I'm dealing with some shit right now, or trying to at the very least. I thought this might help.
Elena Trevelyan had always been the kind of girl who knew exactly what she wanted. As a young child, trying to keep up with her desires had been endlessly tiring for her parents and, in time, for her carers in the circle. Courageous, despite her undesirable lot in life, it had never presented much of a problem for her – if she saw something she wanted then she fought tooth and nail to obtain whatever it was, be it a new staff that she had to work to earn, or the right to undergo her own harrowing at the age of fifteen. No one had ever called Elena weak-willed.
It was perhaps because of this background that she was struggling so desperately now with the idea that this was something that she couldn't overcome through sheer force of will – the whole problem was that it wasn't dependant on her will.
The simple truth was that Elena was in love with Dorian. There was no way around it, no way of sugar coating it, it simply was. She'd realised it early on too, even beyond the obvious initial physical attraction, but by the time she recognised the emotion for what it was, it was already way too late to try and stop herself from falling.
In Redcliffe, he had saved her life, saved all their lives, and all he asked for in return was a chance to stand beside them so that he might continue to fight the good fight. If she knew nothing else about him, that would have been enough. But, ever curious, she had taken the time to look closer, to examine his motivations and his character, and with every new morsel of information she uncovered, the more she realised that she had never known anyone like him. Kind and confident, generous without being condescending. The brightest soul she could imagine.
And, when she was being honest with herself, hot as hell.
For a little while, she'd thought, 'yeah, maybe this could go somewhere.' He never seemed put off by her flirting or her compliments and half of the time he shot them right back which in her – admittedly very limited – experience tended to imply a certain amount of reciprocation. Everything looked like it might be heading somewhere and with everything else crumbling to dust, Elena needed to hang on to one happy thought.
They got the breach closed, with Dorian at her side every step of the way and in the celebrations afterwards she found herself wondering if he'd worked it out yet. It was surely obvious, the way her eyes would linger on his when they spoke, the way she laughed the most when in his company despite herself – even a child could surely see how hopelessly gone for him she was. It was impossible to tell if no one had said anything because they either hadn't realised, or because they were trying to spare her embarrassment.
She wasn't given time to ponder the conundrum, and the thoughts fell away to blood and death and snow.
Then came Skyhold, and everything looked that much brighter. There was a sense of belonging in the ancient stone walls that called to her like the keep itself was happy to have them and for the first time she considered just going to Dorian with her feelings, and laying everything bare for him to see. If she did then all of this uncertainty would finally be at an end – he would either like her back, or he would politely decline. Either way, the matter was resolved.
But she didn't. There was a voice in the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother that warned her against doing something so rash when so much was resting on her shoulders. Right now she couldn't afford any distractions, couldn't allow herself to falter for even a second, and the smallest of hopes that Dorian might like her back was one of the few things she could think about late at night that didn't prevent any hope of sleeping. It was a safety net, she supposed. There was nothing wrong with that.
Then came Redcliffe all over again, and everything crumbled. How fitting, that this part of her should be born and killed in the same tiny little town, barely months apart. Looking back, she could scarcely believe that she had fallen so deeply in so small a time, but the truth was there inside her chest and there was no point in trying to lie to herself. Every smile felt like a lie these days, and she had no intention of deceiving her own mind to go along with everyone else's.
'Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you've heard of it.' The words had been scathing at the time, a reflection of how much stress his father's presence was putting on Dorian, but it wasn't the tone that Elena remembered. She'd wanted to ask at the time why he hadn't mentioned it before, why he'd never even hinted and by the damn Maker why had he flirted back? Having her hope crushed in a single minute hurt far more than no hope at all ever could have done. But that meeting had not been about her, and it wasn't her place to involve herself in Dorian's relationship with his father.
So she'd said nothing, just let the situation play out. Once it was concluded, she'd ordered the whole lot of them back to Skyhold.
"Already?" Dorian had asked, with a beautifully confused frown. "Surely we didn't come all this way just for me?"
She'd been saved from having to come up with some flimsy excuse by Cole, of all people, spouting one of his strange, stolen thoughts – straight from Dorian's head. The exact words escaped her – blighted meddling spirit – but she remembered melancholy with a mix of hope, and Dorian himself had been so unsettled at the announcement that he'd forgotten his protests altogether. Perhaps Cole knew what he was doing after all.
With that in mind, she'd pulled him aside much later in the day to thank him. He'd looked sad when he gazed upon her, and more than once his eyes wandered over to Dorian's retreating back with a frown that was painful to look at.
'Hoping for more, but knowing futility. Pain without direction so turned inwards. Love and hate but not opposite.' For some reason, Cole had let her remember that one – maybe he thought it helped. She wasn't sure that it did, but it was some comfort to know that he hadn't been bending her memories again.
The words stayed with her on the long trek back to their fortress. The first part was obvious – there was no reason to linger. The pain was also fairly glaring – every breath felt like it was scolding her and she found that she couldn't quite look Dorian in the eye without her heartbeat faltering like a startled colt. Again, she wondered if he could tell.
The hate part was a little harder to decipher. She loved Dorian, obviously, but in no capacity did she hate him. He couldn't love her back and that hurt in a way she hadn't thought possible but it wasn't as though she could blame him for it even if she wanted to. Love is not, by its nature, symmetrical. Nor is it always a conscious choice. None of this was anyone's fault.
It wasn't until late one night, no more than a day's walk from Skyhold when she found herself wishing she hadn't been so stupid as to fall in love, that she understood what Cole had meant. The hate was not for Dorian, but for herself. Pain needs a direction or all it can do is burn everything in the vicinity so she'd pointed it at her own heart and pulled the trigger. No point in unnecessary collateral damage.
She stayed close to Cole after that.
Time passed in strange lurches and lulls as things happened or didn't, and before Elena knew it, two months had gone by. The Empress's ball was rapidly approaching, and she was supposed to be heading out to rendezvous with Hawke any day now – it was that very task that had her searching for Dorian, hoping to ensure that he would be ready to leave in the morning.
It didn't occur to her for one minute that he might not be alone in the little library alcove of his. Unsuspecting, she had walked right in before she realised that Iron Bull was there too, his arms wrapped around Dorian in a distinctly possessive way, pulling him up and into him as they acquainted themselves.
Her breath left her in a startled wheeze, loud enough that the entwined pair broke apart in surprise to stare at the intruder. Blushing all the way to her roots, she stammered out an apology and took a shaking step backwards.
Dorian, ever the mediator, recovered with enviable ease. "Ah, my darling Inquisitor. I, er, apologise for the display. It was not- We will be more discrete in the future."
He couldn't have known it, but the words were almost as cutting as the display itself had been. 'In the future,' as in, this was something they intended to do repeatedly, just as a couple would. Iron Bull and Dorian. Together. He'd called them 'we.'
"No, no," she stuttered out, trying to plaster on a smile that didn't look as frail as she felt, "I'm sorry for intruding. I'll just-" She pointed vaguely in the direction of the exit, then all but fled down the stairs. Distantly, she thought she heard Dorian calling after her, but it could just as easily have been her imagination and she didn't wait around to find out. Abandoning all pretence, she more or less ran up the stairs to her chambers and flung herself down upon the bed like a child in the midst of a tantrum.
It was utterly pathetic, but there was no one else there to care so why should she? The tears came without protest.
It was bound to happen eventually, she'd known that. But she'd thought that she might at least have a little warning first, or perhaps enough time to have started getting over Dorian but she had been denied both with heartless precision. The image of Dorian's arms wrapped around Bull's neck, the way they had pressed themselves against one another in a desperate attempt to be closer, it was all burned into her mind. She knew without having to think that she'd never quite scrub the sight from her memories.
Cole found her a few hours later, when the sunlight had died down to a dull amber that just about concealed the puffy face lined with tear tracks. Not that it would matter – Cole felt everything she did.
"Pain sharp and cold," he said quietly, voice soothing in its sympathy. "No place for blame but needing to hate. Feeling so alone."
Without her conscious consent, warm tears started trailing their way down her face once more. She didn't even bother to wipe them away. "I'm so tired of being alone," she admitted eventually, her voice wrecked and broken but entirely uncaring. Cole was safe, trusted.
"Lonely, not alone," he corrected her gently. "Pain is not permanent. Love is not always loss. You are happy for him too."
It was true, but she couldn't bring herself to focus on that now. Later she would have to be strong, to be collected, and then she could focus on how good it was for Dorian to finally have found someone who could be more than anyone in Tevinter ever had been, but right now she needed to fall apart.
"Breaking to pieces," Cole echoed. "But coming back together stronger. Never less than whole."
"I need to be happy for him. He's my friend – I owe him that at the very least. But I don't know what to do with… everything else." The solid mass of emotions in her chest needed to go somewhere, and she wasn't about to let them turn into loathing that no one deserved. It would be the height of cruelty.
"There is no answer. Some pain needs to be felt so that it can heal. Caring is not breaking."
A choked sob escaped her, and she wrapped her arms around her chest in a primal instinct to hold herself together. How she wished that she had someone here now to hold her, to remind her that she was loved and she was not alone. Cole was a pillar of support that she couldn't do without, but he wasn't human. Physical contact with him felt… different. Somehow lesser.
"Herald of Andraste. Dread Inquisitor. And all I want is my mother." There was a joke in there somewhere, she was sure of it. An empty huff of laughter escaped her.
Cole didn't answer her that time, settling beside her on top of the bedcovers and starting out at the last dying rays of the sun. She followed his gaze and let the sight settle her, familiar no matter what else changed in her life. In a few hours, she would need to be the Inquisitor again. For now, she could let herself be the heartbroken girl watching the sunset with a friend.
"Thank you," she murmured quietly, aware that she wouldn't get a response. She didn't need one.
'Some pain needs to be felt,' Cole had said. He'd been right – it was time to just feel.