Chapter Text
Ladwyn tugged out another weed with grim satisfaction. The frozen soil bruised her fingertips through her gloves. The weeds were as hardy as the soil: tiny, tough shrubs with stone-hard berries, and they were everywhere. They had to go if Skyhold was going to have a garden.
It was a week past Haleni’s name-day, too soon to tell if Ladwyn’s letter had arrived. Leliana sent her best ravens, but Ostagar was far, far south. Haleni’s response would not reach Ladwyn for weeks. If Ladwyn was off sealing rifts, a response would have to wait longer still. If Haleni wanted to send a response at all.
“ Keep going,” Ladwyn murmured . She had gone from dawn to noon without dwelling on the letter, and she had to keep going. Another plant joined the pile of weeds for the fire, and then another. When her hand closed around the next weed, she saw a person-shaped shadow flicker across the garden wall. The shadow almost coalesced into something more before tapering off again.
Ladwyn pulled her hand back and eased off her gloves. Her fingers cramped like talons. “Cole, I’m free to talk.” I could use the distraction. Cole stepped into view, slotting neatly into the shadow’s place. He walked over to Ladwyn, and sat with his back pressed against the stone wall. His bare fingers sifted the snow like sand.
“On dhea'him, Ladwyn.” Elvhen still sounded rushed on Cole’s tongue, but he was picking it up quickly.
“On dhea'him, da’len.” Ladwyn sounded the words out carefully. Cole tried more than most. He would get it right with another try.
Cole shook his head. “Right, the words are soft, slow, slumbering. On dhea'him,” Cole sounded out. “I have something for you.” He held out a small bundle wrapped in sun-bleached cloth.
Ladwyn took the bundle from him, and shifted to sit cross-legged. Her numb legs made the position difficult, but it was better than hours of kneeling. The cloth contained a dinged silver tin that reeked of peppermint. Ladwyn popped the tin open to reveal a waxy balm inside.
“It heals the hurt of holding things,” Cole explained. “The tin I found- scraped, scratched, cold smell in a cold hand- smelled like it. A healer showed me how to make it but then she forgot. Forgot me, not making it.”
Ladwyn dabbed a bit onto her hand to test it, and smoothed it over with her fingers. The balm was not an instant relief, but it helped seal her skin against the wind. “Thank you, Cole.”
“That hand hurts,” Cole said, glancing at Ladwyn’s left hand. “It sings quieter now, but even a shock can be too sharp.”
Ladwyn nodded as she worked the balm into her knuckles. Cole was still fidgeting with his hands. “Was there something else?”
Cole snapped his gaze away from the ground. His stare was obvious even under the brim of his oversized hat. His hand idled over the patch of dirt he unearthed. “The cloth is for you too, but- it might not help. I want it to help.”
Ladwyn picked up the square of cloth. It was worn but soft, with fraying edges. Cole had cut it evenly on all sides. His gifts always served a purpose, but Ladwyn was too exhausted to try and guess at one now. “What’s it for, Cole?”
Cole’s voice grew quiet. “Three ravens, fleeting, flying, free, still small against the sky. Tripping down stairs and tucking away, trying to believe feathers won’t fall. So many secret places, stains on sleeves. Friends noticing, noting, but not helping . Not knowing how. Keep the cloth. Better than scraping with sleeves, scratching your face.”
“Tha-” Ladwyn cleared her throat to try again. The end of the word kept sticking in her throat, and swallowing only made it harder. “Ma serannas, da’len.” Elvhen would never stick on her tongue, and Cole would understand what she meant. He was a rare friend, one who would rather give her a handkerchief than tell her not to cry.
“Does the cloth match? I thought it would help if it matched,” Cole responded.
Ladwyn took a closer look at the cloth. Had she torn something that needed mending? Was this not meant to be a handkerchief at all? “Match what, Cole?”
“Her hair,” Cole said. “You clutch it when you sleep, keep it close when you seal the sky. I hear the hurt when you sing to it, and it sings back.”
Ladwyn unclasped her coat and pulled out her necklace. She turned it so the ironbark locket caught the light. A lock of Haleni’s white hair was still secured inside. “This sings to you? It’s just ironbark, it’s not meant to be magic.”
It sounded like an apology, and Ladwyn hated herself for it. Cole was a spirit, at least in part. He was the last person to judge her for being too much of a mage, for bringing more magic to a world that wanted none of it.
“I hear hurts either way. It doesn’t matter how they sound,” Cole said simply. “It is the hurt I want out, the wrong. There’s no wrong in singing.”
Ladwyn scooped out more of the balm, and let it soften in the hollow of her hand. She told herself it was the peppermint that was making her eyes water. “I used to sing to Haleni- to my daughter- when she was little. Actual singing, not magic. That doesn’t sing to us like it does to you.” Her throat did not feel as tight as before.
Cole shifted closer, soundless on the ground. “Sleep songs, soft and safe.” He hummed a few notes of Ladwyn’s favorite lullaby.
“I like that one,” Ladwyn admitted. “My Keeper taught it to me.” Cole must have heard her hum it on the road. It had become a habit.
“Makes me think of mothers.” Cole pointed at the locket. “When you sing, does that take the singing to her?”
“No.” It came out harsher than Ladwyn meant it, but her throat was raw and her hands hurt and Haleni had turned eleven without her. “We haven’t spoken in months. Or sung,” she added quietly. “Nothing will change that anytime soon.”
“Not safe,” Cole said solemnly.
“Well, it isn’t!” Ladwyn flicked her wrist irritably and sent flecks of balm streaking toward the ground. She looked at her dirt-stained knee instead of Cole’s face. “After she left our clan, I knew I wouldn’t see her for years. It is our way.” Her shoulders sagged. “But now I can go anywhere, send for anyone- except her. There are too many people who could hurt her, Cole.”
“Hurt her to hurt you. I would help her… if you wanted.”
Ladwyn sighed. “Da’len, she is with the clan that needs her. Just like I was at her age. It just-”
“Hurts,” Cole finished.
“What kind of mother would I be if it didn’t hurt?” Ladwyn asked, more for herself than him.
Cole’s fingers worried at stalks of dead grass. After a moment, he stopped, and studied the dark grey sky above them. “It will snow soon. Slick, sleeting, sharp. Where will you go?”
Ladwyn blinked. “Inside. Where else?” She banished the thought of three ravens in a snowstorm from her mind.
Cole tilted his head towards Ladwyn. “I want to help.”
Ladwyn patted Cole’s knee. “You can help me up, da’len. Then we’ll beg some cocoa off Bull.”
Cole stood and offered his hand. Ladwyn was surprised by how easily he could pull her up. She was about to tell him so, when his hand tightened in hers.
“I can help.”
Ladwyn wondered why she had stopped weeding. She didn’t remember standing up.
Back in her room, there was a folded white handkerchief and a silver tin waiting on her desk.