Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's Note: Why would they do that dialogue option though like why it's given me the feels so bad and then this was born.

OUBLIETTE

"I'm going to lose my memories?"

I.

The very thought of forgetting anything keeps Trevelyan awake for the night.

She can't imagine forgetting how the air in the Frostbacks is so cold that she can feel it biting into her bones. The way that those who support the Inquisition look to her with eyes so wide and hopeful, that she has to stuff her doubts down her throat and try and be brave for them. The way something in her chest shifts when she feels like she's legitimately made a difference.

She can't imagine forgetting the way her throat constricts when she thinks of her deceased older sibling, let alone his face. The way the Anchor feels, a notable burning sensation stretching from her palm, transforming into tingles down her fingers. The sound of Dorian's laugh, of Cassandra's frustrated huff, and of Cole's nonsensical chattering about what he feels around him.

The way Cullen always touches her face with such gentleness.

No.

At the same time, Trevelyan cannot imagine turning her back on something she's wanted since she was small.

She cannot imagine looking at herself at eight years old, and telling her the heartbreaking truth of lyrium, of how it's used to control those who serve under the Templar Order, and how it could very well ruin her. Because her eight year old self would simply look back at her with unyielding green eyes and say, "I want to protect my brother in the Circle."

Maker, she never did get that chance, did she?

He is dead. But her desire to protect remains.

She has the chance. She took it after careful consideration.

There was a part of her that expected Cullen to be proud, perhaps, in a small way. He understands, after all – he was a templar himself and joined for the same reasons: to protect. Even though he left because he knew he could do better for himself and for others, that core concept, that core motivation remained. But there's none of that, only concern, and frustration and reconsider.

The conversation plays over. About how she could lose her memories because of the lyrium. The way his hands clenched uselessly at his sides and how he's clearly remembering the feel of lyrium and trying to fight against it, like a man reaching for the exit in the sky. And as much as that upsets her, she still can't find it in her to believe that this was the wrong choice.

Trevelyan wonders if the Red Templars forgot their loved ones.

There is no denying she cares for Cullen and what they've only just begun building between them – so new, fragile, fresh. There is also no denying that she thinks for herself, for now, this is the best course of action, no matter how anxious she feels at the very thought of forgetting. That this is how Trevelyan can make a greater difference not only as the Inquisitor or for the Inquisition, but for the templars themselves, and even the mages.

To show that the faceless, cruel templars of some Circles do not represent the majority. To show that templars and mages can work together – after all, the rebel mages under Fiona's guidance stand with her. That there is a chance for everyone.

She is alright so far. She could always stop the lyrium later, right?

On the way from Crestwood well over a week after the conversation, Trevelyan decides to ask those around her about memory loss pertaining to lyrium.

Alistair, the Grey Warden they have acquired, mentions that he heard of it during his templar training, but never saw it around him. "When I heard about it, it had been such a horrifying thought. But honestly, at that point, I wasn't sure I would hate it down the road. To forget the times I felt neglected and unwanted wouldn't have been so bad, I suppose. To forget the Hero of Ferelden's dea… I… As if I would've been able to choose what I forget and what I remember. That's a laugh. You bring up interesting topics, Inquisitor."

Cassandra's seen it in other templars, and mentions how thankful she is that she is a Seeker. "I would not want to forget Most Holy or my family, no matter how numerous and troublesome they are. I learnt a lot from them all. It is those lessons that I would be scared of forgetting. But when you see it in other good men and women, sometimes it is a gift."

Vivienne treats the conversation with an almost clinical detachment, listing the positive and negative effects of losing one's memory. But she does wonder about why memory loss affects templars as opposed to mages, seeing as they both use lyrium. "It is the same thing, and yet it affects each of us differently. I don't know of any mages who forget like some templars have. I suppose it would be because they were ordinary, once; and we mages never were."

Varric is uncomfortable with the conversation and the thought. But he trails off, "I've heard of it, stories back from Orzammar from the miners who didn't take the precautions and all. But the look on Bartrand's face when he couldn't remember… Couldn't focus on anything but the song…" And that's enough for Hawke, in his own special way, to interject and tell a story about an older templar who came to take his Father and sister to the Circle, only to forget why he arrived.

It sounds more common place than Trevelyan thought, and it scares her.

"Is there something wrong?" Cassandra eventually inquires, her posture still stiff as they pass through mud and past another Inquisition camp. She glances quickly at Varric, seeing how the dwarf's shoulders are slumped uncharacteristically, before continuing, "If you are having trouble with the lyrium, I would imagine there would be other side effects first as opposed to forgetting."

"No," Trevelyan says. "It was just a thought."

"Just something Curly said," Varric amends.

"You know I really don't like it when you do that."

Hawke huffs, "If he didn't stop doing it to me about Merrill, then there's no chance he'll stop doing it to you. Best to learn to love it."

Cassandra's mouth twists into a half-smile a little, "There is nothing to be concerned about, Inquisitor. What Cullen described to you occurs in older templars, and it is not as widespread as it may seem. I apologise if my comments worried you further."

"It's not that," she says, twisting her hands.

"You are capable, and strong. I do not think that will be your fate."

Trevelyan asks, "What about people?"

Cassandra silences at that, narrowing her eyes; and then she moves up ahead, as though she personally wants nothing more to do with the conversation. Vivienne won't look at her. Varric says something about needing a drink when they return to Skyhold. Hawke and Alistair exchange glances, the latter holding in a sigh.

"Do they forget people?" she asks again.

No one will answer her.

She doesn't sleep that night either.

Trevelyan decides to spend as much time as possible memorising absolutely everything.

The way her heart is lodged in her throat as they approach Adamant. The warm rush of wind. The way the sand beneath her feet parts with every step. Alistair's uncertainty. Hawke's anger. The fear in the eyes of the Grey Wardens. The troops who love her and will die for her. Her companions' willingness to help her.

She stands before Adamant and readies her sword and shield. She calls on the lyrium, so new in her blood, so that she may use her templar abilities as best as she can. And it sings. It sings so prettily, like her Mother's lullabies and the sound of her brother's magic. She hopes she never forgets that.

She meets Cullen eyes for a split second and then runs in after Hawke and Alistair.

She thinks for a moment that she's having an off week, but it's happening to often in such a short space of time.

Trevelyan knows.

Its small things at first. Forgetting how she is supposed to greet Orlesian officials in an aloof manner rather than the directness that is required of Ferelden officials. Forgetting that Adamant was not situated in the Hissing Wastes, but rather in the Western Approach. Putting the wrong token on the war table – or putting it in the wrong location. Just little, forgivable things that could be surmised to exhaustion. She's the Inquisitor and she's trying to save the world, after all.

Soon it becomes things that are more important.

What day was her brother's birthday again? Where is the dagger she wants to give to Cole for his collection? Where is the last rogue templar that Cassandra wanted to deal with? When was the last time Varric laughed?

Some answers she finds. The dagger is where she left it, on her table, polished and ready to give to the strange boy who finds them so fascinating. The last rogue templar – Ser Hildebrandt it was, she thinks – is in the Exalted Plains. Varric hasn't laughed properly since the last game of Wicked Grace, because he is still in mourning over the loss of Hawke at Adamant – in the Fade –weeks ago now.

She never does remember brother's birthday.

This can't just be exhaustion.

Trevelyan hopes the other members don't notice. They have their own lives and their own problems – she doesn't need to add to their burden. Her newfound templar abilities are useful on the field, against all sorts of enemies. Solas is always particularly grateful when she defends him, and Vivienne is critical – but encouraging – on her technique. Cassandra practices with her and they bond. So she will endure this… forgetfulness. She can stop the lyrium when it's over.

Trevelyan is content with that until the day she cannot find something most precious.

She hears heavy steps – always evenly spaced – but she doesn't notice because where is it?

"Inquisitor," Cullen begins, and if she weren't so focused on her search, then she would've heard the telltale shuffle of papers and most likely noticed his own exhaustion. "I would not disturb you if weren't necessary, but I was wondering if we could go over the allocation of soldiers to the Arbor Wilds. I'm concerned it's insufficient."

She doesn't answer, too busy tearing apart her room looking for this one small, simple thing that should've been right there, and it's not, and she doesn't want to lose it for Maker's sake. It's important. It's too important. It means so much.

"Lady Trevelyan?" Cullen asks. She doesn't catch the worry in his voice.

"Where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The…" She can't find words. "I can't find it, I…"

Cullen puts his papers down on her table and grabs her hands. He notices that they're shaking. But Trevelyan won't settle, even now her eyes are looking around the room at places she may have forgotten. Cullen tries again, much softer this time, wondering what it is that she's misplaced that's sent her into such a panic, "What is it?"

Trevelyan still can't find the words and she's so distant…

He releases her hands, takes a step back and asks, "What does it look like? I'll help."

"Small, round. Grey, flat."

"Alright."

He's already on his way to her bookshelf – she always leaves random, small things there – when she suddenly exhales in a loud rush, relief flooding through her voice. "It's here. It's alright. It's here. Everything's alright."

When he turns to look, he can't help but blink owlishly.

It's his lucky coin. The one he had since he was a boy. The one he gave to her.

Cullen is surprised to find her staring at it in her hand, furrowing her eyebrows with such intensity that it made him wonder what is running through her mind. He's about to ask if she's alright now when she begins speaking quickly, almost stumbling over her words; unlike her, "I thought – I thought it was in its usual pocket, but it wasn't and I just… Don't want to lose this. You gave it to me after the events at Adamant. At the lake. Therefore, it's special. I didn't want to lose it. It was… It was in my other pocket. It shouldn't be there."

Cullen watches as Trevelyan puts the coin into her right pocket – and she makes sure it's her right one, he can see the thought cross her mind – before she exhales, trying to calm herself. But she is concerned about something. It's obvious to him. It's been very obvious to Leliana, and even Josephine, who asks him at every opportunity if something is wrong.

He didn't think there was, but now seeing this, he isn't sure.

"Are you well?" Cullen asks, approaching her and wringing his hands nervously. The soldiers can wait for a moment – he's probably just being pedantic again, wanting to ensure the best protection possible for her when they storm the Arbor Wilds in a few days.

"Yes," she responds almost mechanically, shutting her eyes and still recollecting herself.

"Are… we well?"

Her eyes, bright like the sun bursting through leaves, open immediately and without hesitation and with plenty of conviction, responds, "Of course."

"Is there… something you need to tell me? Is there something bothering you?"

"No. I'm just having a bad day. Don't worry about me. What was it you came in here for, Cullen?"

He nods a little, passing her and recollecting the papers he brought in, and begins to go over with her the allocation of soldiers for the Arbor Wilds. But as he continues to speak, he gets the distinct feeling that although Trevelyan is trying to listen and pitch in, she's just unable to. Especially given the way she continues to rub one of her temples.

"Are you in pain?"

"Cullen, stop."

"You are not yourself."

"I said stop."

So he does, mumbling something and looking down at his shoes, but he can't hide the concern. Trevelyan sees it strongest in the way he runs his gloved hand along her spine, the gesture clearly being partly concerned, partly affectionate and partly apologetic. She says she doesn't want to burden him – and cuts him off before he has the chance to say otherwise – and affirms that the soldiers allocated are adequate for the attack in two weeks time.

"If there is nothing else, Commander," Trevelyan remarks, shuffling on her feet, "then you may go."

Cullen hesitates for several moments on his feet before reminding her that if she requires anything, he will be in his office, preparing for the assault on the horizon.

Trevelyan only moves away from the desk once she is sure he's left. She stares at her hands and thinks harder about her brother's birthday, but it never comes.

She remembers his face, the sound of his obnoxious voice, the day he found out he had magic, the day he was taken to the Circle and the day that he died; but not the day he would stuff his face with cake and love the attention.

Within moments, she punches the wall, crosses back to her desk and pulls out a blank sheet and, once she remembers where she put her quill, begins to write a request to Josephine.

It's on the Ambassador's desk within the hour.