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There was but a single place in Skyhold which offered solitude to inquisitor Amara Lavellan. It was a small alcove, by no means particularly impressive in anyone’s terms, but it was secluded and contained a certain ethereal and organic charm which she had missed ever since her departure from her clan. It took quite a trek, and an awful lot of climbing, to get there, but the little cove of shattered structures overrun by vines and dotted with the occasional embrium bud offered the perfect environment to sit and relax for a moment with a nice tome, or to simply escape from the constant influx of inquiry which seemed to endlessly come from her small group of advisers. This specific method of avoidance had, up until recently, proved a rather effective method for escaping the duties of inquisitor for even a brief moment. For, of course, no one had ever thought to look in such a place as a tattered rooftop, located adjacent to a particularly beaten down wall of the encampment, in order to find the so called “Herald”. However, as par recent events, the small haven which Amara had claimed as her own was now frequently visited by yet another wayward patron; a somewhat odd, yet strangely endearing, spirit named Cole.
The inquisitor had taken to him immediately upon his somewhat impromptu arrival at the Inquisition’s previous base in Haven; and, whilst most of the others in her party seemed skeptical of the new oddity’s intentions, trust from the inquisitor had been granted on site. This trust was well placed, it turned out, as Cole had taken to proving himself almost immediately by making the evacuation of most of Haven’s occupants possible. And, once Skyhold had been reached, it took no thought for Amara to formally induct him into the Inquisition’s forces, and eventually into her personal scouting party. Their friendship blossomed endlessly from that point on, a wondrous bloom which flourished with the utmost vibrancy. The two became essentially attached at the hip, when the spirit was not off helping or spending idle time with either Varric or Solas, of course, so it really was no surprise the first time Cole had taken to following her up into her secret spot. And even more commonplace was the realization that she didn’t at all mind if the limited space amongst the shattered rocks was occupied by him. So, her isolation from thereon became consumed with hushed discussions of lighthearted topics; such as what it was that Varric had told the Inquisitor last night over three pints of drained ale, or how the kitchen ladies had taken kindly to the dancing prowess of a lively cat. A day would not go by, granted the pair were in Skyhold, where they would not compile to the alcove to address what was on their respective minds.
Well, there had been one day, she supposed, where Cole had neglected to return to their space. She had found him then, in a heated discussion with Solas in the courtyard, speaking in a feverish voice about possession and how he did not wish to be bound like the demons which the pair had seen taken over by the corrupted Grey Wardens. He had wanted to be bound instead to Solas, a pairing which he had believed would keep his compassionate nature intact. However, both Solas and the inquisitor were harshly opposed to such a request. Solas, on account of speculation over whether the intended outcome would indeed leave Cole as, well, Cole; and Amara on account that a foreign, and somewhat intoxicating feeling had swept over her, (which, looking back on it was most definitely akin to jealousy) at the notion of her dearest friend bound to someone who was not herself. The emotion, at the time, had taken her aback, reducing her to outwardly agree with Solas, and so the pair came up with a compromise for the somewhat dejected Cole. An amulet was to be found; an amulet which would, in theory, keep him safe from any sort of binding. So it was found, and tried, and when it didn’t work Cole was more upset than Amara had ever seen him.
Then they set out to find whatever it was which halted the amulet from working. They found such a blockade in the form of a man, a retired Templar and lyrium junkie, who was roaming Redcliff. The rage which then overcame Cole had, at that time, surprised Amara. The man had killed him, killed the real Cole, however, and she’d have been lying if she said she did not want to take revenge on him herself. Still, this was Cole’s fight, and that very notion was what had led to her surprise when it was herself who was given the choice of how Cole should precede.
As a spirit… or a human? Man, or magic. Her decision would change his nature, cause him to grow in one fashion or another. It was not a decision she felt she had the authority to make. Yet, she chose, and in that decision she could feel her own selfishness rein through. She had thought she made the choice with only his best intentions in mind, but she could feel it. Humanity, while it would certainly not be an upsetting concept to the spirit, was a choice which would benefit herself more than anyone. Because, though she was reluctant to admit it, Cole had become… Special, to the inquisitor. And this new feeling would become much more accessible without the tedious mage/spirit demeanor the pair currently had. So she chose, and Cole acted, and his nature changed, and so did himself.
In the coming times Cole seemed to face many alterations to his newly humane body. He now slept, he ate; he indulged in emotions previously unknown to the prefectural embodiment of compassion he once was. So, the inquisitor compromised in order to meet his new needs. Until he regained his strength they no longer met in the alcove, which took an abnormal amount of physical exertion to reach. Instead, they settled for the somewhat dusty top floor of the tavern, The Herald’s Rest. They stopped for lunches in Val Royeaux when they were out on missions, and she gave him a fully equipped room in the battlements of Skyhold. He was slowly, with her and Varric’s help, becoming used to being a human. And slowly, they began to once again meet in the tattered, tiny alcove.
However, it held a somewhat different feeling now; now that Cole was forced to mundanely scale the broken wall of the battlements to reach their corner of isolation, rather than simply appear across from her. He became far more tangible, far more real, and far more noticeable. The inquisitor was now hyperaware of his presence, his human, and very male, presence, within their small space. And, while their company was still altogether pleasant and definitely the most enjoyable thing about Skyhold, their demeanor had shifted since that day in Redcliff. It had become far more difficult for her to repress her feelings for the boy. So she did what anyone in her position would have done.
She began avoiding him.
It was a much easier task now that he could no longer find her without actually knowing where she was, first. She stopped going to the alcove, or the tavern, or any other place where she thought he might check, really. She found a new spot, amongst the top floor of the smithy, where she could sit and read her tomes. True, the building lacked the comfort she felt amongst the wild, untamed vegetation she had found wrapping around the tattered section of Skyhold’s walls, but it was effective in sheltering her from a rather persistent Cole. But oh gods, did she miss him. She missed his clear eyes and the way his hat flopped over his face in such an endearing manor when he looked around. She missed the shaggy blond hair which fell into his eyes, and the small smiles he shared with her, only her, when she said something he found amusing or nice. She missed the way he would talk freely with her, and the small, light, airy laughs he would give, and the way he would affectionately refer to her as Della; an endearment which he had admitted, rather sheepishly, meant something akin to brightness; which he was almost always reminding her she was filled with. Yes, she missed him. She loved him, too. But she was far too scared to face what could possibly mean losing him forever. No, it was much better this way. She would have to be content simply avoiding Cole for the remainder of her life. It was a draining thought.
It was hardly a week before Cole succeeded in finding her new hiding spot, and when he had, she was so utterly flustered at seeing him after such a long absence that her emotions got the better of her and she fled with the utmost haste. She found herself moments later, with bated breath, back in her secret alcove, a rather determined Cole hot on her trail. When he finally stepped into the small confinements of the rooftop, he was winded and flushed, his eyes shining with hurt and confusion. He was only a step away from her; if she reached out her hand now she could touch him, assure him that it wasn’t his fault. It was her, it was all her, Cole, I’m so sorry.
“Heart pounding, breath comes up short. Flutters in your chest leave you scared, yet content. You run yet you wish to be close. Why?”
His words were soft and labored, and the hurt was laced evidently throughout them. She had not meant to cause him pain, she had meant to help him, to keep him safe. Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes, one escaping defiantly down her cheek. Cole’s eyes widened at her display, unsure of why she was shedding tears. His hand reached out of console her but she flinched away involuntarily and it fell back to his side, the rejection of his help hurting him all the more. She cried harder, now, at her inability to keep him happy. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, Cole grabbing her around the waist and coming down with her in order to soften the impact. His arms wrapped tightly around her small, writhing frame, and she gave in, clutching onto his tunic with a vice grip and sobbing unceremoniously onto his broad chest.
“I’m sorry, Cole. I’m sorry, I’m-” her voice broke on a sob as she continued to mutter her apologies. One of his hands rose from her back and stroked her hair, an affectionate gesture she could vaguely remember mentioning that her mother used to do when she was upset. The action was comforting, and the sobs calmed, though tears still streamed from her dull, red eyes. She pushed lightly on his chest and his hold loosened, allowing her to back away from his embrace and situate herself against the wall of the battlements behind her. Cole stayed as he was, however; unmoving and staring at her with his signature kind, albeit rather hurt, look. She took in a deep breath.
“Ar’lath, Ma Vhenan.”
Her voice was rough as she said the words, which came out much easier in elven; a language she knew he was not familiar with. Still, her face was flushed and her heart raced as she said them, even so. His eyes widened at the declaration, however, which surprised her. Could he understand what I said? No, it wasn’t possible. Cole wasn’t elven, wasn’t even human in the conventional sense. Still, his face flushed and his eyes seemed brighter after she had said it, and she became flustered and her eyes fell to the ground.
Then he laughed. Or giggled, really. It was a beautiful, airy sound which filled what she considered the entirety of Skyhold with its chime. Her eyes snapped back up to his in surprise, then, only to find he had moved much closer in the time she had been looking at the ground. He now sat directly in front of her, situated on his knees so that he towered over her slightly. His hat hovered over both of their heads, now only inches apart, a small smile dusted over his lips. His eyes no longer shown with hurt like they had before; a new emotion, one Amara refused to recognize, was now there, evident in its like.
“Solas was reluctant when he talked to me. He thinks a spirit should not change, should not feel as I am now. Mind swirling, deciphering, uncertain, yet Varric had already told me what the feelings were, and these new words would bring no harm. He told me what the whispers meant, why they were important.”
Her breath caught and one of his hands rose to cup her cheek, gently, hesitantly.
“Cole, what-”
“I am filled with wanting, needing, yearning. I love you, my Della.”
Her eyes widened as she stared into Cole’s breathtakingly serious face. His eyes were bright with his surprisingly concise confession and his cheeks were flushed from the situation, as she suspected hers were, as well. He leaned in and his lips brushed over hers in a light caress, effectively stealing her breath. It was only a light touch, innocent, but it held so much emotion that it was utterly perfect in its simplicity. One of her hands reached up hesitantly to grasp his, which still laid on her cheek, and the other tangled in the sandy hair at the base of his neck.
“Bated breath and a warm feeling through my chest when she smiles. I want to hold her close, talk with her always, but I don’t understand. New emotions consume and compile, my heart hurts when I think of her. Varric says its normal, that’s what love is, but I’m confused."
A slight smile grazed her lips as he continued.
“Then she was gone; running, hiding, keeping away. I became hollow, hurting, and it became clear. Varric says this feeling in my chest should be said as “I love you”, Solas says the same in pretty, ancient words. Words which sound softer, fuller on her tongue. She loves me, I love her. Della, I love you.”
The tears flowed again, but their meaning had changed. A mirthful laugh spread from her core and into the air, and the sound was enthralling. Cole smiled gently at her and wiped at her tears with his thumb until she pulled him back down to her, his mouth no longer just a ghost, but now a forceful presence upon hers. His hat, which was knocked ajar by the action, was now sprawled on the ground beside them, forgotten.
Yes, Amara decided; her secret alcove was much better with two.