Unexpected
You tried to say no. You really did. Within the confines of manners and your own respective positions of power (the Inquisitor being something akin to your boss’s boss’s boss who also has an army), you really tried to refuse. But the Inquisitor not only wasn’t having any of it, he barely seemed to be aware of your protests. Either that or he was just ignoring them.
So, on Tuesday morning, you’ll apparently be leaving to join the Inquisitor on a trip to the Western Approach.
As soon as the man leaves, you sink onto your stool, dazed.
“W… what just happened?” you ask Solas, numbly.
“In my experience, that is the manner in which the Inquisitor normally invites his advance party,” Solas says, voice still rather icy and irritated with the residue of dealing with the Inquisitor. One of these days, you’d really like to learn why those two dislike each other so much. It’s got to be more than racial prejudice or a dislike for mages… both Dorian and Sera appear to have a much more neutral opinion of the Inquisitor.
“Really?” you say sarcastically, honestly in no mood to baby Solas down from his pissy perch. He’s a grown man, he can handle his own damn emotions. “He normally invites random, low-ranking menial workers along?”
Solas glances over at you, and seems to take in your state of distress a bit more completely. “…No,” he admits. “That was a first. Although you’re hardly menial, neither are you prepared for the sort of rough travel and frequent combat his advance group usually encounters.”
“Frequent combat?!”
“Yes. My first guess would be that it has something to do with that book of yours… but it seems a poor reason to drag you along for this. He could simply wait a week for you to finish and then have it sent along behind him,” Solas muses. You nod; you’d been thinking the same thing yourself, in a much more panicked manner.
“Should I talk to the Spymaster?” you wonder aloud. Did she have something to do with this? Technically, you work under her jurisdiction. From what you understand, pretty much everyone in Skyhold eventually falls under either Lady Montiliyet, Commander Rutherford, or the Spymaster. It just so happens that thanks to your antics in Val Royeaux, it’s a much more direct chain of command than it used to be.
“Perhaps. She may be able to shed some light on the Inquisitor’s thought process, since he didn’t feel the need to enlighten us himself.” Solas is back to sounding annoyed. You don’t blame him, but you sort of wish he’d focus on your impending doom instead of his squabble with the Inquisitor. “I doubt she’s yet back from the War Room, but later, perhaps…”
You rest your elbows on his desk and place your face firmly in your hands. “What am I going to do?!” you groan out loud. A fucking advance party to the Maker damned desert?! You came to Skyhold to be safe! This is the literal opposite of safe!
“Pack?” Solas suggests lightly, and you fix him with a powerful glare. He squats down next to the stool; doing so puts him beneath you, his face about level with your chest. It’s disarming, which is no doubt his intent. “It is best to be prepared. I will investigate the reasoning behind this decision myself, but now more than ever, you need to focus on healing and resting. If the Inquisitor’s mind cannot be changed—and if it can, neither of us are the ones to change it—you have my word I will keep you safe.”
“Solas, we left Skyhold for two weeks and I nearly got impaled twice! And that was just along the Imperial Highway! How are you going to protect me traveling across all of Orlais?” you protest.
“For one, I will not be doing it alone. The others in the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle are much more skilled in battle than any of the guards we had, and we will be protecting only ourselves and you.” Solas places a hand on your shoulder. He’d done something similar in Val Royeaux, while trying to comfort you. It works better than you’d like to admit. “For now, dinner, and then the healing tent.” He stands. “We’ve no more time for slow healing; you must have those bandages off tonight.”
Despite all your protests and fussing, Solas all but drags you to the healing tent after the two of you have eaten. You don’t understand why he can’t just do it; he as much as admits he’d been planning on taking over looking after your recovery, after your little bitch-fit the last time you’d had to deal with the Dalish healer.
“You are a mess,” he explains as he all but pushes you out the door. “It would be one thing if I was healing a single injury, but every time I blink, you acquire new ones.” He gestures at your hands, which of course are bruised and scraped from your earlier one-on-one match with a wall. “And your overall health is poor. If you’re to travel across Orlais and into a desert, you must be in as peak condition as you can be. Therefore, you will be looked over, by multiple experts. Perhaps if they declare it a miracle you aren’t already dead, the Inquisitor will even reconsider taking you.”
Well, you suppose you can’t argue with that.
Though you do, pretty much the entire way.
Fortunately, the Dalish, Yuki or Yuli or whatever, doesn’t appear to be here. Probably because it’s quite late. Instead, you get a different healer. She focuses on your facial injuries first, unwrapping your head and, as Solas explains the situation to her, absolutely pouring magic into the remnants of your injury. It’s enough that you feel surges of violent dizziness, which she assures you will pass, though you can barely hear her through the rushing in your ears.
After it’s over, however, you find you can open both eyes. Your vision is violently blurry and unfocused, which only serves to further your dizziness and make you equal parts concerned and nauseated.
“I suggest you wear an eye patch for a bit,” the healer recommends as you frantically wave a hand in front of your eye, trying to get it to focus. “And practice using it a few hours a day.”
“I don’t have time for that,” you snap irritably. “And besides, Iron Bull and the Chargers would never shut up about it.”
“You haven’t used it for days, and it sustained some damage. It would—”
“Assume I’m not going to wear an eye patch and move forward with your advice,” you say shortly. You don’t have time to be diplomatic, and you definitely aren’t in the mood for it. You have to figure out what to do about this Western Approach nonsense.
First, however, you’re put through a rather uncomfortably invasive physical. You’d like to say the “now cough” part is the most unpleasant, but that dubious honor actually goes to the magical portion of the exam, during which you have to play keep away with your aura. Thankfully, she’s not that thorough. She’s not looking for magic; she’s looking for physical wellbeing.
Apparently, she finds neither.
“Well. …How long have you been in Skyhold?” she asks, frowning.
“Just over or just under a month, depending on your definition of ‘in Skyhold,’” you reply shortly. “Why?”
“Well, you show signs of long term malnourishment and extreme exhaustion, as well as a just being generally banged up. You appear to be gaining weight, which is a good sign, but you could stand to sleep for about a week—”
“Yeah, not the first time I’ve heard that,” you say dryly.
“Would you say she’s not fit for travel?” Solas questions.
The woman rubs her jaw thoughtfully. “I don’t think it would kill her, though I wouldn’t feel comfortable recommending anything other than a lot of sleep and a lot of good red meat.”
“I feel I’m unlikely to get either.”
Both of them are ignoring you. “If she does travel, I will be there. Is there anything you recommend?”
“Well, you’re not walking, right? Good. I’d say try to limit her time on horseback to—” You lay back on the cot, tuning the two of them out.
Solas is far too accepting of the inevitability of this situation for your liking. For all he seems to hate the Inquisitor, he seems to assume that once his Holiness gives a command, it will be followed. He’d had a similar laissez faire attitude when the two of you had been sent to Val Royeaux… everyone had, really. You’d gotten the definite sensation that the advisors were used to sort of… working with and around the Inquisitor’s orders. Lady Montiliyet had sent the two of you, as ordered, but also her own diplomat. Leliana had doubled the guard for the trip back in a somewhat-successful attempt to prevent a repeat of the disastrous trip there.
Still, you should probably speak to Leliana about this, though you’re not really looking forward to it. You never look forward to talking to her. But where’s the benefit in dealing with her, if not here? Surely she can convince the Inquisitor it’s a poor idea to drag a linguist into a desert. If anyone can.
Solas and the healer are discussing your diet now. It’s more than a bit degrading, an opinion that you voice.
“If you were listening, I would not have to,” Solas retorts.
“Does that mean that since you’re here, I can leave?”
“You could take your health a little more seriously—”
“Why? “ you snap, angrier than you should be. “Why should I take it seriously? Would eating right and sleeping eight hours a night have saved me from Underhill? From the bandits’ arrows and blades? From whatever Maker-damned demons I might run into next? Why should I fuss over my health while everything in this fucking place endeavors to kill me?”
Solas and the healer both look taken aback. So do the nearest ten people or so. You hadn’t really meant to shout that. You run a hand over your now bandage-free face, glad your eyes won’t focus enough to let you see Solas’s expression clearly.
“…It could help?” the healer suggests awkwardly.
You clench your teeth, then take a deep breath and sit up. “I’m going to talk to my ‘boss,’” you say sourly. “I need to know what’s going on.”
“I know this day has been… tumultuous, lethallin,” Solas begins. Your glare isn’t as passionate as it could be. Describing the day as “tumultuous” is ridiculous enough that you can still glare at him despite the gentle way he said “lethallin,” but it does weaken your anger somewhat. “But Leliana is certainly still going to be in the War Room, or otherwise occupied. Storming off to find her now will most likely simply leave you outside a locked door.”
“At least that’s something!” you snap. “I’m not going to just march across the damn continent just because—”
“This conversation is best finished elsewhere,” Solas says quickly, and you belatedly realize that shouting the Inquisitor’s plans in a public area is probably a poor idea.
“You’re right,” you say with a sigh, rubbing your left eye again. “Am I done here?” you ask the healer. “I still can’t see properly. How long will it be like this?”
“Not more than a full day, if you avoid straining it. Which is why I’d recommend the eyep—”
“You heard the lady, I’m done,” you say, standing up. Then you pause. “…Is Krem still in here?” you ask, turning back to the healer. “Mercenary guy, with the Chargers.” The healer’s expression is blank. “Got run through with a spear, having some complications?” you add hopefully, and there’s a glint of recognition in her eyes.
“Oh, yes, I think so.”
“How is he? Is there any way I could visit? I didn’t get a chance to see him yesterday…”
She paused. “Well, I don’t see why not… I think they’re changing… his… bandages now?”
You’re a little worried about how uncertain she sounds about pretty much every word in that sentence, but you’re not going to question it if she’s intending to let you see him. “I won’t be in the way,” you promise.
She waves for the two of you to follow her. You think Solas does so just because he isn’t done with you and doesn’t want to give you a chance to escape. A shame… You honestly don’t feel like bickering with him anymore. You can probably do more for your case without someone looking over your shoulder. You’ll just have to ditch him later. Right now, seeing Krem is the priority, especially if you’ll be leaving in a matter of days.
“He should be just through there,” the healer says, gesturing to one of several curtained off sections of tent. They did what they could for privacy with the space they were given, but really… couldn’t they have repurposed something indoors for this?
Your mind is on this, and what can be done about it, when you push the tent aside and step into Krem’s space.
Your first thought is that you’ve gone into the wrong room, but that’s definitely Krem. It’s just that, they are definitely changing his bandages, and it’s just that, you’re realizing you never saw him shirtless before right now.
Krem gives a startled shout, and the healer tending to him looks up, surprised at the sudden entrance. Ridiculously, you turn around, flushing, only to find that Solas is doing the same. That makes sense for him, but it only serves to demonstrate how silly your actions are. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. But in your confusion, it’s the first thing you thought to do.
“S-sorry!” you exclaim into the curtain. “Sorry, I’ll just, um! Go!”
Had you been calling him the wrong words, this entire time? No, that’s stupid, everyone calls him a guy.
“No, wait, hold on,” he says, sounding strained.
“Don’t stand up!” his healer exclaims.
“I can come back later,” you begin to offer.
“No, I want to talk to you,” he says, firmly.
“I’ll just… give you some privacy, shall I?” Solas says, sounding just as strained despite not being the one who had a spear through his lung.
“Do I need to explain it to you?” Krem asks.
“Not at all,” Solas replies, still looking away.
“Alright, thanks, then,” he says, and Solas leaves before you can finish really processing what’s going on. Your mind is still grasping at straws. You had been a boy before; back in Antiva. Was it something similar? Or maybe like your numerous disguises since? But you can’t imagine the ‘why’ in any of those scenarios, and none of them feel quite right to you. All you know is that you feel like you’ve definitely done something wrong and probably rude; you’re just not sure what.
“Can you finish up here?” Krem asks, and you realize belatedly that he must be talking to the healer.
“Let me just leave!” you exclaim. “I’ll, um, wait just outside and she can send me in when she leaves?”
There’s a pause, and then, “…Alright. Just don’t run off before I can explain.”
You’re not really sure what he needs to explain, but you have to admit you’re curious. You step out of the curtained area. The healer who’d brought you here had made herself scarce, possibly realizing she’d done something she wasn’t supposed to. Or maybe just that she’d accidentally caused awkwardness.
Standing there gives you time to get your thoughts in order, though. You keep feeling like you’ve been accidentally referring to Krem as the wrong gender this entire time, and it’s making you feel a bit guilty. But he’d definitely been introduced to you as a guy. All the Chargers referred to him that way, right? You hadn’t just seen him, assumed he was a guy, and then just never been corrected? How much of an asshole are you here, exactly?
But assuming that’s not the case, you’re not an idiot, and Krem is in fact a guy… Well, it could be something like Nikolas had been for you, you suppose. You don’t know Krem’s life story. You’d presented yourself as a guy on and off your whole life. It was hard to think of Krem as someone who needed to do that, though. He had the whole of the Chargers supporting; what doors could being a man open that they couldn’t?
You still haven’t come to anything resembling a conclusion when the healer leaves and you duck back into Krem’s ‘room.’ He’s sitting up, but only thanks to a goodly number of pillows helping him do so. He’d looked bad, underneath the bandages. You’d noticed that even while you had been, uh… distracted.
“How are you doing?” you ask nervously. “I was with Bull when he got the news… yesterday?” You realize you genuinely aren’t sure. The days were all blurry and disjointed. “But they weren’t letting people in to see you.”
“It was a stupid complication,” Krem says with a scowl. “They’ve been healing me slow, to make sure I’m not crippled, but they took their damn time a bit too much, and I got a sickness in my blood. Burning it out is more painful than the damn spear was.”
You wince. Solas had talked once before about how you’d been risking a blood sickness with your poor treatment of your own injuries, and how unpleasant you’d find the treatment. “Why are they going so slowly?”
“One of my lungs was punctured by the spear, straight through. It was at risk of collapsing. I don’t pretend to understand everything they say, but I don’t have to be told a mercenary with only one lung isn’t much good.”
“Andraste…” you murmur. “…Are you going to be okay?”
Krem snorts. “Takes more than this to keep a Charger down.” Then he eyes you, a bit cautiously. “I’m assuming you have some questions?”
You twist your fingers together nervously, glancing over to the side. You just can’t beat the feeling that you’ve been stupid, and anything that you say now will only be outlining exactly in what manner you’ve been stupid. “Um…”
“I wasn’t sure whether you knew or not,” Krem says conversationally. “But the look on your face kind of confirmed you didn’t.”
“It’s just… I’m not actually sure what it is that I… didn’t… know?” you say cautiously. “I mean, I’m not sure anyone ever sat me down and said, ‘that Krem, he sure is a fellow, that’s for sure,’ you know, in that many words, but I was pretty sure that… I mean, am I wrong?” You’re blathering.
“You’re not wrong. It’s just… complicated.”
You sit down on the stool the healer had been using, not wanting to stand in the corner like a scolded schoolchild for any longer. “Could you, uh… explain it? I want to figure out in exactly which ways I’ve been an ass.”
Krem snorts. “You haven’t been. But there’s always room to try.”
You leave the healing tent slightly enlightened and slightly confused, but generally with a deeper understanding of the world.
The idea of someone having an issue with their gender had never occurred to you, though perhaps it should have, given your life. It was just like when you’d learned that some people were strictly attracted to one set of genitalia or another. In retrospect, you’d been exposed to the concept your whole life, you just hadn’t been paying any attention to it. You’d deemed it unimportant to the world and moved on, only to find out later that it was very, very important to some folks.
Now, as then, you sort of felt like the last person to be brought up to speed on something everyone else knew. How many times had you heard “oh, so and so, he likes to wear girl’s clothes!” with either giggles or shrugs afterwards depending on the company you’d been keeping at the time? You’d never thought much of it. Your own gender had been discovered by one or two of your closer ‘friends’ in Antiva, but the conversation you’d had with them hadn’t at all resembled the one Krem had just had with you.
You have little time to sort out your thoughts on the matter; Solas is waiting outside the healing tent.
“Maker, you’re determined,” you say without thinking.
“I didn’t think our own conversation was finished, but seeing your injured friend was a greater need… as was the conversation he needed to have with you,” Solas replies evenly.
“Did you know? Did… everyone? I’m trying to figure out if I’m stupid.”
“I was not surprised, but I had given it little thought,” Solas says, which really isn’t anything resembling an answer to your question. He has dodging questions down to an art, even when it seems pointless to do so.
Truly, a role model.
“This has been the most fucking… I don’t even know what’s happening with this weekend anymore,” you say, pulling your hands through your hair. It’s a mess; absent-mindedly you let it drop so you can pull it back into a better, tighter bun. “I can’t even remember what day it is, or when anything happened. I’m fairly sure we were fighting this morning, and then the Inquisitor happened, and that blew everything else out of my mind, and now this, and that blew that out of my mind… I can’t keep anything straight.”
“You need more sleep,” Solas comments, but you shrug.
“You can keep harping on that, or you can tell me something useful.”
Solas scowls, but doesn’t push it. He’ll have to be feeling a little once-bitten-twice-shy with anything regarding your sleeping habits right now. And you should be kinder and more delicate, but it has been a remarkably long day, and you’ve run short on the desire to temper your attitude.
“I should speak to Leliana… but I don’t know when she’ll be available. Do you think she’ll be around tomorrow morning?” you ask, frowning.
“I have no real way of knowing,” Solas admits. “But I will keep an eye out for her myself, as well as a few others. I need to speak with Seeker Pentaghast now that she’s returned, in any case.”
“Seeker Pentaghast?” you ask, eyebrows rising.
“Do you not remember? About the bathhouse situation.”
“Oh. I’d completely forgotten, actually.” You finish pulling your back into a bun and let your hands drop, fighting the urge to rub your eye more. It’s less frustrating in the dimness of the courtyard, but it still feels uncomfortable and out of focus. “I can’t keep track of anything these last… how long has it even been?”
“Three days,” Solas replies, and you groan.
“It feels like it’s been five months.”
“It’s surely been an ordeal for you, and I apologize that this is coming on its heels.”
“Why are you apologizing?” you demand, far more rudely than is called for.
“It seems unlikely that anyone else will.”
That brings you up short. But lacking in any real target for your anger, you wind up overcome instead. You sink down towards the ground, squatting rather than sitting and soiling your clothing in the loose dirt around the healing tent. You cradle your head in your hands again, trying to just think, you just need a second to fucking think because there has to be a way out of this, or an upside you’re not seeing. Something to make it worth it, something to make running not the smart answer, because it’s the only smart answer you see.
Solas squats down next to you, and places a hand on your shoulder, hesitantly. Before he can say anything, however, there’s another figure on your other side, another hand on your other shoulder.
“There’s a draconologist, and some ruins, lots of ruins,” Cole’s voice informs you. “Old. Tevinter. Records and memories lost to the ages, and we didn’t have anyone with us to take notes.”
You hear Solas laugh, just a short laugh, which turns into a snort at the end. “Are you attempting to bribe her, Cole?”
“She’s looking for a reason,” Cole says. A bit evasively, in your opinion. You’d been looking for a reason not to run. Anyone else might assume you’d been looking for a reason why you were being brought along. Maybe you’re a good influence on him, after all… Or maybe not, considering how he’d been more than happy to blurt out your thoughts—and Solas’s—earlier. Maybe he’s just capable of being sneaky when the situation calls for it.
That thought would probably alarm most mages, but you find it a comforting familiarity. “…What sorts of ruins?”
“Tevinter, as Cole said. One, the site of a magical incident that tore the Veil… I expect it’s largely collapsed in on itself now. And the second was an old prison.”
You perk up at the sound of that. Prisons kept records… meticulous records. That could be interesting. So could the draconologist, but neither is a good enough reason to risk your life… or an explanation as to why you’re being brought along. The Inquisitor doesn’t need your expertise on ancient Tevene… he has Dorian, who, as a bonus, is actually a capable fighter and unlikely to get slaughtered by a giant lizard or something. And if it was just a matter of the book, he could drag Solas and all of your other distractions away from you, stick you in a room, and order you to finish it at once. You’d be done inside of a week, and could send it after him with someone actually capable.
There’s so obviously something else going on here… Solas knows it too. It can’t just be that the Inquisitor is a moron… right? But if the alternative is him targeting you in some way… you’d prefer he just be an idiot. Or was someone else behind it? Madame de Fer, or Leliana?
Ugh.
You have so much work to do, and no time to do it in. Two nights and a day before the Inquisitor intends to drag you out of the castle. Damnit, you had plans! You need to get word to Banal’ras. He’s already got eyes here; you can borrow them while you’re out of the castle. And you need your own… you’ll need to speak to Thea and Celia. It’s getting late, but you might be able to catch them before bed. One of them, at least.
You glance over at Cole, who’s looking at you with calm, knowing eyes. Maybe him? Or maybe not; you don’t trust that people wouldn’t be suspicious enough to read any mail he got. And you’re not Solas, you can’t just fucking walk here in your sleep.
“I’m going,” Cole tells you.
“Going where?” you say absent-mindedly. “Is the Inquisitor sending you out again? I guess he think just because you’re a spirit, you don’t need to rest.”
“Going to the Approach. A lot of us are, I think. He thought very hard about it; balance between speed and strength.”
You blink. Solas and Cole.
“Who else is going?” you ask with a frown.
“I’m not sure,” Cole says apologetically. “Blackwall. Varric is going with Hawke.”
“The Seeker? De Fer?”
“I don’t know.”
You hum thoughtfully. There’s got to be some method to the Inquisitor’s madness. “Why bring a linguist if he needs strength and speed?” you muse, more to yourself than to Cole. “I’m the opposite of both.”
“Perhaps we can discuss this somewhere that’s not directly by the entrance to the healing tent?” Solas suggests, standing. “I fear we’ll be in the way momentarily.”
Oh. Good point. You stand as well, mind still racing. “Solas, I’m going to go to bed,” you lie. He opens his mouth, but you cut off any protestations. “If you’re still worried, Cole can walk me there. You don’t mind, do you, Cole?”
“I don’t mind.”
“See? If you get the chance to talk to anyone about what the Inquisitor’s thinking, I’d appreciate it… It might be taken better coming from you than me. But don’t stay up late on my behalf… You’re leaving in a few days as well.”
Solas’s eyes are piercing. He obviously thinks (knows) you’re up to something, but it’s not like he can really do anything based on vague suspicion.
“…Alright. Do your best to rest more. I’ll attempt to speak to Leliana or Seeker Pentaghast before I retire for the night.”
After your goodnights are out of the way, you wrap your arm around Cole’s. “Alright, my valiant protector. To safety!”
Solas rolls his eyes, but heads off himself.
“We’re not actually going to your room,” Cole says, a bit accusatorily.
“Sure we are; we’re just not staying there. Come on.”
“You’re going where?!”
“Sssshhhh!” you hiss, glancing around. There doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the corridor outside the kitchen. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be telling people.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because it’s weird! Isn’t it? I’m not cut out for this sort of thing, Celia!”
“Did Solas ask him to bring you?”
“No, Solas was as surprised as me… we got the news at the same time. Do you think anyone else would have?”
“I can’t imagine who…”
“Me neither,” you say with a sigh. “I just don’t understand what the Inquisitor is thinking. Anyway, since I don’t know how long Solas and I will be gone, I wanted to give you an advance—”
“But you only pay me to bring food to Solas! There won’t be anything for me to do.”
“Do you think I’ll be raring to spend money in the desert? I’d rather it go somewhere it can do some good. Besides, you can keep an eye on things for me, right? Like the farm… they’re working with the kitchen anyway, right?”
“That’s true, but what on earth can I do with the farm?”
“Just make sure they’re okay. If they need anything, can you write it down for me? I might get to a place where I can send and receive mail; who knows. If nothing else, if I get back in one piece, I can deal with it then.”
“Don’t you think anything they need would have been taken care of by then?” Celia points out.
“If it does, then it’s a moot point,” you say with a shrug. “But I don’t have any delusions that anyone will be bending over backwards to help the elven farm out without Fenris here to lean pointedly over shoulders.”
“Well, it’s no skin off my nose to just keep an eye on things and listen to what they need,” Celia says with a shrug.
“Thanks, Celia. Do you mind keeping an eye on Solas’s room and workshop, too?” She stiffens. “You don’t need to go in or anything, just… walk by every now and then, make sure no one’s tried to mess with it.”
“Do you think someone will?”
“No, but I didn’t think anyone would punch me in the face, either.”
Celia is taken care of, with more ease than you would have thought. You’re definitely doing a good job easing her into the concept of telling you things for money. If you weren’t leaving for a few damn months, you could make even more progress. Friggin Inquisitor…
You can’t go to Thea this evening; there’s no way you could get away with skulking around that close to Solas. You’ll have to catch her at breakfast tomorrow. You can probably count on her for a regular stream of gossip out of Skyhold.
Cole, Blackwall, and Solas are going. Not a bad group… Now that you know you can trust Cole, the idea of going on a long trip with him is appealing. He and Solas would definitely have your back…
Still, there’s nothing more you can do tonight. You meander back towards your room, thoughts in the clouds.
Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.