You and Solas are in his quarters, seated near the fire as you help Cole decipher the meanings of a few human idioms he picked up from the other companions.

Cole is perched on a low stool, his tilted head reflecting his curiosity and constant search for understanding.

Cole’s voice breaks the quiet atmosphere. “They say things like, ‘a penny for your thoughts.’ But they don’t want the thoughts; they want you to talk. Why not just ask?” He shifts in his seat, his pale blue eyes flicking between you and Solas.

Solas, ever patient, leans forward. “Humans often soften direct inquiries with such phrases, Cole. It is less about the penny and more about showing concern.”

“Soft words for sharp things,” Cole murmurs, nodding slowly. He looks at you. “But when you ask, it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like being wrapped in warm blankets after the cold.”

You smile at the analogy. “That’s because we want to make sure you feel safe, Cole. You’re allowed to share only what you’re comfortable with.”

He brightens at your words, his smile faint but genuine. “Safe. Yes. That’s what it feels like. That’s why I like being here. With Mother... and Father.”

Both you and Solas freeze. The fire crackles, its warmth suddenly more intense. Cole tilts his head, as if he doesn’t notice the slip.

“Father?” Solas repeats, his tone carefully measured, though you can see the faintest flicker of surprise in his light violet-grey eyes.