if present, to Hawke): Yes. How can you say that to the Templar right in front of you?

Cullen: Mages cannot be treated like people; they are not like you and me.

Masha: Surely that's a little harsh.

Cullen; They are weapons. They have the power to light a city on fire in a fit of pique. 

Hawke: Mages are humans and elves. Just like the rest of us.

Cullen: Many might go their whole lives thinking that. But if even one in ten falls to the lure of blood magic, they could destroy this world.

This, right here, is Cullen's nadir. His absolute worst moment. Worse for me even than the aftermath of his informal call for the Right of Annulment in DAO.

Now, to be fair, he says it after the revelation that blood mages have infiltrated the ranks of the Templars, and I'm sure Cullen's inwardly flashing back to every horrible thing he experienced. But... yeah... it's pretty terrible. (The only bright spot in this scene, for me, is the absolutely priceless reaction of Carver... and scenes like this are why I will always love our grumpypants insecure little Hawkebrother.)

The scene itself, taken as a whole, however, is troubling, and it also shows that Cullen hasn't advanced all that far from his previous traumas and prejudices. Yet I think that very fact is so important to his story, and to his arc. 

"They are Weapons"

For me, as upsetting as Cullen's comments are here, they provide a shockingly important moment in the trilogy, and in Cullen's character arc in particular.

And what's interesting is the visual handling of this moment as designed, animated and presented in the game.When Cullen says that mages cannot be treated like people, the action abruptly stops being a simple back-and-forth series of closeups. Instead, after Carver's comment, Cullen steps slightly forward and we see a beautiful wide shot with Cullen at the center, as our view of him rotates slightly. It's very cinematic (kudos to the artists, designers, animators and director here) and signifies something momentous, something worth noting. And I think it is.

What Cullen says here, what he puts into words, is the crystallization of the anti-mage, pro-Templar side of the entire war to come. The belief that allows magically gifted children to be taken from their parents and imprisoned in Circle Towers for the rest of their lives, to live or half-live under the watchful eyes of soldiers who have the ability with full impunity to harm, rape, lobotomize (with Tranquility) or kill them without consequence at any moment. And even in good mage circles, this boils down to the fact that, if you are a mage, you are taken from your family. You are captive in a high narrow place with people you don't know. You are forbidden, in most cases, normal romantic relationships or marriages, and if you do succumb to a hasty affair, any resulting child will be taken from you.

And, of course, someone is watching you and everything you do twenty-four hours per day, seven days a week. Me, I'd go stark raving mad in a month. No wonder Anders becomes consumed with it—Anders, who ran away seven times, and who was captured and returned every time, then tortured, abused, and put in solitary confinement, and who then watched his friends and lovers killed or turned Tranquil. Anders, who never even gave his captors the satisfaction of his real name. (Yeah, I feel tremendous pity for Anders... but more on that in a later post.)

To me, the most notable thing Cullen says here isn't that mages aren't people. Yes, that's awful. But to me what's worse is when he actually puts into words the terrible subtext that "Mages are weapons." Here, he is speaking the Chantry's subtext for all to hear—and what has always been the Chantry's real belief. That mages are tools. Things. Objects to be shut away until needed, and then used and cast aside.

The tragedy of this speech is compounded by the fact that—even if 1 in 10 mages did in fact succumb to possession (and of course the actual percentages seem to be exponentially smaller than that)—that still leaves nine other brave and loyal mages who would be happy to fight injustice and demons, despite what they have suffered, and who I believe would stand at his side and fight those demons.

I think Cullen does get where he needs to, and it's to a recognition of repentance, guilt and shame that are miles away from his words here. But it's gonna take time. And the better part of a decade.

Therein Lies the Rub

This is also precisely why I think it's important that Cullen be the one who says these words. That it's Cullen—who has before now seemed to be older, kinder, more thoughtful—who allows this terrible series of admissions to occur.

Here, in the Dragon Age II dramatic spark to the powderkeg that is the issue of mages versus Templars, while Meredith is an insane extremist (as, of course, eventually, is Anders, directly opposed), Cullen must serve as the seemingly reasonable and conscientious Templar soldier, the man of duty and faith. When he admits that he thinks violence is the only way, it's both deeply disappointing and surprising.

But it's also, I feel, a necessary part of his story. Cullen, after all, is the unbeliever who will see the error of his ways; he is Saul on the road to Damascus.

Look at it this way: A mage who realizes the Circles are wrong is just one mage out of thousands. It's not a surprising revelation. However, a Templar Knight-Commander who does so? Can and will help to change the world for the better.

For me, this makes Cullen's journey through the rest of Dragon Age II more suspenseful and satisfying. He is the shining true believer, the one person who should stand beside Meredith and her irrational hatred at all costs. And yet he cannot do so. As Chapters 2 and 3 take place, Cullen becomes a visibly sadder, more penitent and confused man. He spouts platitudes. He says some pretty awful things against mages and doesn't appear to recognize why they are so terrible.

I'm grateful that the Cullen who says "Mages are not people" is not the same
man we meet in Dragon Age: Inquisition.

My own take here is pretty simple: Just as the Qun warped a protective and nurturing Bull into Hissrad, so too did the Templars warp and twist Cullen into a person who would say the words I quoted above. 

However, that hate-filled man is not who Cullen was meant to be. It is not who he is at his core. When he says "Mages aren't people," to me it's a last gasp. It's Cullen expelling the very final vestiges of that demonic poison, as he succumbs for just a moment to it and gives himself over to absolutes.

But then I think the madness passes. And I believe, going forward, as his doubt and guilt grow, he truly begins to change. Yes, he wants so badly to believe, yet he's courteous to a mage Hawke and is even willing to admit to Hawke on multiple occasions his fears of and for Meredith and for the people of Kirkwall.

By the end of Dragon Age II, Cullen must yet again make a choice that will define him, and yet again, I do think he fails. Not because he supports Hawke and finally allies our merry band against a Lyrium-mad Meredith. But because it is only her threat against Hawke that finally spurs him to action. Cullen  doesn't take action or discover his own humanity because of her invocation of the Right of Annulment before a pleading, intelligent, and very sane Orsino (who I will always adore, and who I absolutely headcanon did not end Dragon Age II as relayed by Varric). 

In fact, Cullen is silent when Meredith tries to invoke the Right. He knows it is wrong, and he is silent. He only actually speaks up against her when she threatens Hawke, whom he has reluctantly come to see as a friend (to both himself and to Kirkwall).

However, for Cullen's trilogy-long arc, this works for me. I think it has to be this way, and I think it's deliberate: Cullen has failed his test yet again. Not as badly as in DAO, but... he has a ways still to go for redemption.

As Dragon Age II ends, in 9:37, Cullen hangs in there for a few more years, but the writing's on the wall. Everything he thought he believed in... the system he loved, has failed him. He has to find new meaning. He's starting to ask himself questions that tear at him, that hurt him, to which he doesn't want the answers. And yet he can't help himself. He is, oddly, almost pulling himself unwillingly forward into his own growth, self-awareness, and redemption. And also, of course, into bitter shame and repentance.

The Chisel on the Marble

And that's where Dragon Age: Inquisition comes in, and why it's a fascinating finish to Cullen's arc.

Each time Cullen appears in the Dragon Age trilogy, he is visibly changed. It's
as if he is a statue of marble being shaped by a sculptor.

I started this analysis by noting that most of the characters we meet in Dragon Age are damaged in some crucial way, struggling against past abuse, loss, torment, and pain.

The interesting thing that DAI does, is that it takes the framework of that survivor's story and pushes the boundaries a bit further, darkening the tapestry and adding complexity to it. Inquisition uniquely almost always couples a background of trauma and violence with a heightened and dual perception of guilt and responsibility. Everyone in DAI who is battling PTSD, for instance, is also battling guilt. Bull. Varric. Cassandra. Cole. Solas. Blackwall. Even our darling Josie. And especially beautiful Cullen.

I began this analysis by talking shallowly about Cullen's beauty. However, I also think that this character attribute can also actually be seen as an intrinsic and fascinating external representation of Cullen's own journey. 

Each time Cullen appears in the Dragon Age trilogy, he is visibly changed. It's as if he is a statue of marble being shaped by a sculptor, and in each ensuing chapter, he is more handsome because, it can be argued, he is becoming who he was meant to be. The Cullen of DAO was the princely, biddable young warrior you wouldn't have picked out of a crowd. The Cullen of DA2 was the archangel at the gate—tormented with doubt, but surviving, and struggling toward the light. The Cullen of Dragon Age: Inquisition is Cullen in full flower—not the prince or the archangel but the mature man whose visible handsomeness is only matched by his equally visible suffering and desire for penance and reparation.

And that's what I'll talk about in my next analysis... as we meet the older, wiser Cullen in Dragon Age: Inquisition... where he's a man who doesn't just pray daily for victory, but for his own atonement.

Spirit, Lost Boy, and Ghost of the Spire: Portrait of Cole

Cole: All the hopes you carry, fears you fight. You are theirs. It must be very hard. I hope I help.

Lost boy Cole is perhaps the loneliest character in Dragon
Age: Inquisition, even in a tapestry of lonely and disconnected
characters yearning for connection and penance.

He's so ordinary at first glance—a skinny kid, nineteen maybe, with straggly blond hair, a wide mouth, a comically broad hat, and pale and darkly shadowed eyes—as if he's seen all the badness the world has to offer and is no longer able to sleep. He speaks poetically, in flowing, alliterative, rhythmic cadences that are almost musical. 

He doesn't talk about what people say. He talks about what they feel. 

Cole is the strangest of our companions in Dragon Age: Inquisition. Depending on our choices early on in the game, we either meet him during the quest "Champions of the Just," supporting the Templars, or, if we support the mages, just before the epic attack by Corypheus on Haven. I've played both, and I loved meeting Cole in "Champions of the Just," and getting his help in separating the lies from truths in that quest, with Cole's quiet, kind voice leading us through a web of lies and illusions. However for me the canon playthrough for Cole will always be the mage-supported option, when he arrives at Skyhold carrying poor, annoying, wounded Roderick, crying, "I can't help if you don't open the door!"

Just as Bull's true role is giving people what they need, "helping"—wherever and whenever he can—is Cole's core purpose. But just as Bull's caregiving was warped by the Qun, so too was Cole's original desire to help warped, at first, into death and blood.

He is a spirit of compassion, a lost boy, and a murderer. A scrap of paper mysteriously notes, "His name is Cole." But nobody can quite remember who wrote it.


The Ghost of the Spire

If you read David Gaider's haunting Dragon Age novel Asunder (essential reading before playing Dragon Age: Inquisition, along with The Stolen Throne, The Calling, and The Masked Empire), you'll learn of the events at the White Spire mage circle, at one point certainly one of the cruelest in Thedas. With abuse of its mages by the Templars set to guard them out of control, the White Spire rivaled the Kirkwall mage circle (Dragon Age II) for cruelty and mistreatment. Cole was a mysterious figure there who seemed to be able to appear and disappear at will, and to cause people to forget his presence. He also creepily, coolly helped mages to their deaths whenever they, threatened with abuse or Tranquility (the creepy magical-emotional-lobotomy of the Dragon Age universe) expressed a wish for death or escape.

It's worth noting that the period of time during which Cole was actively murderous (however twistedly he thought he was "helping") is, as Solas noted, strong evidence that he—a pure spirit of Compassion, as we later discover, had been warped and twisted into something apart from himself.

Cole is a paradox: Infinitely forgiving, but also a spirit
of vengeance and retribution against those who hurt others.

Eventually, however, Cole befriended Rhys, a mage of the circle who was actually the grown illegitimate son of Wynne (a tragic note we almost swoop right past from Dragon Age: Origins—and as we know from Alistair, swooping is the worst thing ever), the product of her long-ago affair with a Templar. Cole teamed up with Rhys and Evangeline, an honorable female Templar warrior, through adventures from the White Spire to Adamant Fortress and the Fade, in order to find justice. I love Rhys and Evangeline for many reasons—as a romance of mage and Templar, they are a Dragon Age echo of Tolkien's Beren and Luthien, of Romeo and Juliet, of Tauriel and Kili (Oh, hush, I cannot hear your Hobbit-movie criticisms, my elf-ears are closed...Tolkien would have adored them), of opposites coming together despite every reason to stay sundered and apart.

(Okay, I'm human again. Sorry. I may or may not have been distracted by Tauriel+Kili memes. I regret nothing.)

Meanwhile: Rhys and Evangeline are crucial to Cole's story because they were his first real experiences with love, family and acceptance. Cole supported their efforts to rectify the Circle's evils, even surviving the terrible moment in the Fade when he realized just how much tragedy he himself had willingly forgotten (and that he had, in fact, been a ghost or spirit all along). Unfortunately, their realization of his spirit (and possibly demon) status sundered the friendship, leaving Cole alone and near despair. But Cole survived this devastating scenario, even more coolly and scarily than expected, ensuring that the evil Lord Seeker Lambert would never harm anyone else before Cole left to find his own mysterious path.

Left at a crossroads, Cole needed something he wasn't even aware was possible: Help for himself. Then he found the Inquisition, and was drawn away from his lonely shadows once more... and into the light.

The Loneliest Boy

This is where the torch is passed on the character of Cole, and we follow Cole from the haunted, traumatized boy of the novel  Asunder written by Gaider, and into the poetic spirit of compassion written in DAI by Patrick Weekes. While Gaider's Cole was quieter, colder, and lonelier, Weekes's Cole is stranger and sadder, speaking his impressions of the feelings of those around him in a kind of constant, ecstatic lyricism. Yet they are recognizably the same boy, and it's a testament to both writers that Cole manages to still feel consistent and believable between the two, as if Weekes's Cole were simply a raw nerve after awakening from all of the hardship and pain Gaider's Asunder Cole had experienced.

While Cole is greeted with fear and distrust by many upon his first appearance to the Inquisition, Solas is able to quiet most concerns with the revelation that Cole is something new—not a demon in the traditional sense, but a spirit (that we eventually learn is one of Compassion or Mercy) who genuinely wants to heal others.

What moves me when Cole joins the Inquisition is the fact that he has to fight so hard for simple acceptance, for the right to simply take part. He is greeted with fear and suspicion by Cassandra, Blackwall and Bull, and with outright hostility by Vivienne and Sera, who refuse to even refer to him as anything but an "it" for most of the story (as does Cass, at first):

Cassandra: Tell that demon...what does it call itself, Cole? Tell it to leave. He may not mean harm, but that does not mean he will not harm us. Spirits are not creatures to take at face value. Be cautious with him, Inquisitor.

Sera: Not saying nothing about that. That thing is just wrong.

Shortly after:

Vivienne (to Solas): You should not encourage that thing.
Cole (indignantly): Solas is not a thing.
Solas (with subtle humor): Well said.

Cole is not an 'it.' But this is a great example of the ways in which his very innocence and, well, density, can sometimes inadvertently be his greatest protections. As when he is touchingly grateful for one of the rare occasions on which Sera refers to him as a "him:"

Sera: Could someone please shut him up? Or I am going to shaft him in his creepy little eyes.
Cole (happily): You... you called me him. Thank you!

Then, of course, he starts to get to people. He starts to get into their hearts, as only Cole can. (Thank goodness.)

A Window into Hearts and Minds

I enjoy Cole as a character for many reasons—for his sensitivity, for his loneliness, and for his kindness. However, I love him most of all because there is no lie in him.  As performed with sensitivity and humor by voice actor James Norton, Cole is quick to forgiveness of others' sins, but he is also merciless toward those who would harm others, and this extends to himself, as he tells his companions:

Cassandra: The Inquisitor believes you wish to help, but I will not allow you to threaten innocents.
Cole: Yes. Help the hurt, save the small. If I become a demon, cut me down.
Cassandra: Do not doubt me. I will do it.
Cole: Good.
Cassandra: You're... serious, aren't you?
Cole: Yes. I hope you are, too.

Cole (to Blackwall, after the revelations of his deception and criminal past): If you want to remember, remember this: if you become Rainier again, I will be here, and I will kill you. And if I become a demon again and hurt people, you will kill me.
Blackwall: I believe I can work with that.

After the quest "Here Lies the Abyss" at Adamant Fortress, Cole will also confront the Inquisitor and, once again, ask us to promise to kill him if he, like the Grey Wardens we witnessed there, proves to be a danger to others. As a side note, it's interesting—if we respond that we will do so, we get a big approval hit. If we don't we'll get a Greatly Disapproves, which is a whopping -20 to Cole's approval. It's one more reminder that Cole does not joke around (as we already know if we've witnessed poor Varric's fruitless attempts to teach Cole the basic elements behind the simplest knock-knock jokes).

The Soul-Reader

The paradox of Cole is that, while he keeps his companions' secrets (and they are numerous, troubling, and occasionally terrifying), he nevertheless finds constant ways to reveal their innermost hearts. Cole, a reader of souls and intentions, provides a window into our companions that is unique, profound and fascinating. In other words, if you take him out with you as a party member, you'll get all sorts of insights into the private worlds of your companions (complete with a glimpse into even Vivienne's frosty little bruised heart). If you don't? You're missing out.

This is because, thanks to Cole, and only to Cole, we're given intimate "you-are-there" glimpses of our companions' most closely guarded secrets. We witness a terrified Bull in childhood as he admits his fear of demons to his Tama (his tamassran nurse)—a moment echoed again when Cole later reveals (if Bull goes Tal-Vashoth), that Bull's same old Tama was surreptitiously relieved and proud of Bull's recent escape from the clutches of the Qun, all those years later. Cole also takes us directly and terrifyingly back to the all-important moment when Bull has just lost his eye to save the life of his future closest ally, trans soldier Krem, after an attack in a tavern. Tellingly (and most movingly, for me), Bull's reaction in the moment is to instantly dismiss a grievous injury in order to comfort Krem:

Iron Bull: Hey, Cole. Quick! What number am I thinking of?
Cole: Raw and hot, trying to open it, but just darkness. How bad, how bad? No—done now. No sense worrying.
The man they hurt coughs, shaking, but sits up. Eyes wide. No, not a man, a woman, clothes torn. "You're safe now. I'm Iron Bull. What do you want me to call you?"
Iron Bull (dryly): Twelve. The number I was thinking of... was "twelve."

Cole is the watcher of the group, the emotional conduit
between the companions and the Inquisitor.

Everyone Fears

Cole's other revelations about companions (always communicated in present tense, emphasizing their intimacy and immediacy) include key moments of fear, racism and vulnerability for ice-queen Vivienne, and the all-encompassing guilt felt by Blackwall from his deeds as the corrupt Rainier. Cole also reveals Dorian's pain, confusion and self-loathing about his own sexuality, as well as a delicate, gorgeous moment of private yearning laid bare:

Cole: Rilienus, skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles. (pause) He would have said yes.
Dorian: I'll... thank you not to do that again, please.

We also witness Cassandra's touching memories of childhood companionship (as well as a glimpse of her feelings for lost love Regalyan), and the fact that even spirits across the Veil are consistently impatient for Varric's next books. Amusingly, Cole also divulges some decidedly intimate moments between Bull and a romanced Inquisitor, to the intense discomfort of both, and to the delight of their companions.

Another one of Cole's talents isn't just clairvoyance, but that he seems to be able to see across the Fade. I've addressed this in more detail separately here, but these conversations with Solas are delightful, and often provide additional takes on great moments in film or gaming, while also offering hidden insights into the companions we love, as well.

Finding Family

Cole is the watcher of the group, the emotional conduit between the companions and the Inquisitor. He's the person who feels intensely, watches those he loves and tries to figure out how to either heal or help them, or what makes them tick. In return, he is given love and acceptance, and the lost boy finds a family.

Cole goes from orphanhood to having three fathers who love
and care for him...  and he also gets a family, to boot. It's lovely.

That's why I love the evolving nature of most of Cole's banters with his companions, as they show that, overwhelmingly, it's very hard to remain afraid of or hostile toward someone who knows the love and fear within your heart.

Bull, for instance, evolves from distrustful, fearful antagonist to caring adoptive father (and I always love the way Cole so carefully pronounces Bull's full name, as if it is a title of honor):

Cole: The Iron Bull, in one fight, you let someone hit you so they wouldn't hit me.
Iron Bull: Yes?
Cole: But you hate demons.
Iron Bull: Listen, Cole. You might be a weird, squirrelly kid, but you're my weird, squirrelly kid.
Cole: Oh. Thank you.

Cassandra also evolves from her early suspicions to become teasing and quietly affectionate with Cole (bonding even more closely once she realizes he knew and recognizes her brush with a Faith spirit), and Varric anchors him to the world in a simple way that requires no violence or forgetting. Varric further reminds Cole that Cole can in fact become a real live boy—then (depending on what you choose) he actually helps him do it. Solas, meanwhile, gives Cole the opportunity to voice ideas and conversations he has never been able to share before, transcendent and mysterious and shining from behind the Fade.

Basically, Cole goes from orphanhood to having three fathers who all actively love, fear and care for him... and he also gets an extended family, to boot (complete with bratty big sister in Sera, and chilly stepmother in Vivienne). It's lovely and real.

Cole evolves throughout the course of DAI, but he also remains innocent and pure, rather childlike. For this reason, I liked Patrick Weekes's thinking on why Cole wasn't romanceable in DAI (basically, that he's still so new to being human that he just felt it wouldn't be right to do). But I did like that Cole had evolved enough to pursue a relationship (with Tavern bard Maryden) by the Trespasser DLC a few years later (that is, if we kept him more human). On the other hand, the "spirit" choice for Cole is sadder... yet it does give me more hope for Solas in the next game. (I'm also torn about that choice because it means Krem and Maryden hook up instead in Trespasser, and the two of them together is the most wonderful thing ever. I love them so much, I can't even.)

Even Wolves Need Compassion

Ultimately, it's Solas who brings out Cole's greatest questions, enthusiasms and emotions, and their closeness is why it's incredibly sad when Solas cuts himself off not just from a romanced or high-approval Inquisitor... but also from Cole's friendship. Throughout the story of DAI, Cole and Solas have several, fairly open conversations about Solas's guilt, grief and regret, and each is fascinating to revisit after the fact—especially the way we can see that Cole is actively, for awhile, sharing in Solas's burdens, even palpably alleviating them. All the way through Trespasser, Cole's conversations with and about Solas are gems that reveal much (including the fact that, of course, Cole had always known who Solas was, the entire time):

Cole: They are not gone so long as you remember them.
Solas: I know.
Cole: But you could let them go.
Solas: I know that as well.
Cole: You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them.
Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about?
Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.
Cole: You weren't wrong, though.
Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Which is why it's so devastating at the end of DAI, when visiting Cole after the defeat of Corypants, when we realize after Solas's departure that he has actually enspelled poor Cole to forget everything he might once have seen in Solas's mind. All those conversations, all those moments of friendship... lost. 

"Do That, Please."

Yet as Trespasser demonstrates in our many conversations with Cole years later, while Cole may not always remember what happened with Solas, he somehow still maintains that emotional connection to his friend. And he still provides a fascinating and functioning connection to Solas's deepest thoughts, regrets and feelings. (Note: I tweeted writer Patrick Weekes a question on this a month or two back, wondering if Cole's memories had returned, or whether he was acting more as a conduit. Patrick was nice enough to respond: "More conduit. Cole doesn't always know what he knows." Which makes perfect sense to me.)

But that's all in the future. Meanwhile, in one key conversation that I feel sums up their entire friendship, Solas and Cole discuss Cole's uniqueness as a spirit of compassion, especially in such a dark and demon-haunted world. Solas remarks upon how necessary that spirit is, now more than ever, and how precious and rare it is. Cole, pleased but puzzled, responds that he will try not to die.

Solas responds quietly and with feeling: "Do that, please."

While I was moved and saddened when Cole returned to the Fade in the playthroughs in which I kept him a spirit because it just felt so much like a defeat to me, like a step backward, I kept thinking of Solas's quiet plea to Cole, of that one moment as noted above. And I thought about how that very ending curiously also gives me the most hope for Cole's effect on the next (rumored) chapter of Dragon Age. It ultimately gives me hope that a Fade-returned Cole, like the guardian angels he loved in so many Earth-movies, can now perhaps still manage to reach Solas in ways we can't, and that he can help us to save or redeem him in DA4. 

There's a beautiful symmetry to the idea: Solas helped Cole in so many ways to understand his heart and to release his guilt and regret. The least Cole can do is to finally help Solas to free and understand his own, before it's too late.