"Older templars… Do they ever forget people? Loved ones?"
III.
Corypheus is dead.
The party at Skyhold goes on through the night, even though she is beginning to forget the details of the fight. Something about a dragon – about Morrigan nearly dying during the process, and about Vivienne becoming… more important than she already is, or something. Divine, wasn't it?
Solas is gone. It hurts.
In the weeks leading up to the final battle, he provided her with herbs – their names and the means to locate them – that seem to slow the effect of memory loss in his travels. She doesn't know if they've worked or not, but she instead focused on the hope that, with the Breach sealed, she will stop forgetting. But he disappears after Corypheus is slain, broken in his general demeanour much like the orb he sought to salvage.
She still can't remember her brother's birthday.
Trevelyan becomes increasingly uncomfortable in her own skin as people continue to celebrate her accomplishment. Josephine is frantic about who she speaks with and who she doesn't, insisting that she must speak to this Duke from Antiva, these twins from Denerim and this ambassador from the Anderfels. She only wants to speak to Cullen, who is at the other side of the room away from the chaos, but keeping a close and loving eye on her. She is thankful that her companions – minus elf mage – are staying.
She tries to focus on her victory, but she finds instead that she just wants to get away. All these people practically kissing her feet for stopping the world from falling off a cliff – she only had the means, not the confidence or the 'divine right.' The next person who says that is going to cop her fist in their face, she knows it.
That night, when she does slip away to her room with Cullen and holds his face in her hands, she can't help but think something's still not right.
The ones that follow are much the same, awkward and unsure. Meetings in the day. Thankful that she is still alive to sleep beside the love of her life at night. Waking him from a nightmare, should he have one; and remembering that these people who have come to see her aren't trying to annoy her but rather express their extreme appreciation for doing what no one else would.
Vivienne is crowned Divine, taking the name Victoria within a matter of weeks. Trevelyan is there, watching as Vivienne sits on the Sunburst Throne and suits it. She does not miss her all that much and finds she is not surprised at all when the Circles are reinstated, and that templars remain. She imagines the lyrium miners in Orzammar are grateful that their industry will not collapse.
But after that… she begins to withdraw. And everyone notices.
She forgets the day often, and whether she ate or not. She decides that's normal, perhaps.
Forgetting whether or not Celene survived the Winter Palace, however, was not normal. It is another issue that she has not told them about. And it is this that guts her, that she cannot remember this event even though she was an integral part of it. It's… Gaspard on the throne, right? Or was it Celene and Briala, together?
It guts her because of what it means, not because of what she cannot recall.
The Breach is closed and she continues to forget. It is the lyrium, her choice to become a templar.
"I am not up for judging prisoners today, nor assisting in relief efforts in the Exalted Plains," Trevelyan says to Josephine when she tries to convince her to come downstairs and do something.
"No, but," Josephine tries something else desperately, for she knows depression and will always do her best to help people burst through it. "Surely you could do something other than sit in here. This is not like you. People still need your help down there. They look to you for assistance and guidance."
"The rifts are sealed. The Breach is gone," Trevelyan spits, curling over her desk more so, "They don't need me anymore, and that's good. They can continue with their lives, now that they know the world is not going to end tomorrow."
"Inquisitor, please."
"I said no, Josephine. Leave me."
"I will see to it that you are not disturbed for the rest of the evening, except for food." And then Josephine all but slams the door shut. Trevelyan rubs her temples as the sound echoes through her mind, like promises that she could not keep to her brother, and the ones that she still hoped she could keep to Cullen.
She is tired of going out there and making a difference for others when she can hardly make a difference to herself. It is a depressing thought.
In the silence, Trevelyan continues to scribble in the thick, green book Josephine had procured for her.
"Just one game," Varric says, touching her shoulder lightly.
She pulls away and takes several steps towards the fire, "No. I'm sorry I just, I do not want to leave here. I don't want to go out there and see them believe I'm the new Andraste. I just want to stay here. I want to be me, not the Herald, not the Inquisitor, not a villain or a saviour. Just me."
Varric frowns and strokes at his chin, watching as the Inquisitor looks out the window and into the snow-covered mountains. It is not the first time he has attempted to draw her out of her room for a game, but now that he knows why, he can sympathise.
The people are becoming concerned. He tells her this, when he can, and she doesn't care; and when he reminds her later, it is as though she forgot they had the conversation entirely. Clicking his tongue, he begins, "Remember when we were on the Storm Coast and we saw that giant and dragon fighting? And how you didn't want to go near it but decided to do so because it was near enough to an Inquisition camp to cause trouble?"
"I…" A pause. She sucks in a breath. "No."
"No as in, 'Varric you're telling it wrong,' or as in 'I don't remember'?"
"I don't remember."
"Well… It's like I said. You, me, Seeker and Chuckles saw that giant and dragon fighting. We waited on your call, and you said that you didn't want to go near the squabble, but thought it best for those at the camp nearby. You walked right in there, the dragon flew off, and we took down the giant – because you were worried about those people who fought for you."
"Does this have a point?"
Varric scratches his nose and walks across her room, "My point is, you went in there and defused that situation for the good of others. You stopped a deranged mage from enslaving the rest of his southern kind. You've stopped a darkspawn magister and his grumpy pet dragon for the good of others, and more. When are you going to do something that's good for you, like get drunk and laugh with your friends?"
Trevelyan thinks for a long time on her reply. As the silence stretches on, Varric believes he's won – at least until she opens her mouth and says with a weakness he has not seen in her before, "When I stop feeling like I will forget their names and hurt them any day now."
"Bah. You're just like Fenris – broody and… Well even he was sociable once in a while. I'll leave you to your misery."
She sighs at that, finds the sound of the door closing satisfying, and returns to write in her thick, green book.
At least until half an hour later, when her door is thrown open and every single one of her friends that remained in Skyhold swarms into her room. She slams the book shut, eyes darting about almost in panic – until she spots Blackwall with the drinks, the Iron Bull with extra chairs – and Cole appears, snatches her book away and places it on the shelf.
Even Cullen is here – and Leliana – both of whom slide by her and begin to move the table away from its corner of the room.
"What are you doing?" Trevelyan asks, bewildered.
"You said you didn't want to leave your room," Varric begins, shuffling the cards in his hands as everyone else practically rearranges her room. "That you wanted to be you for a while, that being out there made you feel like… not you. So I thought we would come into your space instead, so that you can keep being you with the people who care about you."
"Good, innit?" Sera laughs. "When people can take care of you, for once, instead of you going around mopping up other people's mess. Well sit down! Blackwall, hit me. And I've been told to tell you that Miss Fancy Pants sends her best regards."
"Madame Vivienne wouldn't appreciate being called Miss Fancy Pants," Josephine snits, taking chairs with Cassandra from the Iron Bull and placing them around the table. She laughs when Sera tells her she couldn't care less.
Trevelyan watches as they all sit down and wait for her. She can't swallow the lump in her throat or shake the fact that she can't remember how she met Sera or Blackwall right now. But the smiles on their faces when she finally joins them – the way Cullen links her fingers with her and tells Varric to deal – makes her overlook the pain of forgetting.
It is encouraging to see Cullen function well without lyrium, and that he is helping others who wish to do the same.
The lapses are few now. Usually only after a nightmare – and it would often be so easy to reach under the Inquisitor's bed and take her supply. Just once. Just once, but he never does, and Trevelyan finds that amazing and it just reinforces how strong he is and how much she loves him.
To remain unyielding in the face of addiction and adversity is not an easy thing, and he continues to fight it.
She wonders if she should do the same.
Yes, she thinks on it heavily one night as she lazily traces the scars on his sleeping body with her eyes. She could do the same. She physically walked into the Fade – not once, but twice, and survived. She destroyed Corypheus and sealed the Breach in the sky, leaving nothing but a haunting scar in its wake to remind people of the price of greed. She has accomplished more than any single person could hope to do so.
Surely she could conquer lyrium.
"Is something the matter?"
His voice, heavy with sleep, startles her for a moment even though he is facing away from her. He offers a slurred explanation – she is completely still, and – this is news to her – it's a clear sign to him that she's awake, because she usually moves a lot in her sleep. Trevelyan snorts and counters with the fact that he talks in his sleep.
Cullen's having none of it, but he does not yet have the capacity to turn over and face her, "You are avoiding my question. Is something the matter?"
"Do I make a good templar?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I prefer to think of you as the Inquisitor, but I'm told you are an efficient templar."
"I don't catch mages."
"You don't need to 'catch mages' – you embody what it is to be a templar. You are strong. You defend the innocent and help those in need. You work well with your team and do what is right. You do not break in the face of darkness. Nothing else is required to be an efficient templar."
Trevelyan hums at that, shuffling closer to his warm body. She presses her lips to his shoulder once, twice and notes his shudder before exhaling sharply, "I am going to try and stop lyrium." She doesn't need to see his face to know that Cullen's smiling, and that he's happy to hear that. She swallows, "The war is over. There is no need for me to use templar abilities anymore, so there is no need for me to stay on it. I… hope being off lyrium will help with the memory loss."
"There's only one way to find out if it does. I will hide your lyrium kit in the morning."
"I can't ask you to do that."
He turns over, clearly still tired, but no less determined to speak, "You don't have to ask. I'm going to, because I want to. This will not be an easy. You will get sick. You will have migraines. You will want with every fibre of your being to return to lyrium. I… still struggle, some days. But I have faith in you, not as the Herald or Inquisitor, but as you, the person. I believe in you, as you believe in me."
Trevelyan feels like her heart might burst, so she reaches for him in the darkness and holds him close.
Cullen is right. It is not easy.
Within the first two days, she finds herself vomiting. Within the first week, she has the most ridiculous headache – Cullen always corrects it to 'migraine' – that she can remember. She wants to tear down the sun and remain buried in her covers and in silence forever, even now as she is at dinner with Queen Anora of Ferelden.
The travel to Denerim was long, but it felt longer because she needs the lyrium. She fights it, though, with every breath she can, even though she can still hear it singing. Even though she can still feel it in her veins. Her patience becomes thinner every day, stretched like the marks on her hips.
Queen Anora talks about how her Father was beheaded right in front of her for doing what he thought was right. She talks about how even though she did not agree with his methods, it gutted her to see someone so proud, so loved, meet such an end. She tries to recall memories of her Mother, but none come.
"I am told, Inquisitor, that you are from Ostwick," Queen Anora says, smiling with such radiance that Trevelyan feels inadequate in her presence. "It would please me to hear of any stories of your home that you would like to share. You are Bann Trevelyan's youngest, yes? What of your siblings?"
"I had an elder brother," Trevelyan says, poking idly at her food. "He was sent to the Circle. He did not survive his Harrowing."
Anora frowns. If she were not so far from the Inquisitor, she would have reached for her hand and sympathetically squeezed it. As it is, she is nowhere near her. "I'm sorry to hear that. You must have been very fond of him."
Trevelyan nearly launches into a speech about how she wanted to become a templar to save him – like she had with Cullen in the past – but thinking about her brother makes her think about templars, and thinking about templars makes her think about lyrium, lyrium, lyrium.
"What of Ostwick itself?" she asks, pausing for a moment to pick at some food and chew it thoroughly. "I have heard much of the city with dual walls, but nothing from someone who lived within them. Were there secret hiding places you and your brother would go to? What of the walls? How magnificent are they up close? How far out could one see when standing at the very top?"
Trevelyan struggles to recall what Anora has asked for. The secret hiding places, the brilliance of the walls, how much of Thedas could be seen from the very top… They were blanks, filthy, unwanted blanks in her mind that has her choking on her own voice, and her eyes watering at the fact that has presented itself.
She cannot remember.
It cuts her deeply, the fact that she cannot remember Ostwick in this instance. That she cannot recall the stories or the small, happy little places she would go to.
She cannot remember how she met Sera, Blackwall and now Vivienne – and she cannot remember her home.
Trevelyan can't help it – she begins to cry.
Alarmed, Anora puts her cutlery down and rushes to her side, "Inquisitor, are you well?"
"No," she chokes. "I can't... I can't."
She can remember the sting, the need and the feel of lyrium but not where she grew up. She remembers the leash that tugged on her throat and the thousands before her, the desperation for it; but not why nor who she fought for – her home and all those within it, most especially her brother and those in need.
Maker… She was never going to be a good templar.
She still can't remember her brother's birthday.
Trevelyan is out in the field assisting in more relief efforts with Dorian, Cassandra and Varric when another major blank strikes her.
Dorian is talking with Orlesian soldiers in Emprise Du Lion – complaining about the freezing weather, no doubt – when Trevelyan realises she cannot adequately recall the chain of events revolving around the Winter Palace.
Yes, she had accepted that she could not remember if Celene lived or died – she doesn't handle so much political things, after all. But she also now cannot remember what led up to it, what happened during, and just after. And that's a scary thought.
Did she go to Adamant before or after…?
Although the Winter Palace events were over a year ago, surely she could remember such a grand ball and the events within. She tries to remember who came out on top, but nothing comes to mind. She tries to envision Cole's despair if Celene had been killed, but it won't appear. She tries to recall the Iron Bull's wide, pleased grin as he watches redheaded elves pass – but it won't. She tries to see Leliana's eyes, sharp and unyielding, watching the feet of every person in that room and somehow getting good information out of bloody shoes.
She refuses to remember Solas, for the pain of a good friend just leaving like he did is still too near.
She remembers bone-deep exhaustion, and how she still found energy enough to dance with Cullen, but little else.
It upsets her that even though she is off the lyrium, it still eats away at her mind.
"You know, I think Dorian actually enjoys the cold," Varric snits.
Cassandra snorts, and it makes the surface dwarf smile, "I hardly think Fereldans are aware of how cold it really is down here. In Nevarra, the winters are warmer, almost like there is a blanket over your shoulders permanently. I have not been to the Tevinter Imperium, but I would wager that it is the same. Ferelden's cold is simply too much."
"You know what else is too much? The Inquisitor's thinking face. Almost looks like she could rip a hole through the sky just with her expression," Varric chimes.
That shakes her from her reverie for a moment and inspires her to ask, "I cannot remember the events of the Winter Palace. I… Who… is ruling Orlais now? Who did I support? Who was put there? Who died? What happened?"
Cassandra takes that as her cue to totter off to Dorian – Trevelyan is thankful that Cassandra is so mindful and sensitive to her memory loss. Varric takes a seat on snowy log and invites her to sit beside him as he asks, "What do you remember?"
"Morrigan and her large dress. Florianne and… her anger. Cullen's gentle hands. Exhaustion."
Varric takes the information and begins to feed the gaps in between. Of how they had been invited by Duke Gaspard, and how she had bumped into Morrigan. As he continues, he finds that Trevelyan has pulled out her thick, green book and opens it across her lap. It's enough to have his talking slow to a gentle stop as she writes down what he had said previously. Then he asks, "Might I ask what that is? You carry it with you everywhere now."
"Just something Josephine got for me, nothing more."
"Do you need me to slow down?"
"Yes, please."
So he continues, watching as she scribbles down every word that comes from his mouth, as she looks around every so often, takes in her surroundings and jots them down too; and then it hits him. What the thick, green book truly is. What it means.
"It helps, sometimes," Trevelyan remarks, answering the question he was yet to ask.
He simply nods and says nothing more.
Three months and eleven days after she stopped lyrium is when it strikes her the worst.
She has a fever. She has no patience. She wants to tear out her eyeballs and grind them into the dirt. She cannot remember what she has done at the war table for the past few days, and she cannot recall her parents' names. She cannot recall the last time they contacted her, nor the way her stomach twists when Cullen smiles at her.
Because he is not smiling at her now, no.
"You don't need it," Cullen snarls.
"I can't, I can't, I…"
"Inquisitor."
"Commander."
She is in his office. It is dark outside, and after supper, she ran all the way here – through Solas' room, ignoring how lonely it feels and how haunting the images he has painted are – and began her search in Cullen's office for her lyrium kit.
She cannot do it anymore.
Trevelyan is no templar. She never was and never could have been.
That does not lessen her driving need for lyrium.
"I cannot sleep. It hurts to shut my eyes, and I cannot rest," she tries again, her voice sweeter this time, hoping to strike a sympathetic string in his heart. Because Cullen understands. Cullen suffers too. Cullen has stopped, but his eyes still linger, and his arms still twitch and flex at the very memory of lyrium.
"Have one of the kitchen staff procure something for you. I will not give you the lyrium."
She swallows thickly – and it burns to do so – before she pulls at her hair. Trevelyan hisses at him, "Being off the lyrium has done nothing, Commander. I am still forgetting. I cannot remember the names of my own parents. The places in Ostwick in which my brother and I would hide and play and laugh. I cannot recall how I met Sera, Blackwall and Vivienne. I don't know who this Alexius was nor why he was so important. I cannot recall who the ruler of Orlais was, for Andraste's sake! It has done nothing! It is still eating away at me, still inside my mind. It will help me, please, please let me have it."
"It burns," Cullen says solemnly, staring at the wall behind her. "A dull, constant burn that grows stronger with every waking moment – and when you finally wake from a horrible slumber, it only continues; like darkness swallowing the sun. Like despair destroying every bit of hope in your heart. Like the lyrium holds you in an oubliette."
"You understand, you get it, and yet you are still keeping it from me."
"I don't do so lightly. I do it out of love. You will thank me in the end."
"Commander, I need it."
"You don't need it!" Cullen yells, hands curling tightly into fists. "You are better than that!"
"I need it, I need it!" she shouts, just shy of begging, but fully prepared to do so. "Please, I can't take this anymore!"
And then Cullen shouts her name. Not her titles or her surname, but her first name. It makes her stop.
He's not angry. If anything, he's gutted, and his hands are shaking by his sides, a test of his will, "You are the Inquisitor! You walked out of the Fade, alive and sane not once, but twice! You saved all of Thedas from destruction! You stopped a darkspawn magister in his tracks, and you can't get past lyrium?!"
"Don't you dare say that to me! You know exactly what it's like! How dare you become all high and mighty about this, just like when you spoke of Samson!" She sobs and her voice increases in volume as her fingernails dig into her palms, "He did not have the options you had, no matter what you might think! He did not have the support! And I have both, and I still cannot do it! This is not a simple bear that can be beaten with great effort! No!
"I tried, Cullen! Don't you dare think that I didn't! Don't you dare think I gave this such little effort! I am strong, but not enough for this! Not for this…" Trevelyan rubs at her eyes and scratches at her skin, as though she is trying to dig the very nerves from her body. "I feel like I'm coming apart…"
"You will not have the lyrium."
Trevelyan slaps him then and leaves, trembling from head to toe.
Cullen resists the urge to grab the lyrium for himself.
The next day, it is as though nothing happened at all.
Cullen stares at her incredulously, watching as she moves the tokens across the war table as though she were alright. Watching as she asks Leliana about her new shoes. Watching as Josephine asks what needs to be done to compensate some families in Nevarra following the battles up there.
Watching as she looks across to him and asks, "Cullen, what happened to your face?"
"It is of no concern, Inquisitor."
"Someone has hit you and you won't tell me who it was? Please tell me so that I may have a word with them. No one just goes around hitting my advisors like they're… they're… training dummies."
"As I said before, it is of no concern. Can we please return to the matter at hand? The Anderfels are requesting military support from the Inquisition."
She lets it go for a while and the meeting continues on as normal. But as they go to leave, she seizes his wrist just as they pass into the main hall and past Josephine's office. She lightly strokes his palm with her shaking fingers, "You will tell me who left that mark on your face. I… need to know. You won't keep this from me like you kept the lyrium from me."
She remembers – partly – and yet not the entire picture. Like silk with holes cut within their beauty. He wonders if that is how she sees life now, in tatters rather than as whole pieces. He wonders if that is what other templars saw – if that is how he himself will turn out, in the end, even without the lyrium. Because she was right last night – she is no better even off the lyrium.
"You, Inquisitor."
Trevelyan pauses, eyes widening and the corner of her lips pull downward. "I didn't…"
"I would not return your lyrium last night. We fought. As a result, you struck me across the face. I can't say it was without cause. You were… right about many things. That I did not think correctly of Samson. That I understand and still won't… It is nothing. It will be alright."
"I don't remember. I don't… I didn't mean it."
"It's alright, Lady Trevelyan."
"It's not. Forgive me, the need for it was… beyond compare. I…"
"If I might speak?" She nods, releasing his wrist and wringing her hands nervously. Cullen scratches at his neck, "You have told me in the past that there was no benefit for you in sealing the Breach. Last night you said to me that being off the lyrium is not helping with your memory loss. That would suggest to me that the cause is neither the Anchor nor the lyrium in the first place."
His words cause Trevelyan to freeze.
What if none of this was to do with the Anchor or the lyrium? What if she was already genetically on this path and the Anchor or the lyrium simply enhanced it? What if lyrium affected everyone differently, and she was simply more susceptible to memory loss? What if the Anchor and the lyrium, together, made this happen quickly? More importantly, why was nothing helping?
She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales sharply. Her eyes cloud over, distorting what she can see. "Then what's wrong with me?"
Cullen says nothing. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and wonders the same. There are times he wished that he could find Wynne, one of the older mages from Kinoch Hold. This moment is one of those times, for seeing the Inquisitor so… sad always makes him want to find the best possible course of action. Wynne knew so much. Surely she could've helped Trevelyan, or known where to send her for beneficial actions.
Maybe… Maybe it is the Anchor and the lyrium. Maybe it was both, and that even though they are gone now, their effects linger and continue to erode her mind, like sand dunes on the shoreline.
It is not a comforting thought.
"Lady Trevelyan, I…"
"I don't want to forget you."
Cullen blinks a few times as Trevelyan rubs her eyes.
"I don't want to forget you," she says again, exhaling harshly through her nose. "I don't want to forget the first time I saw you at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I don't want to forget about how you became flustered when I asked you about templar vows. I don't want to forget the smile on your face when I asked to spend more time with you. I don't want to forget how you glowered at that soldier before we first kissed; the kiss itself; your determination to beat lyrium. I don't want to forget a single moment, and yet they continue to slip away. I am afraid."
"I love you," he says softly, reaching for her hand.
"I want to remember that too."