Work Text:
Shale's companions sleep.
It is a mortal weakness, Shale knows, one shared even by the dwarves, cut off from the Fade as they are. Creatures of flesh have many of such frailties - and yet, somehow, it is this one that most confuses the golem.
Shale remembers the long years in Honnleath, frozen in place, conscious of the surrounding villagers and able to do nothing about it, and cannot imagine submitting to any such thing willingly. Cannot imagine needing it. Cannot imagine *craving* it as these creatures seem to.
And yet...
"I don't want to think about it. I'm just going to try to get some sleep."
The Grey Warden is a curious thing... a curious person. Shale has never known cowardice on its part. It is one of the things Shale has always most respected about the companion... the friend... who has come to mean more to Shale than anyone ever has.
They will all face the Archdemon tomorrow. Fighting endless darkspawn, the task Shale was made for - the task Shayle Cadash had volunteered for, so many years ago. It is a task the Grey Wardens were made for, too.
Shale has no fear of death. And yet the thought that it may take this Grey Warden, this frail creature of flesh and blood... the same kind Shale once had been.
Shale sits. Shale thinks about mortality. And Shale thinks about sleep.