Chapter Text
Cole had lived most of his life outside the Fade in Orlais. Although it was something he was now unsure about, as he watched the dance and toil of the nobility. In the Spire, nobody truly wore masks like this. Everyone was scared, but the placid mask they wore was a shield.
These people had made their gowns and coats into armor and their masks into helmets. Their words and retorts were the blades and shields, even spells. This was a battle, but an unfair one. And one that took the leaders from the realities of the war they were supposedly fighting. Did they even know how their men had struggled in the Exalted Plains? And how both sides would have perished by demon and blade, had the Inquisition not stepped in?
Cole had heard the mumurs of the war before it truly began, the man with the silly helmet and the talk of it Wynne and Adrian had. But the realities had escaped him as he wallowed in his own misery. Now he wished he had listened more, and done more to help.
The spirit sighed, taking a glass from the tray he had smuggled into this dark library. He was no use here, these people wanted no help and knew no compassion. Cole tasted the liquid, closing his eyes from the bitter taste of alcohol. But it was brewed with purpose, and to deny it would be wrong. He was not his the real Cole's father, he could stomach it.
"'Ey, bud" a farmiliar voice cheered, as Cecil arrived to the library. Eyes hard, controlled, the man wore his own mask now. One that Cole hated seeing.
The mage sat on the railing, locking one leg to the decorative structures it had. And swung the other. Cole stared at the sight, feeling a creeping fear for easy it would for Cecil to fall down.
"They dance, words like blades and eyes like daggers" the spirit mused, putting his drink back on the tray. Cecil seemed to find that funny.
"Yer kiddin' me? Ya started drinkin'?" he said, Cole rolled his eyes.
"No, but it needed to do its purpose" he countered.
"'Cause you can't?"
Cole nodded at Cecil, sitting next to the man on the railing.
"Nobody listens, nor wants to listen. They all want to war with words, when they should try to stop the real war" the spirit mused.
"Bud, that's Orlais fer ya. Or nobility in general. They don't much care fer th' lives of th' people. Fuck, even Ferelden 'as 'em" Cecil groaned, leaning back a bit. Cole's hand twitched, ready to grab the mage. But Cecil did not fall.
"Dorian is not like that, nor Josephine" Cole said, eyes still on Cecil and the potential and literal fall of the mage.
"Bud, Josie's not nobility. She's a merchant, 'er power comes from 'avin' goods. As fer Dorian, 'e's not rulin' shite. Just 'as the blood" Cecil spoke, confident in his words.
"'Sides, it's like a...well, it is a Game. All courts 'ave it, Orlais just made it official. Used to get good coin fer stickin' few knives into th' right people" the mage continued. Cole nodded, but felt even more sick of all of this now.
"You wear a mask too, and you made it into a game as well. But so it wouldn't hurt you" he spoke, Cecil tensing. Cole was beginning to realise the mage was not going to fall at all. He was in control, knew how to move the right way.
"Yeah, an' ya love tearin' th' mask down" the mage mumurred.
"It is not better this way? You can be you with me?" Cole noted, offering the best smile as he could in this situation. Cecil rolled his eyes and patted Cole on the back.
"Yeah, but me an' you ain't th' whole world" Cecil said, getting up in a single movement.
"But, we 'ave time. Wanna dance?" the mage asked. Cole gripped the railing with his fingers. He had never truly danced with anyone. Sure, he was agile and flexible, but that was fighting.
But then, this might truly be their only chance. The spirit nodded and got up, offering cecil his hand.
This reminded him of so many dreams young women had, in Skyhold and even on the road. Of dancing with a handsome noble who would sweep them of their feet. They never dreamed of missed steps, of toes being trampled. And all the sweeping the two men did was fall on top of one another, laughing.
It was a quiet moment, as Cole looked at the ceiling from the floor. Someone had painted the roof with shapes. Shapes that were geometric, a beautiful unity of rules made images. The laws of numbers were like looking into the very make of the universe, something Cole found strangely relaxing. The part of him that was still a spirit liked it, for some reason.
"Bud, who are ya spyin' on?" Cecil asked next to him, yawning a bit.
"Oh, sorry. I was just enjoying the ceiling" Cole answered, smiling brightly. Cecil chuckled, nodding as he usually did when he couldn't understand what Cole meant.
"Maybe yer right, bud. It's nice to be me fer a bit" the mage said, taking a gentle hold of Cole's hand. Cole took Cecil's, looking back at the ceiling again. The spirit sighed a bit, the hurts of the world forgotten for just a bit.
Their moment of reflection was ruined by the loud fireworks the servants had set up. Cole curled into a ball, holding his ears. Still, he felt Cecil's hand on his back. He'd remember that from tonight, at least.