Epilogue

He was starting to break a sweat despite the bracing chill of the Frostback Mountains. His laboured breath condensing inside of his helmet, he blocked the Knight-Captain's blade handily, pushing against her steel and forcing her back a pace. Swinging with his own, he brought his sword down on her hard, and she raised her shield just in time to avoid the blow, slamming him in the chest plate with it as his weapon ricocheted harmlessly away.

On the outskirts of the sparring pen in the courtyard, new recruits worked with the less impressive tools of the trade, but nevertheless important ones: shovels. "Is there anything more stupid than shovelling snow when it's still snowing?" He caught the fatigued muttering of one of the younger men.

Cullen removed his helmet and strode up to the low fence, glaring hard at the speaker. "I'd say complaining about your duties within earshot of your Commander tops the list of 'stupid' things, wouldn't you, recruit?"

None of the diggers had been aware of Commander Cullen's close proximity, and the look of fear in the recruit's eyes spoke volumes as he straightened and saluted immediately. "Yes, ser! Sorry, ser!"

He turned back to the centre of the ring, adding in a tone of disdain, "And if I hear any more whining out of any of you, I'll have you digging and refilling ditches from dawn till dusk for a week!"

"Yes, ser," they shouted in acknowledgement, saluting in turn.

"As you were!" Tossing his helmet aside as they began shovelling the fresh powder with renewed vigour, he faced the templar again, raising his shield and nodding after a moment in signal to resume the training.

"I like your style, Commander," she complimented him, shifting to and fro on the heels of her steel boots, trampling the heavy snow underfoot.

"Someone has to discipline these louts. Following orders to the letter is more important to me than their job satisfaction." They crossed blades as he blocked her advance, side-stepping her next swing and making contact with her shield, the satisfying clang of the metal ringing out through the courtyard.

"It is pretty pointless, though - ser," Scout Harding commented wryly from the sidelines, leaning on the railing as she observed their sparring. Michel de Chevin stood next to her, paying rapt attention to the proceedings along with an assortment of other templars. Cullen had invited what remained of the Templar Order into his forces to rebuild it and get it back on its feet, as per the wishes of Vivienne, Madame de Fer, now better known throughout Thedas as Divine Victoria.

"The point, Harding," he grunted, throwing all his muscle into another heavy blow, "is to build stamina and learn obedience. Winter is coming, and with all the extra snow, I can make this exercise last as long as necessary, which is convenient for me."

He could hear the smirk on the lips of the templar, her black hair coming loose beneath her helmet as she thrust toward him. "And inconvenient for your mouthier subordinates, I see."

He deflected her blade in time, his scarred lip turning up. "Break! Nice footwork. Tie your hair back before it gets in your eyes, Knight-Captain."

"They are building character as well as muscle," the chevalier piped up, his chin resting in his hand as he leaned against the fence.

"You see?" Cullen pointed at the blond man with the end of his sword in indication, "Michel gets it."

"I trained similarly as a young man in Orlais. It is good to see Ferelden adopting similar methods," he said, approval evident in his voice.

Cullen arched a brow, his brown eyes gleaming mischievously. "And how do you know it wasn't the other way round, de Chevin?"

Michel straightened, his hand resting on his hilt. "I do not. It could have been. I meant no disrespect, Commander."

"None taken," he said, crouching as he slammed his sword against his shield. "Care to stretch that sword arm?" From his vantage point, Cullen watched as a lone pilgrim raced out of the main hall and moved quickly down the stone steps.

Smiling, Michel reached behind his back to unhook his round shield. "Is it my turn, already? Well, and so it is! Perhaps your templars will benefit from seeing a different fighting style in action."

After the Knight-Captain bowed respectively, she walked to the edge of the pen and exchanged a soldierly pat on the back with the chevalier. "All right, now , pay attention, men! See how a - "

Just then, a flood of pilgrims and chantry sisters flowed out after the man before them in a hurry, catching Cullen's full attention. Alarm bells rang loudly as they reached the courtyard and scattered, panicked cries escaping them as they went. Frowning, Michel turned to see what was amiss, and caught the robed arm of a fleeing mage.

"What's going on up there?" Cullen asked the woman sternly, authority flooding his voice.

"C-Commander," she stammered, trying to detach the firm grip holding her there, "the witch in the garden - she found that big elven mirror thing - It's glowing - active, or something!" The mage finally wrenched free, fleeing toward the stairs that led to the arcane research tower.

Michel turned to Cullen suddenly, his eyes wide with shock. "The Eluvian?" Not sparing another second, the chevalier jumped the fence and drew his sword, charging up the staircase for the prayer garden. Cullen, the Knight-Captain, and Scout Harding followed close behind, and with a glance to one another, the remaining templars that had gathered around the ring for the exercise charged up the steps, as well.

They pushed through the wooden doors to the left and emerged in the garden, leaping the stone wall and landing next to the planters as they spotted the ethereal glow of the Eluvian in the side room straight ahead. His men on his tail, Cullen charged on, his weapon at the ready.

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast was already present, having been interrupted by the disturbance during her hour of prayer in the chapel. "By the Maker, I demand to know what is going on in here, Morrigan," she was already shouting as he entered, their armoured boots ceasing in their noisy scraping upon their approach.

Morrigan turned to them, ice in her tone as she glared impatiently. "And as soon as I discover that for myself, I shall inform you!"

"Move aside," Cullen ordered her curtly, eyeing the artefact with a keen mistrust.

"So you can destroy it? Hardly," the raven-haired apostate glowered, standing near her prized possession protectively.

Michel de Chevin came to Cullen's side, eyes wide with wonder. "Someone has opened the Eluvian from the other side," he uttered, dumbfounded. He inspected the glowing face of the elven mirror with cautious fascination.

Harding gulped, her trained bow and arrow relaxing slightly as her eyes widened, trading a glance with the chevalier. "The other side of what?"

The sound of rushing wind flooded the packed room, and with a sudden, bright flash, a figure stepped through the event horizon of the Eluvian, a large hat and tussled fair hair obscuring his face. His leathers were patched in places, straps of reinforced cotton crossed over his chest, and two wicked-looking daggers lay sheathed on his back. Instantly, he jerked back and dropped the rucksack he was carrying, as surprised by their presence as they were at his.

"Oh," he said softly, glancing at everyone in turn.

Cassandra held up her sword before the newcomer, glaring fiercely. The confusion mounting with the tension, the Knight-Captain straightened stiff as a board just behind Cullen's shoulder, muttering something breathlessly as she ran back out of the room without warning. Though he wanted to turn and reprimand her for seemingly fleeing the confrontation, he kept his eyes trained on the young man. "Identify yourself," he commanded loudly, bristling.

"They said it would be safe," the young man cried, startled, shaking his head in denial. "This isn't safe!" He stepped back hurriedly, his hands feeling desperately behind him for the open portal. As though on cue, the enchanted doorway at his back blinked shut with a whoosh! just as he reached it, finding the Eluvian dishearteningly deactivated. "Wait! Halani!" He turned his back on them, placing his palms on the face of the artefact and hitting it uselessly, as though his knocking would reopen the way.

Seeing that the boy was frightened, Michel lowered his arm and relaxed his expression to one of curiosity. "Who are you?" He asked calmly, hoping to diffuse the situation.

The young man turned swiftly, his back against the surface of the Eluvian, and he looked around the room as if searching for a familiar face. "I am me," he answered, clasping his hands meekly before himself. He met the commander's stare and stepped toward him, hope in his obscured eyes. "Cullen, don't you remember?" He shot a glance at the Seeker, holding his hands out toward her. "Cassandra, it's me... I'm Cole."

"How do you know my name?" Cullen asked, wholly taken aback by this stranger. "I've never seen you before in my life!"

Cassandra raised her sword, apprehension materialising behind her eyes. "It's a demon!"

Cole's shoulders sank in defeat, backing away as his hat shook from side to side. "No... You forgot me."

Morrigan stepped in at that moment, her brow arched in disbelief. "You do not recall having met this poor creature?" She asked pointedly, turning her yellow eyes on all in turn. "None of you?" She crossed her arms before herself, shifting her weight on a hip as she rolled her eyes in disgust. "Ugh. Pitiful."

"Wait," Harding breathed, lowering her bow in surprise. "I don't know who he is, but I recognise that pack plainly enough..." She turned her gaze on Cullen, worry etching a line between her brows. "It's the Inquisitor's."

Utterly shocked, Cullen and Cassandra traded an alarmed glance, simultaneously relaxing their intimidating stances as their mouths dropped open wordlessly. This man not only knew their names, but had in his possession a rucksack belonging to Inquisitor Lavellan. Perhaps they were mistaken somehow, but damned if he knew why they could not call his face to mind.

Cole cautiously inched toward the bag, grabbing it up and holding it before him protectively. "I-I-I tried to help her, but... she was sick... Then the wolf came for her."

Morrigan jerked at his revelation, astounded. "The wolf?" She repeated, something in his words triggering recognition within her.

"Yes," he nodded to the witch, turning back to the gathered forces as he fidgeted with the bag to open it. "But then, the dragon came out..." He paused, looking down in remorse. "She fought... She didn't win."

Cullen felt a lump harden in his gut, veins turning to ice under his skin. "Where is Lavellan now?" He asked, his voice wavering.

Cole met his eyes, his ghostly face still and sombre. "Lavellan is gone," he said simply.

Cassandra stepped back a pace, her brown eyes full of pain. "Maker, no," she prayed, her hand over her heart beneath her silverite chest plate. Harding reeled, leaning against the wall for support as her knees gave way, Michel coming to her side as his head lowered in remorse. All the while, Cullen stood stock still, unable to register the impact of the young man's words.

At this, Cole looked down and opened the flap of the rucksack and slowly pulled free a burned, mud-stained, and torn garment, its colour and features unmistakable. His gut wrenching in agony, Cullen reached forward hesitantly and took the proffered cloak with a shaking hand, blade and shield clanging hopelessly against the stone floor of the small side room. Eyes burning, he held the draping cloth over his forearms, grasping at the matted fur between his gauntlets.

Cole stepped close, his voice just above a whisper. "She said to tell you, 'Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?'"

Laughing unexpectedly, Cullen covered his mouth as his heart shattered in his aching chest. Unable to recover his breath, he turned from the room and strode away quickly into the garden, tears of grief escaping as he passed the Knight-Captain upon her reappearance, dragging a dark-haired, bearded mage with her insistently.

"Well, I hope you're this excited later, Evangeline. I've got something I'd like to show you, too! What's this all about?" He asked her playfully.

The templars filed out of the room, followed by Michel de Chevin, Scout Harding, and Seeker Cassandra, who moved to join Cullen as he plunked down on a bench and buried his face in his ruined cloak.

The mage shook his head slowly, looking at the woman next to him in confusion. "What's happened here?"

Evangeline removed her helmet to uncover her black hair, a soft smile on her face as Cole emerged from the room, looking worn and hesitant as he glanced around the frosted gardens of Skyhold. Then his eyes caught sight of the mage and the templar on the other side of the well, and he froze in total disbelief as they traded stares of unabashed recognition with one another.

"Rhys," Cole croaked, his voice cracking with emotion.

Suddenly finding his feet, Rhys made his way across the grass to his friend, Evangeline following on his heels. Without waiting a moment longer, the Knight-Captain threw her arms around the spirit boy, practically tackling him, the spirit medium joining her in their embrace.

"Cole," Rhys grinned in greeting, his tone hoarse.

Unable to contain his joy at their reunion, he gripped his friends desperately, as if he could scarcely believe they were real, and they held him close as he began to weep with relief at having found them again.

At long last, Cole was finally home...