Chapter Text
Since officially joining the Inquisition, Cole has made it a habit to avoid the war room. He hadn’t known it at the time, but according to Varric he had apparently made the wrong impression on the Inquisitor’s advisors by “appearing” on the eponymous table that night after helping Lorelei escape Envy--it’s several been months now, and Josephine still sometimes shoots him nervous sideways glances when she thinks Cole isn’t looking, like she’s afraid that he’s going to pop out of the shadows and scream “boo!” at her at any given moment. It doesn’t seem to matter that Cole can’t make people forget him anymore--or that he’s never, to his knowledge, shouted boo at anyone--but if helping is as simple as staying away from the Ambassador’s favorite haunts, then Cole is happy to oblige.
Moreover, he just isn’t of much use in the war room. There’s pain there, of course--pain seems to follow many of Lorelei’s companions like a shroud, and Cullen and Leliana are particularly loud--but it’s muted when they stand around the table and stare at the little figurines the way Solas and The Iron Bull stare at the pieces on the chessboard (both the real one and the one in their heads). They’re busy focusing on other things, more important things, Lorelei might say, so Cole leaves them to it. He might not have a few weeks ago, but Varric is helping him to understand that sometimes it’s best to leave people to work through their issues alone--even if that means letting them ignore the pain temporarily.
Everyone had seemed content with this arrangement, so Cole is surprised when Lorelei sends a messenger up to the rafters of the Herald’s Rest with a summons. As he hesitantly steps through the threshold of the great oak door’s much smaller wicket, it occurs to him that he’s never even set foot in this war room. The one in Haven had been small, shuttered away, fragile and furtive like a timid newborn bird on the cusp of the nest. This was much grander, full of windows and light and space--a great eagle, deadly and graceful bird of prey, ready to soar.
Lorelei stands behind the table--also much larger than its predecessor--looking like she always does: thoughtful and sad and vaguely cross, dark brows furrowed over eyes that want to be bright, glittering amethyst but often appear navy blue under the shadows of her black hair. She looks up when he enters, and her gaze softens slightly.
“Come on in, Cole. Thank you for coming. The others will be here shortly.”
“Is something wrong?” he asks, because even though he can see it in her mind if he looks--heavy with regret and guilt, burdened by duty, worried, always worried, don’t let it show, anger is easier--he knows it’s polite--human--to let people voice their own thoughts.
She smiles just ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth tipping up in a quick twitch. She’s pleased that he’s learning--he knows without even needing to look. It’s been weeks, but she still frets over siding with Varric about what to do with the templar who’d killed the real Cole. Not because Solas had been upset with her--although that had hurt, too, for a time--but because later she’d started to wonder if she’d robbed him of some kind of fundamental choice.
Cole still isn’t sure how to dispel the notion from her head, or if he even should. He supposes that in some sense she had made the decision for him, but he doesn’t understand why that should make her feel guilty. It’s true that being human is hard and confusing and often painful, but back then, all he’d wanted to do was kill the templar for hurting him, for hurting Cole, and Lorelei had stopped him. Isnt’t that the most important thing? As long as he can still help people, as long as he can’t be bound, what does it matter if he is human or spirit or something inbetween?
Her smile turns sad, as if she’s the one reading his thoughts, but she doesn’t talk about the templar. Instead, she answers his question with a small shrug of one shoulder. “Let’s wait till the others get here. I don’t want to have to explain myself twice. Once is bad enough.”
“I do not like the sound of that,” says a voice from behind him, and Cole steps aside to allow Cassandra to stride into the chamber. She nods her head in greeting and--after a beat of hesitation--he returns the gesture, although he’s not sure if she can see it from under the brim of his hat. “What manner of mess have you involved yourself in this time, Inquisitor?”
Lorelei’s face very rarely matches her emotions, Cole has noticed. He feels guilt surge through her like a tidal wave at Cassandra’s gentle teasing, but her expression sours as if angered by it. “Trust me, I would involve myself in less if I could, but for some reason everyone around here seems to think I’m in charge.”
Her words echo and clash against her thoughts. Please don’t make this harder than it already is, I’m letting you down, duty calls, but to which family? Someone always needs something, Creators I am just one person, must I be more--
Cole wisely keeps this to himself, but only just. He’s still getting the hang of holding his tongue (which is apparently a figure of speech and he is not, in fact, expected to literally hold his tongue, thank goodness--the constant dry mouth was awful).
Cassandra chuckles. She can’t read minds, but she doesn’t seem put off by the heated words. “No rest for the wicked, as I believe the saying goes. I am going to assume this is important? I was in the middle of reading---important...documents.”
“Did you finish the last chapter?” Cole says eagerly, picking up her thoughts. “What happens to the Knight-Captain?”
She flushes as Lorelei stifles a snort. “I suppose I should know better than to try to be discreet around you, Cole. Yes, I finished. I could tell you--or I could just let you read it yourself. I know Varric has been teaching you.”
“But you do the voices better,” Cole protests. Lorelei can’t suppress the laughter this time, and as Cassandra splutters out a denial, he wonders if this is just another thing he’ll never understand about being human. Feeling ashamed about things you love--it seems sad to him. Why not embrace the things that take the pain away?
He might have asked, but a new voice from the doorway cuts him off.
“Dearest Cassandra, have a care. Should any more blood rush to your head I fear you might faint.”
Vivienne glides through the open doorway like a swan upon a placid lake, head held at just the right angle so as to look down her nose at the world. Her icy gaze falls on him and her eyes narrow in a way that strongly reminds him of how most people look at nugs or the roaches that sometimes invade the granaries.
Cole shrinks away from the weight of her glare, picking at the loose threads on the hem of his shirt. Vivienne has a way of making him feel small and insignificant that has nothing to do with the fact that she is one of the very few people who is taller than he is, and yet he can’t say that he dislikes her. He admires her, he thinks, the way he admires Lorelei and Cassandra for always being so sure of themselves, and wishes she wouldn’t look at him like he’s something slimy stuck to the bottom of her boots.
“Inquisitor, what is your pet demon doing here?”
He also wishes that she would stop calling him a demon. At least she’s not afraid of him anymore.
“I invited him,” Lorelei says, a hint of a warning in her tone.
“For what purpose, darling?”
Lorelei pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ll explain, but let’s wait until Sera arrives--”
Vivienne’s expression puckers into the face she makes when her tea is too bitter. “What on earth would you need that disgusting guttersnipe--”
As if summoned by the sound of her name, Sera appears at the threshold. “Am I late for the party or something?” Her eyes dart from Vivienne to Cole and back again, then pivots on her heel. “Oh, hell no. You didn’t say nothing about Madame Frosty Britches or Creepy being part of this. I’m going back to bed.”
Cole looks uncertainly around the room, seeing a friendly face in Cassandra only, since Lorelei’s expression for once matches her thunderous thoughts. Vivienne is bad enough, but Sera hates him just as much, if not more. He doesn’t like the squirming feeling in his gut, like shame and anger and sadness all mixed into one. “Maybe I should go…”
“Cole, stay,” Lorelei barks. “Sera, get your ass back here. Don’t make me order you.”
Sera snorts, but whirls back around and stomps into the room reluctantly.
“Oooh, lookit you being all Inquisitorial and shite.” She wiggles her fingers mockingly, grinning. “Bet you order Baldy’s arse around like that, yeah? Bet he likes it.”
“I refuse to dignify that with a response,” says Lorelei, through her teeth. “And now that we’re all here, we can get down to business.”
“I quite agree,” says Vivienne archly. Cassandra nods.
“The less we talk about Solas’s...posterior, the better.”
“She likes his arms better, anyway,” says Cole, unthinkingly, then shrinks under Lorelei’s glare.
“As I was saying, I called you here because I need your help.”
Almost in unison, Cassandra and Vivienne walk up to the war table to stand across from Lorelei, all joking forgotten as quickly as if a switch had been flipped. Sera hangs back, arms crossed in defiance, but she is attentive, her interest piqued. Cole shuffles awkwardly from one foot to the other, wondering what to do with himself. He’s rarely, if ever, involved in this part of missions and he doesn’t know where to stand, or how to act. He settles for just trying to meet Lorelei’s gaze as she looks at each one of them in turn.
“First thing’s first. Cassandra, I must apologize to you.”
The dark haired woman blinks in surprise. “What for?”
Lorelei takes a deep breath. “I’ve called you here because I have to go back on my word. Something has come up and...and I won’t be able to go with you to Caer Oswin tomorrow.”
Caer Oswin. Cole doesn’t recognize the name, but Cassandra’s thoughts are loud--it’s where the Inquisition spies think the missing Seekers of Truth are hiding.
To her credit, Cassandra does not let any of her darker emotions creep into her voice. “I know you would not do so lightly. I won’t pry, but I feel I should ask--is everything all right?”
Lorelei’s fingers clench around the lip of the table, nail beds going white. “It’s nothing, I just--it’s stupid, really--”
“Have to go, they need me, I’m their First, it’s my duty. Can’t see anymore blood spilled, any more death, what bloody good is this Inquisition if I can’t save my own Clan?”
He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but the pain bursts out of her so brightly that he can’t help it. The Inquisitor is hard to read most of the time--when she isn’t, it’s like a dam bursting, impossible to hold back the flood of feelings, hard not to get washed away. He can feel Lorelei’s eyes on him as he stares at the stone floor, examining the grout. “Sorry,” he mutters meekly.
The tension between them slowly bleeds away as Lorelei sighs heavily. “It’s...okay. I know you’re trying. But yes, Cole is correct. My Clan is having...difficulties with their new neighbors in Wycome, and it’s escalated to the point that I no longer feel comfortable sending agents in my stead. I have to go sort this out before...before it ends badly. So--I was hoping you three could accompany Cassandra to Caer Oswin instead.”
“Wycome?” Vivienne echoes, sounding both concerned and annoyed. “My dear, as you know I am originally from Wycome and have had dealings with the nobles there. You must allow me to come with you. Surely I can be of better assistance to you than at some fortress in the middle of nowhere.”
Lorelei shakes her head. “Thank you, but Cassandra will likely need magical backup. Our spies weren’t able to bring back much information on the area, and I can’t send her blindly into danger without a mage for support.”
“Then send the Tevinter,” Vivienne says, her nose wrinkling slightly.
“No, thank you,” says Cassandra, frowning. “Dorian has been laid up with the Antivan flu for weeks. I’d rather he stay quarantined in the infirmary until he stops sneezing fireballs.”
“Sounds like a good strategy to me,” snickers Sera. “Point him at the bad guys and stick a bit of feather under his nose--if the fireballs don’t get ‘em, the snot will.”
Cassandra makes a disgusted noise and Vivienne looks almost desperately at Lorelei. “Solas, then?”
“He’s coming with me,” she says, grimacing. “I couldn’t talk him out of it, although you’re welcome to try.”
“You know I try to ration my interactions with your apostate as much as possible, my dear. Very well. I will accompany Cassandra on this mission. Would you mind telling me why those two--” she waves her hand in the vague direction of Cole and Sera as if swatting a bothersome insect-- “must be present as well?”
“Because we’re short on manpower. Varric is helping Scout Harding with a nug infestation in Redcliffe, Bull’s taken the Chargers on a bandit hunt along the Storm Coast, and Blackwall won’t be back from his reconnaissance mission in the Emerald Graves for at least another week.” Lorelei ticks off the remaining members of the Inner Circle on one hand, and shrugs helplessly. “Unless you want to storm a fortified keep with just the two of you, this is your only option.”
Vivienne looks as though this is not such a terrible suggestion, but Cassandra loudly talks over her. “Well, I for one, welcome the help. Bann Loren has always been an unremarkable man, but his holdings are impressive. I will need all the help I can get.”
“Then it’s settled?” Lorelei asks hopefully, gazing expectantly at them.
Cole offers his assistance readily, although he’s not sure it was ever in question. “I’ll help if I can.”
Vivienne sniffs. “I suppose it can’t be helped. I will assist you, my dear, but only because the Seekers are a necessary institution.”
“Sera?” prompts Lorelei, when the final member of their party doesn’t immediately volunteer her aid.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go do your elfy stuff,” she grumbles. “But just so you know, this whole thing is shite and I hate it.”
“Noted.” Lorelei doesn't grin, but it's a near thing--a weight has lifted from her shoulders, Cole knows. One burden lightened among many. “Good luck storming the castle, you guys. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”