Endure

"The Inquisitor often visits me up here and there and there," came a flat and yet somehow engaging voice as he walked up the stairs. "But when he comes, he comes by another name; not Herald or Lord, only…Olivier." Cole paused. "…Hello, Olivier."

"Hello, Cole," the man in question said softly with a half smile. "Let’s get out of this attic, shall we? It’s quite stuffy."

The pale boy nodded shortly after a moment of consideration, and followed Olivier to the ramparts. Cole wasn’t sure when he began to ramble again, but Olivier just listened - always listened. When Blackwall was cruel or Cullen became uncomfortable or Solas started treating him more than human; when Vivienne looked at him as if he were going to attack her on sight or Sera aimed an arrow at his head or Cassandra walked faster to pass him; Cole had begun to use the phrase as a mantra - 'Olivier always listens.' Curious.

"Why do you listen to me?" Cole interrupted himself, and Olivier had to jolt slightly out of his relaxed reverie. "You find me and ask me to talk and you just listen and you do it often. Why do you always listen?"

That was an odd question, Olivier thought, and he had to chuckle. “I’ve been found out, it seems,” he admitted, palms raised in resignation. He thought carefully, considering the boy in front of him. “I enjoy listening to you. I don’t know if you realize, but the way you speak… It’s quite poetic.” With a wandering step, Olivier leaned against the stone of the rampart, mulling his words over. How to explain peaceful companionship to a boy who, until very recently, didn't even have an identity of his own?

“…You are not like everyone else, Cole, but not only in the obvious ways,” Olivier murmured, amber eyes surveying the tips of the Frostbacks. “You are constantly in pain, yet innocent. You are not fully human, but you understand humanity better than anyone. And…you feel.” His eyes suddenly burned into Cole’s own, in a pleasant, warm way. “I am…astonished, by how much you feel, Cole, and at times…envious. I existed for far too long wrapped completely in my own world, hardly considering how others were affected by my grasps for power or how the things I changed would echo across the land, and my youth was...misspent, because of it. But you,” Olivier murmured, stepping forward to grasp Cole’s slim shoulders, “You have a gift that allows you to be more human, more giving, more empathetic than anyone." He smiled then, softly, gently. "I treasure you as I would a son.”

Cole was silent, staring at this great man, this man of power, in awe, and a feeling that felt something like embers in his chest for a long moment.

"…Cold, at first, then hot. Your father’s hand was cold but the pain was hot and sent you reeling. You didn’t hate him but you held no love for him… Determination, a chance to reclaim what you never had," Cole stated, his gaze beyond Olivier. “‘I will not be like him. Not like Father.’ No, you won’t be. You’re good."

Olivier was as still as ice before sighing and patting Cole’s shoulders one last time. “I’ll talk to you later, Cole,” he murmured gently over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. With each step, Cole could see the Inquisitor coming to light, as if the man who was Olivier Trevelyan was buried deep underneath an armor of cool, composed leader and clever charm. And in a way, he was.

"…Olivier always listens," Cole said to himself confidently as he headed back to his attic. He knew it would always be true.