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The plan was simple enough. Lavellan had come down with the cold to end all colds after a few too many hours gallivanting around the Storm Coast in the pouring rain, and Cole decided what she needed was cake.
Not just any cake, either. As she shivered under her blankets, Lavellan was dreaming about sweets her parents used to bake her when she was sick. Small, sweet, crumbly things, somewhere between a tiny cake and a cookie, with fruit and honey baked in. They were her favorite treats and while it probably wasn't the best idea for her family to give a sick kid sweets, she certainly wasn't going to complain about it.
The problem was Cole didn't really know how to bake. He could remember the taste of them like he'd eaten them all on his own, the way the honey coated fingers and crumbs flaked everywhere, the smell that instantly made his stomach rumble, but actually replicating that was going to be a challenge.
With Solas's help, it was easy enough to convince the Skyhold kitchen staff to let them have free reign for a few hours. But there was still another snag.
"Cole, I appreciate your concern for the Inquisitor, but you're aware I'm not much of a baker either?" Solas commented, even as he rolled up his sleeves and lifted a sack of flour up onto the wooden table.
Cole wasn't discouraged. "Have you seen anything in the Fade that could help?"
The elf smiled faintly as he handed Cole an apron and then began to tie his own. "Perhaps. I've seen lavish feasts at royal palaces, tables piled so high with desserts you couldn't even see around them. Only..." he paused. "Well, I've never watched them actually be assembled, you see." Cole removed his gloves, placing them in his pocket before rolling up his own sleeves and perching on a stool next to the kitchen table.
"But we can figure it out, right?" he asked, the smallest hint of pleading in his voice. "Mother's smile, kind but worried, smell of berries and bread baking on the fire. 'Feeling any better, da'len?' Hand cool on my forehead..." Abruptly, Cole's eyes snapped up from staring at his hands to look at Solas almost sternly. "It would really help her." Solas couldn't help but chuckle.
"Of course. We can at least try, can't we? An apostate who can't cook and a spirit who can't eat. What's the worst that could happen?"
***
"LADY CASSANDRA THE KITCHEN IS ON FIRE," came the terrified shriek from one of the servants, and without another word Cassandra Pentaghast leapt out of her seat in the garden and sprinted towards Skyhold's kitchen.
Smoke was billowing out from beneath the kitchen door in great, thick plumes. Covering her mouth and nose with one hand, Cassandra slammed into the door shoulder-first, nearly sending it flying off its hinges as it flew open. "Is anyone in here?!" she shouted, muffled through her hand, smoke stinging her eyes and making them water.
As the smoke began to clear and flood outside, she finally spotted the culprits - an extremely frightened-looking Cole covered in flour, and a very embarrassed Solas doused in soot. She stopped in her tracks and stared at them through her watery eyes. "You two-"
"Cassandra," was all Cole could squeak out as he looked helplessly at the mess around him.
"Seeker," Solas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Cassandra was not going to yell at them. Oh, Maker, how she wanted to, but she didn’t. "What," she began, taking the deepest breath she could without getting more smoke in her lungs, "is going on here?"
***
The three of them cleaned the smoke and ash out of the kitchen, scrubbing the floor and the oven on hands and knees as Solas explained the situation, with occasional interjections from Cole. When it was determined that no lasting damage had been done (except for two very singed and half-melted wheels of cheese, which, while tragic, wasn't world-ending), Cassandra let out a sigh and turned back to the sorry-looking pair of friends. "So you were trying to make something for our sick Inquisitor, is that right?" she asked, brushing a last remnant of ash off her pants. Cole and Solas nodded. "I assume this idea was your doing," Cassandra said, looking at the flour-covered spirit.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, and she immediately regretted her harsh tone.
Cassandra shook her head and reached out to pat him on the shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "No, Cole - it's - I did not mean that. It was... sweet of you to try to do something so kind for her. I am sure she would be thankful." That seemed to perk him up somewhat, and he returned her smile with a small, rare one of his own. "That said... I do wish the two of you would have asked for help before nearly burning down the kitchen."
"Forgive me, Seeker," Solas said, sweeping several of the sad, charred cakes into a dust bin. "I should have used more common sense and asked the kitchen staff to assist us. Spending so much time in the woods and the Fade has clearly not made me an adept baker."
"I can understand wanting to do something all by yourself, without help, for someone else," Cassandra admitted. The three of them stood in silence for a few moments, staring at the baking supplies still laid out on the table. Finally, making a noise somewhere between annoyance and disgust, the Seeker spoke again.
"Cole, give me that apron. Solas, bring some more butter and eggs from the larder. We can't have all this mess with nothing to show for it. It simply will not do. And," she added, the slightest hint of a flush spreading onto her cheeks, "do not tell anyone about this."
***
The end product was nothing like the treats Lavellan remembered her family making her. These were so much better.