For a second, Farion's whole world stood still as he was trapped in Adaar's politely curious gaze. He searched desperately for some sign of recognition, but found none. He was only released from his shock by a loud cough to his right.
"Well, medic?" Sera urged, her eyes holding a confusion similar to his own. "You don't want to examine her in this smelly barn, do you? It reeks of Blackwall in here." She was fortunate the Warden was not present for her commentary. "We better get her to her quarters. No gawkers there, probably."
Most of the circle seemed surprised by Sera's bout of reason, but the Iron Bull only nodded and said, "Makes sense. Up you go, Boss."
A round of nervous chuckles rippled the group as Bull, rather unceremoniously, lifted the Inquisitor off the wagon and over his shoulder. Her complaints were ignored completely as the large Qunari set off towards the fort. Sera grinned and tugged Farion along after them. Behind them, Farion could hear Cullen sigh and mutter something about finishing the report later.
"Bull, this is beyond unnecessary," the Inquisitor scolded, her cheeks red with the indignity of being hefted so carelessly over Bull's shoulder. "Put me down at once. I can walk for myself."
"No, no, you recalcitrant little thing," Bull chastised humorously. Sera snickered at his daring words. "You're in critical condition and you don't even know it. Now, be a good girl and shut up. Don't make me spank you."
"You. Wouldn't. Dare." The Inquisitor's furious hiss was punctuated by Bull's booming laugh and a loud smack. "Bull!" The Inquisitor's cry was almost a squeal, and Farion had never seen her face so flushed. The sight really pissed him off. "You're not going to get away with this, Bull!"
"Yeah, yeah, Boss. Here."
It wasn't until he brought attention to it did those in his wake realize they were just outside the Inquisitor's room. Pushing the door open, the Iron Bull carried the Inquisitor up to her bed and carefully placed her above the covers. "Get well soon, Boss," he said with a smirk. Turning on his heel, he strode towards the door, nodding to Sera. "Visiting hours are over. Let's go."
"You got it, baldy." Throwing Farion a wide grin, she scampered out after Bull.
This was the second time Farion had been in the Inquisitor's chambers, but before he had Cole with him. Even then, that whole event could be categorized as a disaster. Now, he was alone with Adaar. In the past, he had fought bandits, mercenaries, darkspawn, and demons, yet he had never been more scared than he was at that moment.
"You never told me your name."
He jumped at the words. Adaar was sitting upright on the bed, staring expectantly at him. She offered a sympathetic smile at his terrified expression.
"It's all right, no need to be scared. I'm nothing special, just another soldier injured in battle." Her tone was patient, calm.
"R-right." He took a deep breath and started, slowly, "My name is Farion." He paused, waiting for some sign of familiarity. None came. "But that is not really important. I'm here to examine you, and make sure everything is just fine up there." He was tempted to make a joke regarding her horns, but he bit his tongue. Awkwardly, he approached the bedside, conjuring up a quick burst of spirit energy. As he passed the wave over her face, she snatched his wrist, surprising the both of them. She blinked, and immediately released his arm, abashed.
"Forgive me," she muttered, scratching the back of her neck. "I just… Your hands are so delicate and pretty. I'm jealous. I used to get teased for my hands all the time by…" Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Someone. It's not important, I'm sorry. Continue, ser."
Shaken, Farion gave a weak nod in response, raising his now trembling hand over her forehead again. She made no attempt to seize his wrist this time, and he was not certain if this relieved or disappointed him. A thick silence settled over them, and he felt desperate to break it. "So… that Qunari. Bull, was it? Are you and he…?"
She raised an eyebrow appraisingly. "Is that really any of your concern?"
"No, of course not," he lied. In truth, it very much was his concern. "Apologies."
"It's all right. He's shameless, I'll say that much, so it isn't much of a surprise some might get that idea." She shook her head. "But, that is of little relevance to the situation. I don't want to break your focus."
He complied without another word. As he worked his magic, his torn emotions fell away, replaced by startling concern. It must have shown on his face, because Adaar's eyes widened.
"What? What is it? Did you find something?" She wrung her hands nervously as she waited for answers.
"I assumed you might just be concussed following your collision with a stone wall, which might explain the gaps in your memory. Of course, a concussion would not make much sense, considering you said one of your mage companions already patched you up." Farion huffed, his frustration mounting. "Just now, I could feel traces of magic on your brain. Subtle, so subtle I hardly even noticed. It is a power no mage I've ever heard of could work. It's acting as a barrier, I think. It's straining itself to stay in place."
"But why would-" She froze, the dawn of horrific realization crossing her face. "Cole."
The night was cold, an odd abyss that swallowed any semblance of warmth from those that moved beneath it. The wagon wheels, which on a normal basis emitted a shriek akin to that of dying rats, were muffled and contemplative in the resounding silence. The contradictory cacophony made Cole's head hurt, and a shiver involuntarily passed through his form. He peered upward, dwarfed by the majesty of the midnight sky, and felt lonelier than ever.
Solas and Blackwall had not spoken a word since they departed from Val Firmin. Though it went unsaid, Cole figured the loss of Blackwall's Wicked Grace deck was hitting hard again. But whether or not the cards were present, Cole felt the tense air of discomfort would not have dissipated, for the simple fact that the Inquisitor was not there. No one brought any attention to it, but the fact still stood. The Inquisitor brought them all together, the ragtag band of misfits that they were, and they were all at a loss of what could happen without her. The last the three had seen, her unconscious body was being carted off with only that scrawny driver for a companion. While they agreed that it was for the best to not draw attention to her wagon, particularly to not incite panic upon its return to Skyhold, Cole wondered if two scouts on horseback were enough to keep her safe.
Cole did not realize he had unsheathed his dagger until he heard a murmur of alarm from Blackwall.
"What are you doing, Cole?"
Staring down at the blade in surprise, Cole struggled to find an answer to that deceptively simple question. "I… I need something real to hold onto. Or else I might fall into the sky."
This answer seemed to settle Blackwall's concerns; 'Just Cole being Cole.' Solas, on the other hand, seemed perturbed.
"Do you fear fading?" the elf asked quietly. Blackwall seemed taken aback by Solas' sudden words, but Cole was not surprised at all.
"I used to, and then I didn't. Now I am not sure." He twiddled his thumbs anxiously. "Am I fading, Solas?"
"I…" He hesitated, eyes set on Cole. "I do not know."
"What do you mean?" Blackwall scoffed. "The boy's right there, real as you or me. He's not fading." He looked at Cole with a sort of fierce protectiveness that put the spirit at ease slightly. Solas, however, did not appear so readily convinced, and sighed deeply at the outburst.
"If only beings of the Fade could be so easily summarized. Cole is not from this world; by nature's account, he should not exist at all. Away from his home, his source, for such a long period of time, who knows how reality might affect him. You saw what happened in that cavern. A demon, hellbent on destruction? Yes, and no. It was twisted by a world it did not belong in. Its fixation on torment was a product of the environment, not its innate nature. The reaction differs from spirit to spirit. Most take a host to keep them anchored, but Cole is not possessing a body. Left free to set in this world, a spirit's true form is often warped." Solas looked upward at the sky. Constellations glittered overhead. He stared longingly at them a moment more, then continued seriously. "These are not issues that can be solved immediately, but they cannot be ignored either. We will address them at Skyhold once we are certain the Inquisitor has recovered."
Cole nodded balefully. It was at just such times that he wished he knew what Solas was thinking.
It did not take long for Isabela to find the tavern. It also did not take long for her to grow frustrated by the place's dreadfully dismal mood.
"Maker," she muttered to herself as she sat alone at the bar. No one had bought her a drink, or even tried to get in her pants. Courtesy called for one to accomplish the former before attempting the latter, but alas, some men didn't know the meaning of 'courtesy.' "What is with these people…"
"They're worried." Isabela didn't have to turn around to recognize that wonderfully gruff voice she had missed so much. Varric climbed up onto the stool beside her, silently calling the bartender with a quick gesture. "That, and the fact that Bull and Sera are still gone. Half of the noise in this place comes from them, at least. But mostly, the Skyholders are all terrified something may have happened to the Inquisitor. Undoubtedly something happened. She's the damn Inquisitor, of course something happened. But they need more faith. Our Inquisitor's been through worse than this." He smiled, a strained kind of smile, and stared blankly at the wall ahead of him. "How many heroes am I going to follow in this life? How many times am I going to see them suffer?"
Isabela was quiet. "You're thinking of Hawke."
He sighed. "Unfortunately."
"You are cursed, Varric."
"So it would seem."
"He's alive, isn't he? It's not all bad."
"There are some things worse than death." Varric's words had a dull, hollow ring. "He lost his entire family, one-by-one. Slowly. Cruelly. And after the Chantry explosion, after what happened with Anders…" He knocked back his newly-arrived drink. "I have no idea how he even still functions." He glanced at Isabela. "How many heroes?"
She found herself at a loss for words. Eventually, she spoke, "Heroes never have things easy. That's why they're heroes. They make the hard choices when no one else can, and they live with the consequences knowing they might have done some good along the way. Hawke knew that better than anyone, and I'm sure your Inquisitor is just the same." She paused, then laughed softly. "Do you remember that horrible line, after that whole fiasco with Duke Prosper?"
"'Looks like the Duke has fallen from grace.' Like it was yesterday." He chuckled, shaking his head. "He never knew when to stop."
"Except when that bitch Petrice murdered Seamus. Thank the Maker he could keep it in then. You know you're in deep shit when Hawke can't say anything snarky."
"The pain of losing family was too fresh for him."
Another heavy silence.
"I miss Leandra," Varric said with tired eyes. "Maker, the woman had spunk. You could really see where Hawke got it from. After… after what happened, Hawke didn't smile for a week, let alone joke." He rubbed his forehead wearily. "Maybe I should write a comedy. I've had enough tragedy to grow sick of it quickly."
"On the way here, your Inquisitor offered to take us to Kirkwall. Visit Merril, see how she's doing. We could probably bother Aveline too, she definitely needs the distraction." Isabela smiled. "It might be good for us."
Varric scratched the scruff of his chin absently. "It would, wouldn't it."
"I thought so."
More silence.
"It's good to see you again."
"Likewise."
Suddenly, the tavern didn't seem so dismal.
"Cole?" Farion was bewildered by the Inquisitor's outburst. "What's he got to do with this?"
"He's no mage, but his powers could have-" She stopped dead in her sentence, staring at Farion in surprise. "You met Cole and actually remember him?"
"Oh, er…" Farion blinked, flustered. "Well, yes. B-but that's beside the point. What makes you think he's behind this? He seems to care a great deal for you."
She nodded sadly. "I'd like to think so, yes. But Cole is a spirit. He does not think like you or I do. He can alter memories if he thinks it is for the better, so who's to say he didn't do this because he cares a great deal for me? That would mean… whatever he made me forget, it was something causing me pain, and a lot of it." She exhaled sharply. "So, what do I do now. Live in blissful ignorance? Not possible, now that I know that I'm missing something so important. Do I confront Cole? This isn't like him. It's not how he operates." The Inquisitor paused. She met Farion's shocked gaze with a weak smile. "I apologize. I'm thinking out loud. I must appear to be quite the wreck."
He returned her smile. "Not at all, Adaar."
"Thank you." Her gaze hardened. "You addressed me by my name."
Farion froze up.
"Who are you, really? It just isn't adding up." She stood from the bed, towering over him. "You were terrified to see me. You know Sera. You know Cole. You know me. But why don't I know you?" She grabbed the collar of his robe, lifting him to the tips of his toes. Her face was set with a cold fury, but her eyes were wide with panic. "Unless I do know you. You're the one Cole removed from my memory, aren't you, elf? Who are you?"
He did not struggle against her grip. He met her glare straight on, his fear dissipating as he saw the terror in her own eyes. It broke his heart, but he couldn't stand to be looked at with those eyes. He knew what to do. His lips parted, and the language he had not used in years flowed out as effortlessly as a breath of air.
"Sataareth kadan hass-toh issala ebasit."
"'Kadan'?" Adaar released his collar immediately, as though the fabric had scorched her fingers. "You… know Qunlat." She stared at him a long time. Her words took on a nervousness that didn't fit her. "One of the Valo-kas, I suppose?"
Farion nodded.
"Did you mean it?" She hesitated. "'Kadan'?"
Farion nodded.
"Did you love me?"
Farion nodded.
"Did I love you?"
Farion stayed deathly still. Adaar bowed her head pitifully.
"I am sorry, Farion." Her voice shook as she spoke.
"Don't be," he said dryly, turning on his heel. As he moved towards the door, he sighed. "Maybe this is for the best."
As the door closed, the Inquisitor fell to her knees, tears streaming down her gray cheeks. The words he said still echoed in her head, clutched beneath her large, trembling hands.
"Sataareth kadan hass-toh issala ebasit."
By the time the Inquisition's forces had returned from Val Firmin, the air of broodiness had not yet dissolved. The mages and Templars that had been recruited for the mission almost immediately fell from their rowdy celebrations to sullen thought upon arrival. The common thread of mutual accomplishment couldn't keep the odd few together, and it broke away without a sound. Depression bore down on Skyhold like a plague, and everyone was infected.
Solas and Blackwall stayed silent as the wagon pulled up to the stables. Cole turned, twisting to get a look at the already present wagon. He swallowed deeply when he saw, outlined in the darkness, a pair of bodies. Laid between them was his hat.
Blackwall grunted in surprise as Cole stood, before the wagon had even stopped, and leapt gracefully to the other cart. Landing in a defensive crouch, he squinted closely at the two dead bodies. Too small to be the Inquisitor. Male. Thin. They were scouts. He tore his eyes away from their pale faces, gaze falling on his hat. Picking it up gingerly, he placed it back where it belonged. He felt somehow safer with it back on his head.
His two companions watched him with blank eyes. They waited until he slowly climbed from the wagon, at which point Solas said in a hushed tone, "We had better go inside. No doubt Cullen wants a full report."
Cole nodded, an unnamed tension building in his chest. The tension only grew with every step taken towards the fort. The dancing lights of the many high braziers could be made out in the darkness, though all was quiet.
They passed wordlessly through the main hall. Cole stared at the empty seat of judgment before the three men turned left towards the War Room. The door creaked as it opened, revealing a circle of surprised-looking men and women.
"Thank the Maker you're back," Josephine sighed breathlessly. Cole noticed her eyes linger on Blackwall a second longer than seemed proper. "Are you all uninjured?"
"We're fine," Solas replied shortly.
"Is the Inquisitor all right?" Cole blurted, louder than he intended.
Josephine smiled wearily. "She is alive. A mage is examining her in her chambers at this very moment."
Cole gave a quick inclination of his head, more a spasm than a gesture of confirmation. "I will see her now." He turned and rushed from the room, despite Cullen's protests.
"Everyone keeps running away," he complained, rubbing his temples. "I need to finish that report at some point."
"Relax, Cullen," Leliana chuckled, shaking her head. "There are some more important things at hand." She turned her eyes on Solas and Blackwall. "Besides, I am sure these two will suffice for the report."
"I suppose so," Cullen allowed grudgingly. Leliana's tiny smile held victory as Cullen started his interrogation of the two remaining men.
The soft spread of the covers across her back lent some small comfort to the Inquisitor as she leaned against the side of the bed. Trembling, she could hardly find it within herself to move from her spot on the floor. When a light knock echoed from the door, she barely reacted, save for a quick flinch at the fleeting terror that Farion might have returned. That fear subsided when the top of a patched-up hat appeared in her view.
The Inquisitor closed her eyes tiredly, listening to the slow, uncertain footsteps come ever closer. The floor seemed to shift entirely as a weight dropped to her side, brushing against her right arm. She did not look at her new company. She had a feeling her loud mind spoke for itself.
An uneasy silence stretched between them, tugging viciously at the shared pool of self-consciousness lingering on their shoulders. The timider of the two spoke first.
"I am sorry."
"For what?"
"Making it worse."
"Why did you do it?"
"I tried making it better."
"How did you try to do that?"
"I made you forget him."
"Why?"
"Because you begged me to."
This was news to her. Suddenly, she felt awful for ever thinking Cole was at fault for her situation. "Did I?"
"You did."
"Why did I beg?" She was not sure she wanted to know.
"You did not know whether it was love or lust. You wanted to forget both."
"I am sorry, Cole." She opened her eyes, letting them rest on the young man beside her. His hat was in his lap, one finger tracing along the imperfect repairs. He did not meet her gaze.
"Why?" It was his turn to ask questions.
"I have been very selfish lately. It's very unfair." She moved her hand to his, the large gray fingers weaving with the small pale ones. His hand was delicate, pretty as could be. "Sataareth kadan hass-toh issala ebasit."
"What do they mean?"
"'It is my purpose to do what I must for those I consider important.' Kadan. One I consider important." She moved before him, pulling her hand away and placing it instead on his cheek. Leaning down, she kissed him gently on the forehead. "It was something I used to say a lot, I think. I suppose I said it to Farion. I haven't been true to those words, it seems."
Wide-eyed, Cole shook his head slightly, just enough to get the point across without disturbing her hand. "That is not true."
The Inquisitor smiled sadly and kissed him again. "It is, kadan. I need to be stronger, for your sake. Because for once in my life, I know how I feel. I could never forgive myself if I let you down. I've failed so many already…" She bowed her head. "The people of Haven. Justinia. Farion." She looked back up into his owlish eyes, pausing to examine his face. Pale beyond imagination. Gaunt, like the shadow of a man. There was an implacable sorrow etched into that face. "I love you too much to fail you too."
Cole stayed impossibly still against her touch. Callouses grazed roughly on his cheek, but he did not mind. His forehead burned where her lips had touched it, and his grip on his hat tightened. Tears almost welled up in his eyes.
This was real. He was not fading.
The Inquisitor smiled again, this time quietly uncertain. "No response? I'm sorry if I confused you. I always forget… talking to you… that, uh…" Her words grew increasingly distracted as Cole slowly mirrored her, cupping her cheeks with a bit more force than was necessary. She raised her eyebrows in confusion. "What are you doing?"
He ignored her, face set in fierce determination. "I am not confused. I have seen it many times, when I look at others. Like Varric. He loves Hawke very, very much. He's full of worry and regret, but also good memories. Warm, glowing. It makes him smile." He nodded, as if agreeing with his own words. "You look like that love. Warm, glowing. I worry, and I regret, but I smile. I have good memories." His patched-up hat weighed heavily on his lap. "I am not confused. I love you." He craned his neck, trying to reach the Inquisitor's forehead. After a bewildered moment, she realized his intentions and lowered her head to his height. He copied her kiss, or at least attempted to; in truth, he more or less bumped his mouth against her skin. All the same, the meaning was there.
The Inquisitor chuckled, then giggled, then burst into uncontainable laughter. Cole stared at her.
"Oh, kadan," she sighed in between gasps for air. "You really are too cute for your own good."
He smiled. "Thank you?"
She pulled him into a tight hug. "Thank you." Her breathing was steady against his chest. "What a doomed pair of creatures we are," she mumbled with a final, short laugh. "The Qunari Herald of Andraste and a spirit wandering Thedas. We wouldn't be out of place in one of Varric's books, would we?"
"Do you think Varric would write about us?" The thought seemed to excite Cole.
The Inquisitor beamed. "Who wouldn't want to write about you?"
"I do not think I would make a very interesting character," Cole frowned.
She shook her head. "Nonsense, kadan. A book about you would be wonderful."
That made him very happy. "Thank you… kadan."
The Inquisitor's smile could not be contained. The crease of her face softened as the grin dropped slowly. "So…" she started quietly. "That's one thing I've been meaning to say, squared away. But now… what of Farion?" The panic was quickly returning. "I remember him, but I don't, and it's tearing both of us apart. My head hurts every time I try to think about it..." She winced.
Cole stared at his hat. "Do you remember what we fought in Val Firmin?"
"A demon."
"Torment. Once, before anger took hold of him, he was a spirit of Regret. I removed Farion from your memory and buried the feelings in your mind. Torment tried to dig them up. Even though Regret, Torment, whatever he was is gone, his power still lingers. His and mine, they are fighting over your mind. I do not know which one will win, and I am not sure which one should win." He raised his eyes to hers. "I did not want to remove him from your memories. I know now my powers cannot solve everything, just as killing the mages in the White Spire did not solve everything. Your pain cannot be magicked away. Try, and you might end up like Corypheus: angry, scared, and alone." He smiled sadly. "I will retract my powers from your mind, kadan. I am sorry it took this long."
The Inquisitor nodded and closed her eyes wearily. She was exhausted. She felt a hand press gently against her forehead, and she sighed wistfully at the touch.
Just like that, she remembered everything.