Open | If you forget, is it like it never happened?

[killedwithlove]

WHO: Cole and anyone who needs or wants him
WHAT: Cole's back. If he ever left. Who really knows?
WHEN: Now until end of February.
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: If you want a personal starter, drop me a PM or find me at jemisard

Those sensitive to such things might notice that Cole is back. He's hard to remember at the best of times, and after such a long period, Cole himself expects virtually no one to remember who he is or that he's allowed to be here.

But it doesn't stop him doing what he does. Moving about, helping those he can.

Comments

[killedwithlove]

"No." Very few people know Cole. He puts down the tray and slides it closer to Cullen. "But we have met. I'm very forgettable. I've brought you food a couple of times, but you don't usually notice. You're very busy."

[lionheartedman]

"Do you work in the kitchens?" Cullen is searching for threads of connection to weave into some sort of explanation, something that he can hold in his mind as real and solid. Ever since the circle, gaps in his memory terrify him. The dark places where voices can creep in, can create new truths, lifetimes lived in moments. "How do-- what makes you think I need a pain draught?" Is this common knowledge now? Has the rumour mill sunk him?

[killedwithlove]

"No. I don't... work. I just help people. You need my help." He reaches out, hesitates and then touches Cullen's hand. "It's not you. People forget me. It just happens. I was at Haven. With the Herald. I brought warning about the Red Templars. I helped the Chancellor, when he was dying."

He doesn't know if Cullen will remember, even with prompting.

"I know you need it. I don't think anyone else does, except those you told. I won't tell anyone."

[lionheartedman]

With the Herald. Those three words stop Cullen cold. There's not much of that tiny little slice of life that he hasn't turned over a thousand times in his mind, wondering what they could have done differently, how they could have been better, to keep her with them. He stares at Cole's face, tries to remember him, feels recognition slipping through his fingers like sand. "What... are you doing to me?"

He doesn't understand it. It frightens him. He feels helpless.

[killedwithlove]

Cole raises his hands, placating, showing he's not got a weapon in them (his knives are hardly hidden, strapped across his back instead). "I'm giving you food and tea with honey and your pain draught. You looked confused. People often look confused with me. They don't notice me. Don't remember me. I won't hurt you. I just want to help."

[lionheartedman]

Cullen feels entirely off center. He doesn't know if he's coming or going, and it's just about the worst possible time for a withdrawal headache to come crashing down on him. Which of course means it does. Everything is a cacophony in his mind, pressure and heat and needles of pain behind his eyes. He has no chair to fall into, and instead plants his hands on the edge of the desk, knuckles white, and tries to ride it out.

[killedwithlove]

Cole flinches with the pain of it and then he's moving into action, grabbing anything soft and piling it against the corner bookcase. "Sit, careful, if you sit you can let your muscles relax from that and they'll stop making it worse, I'll close the doors, bright, brilliant, blinding, burning, too much sunlight."

His hands hover, wanting to touch to help Cullen sit, but not wanting to just grab a Templar. Ex-Templar. Battle reflexes.

[lionheartedman]

He doesn't want to, but he also doesn't want to just fall over, and that seems like a very real option. It's worse, when times are stressful. It feels like times are always stressful, these days. So he moves to the bookcase, sinks down onto the pile of soft things, which he can't help but notice includes Puppy's bed. That would be funny, under different circumstances.

The pain fades slightly with the light. Doors and windows, with each one Cole closes or covers, he feels a little better. It doesn't go away entirely, but it fades to something manageable.

[killedwithlove]

Once everything is closed, Cole comes back over, crouching down next to Cullen and holding the flask of pain medicine. "Just a little," he coaxes softly. "Blunt the edge, softer, an uncomfortable ache digging into your neck rather than a shearing slice."

He reaches to Cullen's neck slowly, telegraphing his moves. His fingers are cool even to normal skin and probably feel almost cold with the fever of pain.