The Inquisitor's Ghost

by nothelping

She met him in the dungeons of the White Spire. She was the only one who could see him, remember him. Five years later, and Cole was back in her life, appearing out of thin air, just like the ghostly apparition he was, tempting her with something she could never have. Because every mage knew: Never take a demon into your soul. You'll change yourself forever.

2. Chapter 2 - Ember

The Inquisitor's Ghost

Chapter 2 – Ember

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls

From these emerald waters doth life begin anew

Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you

In my arms lies Eternity

- Andraste 14:11

A low, sinister feminine chuckle echoed within the prison cell as a young human woman watched the eight templars flee from her like frightened vermin. They limped away, a few still groaning in pain from the damage she'd inflected upon them, each holding either a black eye, an injured limb, or a pair of damaged testacles. Her eyes gleamed from beneath her lashes as she watched the templars from behind the metal bars, priding herself on the destruction she'd left in her wake.

She dragged her thumb across her split lip, removing the blood that had accumulated there. Her thumb lingered on the cut in her bottom lip and her lips curved dangerously as she listened to the conversation the fleeing templars were having.

So, the little templar named André liked raping imprisoned female mages who couldn't fight back, did he?

While she knew nothing about men - having never even been kissed - she wasn't ignorant to the atrocities a man could inflict upon a woman. But no man would ever rape her.

They'd die first.

If the little templar dared to try and put his hands on her, he would meet the Maker slowly, painfully, begging for mercy. Despite the mana draining bars that caged her, she would pull everything she could from the Fade and unleash it upon him.

She would destroy him.

And she would smile while she did it.

But the templars weren't coming back. She could hear their footsteps getting fainter and fainter. She heard the slam of heavy doors, the bolts crashing into place, leaving her alone with only her thoughts and the rats to keep her company.

Ember breathed in steadily, then out again as she heard nothing at all except the cries of the tormented and deranged that echoed around her.

Her eyes narrowed on the bars in front of her face and she turned away from them with a look of disgust. She moved across the small cell to the side wall. The hobble made it difficult. Her leg hurt where one of those bastards had kicked her. But she did not think it was broken – it took her weight when she tested it. It was a mere flesh wound.

She'd suffered far worse in her few years.

With a wince she lowered her bruised and battered body to the filthy floor that stunk of mold, blood, and death. How many had died in this exact spot? She wondered with a grimace of revulsion.

A huge brown rat scurried across the floor, running toward the darkness on the other side of her cell.

What a wonderful way to celebrate your eighteenth birthday, Ember thought with a snort as she adjusted on the dirty floor to press her back against the stone wall, heavy exhaustion following in the wake of blood-pumping adrenaline. The sad thing was this wasn't even the worse birthday she'd ever had. Her birthdays had always been cursed. The worst days of her life had all been on her birthday.

Her hand came up to rub tenderly at her throbbing and swollen jaw. Her face ached where one of the templars had hit her. There was blood and a piece of broken tooth in her mouth. She spat it out on the floor.

With a weary sigh, she bent her knees and rested her elbows on them. A faint tremble shook her. Nerves and stress. She hadn't slept in days. Hadn't eaten a real meal in twice that time – a loaf of bread stretched between. They wouldn't feed her much here, she knew. But she didn't expect to be here long. She'd escaped jail cells in the past and she would do so again.

Although, this time might take a little more finesse, she thought glumly as she eyed the magically enhanced bars that imprisoned her.

She'd heard stories of this place – the dungeons of the White Spire Tower in Val Royeaux were feared by every mage in Thedas. The bars here drew on a mage's mana, draining it to nothing, like a leech sucking the blood of its victim. She could feel it, feel the magic they contained reaching out to try and extinguish her power.

Ember blew a red springy curl away from her face as she looked around her prison cell. This place was dark and bitter cold and wet with dried blood splashed across the dirty stone floor. A foul mix of odors stung her nostrils - rot, urine, blood, and decay. There was nothing in the cell except for a dirty chamber pot in the corner.

Her heart sank. She was locked away, caged, trapped in a small metal box. She was left to rot in a grimy, cramped space, wrapped in almost total darkness.

An airless void rose up, threatening to choke her. She prayed to the Maker that this would not be her grave.

No. Her head shook adamantly, dark crimson curls whipping around her face. I will not die here. I am destined for something… greater.

Ember nodded resolutely. She would escape this dismal place, or die trying. And once she escaped, she would pay a little visit to the person that had betrayed her to the templars. Her eyes glittered maliciously at the thought. She didn't run from her problems. She ran through them, like a battering ram. And there was no question that the one who'd betrayed her trust was a problem, one she would deal with in time.

Her gaze fell, her head tilted. The rat was back, nibbling on the laces of her thigh-high leather boot. Despite herself, the corner of her mouth pulled up into a smirk. This one was bold, fearless, reckless. She liked it. It reminded her of herself, a kindred spirit. She wondered how the little guy felt being locked away in this place, not free to roam the wild and overgrown forests just outside the White Spire Tower?

Feeling a vulnerability she rarely felt, Ember wrapped her arms around her knees. The cold was biting, seeping through her coppery chainmail armor, down into her skin, and aching in her bones. She'd dreaded being locked up like this ever since her eighth birthday when she'd set the family barn on fire with only her hands.

Her parents had tortured her, maimed her, left deep and lingering scars on her body and mind. But they couldn't break her and when they couldn't, her parents turned her over to the templars without a backward glance, thankful to be rid of her and her cursed magic. But she didn't go quietly with the templars.

Not willingly. Never willingly.

Even as a child she was too unruly, her will too strong, her spirit to wild. Even at the age of eight, Ember knew she'd rather die than be caged, than be forced into obedience, than be the servant of another's will.

After her parents' betrayal, she'd managed to escape from the clutches of the templars. As soon as she broke free of them she ran, she ran as fast as her little legs could take her, and she's been running ever since.

Apostate. That was the name they branded her with. But that detested title never stopped her from tempting fate - or making it obey her will.

She'd run from her home in the solitary country of Orlais to a small village in Ferelden.

Lothering.

It was by pure chance that she'd come across a friendly family of warriors and apostates. A gentle man named Malcolm Hawke and his wife Leandra and their three children Marian, Carver, and Bethany had taken her in, protecting her, saving her. She'd been only a child of eight summers when she'd met the Hawke family, while Marian had been eighteen and the twins sixteen.

Malcolm and Bethany had taught her about magic. They taught her how to wield it and an arsenal of spells. But they taught her how to hide her magic from recognition, to keep her identity as an apostate hidden. Carver had made her run for miles, building her muscles by making her engage in strenuous physical exercises. Leandra had taught her how to be a lady. The kind noblewoman had educated her and taught her poise, grace, and charm. She also taught her how to act with manners when out in public and to be able to mingle effortlessly in social settings and high society.

But it was Marian that had instantly captured Ember's undying admiration. Hawke was strong, brilliant, charismatic, and beautiful. She could make anyone laugh, even her enemies. The woman could pick any lock with her eyes closed and lift a man's wedding ring without him knowing it. But the charming woman would become a terrifying foe when she unsheathed her twin daggers that were always strapped to her back. That woman was fierce in battle, glorious in her wrath, and unstoppable once she actually put her mind to something.

That was the kind of woman Ember wanted to be. A woman who was strong - strong enough to ensure her own freedom from the templars and anyone else who dared try and imprison her.

After four years of living with the Hawke family, Ember had become a deadly mage. But she refused to use her magic, except for training in secret or when she absolutely had to when her life depended on it. Instead, she used her mana to hide her magic and she'd gotten so good at it that not even a templar could detect she was a mage, even if he was standing right next to her. She preferred it that way. She refused to be detected and taken again, to be locked up, to be anything but her own keeper.

No one would ever rule over her. No one.

Wanting to be able to protect herself without having to use magic, Ember had forced herself to become a rogue. Hawke trained her, and trained her well. She learned to wield blades and a bow, spending every second of every day perfecting her skills until she was better than any rogue.

But it all came crashing down on her twelfth birthday.

Ember and Malcolm had gone to Redcliffe Village to meet an old friend of Malcolm's for potions and runes, and a staff for a birthday present. Teagan Guerrin was the Bann of Rainesfere and the younger brother of Arl Eamon, and Ember did not trust him with their secret. But Malcolm trusted him, assured her that the man would not reveal their identities as apostates. Despite her instincts telling her not to go, Ember had trusted Malcolm's judgment.

But he was wrong. So wrong.

Teagan Guerrin had betrayed them that day to a templar named Ser Perth. Ember and Malcolm fought them, fought being captured and enslaved. Malcolm, who had become like a father to her, had sacrificed himself so that she could escape. He would never see his family again, all because of his friend's betrayal.

Frightened and running for her life, Ember dared not return to the safety of the Hawke cabin, fearing she would lead her templar pursuers to them, endangering them. So, she'd run as fast as she could to Denerim and stole aboard the first ship she could find.

After days at sea, raiders on a notorious ship called the Siren's Call had attacked. An infamous pirate captain named Isabela attacked the cargo ship Ember was hiding on with cannon fire and without mercy. Ember had abandoned ship, barely escaping the notorious Queen of the Eastern Seas, and swam to the nearest island called Seheron.

It was on the island that she'd met the legendary Fog Warriors. The Fog Warriors were a group of freedom fighters native to the jungles of Seheron. They sought to make the island independent from both Qunari and Imperium rule. They come to her silently amid a deep and unnatural fog that had magical properties and offered her their protection and allegiance. She'd joined their ranks, painting her armor and skin a pale white, becoming one of them. They educated her on the Qun and taught her their fighting style and new spells. In her time with them, Ember had developed a deep sense of camaraderie with the Fog Warriors. They were strong of will, courageous, independent, bowing to no one. She respected and admired them, proud to call herself one of them.

One day, while patrolling the eastern coast, a strange elf with white hair and strange markings washed up on the shore of the island. Ember's small band of Fog Warriors found him and they nursed him back to health. The moody elf stayed with them for a time. The elf was quiet and kept to himself. He was always brooding and scowling, snapping at those around him like a wounded wolf. But in time they were able to get past his hard exterior and catch a glimpse of the broken soul within.

On her thirteenth birthday a powerful Tevinter magister by the name of Danarius came to the island. He claimed to be the elf's master. The Fog Warriors did not believe in slavery and they refused to let the mage take the elf. Ember fought along side her brothers and sisters in arms. She wielded both magic and daggers. She was an unstoppable force, and for a moment she felt as powerful as Hawke. When the battle had almost been won, Ember had turned to the elf and gave him an assuring smile. It was at that moment that Danarius ordered the elf to kill them.

And the elf did.

Starting with her.

The elf's body had glowed with an eerie white light before he thrust his hand into her chest. She'd felt his hand wrap around her heart and she expected him to rip it from her body. But the elf hesitated, his eyes a deep shade of green agony. He pulled his hand free of her chest but her heart remained within it. He hadn't caused any serious damage, though she'd fallen to the ground, unconscious.

When she'd awakened she'd found the Fog Warriors dead. All of them. The elf had killed every last one of them. Men, women, children. He'd betrayed them. They'd shown him nothing but kindness and he'd betrayed them, slaughtering them all.

All but her, as if Andraste herself was watching over her, protecting her.

Ember lifted her head to stare up at the pitch-black ceiling of her prison cell, her breath leaving her in a heavy, jagged rush. That seemed like a lifetime ago instead of five years. By this point in her short life she was quite familiar with the bitter sting of betrayal and the resulting pain, hatred, and loneliness.

Her family had betrayed her to the templars.

Teagan Guerrin had betrayed her and Malcolm Hawke to Ser Perth.

Fenris had betrayed her and the Fog Warriors to Danarius.

And it was a friend's betrayal that had resulted in her recent capture by the templars, and getting thrown into this stinking pit of darkness to deteriorate and wither away until she died.

Ember's blue-green eyes flashed with an internal fire that matched the wildly flaming curls that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. She'd been captured and caged like a wild animal for her crime of being an apostate – a creature cursed by the Maker in the eyes of the templars.

Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ground painfully against each other. The templars had dragged her unwillingly to the White Spire and when she fought back, as her rebellious spirit willed, they beat her. Afterward, as she'd lay beaten and bruised and bloodied on the marble floor of the foyer of the Spire, she'd cursed them, laughing maniacally while she did it. They'd beaten her again until she'd lost consciousness. She'd been awakened by their manhandling of her as they dragged her reluctantly to this horrid dungeon - a black pit from which they said she would never emerge. They'd dragged her, kicking and screaming, clawing and biting, to be locked away in this tiny cell encrusted with filth and rot all because these templars feared what she was capable of.

And they should fear, Ember mused darkly. For I am capable of unimaginable things, things they couldn't even dream of.

Ember's mind came skidding to a halt as the hairs on the back of her neck abruptly stood on end. She couldn't escape the feeling she was suddenly being watched. Her body tensed and instinctively her hand went to her belt for the dagger that was no longer there. Her eyes searched the gloom of her cell, meeting nothing but darkness. Someone was there. She knew it, could feel it. Her instincts were never wrong.

The shadows in front of her cell seemed darker, somehow… and she felt something within them staring at her.

"I know you're there," Ember stated in a low and stiff voice, speaking into the shadows that lined her cell.

"Come out of the shadows," she commanded firmly, the authority ringing in her voice.

For a long moment there was nothing. No sound. No air. Nothing but darkness.

Ember's eyes widened in alarm and her heart slammed against her ribcage as a tall, dark, ominous figure materialized out of the darkness right in front of her cell, seeming to emerge from the shadows themselves, as if they lived and breathed them.

Though she forced herself to appear calm, her self-preservation instincts had taken hold. Refusing to let apprehension overwhelm her, Ember kept her eyes locked on the figure shrouded in shadow as she lifted her hand in front of her and drew upon the Fade.

Gathering her magic, something she rarely did, Ember reached her mind across the Veil and summoned a shimmering orb of fire into the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the gloomy darkness and caused shadows to dance across the walls of her cell, stretching across the stone floor to the metal bars.

It was a young man, she realized as she squinted to see into the darkness that surrounded him. He looked to be in his early twenties. Shaggy blonde locks fell over his forehead and into his eyes, causing dark shadows to slash across his sharply chiseled features, highlighting his smooth alabaster skin, harshly carved cheekbones, and long and straight nose that was in perfect conformity with the rigid line of his strong masculine jaw.

Ember's eyes raked the mysterious young man while he appeared to appraise her in return. The young man was tall, over six feet, and whipcord lean, lanky even, and built from solid muscle. Her eyes fell to his slim hips and tightly corded arms. He resembled a lean ivory statue made up of chiseled lines and sharp angles. His mouth was like a band of scarlet on a tower of ivory, his skin so exquisitely white as to seem almost transparent. He was almost transparent, she thought, thinking at any moment the shadows that surrounded him would swallow him whole and cloak him in complete darkness.

Ember shook herself, aware she was guilty of staring. Yet, this odd stranger held an unexplainable captivation. He was no templar or mage, she knew, since he wore no armor or robes. He wore worn leathers that looked like they badly needed washing.

If he isn't a mage or a templar, then who is he? Ember thought. What is he doing down here? Why is he standing in front of my cell? What does he want with me?

Realizing her hand was shaking from her unsettled nerves, Ember placed the flame in front of her and it hovered just above the ground. She lifted her head to watch the young man step closer toward her, his nose almost pressing against the metal bars. With her heart knocking against her chest wall, she slowly lifted her eyes to his face and gasped softly. He was staring at her so keenly, with such unblinking intensity, she felt as though he was staring into her soul.

And his eyes… Maker… his eyes were unlike anything she'd ever seen before. They were two icy blue orbs, so pale in color they were almost translucent, but deep as forever and incredibly intense. They were… unnatural. Shadows filled them, lived in them, whispering for her to peer closer into them.

Haunted, haunted eyes.

A cold worm of dread coiled in her belly. It was then that she noticed that there was an elusiveness about him, something odd, mysterious, and otherworldly.

Something dangerous.

Something that caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end in warning.

Her instincts were never wrong.

"Who are you?" she managed to say despite the icy chill of warning coating her veins.

The young man visibly tensed at her words. There was a furtive tension to the way he stood, as if he would retreat into the shadows at any second. But he didn't retreat. He just stood there, as though he didn't understand the language she spoke.

Why isn't he saying anything? Why is he just standing there? Can he not understand me? Does he not speak my language? Or is he deaf? Perhaps he's mentally ill or unstable?

For several heartbeats, Ember didn't know what to do or say. The silence that lingered was deafening. Unable to stand another second of the unbearable tension, she repeated, "Who are you?"

"You can see me." His voice was raspy, as if from lack of use, and it quavered with shocked disbelief.

Ember said nothing, but her eyes remained locked on his as he slowly bent down to crouch low on the balls of his feet in front of her cell. His elbows rested on his knees, hands dangling between his legs.

"You can see me," the young man repeated, more confidently this time.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Is this a trick? Some game the templars are playing with me? Warily, Ember moved on her hands and knees closer to the bars, closer to him. The floating flame she'd cast followed in her wake, as if pulled by some invisible thread. She tried not to let it get to her, but it unnerved her how his eyes closely followed her every move.

Ember swallowed hard as she sat cross-legged in front of the bars of her cell. Her heart leaped into her throat and she pulled back as the young man suddenly pressed his face into the bars as if he were straining to get closer to her, like a feral wolf that had caught the scent of something he liked.

His eyes caught how she shrank away from him and his head tilted, messy blonde strands falling over one eye to reveal the other. "Are you afraid of me?"

She was a little at that, which was odd because there was little she was afraid of. But this man… there was something about him that was… scary.

"Do I scare you?" he asked, as if reading her thoughts, while he moved to sit on his knees.

Ember forced herself to meet his eyes again that were so deep they seemed like bottomless blue wells reaching into his very soul.

They were not ordinary eyes.

Not human.

Not of this world.

His eyes belonged to something else, somewhere else…

Is this man real? Does he even exist?

"What are you?" she breathed, her voice a mere wisp of sound.

His expression shuttered. "I don't know what I am."

Her heart came to a stuttering stop with dismay. "What do you mean you don't know what you are?"

Silence split the air. He said not a word, but he kept those strange eyes keenly focused on her, unwavering and unblinking.

She swallowed hard, her apprehension rising. "Are you here to hurt me?"

The young man said nothing, though his eyes flickered, as if he were debating it.

Panic rose up to choke her. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling tremors of anxiety twisting within her stomach as she became aware of the peril she'd inadvertently stepped into. She couldn't be sure of his intent. His eyes, like his expression, were inscrutable.

"No," he rasped softly after a long pause. "I won't hurt you."

She exhaled a shaky breath of relief and averted her gaze.

She felt much better when she wasn't looking in those eyes.

"Will you help me escape, then?"

"No."

Her eyes snapped to his and narrowed. "And why not?"

Long pale fingers tapped the lock. "This door can only be opened with a key – a key the Knight-Captain keeps on her at all times."

"Lovely," Ember deadpanned, brushing a spiraling red curl from her face with a huff. "Can you lift the key from the Knight-Captain?"

He shook his head and his blonde bangs whipped side to side across his forehead and eyes. "Evangeline de Brassard will not be easily deceived. She's attentive. She would know."

He shifted from his knees to sit on the ground, cross-legged like her. He sat right in front of her, only the metal bars of her cell separating them. They were close, his right knee almost touching hers through the bars. The little flame she'd conjured bobbed slightly up and down as it hovered over the ground beside her, pushing back the blackness that threatened to consume them both.

His head tilted, eyes glittering with intrigue in the light the flame cast. "What's your name?"

"Ember," she answered softly. "Ember Laurent."

"Ember." He said her name slowly, as if testing it on his tongue, and the rasping syllables caused a warm tingle of something nameless to trickle down her back.

Unnerved by her reaction to the sound of her own name coming from his lips, Ember lifted her chin and forced her voice to come out even, "You are no mage, nor are you a templar." It was not a question.

"I am neither," he confirmed.

She nodded slowly, her fingers drumming on her knees as she thought. "If you are not a mage and not a templar, then what are you doing down here?"

He hesitated, as if considering whether to answer her or not. "I live in the catacombs beneath the tower."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "But what are you doing here in the dungeons?"

He said nothing, but his eyes shifted away from hers, as if in shame. "I come here sometimes," he replied in a low voice, keeping his gaze from hers. "I visit the tower sometimes for food and other things. I like to watch them - the mages and the templars."

One red eyebrow lifted in question. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"

"No." His pale eyes shifted back to hers. "They never see me, never remember me."

Her face pinched with confusion and unease. His answer was strange, very strange, just like him.

"Who are you?" she asked.

For a moment he froze, his dark lashes lowering to half mast his crystal clear blue eyes. "I am the Ghost of the Spire." The words came out like a confession and he watched her closely, as if scrutinizing her reaction.

Ember rolled her eyes. "There's no such thing as ghosts," she scoffed.

He shrugged carelessly. "A ghost is simply a dead man lost on his way to the Maker's side, forever adrift in a land of shadow," he answered simply.

She snorted. "And… that's what you are? You're… dead?" Ember murmured with incredulity.

Curious despite herself, Ember gripped a metal bar in one hand and she pressed herself against the bars as she reached forward through the bars with her other hand to touch him. She expected her hand to go straight through him, expecting him to be the apparition he claimed to be.

But it didn't.

Her palm pressed flat against his chest, an action she regretted immediately. Beneath his worn leathers, was a warm torso that was a amalgam of sharp angles and sinewy muscle. She licked her suddenly dry lips as she felt hard muscles flex beneath her fingertips, felt the danger and dormant strength he possessed. Power emanated from him like a life force, raw and uncut—

"Death would explain what I am." Her heart gave a fierce leap at his low, husky murmur so close to her ear, his warm breath licking the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Ember instantly ripped her hand away from his rock-hard chest as if she'd been burned, leaning back from the bars. With her cheeks roasting, she swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat, her response to merely touching him unsettling.

Ember quickly folded her arms in a defensive gesture, trying to hide the rapid beat of her heart, scowling at him as he continued to stare at her coolly, clearly not affected by her touch like she'd been. "You're not dead," she stated firmly, almost accusingly. "You're made of flesh and bone. Just like me."

His eyes were remote and shadowed. "I'm not dead, yet at the same time I don't exist."

She eyed him as if he'd grown two heads. "Are you… a crazy person?"

The slightest quirk of his mouth told her that she amused him. "I don't know." He turned his body slightly away from her, the quirk deepening. "Maybe."

As she studied his side profile a fearful tremble worked its way down her spine as a terrible thought hit her, a thought that scared the blood out of her. "Are you a… demon?"

He paused. After a few heartbeats, his chin turned fractionally toward her. "I am no demon." He faced her again and his low hanging blonde bangs fell across his eyes, shielding them from her view. "I've never seen one before or spoken to one, that I know of. And unless someone can be a demon and have no inkling of it, that just isn't possible. A ghost, however?" He sighed softly. "That I'm not so certain of."

Ember watched him, considering, assessing. After a few silent moments, her body visibly relaxed and a small smile curved her lips. "I believe you."

Her gave her a pointed look, one that held a hint of admonishment. "So easily?"

"You're not a demon," Ember stated confidently. "I can sense spirits. I would know the difference."

"Would you?" he inquired, curious. "Demons are masters of deception."

Her chin lifted. "I'm a spirit medium. I would know if you were lying," she replied assuredly. "I can sense spirits and demons, and I don't sense you as such."

Despite her words, Ember bit her bottom lip in discomfort. Could she trust this man? Was he a clever demon and found a way to hide his true nature from her? Could she trust in her ability to tell the difference?

Her eyes flickered up to lock onto his, questioning and searching. "So… if you're not a mage and not a templar, not a spirit and not a demon… then… then what are you?"

Anguish shadowed his face, and those absurdly long lashes lowered over his eyes. "Lost," he answered desolately, and his low rasping voice echoed with a deep-seated loneliness that tugged at something vulnerable inside of her.

Ember sucked in a sharp breath, her heart aching, as she stared into a tableau of heart-wrenching sadness and despairing loneliness reflected in those fathomless icy pools set in a pale, grief-stricken face.

Maker, she'd never seen anyone look so alone, so sad, so forlorn - a lost soul drifting amongst the living.

That harrowing expression was hard to look at and Ember had to close her eyes to escape it. She exhaled slowly, collecting herself. When her eyes opened, he was gone, as if swallowed up by the shadows.

Ember stared blankly into the darkness in front of her cell and was about to call out to him when she realized she didn't even know his name.

Author's Note: In the book Dragon Age: Asunder, Rhys is the main character along with Cole. Rhys is the estranged mage son of the Fereldan senior enchanter Wynne from Dragon Age Origins. Rhys is a Spirit Medium, someone who can sense spirits and demons. This ability allows him to see and remember Cole. My Inquisitor has the same gift. Oh, and just to give you a visual, Ember looks like Merida from the Disney movie Brave, except that she has more green in her eyes and her hair is a dark red and not orange.