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Skyhold's starting to get rather full again. With good reason, Lucien knows, but he does miss being able to walk the battlements at night without feeling the weight of several dozen eyes on him - tonight more than ever. But Cole wasn't in the Herald's Rest, or wandering the barracks, so...
There. A tiny, thin shape. He walks down toward it, his hand shoved deep into his coat pocket to ward off the chill. Cole's wearing a jacket, for once - if only a light one. Lucien wonders if Maryden or Krem had had to coax him into it, or if that's how he dresses these days. The scarf around his neck looks new, and soft.
His face, however, looks like a thundercloud. His whole body is trembling minutely as he paces, muttering to himself. The guards are keeping well clear, which is good. Whatever this conversation turns out to be, Lucien doubts an audience is warranted. He passes the last of them, and the two quickly jerk to attention with a muttered "Your Worship," before going back to pretending to keep an eye out for more demons, or more rifts opening in the clear night sky.
None will come, with Solas tossed to whatever distant reach of the Fade he's in now. And Lucien is very deliberately not thinking about what else might be coming next. The cares of the world can be a thought for the morning. Right now, his friend is in pain.
Varric tried to talk him down, but -
-wouldn't listen, so we had to-
-we couldn't save him.
I'm so sorry, Inquisitor.
They still haven't announced the news, but apparently Cole still picks up on enough that they didn't need to for him. Lucien draws level with him, giving him a good arm's length of space as he leans against the nearest merlon. Cole doesn't look at him, but the muttering gets louder.
"He was my friend. A hand outstretched, I held it back before, but he needs it now. Should've heard it in him sooner. Bad idea, bad, bad idea, but Hawke would do it. The Herald would do it. Harding doesn't have to take the shot."
Lucien sucks in a breath as his heart does an uncomfortable stumbling thud in his chest. Maker. Is that - were those Varric's last - ?
Has he just sent another good man to his death?
"Reeling back and down, wracked and wretched, but the rook lands beside him and it'll be alright. Radiant light ripping outwards, Rook -"
He goes quiet, then. Lucien doesn't try to break it at first. It feels strangely like an intrusion. Like witnessing a death from the inside. The grief that's been sitting close against his heart all afternoon shudders and tries to push outward, but he presses it down. He can have his turn later, with Bull. This isn't about him.
Eventually, he clears his throat. "Cole, I -"
"He took him from us!" Cole snaps. "Stab to the front, blood filling the lungs, lyrium singing singing singing until it all went quiet, and now it's singing for someone else while the wolf wears his face. She doesn't know," he says, apparent shock breaking through the anger before it brings it flaming back to life again. "She thinks him safe, sound, but it's only the self and the wolf's voice woven through. She can't - he's going to -"
His breath is coming in short, sharp pants, and for a moment Lucien is reminded of another meeting years ago. The former Templar, and Cole's rage. That had been personal, certainly, but this? To feel that sort of anger at a beloved friend? Cole might be further from Compassion than he used to be, but that can't be good for him regardless. Lucien holds his hand out, moving slowly and carefully, as he might with a spooked animal. When Cole doesn't flinch away, he settles it on his elbow.
"Just... look at the stars, Cole. Just for a moment. Eyes up, that's it." Lucien squeezes Cole's arm gently as the boy tips his head back.
"How will that help?"
"I - to be honest, I'm still not sure," Lucien admits. "It's just something Varric said to me once when I was panicking, after all the nonsense with Alexius in Redcliffe." He rubs his hand gently up and down Cole's arm. Strange, that he'd largely forgotten that moment these past years, and now it feels more important than anything. "'Breathe,' he told me. 'Look at the stars, kid. You'll be alright.' And I didn't see how anything could be back then, but do you know - it was. Eventually. More or less."
Cole draws in a shaky breath. Flexes his hands again. But he keeps looking up with wide, pale eyes at the swirl of light overhead.
"Legs cramped in the stairway to Gamlen's house," he murmurs. "Can't climb up like we did in Lothering, the cant of the ceiling is too high, but this is nice. Curled with friends, cups of wine, telling stories about the same stars Dad saw when he was young. Songs and shapes hold back the darkness, scribe it over with light until there's space to breathe again."
That doesn't sound like Varric. More like - oh. Oh, void. Has anyone told the Champion yet? He'll have to ask later, but right now it's not important. He rubs his hand over Cole's back, feels the shuddering in the man's limbs begin to tighten until it bursts out in a single sob. Cole looks almost surprised at his own tear-streaked cheeks. He brings his hands up to rub at them, then stares at the wetness on his fingers.
"He was good at that, wasn't he?" Lucien says softly. "Holding back the dark. Giving us a moment to breathe."
"He is. It's still... it's still here, in us, even if he isn't."
He doesn't sound any happier for knowing it. Lucien can relate. He gives in to the urge to pull him into a gentle hug. Cole startles at first, and Lucien thinks he might have pressed too far - but then he leans into it, his scrawny arms wrapping around Lucien's shoulders and back. He still feels like a good breeze ought to blow him away, but the warmth of him is a comfort all the same. The aching tightness in Lucien's chest begins to ease, just a little, as the rabbit-fast pace of Cole's breath catches on another sob by his ear and gradually begins to slow.
His back is shaking. Lucien's shoulder is damp. So are his own cheeks, he realises. He rubs his hand gently over Cole's back and resists the urge to try and pull himself together until Cole takes a step away. Lucien scrubs his hand over his face and offers him a tentative smile. "Come on. Did you ever hear the one about Belenas?"
Cole blinks, his limpid blue eyes wide and still damp. "I... no. I don't think so."
"Well, then," Lucien says, nudging him gently to take a seat on the stone steps down from the ramparts. It seems only fitting, really. "It begins with Korth, the Mountain-Father..."