Chapter 1

Frost

Darkness fell over Skyhold the same way every night; suddenly with a cold breeze. It was closing in on winter now and the residents could feel the bite of frost seeping into their bones earlier and earlier with each passing day. It was the second winter the Inquisition had seen here and - unlike the first year - there had been measures taken to ensure the comfort of the people living there. The infirmary had been bolstered with a fireplace and Josephine had secured donations from Val Royeaux in the form of thick fur blankets for the patients. The main hall had its repairs completely finished by that point so there were no open holes in the ceiling, and the mages in the tower were given permission to start small, contained fires on each floor to warm themselves so long as the embers were supervised. That was but a few of the ideas put forward and cemented. It made Skyhold seem cosier, even with the threat of Corypheus on the doorstep. So, when the sun disappeared and the luminescent glow of the moon poked over the snow-capped peaks in the distance, most retreated to one of three places; their beds, the tavern, or the hall depending on how much they desired company. Inquisitor Adhlea Lavellan chose her chambers. If nothing else, she had work to do.

There were papers scattered across her desk; missives, requests, requisitions, proposals of both resources and marriage. Those were just some that caught here eye. It had piled up while she had been scouring the Emerald Graves. She had barely managed to dismount and hand the reins of her hart to Dennet before messengers swarmed her, all looking either deeply uncomfortable or apologetic. She treated them the same as she always did; with a smile and a nod, and the occasional pat on the shoulder to assuage their worries. She was the Inquisitor. She took it all in her stride. How could she not? How could she show them weakness? How could they see the infallible leader of the Inquisition fold under the pressure of a few sheaf's of paper? No, they would not. Though there was something darker pulling at her from beneath closed eyelids, haunting her with vivid pictures when her exhausted head drooped forward into her open palm as sleep lulled her with its siren song.

Flash of green. The Fade? Memories scattered; fragments. I'm not special. I'm not chosen. Never wanted this. Never wanted any of this. I told them I wasn't chosen by their god. I told them I was just a product of circumstance. Varric looks disappointed. He believed. They all believed. The demon jabs at us with spiteful words; it knows our fears. Hawke hears Fenris' name and stiffens. Blackwall looks odd, sick and pale. Varric hides behind his jokes. Dorian hears his father's name and sneers. It knows our fears. All of them. I hear it in my mind, scratching around. It looks for mine. It finds my clan, finds Cullen, finds the Inquisition. Finds the image I see of myself being twisted and corrupted by this madness. It sees I fear much but says nothing. The absence of its words hangs thick in the air. It knows, and it knows I know. I see it descending on Stroud as we leave. I reach for him, but it's too late. This could have been different. I could have done something. Could have stopped this from happening.

Could have.

Didn't.

My fault.

MY FAULT.

Adhlea awakes with a start, her elbow giving out and nearly causing her head to slam painfully into the desk. There's a knock at her door. She feels the lingering sting in her arms and legs as she's vaguely aware she forgot to shut the doors to her balcony. Creators, it's cold.
"Who is it?" she calls out, shaken.
"It's me," she hears Cullen's voice on the other side. "You missed supper. I've brought you some if you would like it,"
She feels the sweat of her nightmare making her shirt stick to her back. A quick glance in the mirror to her left shows her wide-eyed, frightened. He would not see her like this. Her pain would not add to his own. She slows her breathing, brings herself back to the realm of the conscious. Inquisitor Adhlea. Inquisitor. Fearless. Unbreakable.
"Come in,"
The door opens, and the Commander enters with a plate full to the brim with an array of meats, vegetables, and bread. He hadn't skimped on her portion, evidently. He places it on her desk before wordlessly shutting and latching the balcony doors, the feathers on his pauldrons rippling slightly in the biting breeze.
"Adhlea, it's freezing in here," he exclaims, casting her a worried glance. "You can't tell me you were comfortable like that,"
"I dozed off," she apologises and rises from her chair to embrace him, her lithe frame dwarfed by his. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise it had gotten so late,"
"It isn't. Just the change of seasons,"
Cullen's eyes move to her desk and there's an arch of an eyebrow.
"That's quite the pile you've got there,"
"Like your desk is any better, Commander," Adhlea tries her best to smile but fears it falls flat.
"True enough but I'm not away for days or weeks on end," he replies and grabs a stray request from the side of her desk. "What is this drivel? A request from some minor Tevinter nobility asking for...how much gold? For what?"
"He wants us to subsidise research he's conducting on Venatori arms and armour. He claims he can help us find their weak spots,"
"If he doesn't see sense I'll find his weak spots," Cullen snarls, ripping the request in half. "Tell me this isn't what you've been doing all afternoon,"
"Not all afternoon," Adhlea protests. "I took some time out to meditate, and Varric stopped by to play a hand of cards earlier,"
"You've been in here for upwards of five hours, and that's all you've done?" he's steering her back to her desk now, pushing the plate towards her, bundling up the papers in no particular order.
"There's been a lot that needed my attention," was her only excuse as she picked at the food in front of her, each mouthful satisfying but doing nothing to ease the nausea inflicted upon her by the sudden nightmare.
Cullen notices her trepidation and reaches across, gloved hand taking her own and caressing the painfully cold fingers.
"Adhlea, are you alright?" he asks, copper eyes trying desperately to catch hers. "Perhaps you need some rest. If you're nodding off at your desk and don't have much of an appetite-"
"No! No. I'm fine," she cuts him off. "It was a long time to be away from Skyhold, that's all. I didn't expect there to be so much to deal with when I got back but with our notoriety on the rise, I should have anticipated it. It's my own fault,"
She watches as his hand closes around hers proper and squeezes. She won't meet his gaze, but his concern washes over her like a rush of cold water. It shocks her, stills her. He doesn't believe her. Why did that fact hurt so much when she was lying? Why did it feel like a knife in her gut even though he was correct to assume she wasn't telling him everything?
"Talk to me," he pleads.
She should talk to him. She expected the same of him when he confided in her about not taking lyrium. He had told her about his trauma at the Circle in Ferelden. He had told her everything. Given her everything. Every hurtful truth that could be used against him later. There was nothing hiding in his shadow still to be brought to light even though her own was heavy with truths not told and secrets not shared. Commander Cullen Rutherford, the most guarded man she'd ever met save perhaps Solas, had opened himself to her completely and she could not even bring herself to tell him anything. The idea of telling him how frightened she truly was made her so uncomfortable she nearly pulled her hand from his. Her mouth felt dry as she opened her mouth and closed it dumbly. Words wouldn't flow, and her mind couldn't think of any sensible order to put them in. His hand tightened around hers, thumb brushing over the back of it.
"Adhlea, I can't read your mind. Let me help, please,"
Read her mind. Read her mind. Something of an idea flashed through her as she raised her head to look at him, eyes stinging with the threat of tears but determined in their intent.
"Get Cole," was all she could muster.

When Cullen returned, Cole was following obediently behind him. The boy lingered by the door before his gaze turned to the Inquisitor from below the rim of his too-big hat and he took a few tentative steps forward
"Cullen says you needed me," he says, perplexed. "That there was something I can help with,"
Adhlea nods, seeing an understanding settling over Cole's gaunt features as their eyes meet. Cullen is somewhere in her periphery, silent and patient.
"It's all...Painful," Cole announces to nobody. "Dark. Dark and dismal and daunting. They call her a Herald, but all she's heralding is what's haunting her. Her fears choke her in her sleep; straining and stifling her like a hangman's noose as she watches the world fall around her. Eyes wide. Ever vigilant. Complacency is not an option when she knows what the future could hold,"
She nearly stops him. There's a stutter in Cullen's breathing as she feels the burn of his gaze on the back of her shoulder. A mouthful of wine does nothing to make her mouth feel less dry. Cole watches her for a moment, cautious, before he continues.
"Nobody needs to see. Lonely and lamenting, she seeks solace in her own smile. They will have their Herald and she will be hardened. She will not crack and have them lose what faith there is left. They need an Inquisitor; an infallible idol. This is what she'll be. For them,"
She hates having her emotions laid bare like this, but she couldn't do it alone. Cole was the only person that could do this without forcing the words from her own lips. Even with him being more human now, he could still see right through her if she let him in. He smiled at her sadly and ventured further into the room, stopping just shy of her desk.
"Varric says that people need to experience pain to learn from it and grow," he says gently. "He also says that growing is a lot harder when you try to do it all by yourself. Maybe I can help. I just can't do it the way I used to anymore,"
The innocence of the boy had always touched Adhlea's heart, but now it was even more raw after having her heart exposed. She must have been smiling, because his own grew wider.
"It looks like I did something right. That's good," he looked to one side, supposedly at Cullen. "I could stay and help, but that isn't what you want right now,"
There was an embarrassed strangled noise from behind her as Cullen tried his best to apologise to Cole but before he could form a cohesive sentence the Inquisitor had said it for him.
"I'd like to sit and talk with you when this is all sorted out, Cole," she nods. "But right now, I owe Cullen an explanation. I've not been entirely open with him, and he should know why,"
Cole stops, head slightly tilted, and his eyes glimmer with what she could have sworn was unadulterated happiness.
"Some of the pressure lifts like armour being shrugged off. It isn't better now, but it is easier. There's a wound under the armour; bloody and bruised, but it will not break her. It just needs a healer, so it doesn't hinder her. She shouldn't hide it under bloodsoaked breastplate anymore," he intones. "Yes. I will go now, but you know where you'll find me,"
"Yes, Cole," Adhlea nods. "I always do,"
Then he was gone, barely a whisper on the winter winds as he padded out of her room and shut the door behind him. She had a lot to explain.