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It was a simple day. Nothing scheduled except an outing with the Inquisitor, Cassandra, Solas and himself. They walked to the very edge of the Orlesian border, coming across ruins and many other stunning buildings, flora and fauna. Solas told them about the wonders as they passed, this one was of Tevinter origins, this one of ancient Elven make, the sap from this tree was a well-known remedy, the leaves of this plant a potent poison.
But between all the remarkable structures and not-so-fun facts, Cole found himself distracted. They were at another ruin, one that seemed to have been used for shelter fairly recently. Andoral’s Reach, Solas had called it when they arrived, he mentioned its grave history during the Exalted March, how many fell on both sides of the conflict, how it would’ve looked, what the purpose of this or that room was. But Cole felt distinctly different.
Cole felt strange in Andoral’s Reach. More optimistic than fearful, the latter something one would expect in a castle under siege. More uncertain about the future than melancholic about the past. Then, at the Inquisitor’s suggestion, the group decided to take up residence in one of the ruin’s more well-preserved chambers for the night. Solas seemed delighted to have the opportunity to enter the Fade in this place, and his quiet enthusiasm clearly rubbed off on the inquisitor as they made their way towards what Solas told them had been the barracks.
The first thing Cole noticed as he entered the room was a pillar that at some point probably supported the roof. It was now laid in the centre of the room, lit up by the sunlight streaming in from the hole in the roof, as if lit by stage lights. The others quickly put their gear down under the part of the roof that remained, plenty to shelter them for the night, but Cole made his way to that strange podium as if transfixed.
“Cole?” The Inquisitor called from behind him, having noticed him straying away from the group. This was a regular occurrence between the two, where Cole would notice and the Inquisitor would prompt him, welcome rather than fear his thoughts, just as much as they welcomed Solas’s lectures. “It’s…” He started, collecting both his own and countless others’ thoughts. “It’s a stage; to be admired. So many people looking. Looking for hope, looking for guidance. What they found was revolution.”
Solas seemed to consider that. “Odd.” He took another look around. “If this was the barracks as I suspect there would be no need for a stage, and definitely no revolution in a Tevinter fortress of this time period. Perhaps they revolted right before the March? Against their superiors, maybe?”
Cole shook his head, his hair swaying with the motion beneath the brim of his hat. “It is the stage. Never thought it would be, but it is .” Cole carefully climbed the toppled pillar, more carefully than he’d climbed anything before. Standing on it and bracketed by the stage lights, he continued. “And they are thankful it is. They can see who is important, never would have been able to guess otherwise. Definitely didn’t expect that one .”
Cassandra looked at Cole as if she was listening to the Divine speak, a comparison that would only serve to make her angry, but a true one nonetheless. “By the Maker, it was here.” She suddenly spoke up, her expression a type of reverent surprise. Solas and the Inquisitor gave her inquisitive looks, and she continued; “After the mage rebellion in Kirkwall many other Circles started to rebel. Lord Seeker Lambert suspected they collected at Andoral’s Reach to conspire and plan, but when he arrived they were gone.” She looked around the room, then back to Cole, her expression one of awe. “That must be what Cole is feeling. The fledgling mage rebellion collected, not just in Andoral’s Reach, but in this very room .”
“How curious that feeling was more powerful than those from the Exalted March.” Solas wondered, not even close to Cassandra’s starry-eyed reverence, more of a scholarly remark. “Do you know why Cole? Maybe because it’s more recent?” The Inquisitor asked, more invested in the story than Solas. “Is there more you can tell?” Cassandra followed up and Cole tried. He thought of the mages he had seen wandering around Skyhold. They were guided there, much as they were guided here once upon a time. He had seen Grand-Enchanter Fiona around, she hadn’t seen him, otherwise she might’ve remembered seeing him at the White Spire that day. He thought of the mages he’d seen back in the White Spire, with guidance, protection but none of the optimism and positivity he felt here, none, apart from Rhys. He thought of Rhys. Talking to him in the dungeons, the softness of his arms around Cole as the mage comforted him during his darkest hours, the look on his face as he had found out .
And suddenly it assaulted him all at once. He curled in on himself, anxiety roiling in his stomach and his brain a jumbled mess. “He can’t do this. He’s not like his mother. She would’ve known what was right. His hands are sweaty, his heart is beating in his chest, his mouth refuses to speak, even though it did so without his permission so many times before.” Cole had solidly made himself into a ball, arms clutched around his shoulders and knees brought up close to his chest. Cassandra stared, intrigued, worried, all of it. The inquisitor moved forward to snap him out of it. To stop Cole before it gets worse, but Cole interrupted himself: ”A firm, caring hand touches his own.” Cole looked up, over his shoulder, as if a hand had been rested on it. And recognition washed over his face. He knew this feeling; this strong, caring comfort. The trust that nothing will happen, that it won’t turn, that the strength is for you not against. He had only known it for a while before he’d left.
“Evangeline.”
Cole lifted his arm and reached out towards the spectre. He missed them. But as soon as he felt that long-lost comfort, as soon as he realised who it was that was here, nervous about not living up to a legacy he had long surpassed, it vanished. And he was left in a dark room, with a hole in the roof, and a light rain dripping down onto his leathers. He only sat there alone for a few seconds, as the Inquisitor was already on their way and quickly whisked him away to under the awning of roof. Out of the rain and with his newest best friend by his side.
“Do you want to talk about it, Cole?” The Inquisitor asked. Cole was almost completely hidden from Solas and Cassandra’s view. The Inquisitor held him and shielded him from those outside, like Evangeline and Rhys had done, once upon a time. And it was different. The Inquisitor smelled of Skyhold, of the travel through the branches, of the cleaning liquid he had seen in the washrooms of their base, not of books and ink or metal and grit. The inquisitor was strong but not like Evangeline, they were magical but not like Rhys was. And yet, it was comforting all the same. Cole shook his head, he didn’t want to talk, didn’t believe he’d ever known how to talk. Something in him wanted to disappear, like he had done so many times before. But something else found comfort in the way the Inquisitor’s arms effortlessly pulled him closer. Cole heard the three around him talk, and he found himself not minding that they could see, taking comfort in the knowledge they were there.
Eventually, he heard the rustling of a bedroll and the soft timber of Solas’ voice; “He doesn’t sleep.” It was resigned, like he also didn’t know what would be a better course of action. “Well, then he can at least be comfortably awake.” Cassandra shot back. And he was thankful for both of them. At least now he didn’t have to sit on the cold floor, and at least now he didn’t have to break the news to Cassandra or pretend to sleep the whole night. Solas sighed in response and passed something to the Inquisitor. “Fair enough.” He responded in a soft resigned tone. Cole smelled the stew that was being passed around and sat up by himself, no longer leaning on the Inquisitor.
“You better, Cole?” They asked as they switched the bowl to the other hand. Cole nodded and grabbed his hat back up from where it had fallen to the floor earlier. The Inquisitor nodded in kind and started on the food, quickly asking Solas about the herbs in it and distracting all of them from Cole. Cole was also grateful for that.
The following morning they packed up camp at first daylight. Solas regaled the Inquisitor with stories from his evening in the Fade as they made their way out of the ruin and over a long stretch without trees. It was a grassfield next to the ruin with at its centre a lone, massive tree. Cole passed by it last, and stood looking at it for a while. It felt… sad.
“Solas?” He asked towards the rest of the group, who were a few steps ahead of him. “What kind of tree is this?” He pointed towards the tree even though it was clear which one he was talking about. Solas took one look at the bark and the leaves and responded; “It’s a regular oak tree, an old one by the looks of its trunk. It probably lived through the Blights, mayhaps even the March. Why?” Cole looked to the tree’s branches, blighted by a storm of the mundane variety, some charred, few and far between carried leaves, and yet it was beautiful. The flowers it did have were vibrant and beautifully swaying in the soft breeze. A rising melody carried through the leaves, a soft, acapella song in a language he did not understand. It was a haunting melody, sad and mourning, but there was joy in it too. A glance to the others told him they could not hear it. And right as he planned to speak up, the song ended. He shivered at the remaining breeze.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head minutely, as he’d seen others do in churches or at statues. A sign of reverence, a sign of mourning. Here it was a sign of… Something. Something here that he knew, something here that was close, to the Fade, to him, to Rhys, to Evangeline.
Something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, no matter how long he took. But whatever it was, it wasn’t gone and he most definitely won’t forget.