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

[limier]

Of course the Nevarran is at ease with this. Of course. But it’s the Nevarran’s damn Inquisition, and there’s nothing that Wren can do about that.

Still, it betrays a softness that she wouldn't have expected of the woman — else an assessment Cole poses no threat. Even if by its own admission,

Quietly: "Do you fear that you will?"

Hurt anyone. What must be done is what she’s always done. The actions matter little, beside their potential necessity.

(It’s already necessary. Whatever its intentions, this thing is inhuman, and it has killed. But she cannot touch it. Will not, unless.)

[killedwithlove]

"Cassandra promised to kill me if I turn into a demon," Cole adds on. That was important, Cassandra's willingness not to be blinded by sentiment matters to Cole.

"Fear... yes. I don't want to be a demon. I don't want to be Despair. I want to keep helping people, easing their pains."

He leans forward, pale eyes peeking out from the shade of his hat. "You cared that they died. Did you care why?"

[limier]

"They died because you killed them."

Blunt, reductive. Defensive.

Why? It wanted to end their pain, it has said as much. As though each soul were a rabbit caught beneath the wheels of a cart. As though such wounds would not scar over given time, become an impact and not an end. Someone should have been there for them. Should have protected them. From this, from the world, from themselves.

She watches its eyes, regards it warily. Wren believes in the mercy of a blade. And yet,

It was not one of hers. No, not one. Not one, but all.

Each living, beating heart of the Spire: hers. My people, my home! A sworn duty, a role to fulfill — splintered as surely as bone.

Of course she cares. She would not break herself against this did she not. You do what must be done, because someone has to do it. Because no one else is going to. You care, and you learn to close yourself to it; to swallow that fire and cage it in place. You handle the how, because the why shifts, changes. Because someone always needs the how.

[killedwithlove]

"I was wrong to kill them, even though I was trying to help."

And then he's there , in her space, up close and looking actually angry. "So why didn't you help them before I had to?! Why did you let them all suffer and fear and hurt until all they wanted was to die?! Why didn't anyone save us?!"

And as if he's realised, so close, too dangerous, the terror is back on his face and he's gone in a curl of smoke, briefly visible outside as he flees and then vanishes again.

[limier]

It’s gone.

It’s gone, and she doesn’t follow.

Pursuit has always been a refuge; action, a form of release. But she doesn’t have it in her now for that, for the relentless search. Not when she knows that all she’ll find at the end is a mirror.

Wren leans against the countertop, and by gradual inches, she folds. Rigidity slides into a boneless exhale. Until all they wanted to do was die,

Wanting and doing are such terribly different things.

"You alright, ser?" Someone’s asking, one of the faces from before, and the sound is miles distant: an echo down the pit. Why didn't anyone save us? "You look like you've seen a ghost."

She thinks she'll avoid this place a spell.