The Old, Weary Heart
Being The Inquisitor brings the provocation of the people, being a Dalish Inquisitor is something more provoking to more than just believers. (Referencing anElvan female Mage as the Inquisitor. Also, I hope I captured the cryptic phrasing of Cole correctly.)
She tries to convince herself that it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.
"My own people don't recognize me anymore." Her sad, brown eyes look to the midnight sky, watching as the dark clouds threaten another heavy downpour. "These Shems and their goddess. May the Dread Wolf take them all!"
A deafening crack of thunder drowns out her emotional outburst to the sky.
The mark on her hand reacts to an unseen force nearby, causing her to ball up her hand and cry out in pain. "Elgan'nan!" She yanks her glove off, seeing it flare a bright green for a moment, then die down to its normal swirling green shades. The Inquisitor rubs at her wounded palm, tracing the numbed flesh with careful ease. "Why me?"
The rain is her only answer in the lonely silence of the forest.
"Why me," the young elvan woman screams at nothing and nobody. "Why must so many people die because I made a decision?! Why must I kill to save lives?! Why must-" The elf drops to her knees, the rain soaked ground and the smell of freshly wet grass her only solace. "Why is everything up to me?" For the first time since her adventure as "the Shemlen's Inquisitor" started, she lets herself weaken for just a second, to cry; long and loud. "I can't go on like this! I just...I just want to go home!"
Between the thick foliage and skinny tree trunks, another crack of lightning reveals a gaunt, shadowy figure standing a few yards from the sobbing Inquisitor, watching her intently in the complete darkness.
The young First looks down at her softly glowing hand, as the rain soaks through her robes. She's contemplated it before, but could never find the willpower to act on her impulse. Now however, what more does she have to live for since her people don't see her as one of them anymore?
A bolt of lightning reveals the shadow has moved closer, but still lies in waiting between the trees. The humanoid shape flexes its fingers slowly, its watchful demeanor even more apparent.
"If I remove the curse..." The elf unsheathes the knife from the back of her belt. "I'm free."
The shadow moves closer with the next crack of lightning, now mere feet behind the Inquisitor.
She raises the knife above her head, laying her hand in the wet, clammy grass. "Creators forgive me, I can't anymore."
From the deep darkness, something grabs hard at her wrist. It wrenches the knife out of her hand, discarding of it out of sight into the woods.
The Inquisitor falls back onto her haunches, maneuvering away from the thing that took her weapon.
The lightning reveals her assailant dressed in familiar partial rags and a large, floppy hat in similar condition.
Lavellan looks on in disbelief. "Cole?!" She hops to her feet, angry with his sudden intrusion into her private time. "By the Creators! What are you doing out here?!"
"You can't do it," he says. "They're ashamed that they want to tell you, but won't." Although constantly weary sounding, the hard edge of determination was still there, audible only to a discerning listener; namely her.
"Go away, I will do as I please." She wipes the cold rain and warm tears from her eyes. "No Spirit nor Shemlen will tell me what to do."
He cocks his head in a thoughtful fashion, the lightning making the concern in his face obvious. "You hurt for your people, but that's not why you're here."
"Leave me Shemlen spirit, before I force you away!" The elf raises her green hand to the young man, staring him down like one would to goad a ferocious animal.
"I can't," The boy says almost as if it were an undeniable fact. "You're too bright, and it's hurting the trees."
"You've said I'm bright before, but nothing has happened," The Inquisitor points out.
Cole zealously shakes his head, as a child would do when frustrated. "You have to say yes so the other you can stop being sad."
She furrows her brow, putting down her hand. "What gibberish are you spouting this time?"
He reaches out to her, the lightning showing his steady approach. "Please don't leave."
"Don't you understand the meaning of 'go away', Shem?!" The Inquisitor picks up a long tree branch, using it as a substitute staff. "Or do I have to show you?!"
A large lightning bolt strikes at the edge of the woods, shaking the ground beneath her bare feet. The white light encompasses his scraggly form, standing inches away from her. The elf screams out girlishly, jumping back at his sudden proximity.
With nary a thought for anyone other than her, he pulls the rain-soaked young lady into a hug.
The Inquisitor shoves the young boy away, reaching back to slap him.
Cole stands there cow-eyed, making no attempt to defend himself. "Will that make you feel better?"
The elf girl feels herself falter. Her lower lip quivers, and the hot tears she managed to keep at bay roll down her cheeks once more. "No..." Seemingly defeated, the Inquisitor slouches against one of the trees, crying quietly.
The sopping wet spirit approaches her again, wrapping his arms around her slender frame.
For what seems like a comfortable forever, they hug one another in the midst of the downpour and lightning.
From the silence she finally speaks, her face buried in his chest. "Once I fall off the edge, I'll never return. That's what the Keeper meant."
"You won't fall because we're all here to catch you. Me, Varric, Solas, Dorian, The Ironbull, Blackwall. Even Sera, Viviene, and Cassandra are there too. When you fall, we'll catch you and pull you back up."
The former First contemplates his words carefully. "I want to believe you."
Cole meets her eyes, rubbing the tears on her cheeks away with the back of his worn glove. "You help, then no one helps you, and when you need help, there could be someone there."
The Dalish elf narrows her eyes. "You say that as if there was no doubt it could happen."
Her only reply is a smile on his pale, thin lips.
"Is that what you believe? If I do good, good things will happen to me, and if I do bad, the same will happen."
Without a single iota of hesitation, he answers her question simply. "Yes."
She admires his purity of thought for all that's righteous in the world. "The Keeper always said, treat all as one, never as a whole, but the other clan's stories of the Shemlen cities were terrifying." The Inquisitor brushes the fallen leaves off of the boy's shoulders, heading back through the woods to the Keep. "Maybe our old hatreds need to be quenched once and for all if we're to move on in the world."
The young man walks two steps behind her, nodding his agreement.
"Perhaps it's time for me to carry on my people's traditions to all elves, not just the few who choose to be Dalish."
Cole gets distracted by the water drops falling from the brim of his hole-riddled hat.
The Inquisitor and her Agent approach the front gates with caution, seeing a small commotion at the entrance.
"Don't be daft," Dorian cuts in waving his hands about. "The Inquisitor is out there, perhaps injured, and you're insisting we stand here and do nothing because you have orders?"
"Commander Cullen's orders, Messere, no one goes out tonight," the left guard clarifies.
Varric tries to guilt the guard into opening the gate for him. "You know, if she's been gone for hours, she could have been kidnapped." The Dwarf throws his hands up in a mock defeated manner. "But if you want that to happen on your watch, instead of letting us look for her, that's fine with me."
"Orders is orders, Inquisitor or no," the guard on the right says.
"What's going on here?" The woman in question grabs hold of the gate's bars, eyeing the four men on the other side.
"Your Eminence," the guards salute simultaneously, standing at attention.
"Good man, Cole," Dorian nods to the pale young man standing next to her. "You brought her back."
Varric heaves a sigh of relief. "Finally, you're back."
"Can we come in please," Cole asks innocently. "It's cold."
The Next Morning
As the sun barely climbs over the eastern peak of the Forstback Mountains, the Inquisitor is already preparing for the day's adventuring, mumbling off lists of ingredients for requisitions, while noting them in her journal. "I need plate weave for the caravans, and ancient writings for-GAH!" She jumps at the sight of Cole sitting on her bed, the brim of his raggedy hat obscuring the majority of his face.
"The other part of you isn't hurting anymore. Now you can say yes." He raises his head as if expecting some sort of answer to his cryptic message.
After collecting herself, she takes a deep breath, realizing the meaning of his words now. "Much less." She smiles. "Thank you, Cole."