The Inquisitor's Ghost

Chapter 4 – Little Talks

My Maker, know my heart

Take from me a life of sorrow

Lift me from a world of pain

Judge me worthy of Your endless pride

- Transfigurations 12:1-12:6

Cole visited Ember's cell daily. Everyday he returned to her. Just to talk to her. Just to hear her voice. Cole used to try and get people to notice him. They did, sometimes, but they always forgot shortly after. He would simply slip their mind completely. He kept returning to Ember's cell, expecting the same thing to happen, but it never did. She always greeted him with a smile and a whisper of his name that caused his skin to break out into goosebumps. She saw him when most couldn't, and she remembered.

Ember told him about her life. She told him about how she ran away from home when she was eight-years-old, told him about the Hawke family and how they'd saved her and taught her what it really meant to be family. She told him of her time with the Fog Warriors and how they'd been slaughtered, how she'd been the only survivor. She told him about how she'd left Seheron after that, wondering the world, becoming a vagabond. She spent her time alone, hiding, afraid to be identified as an apostate and taken by the templars. She said she'd been searching, searching for somewhere to call home, somewhere she could live unafraid of losing her freedom. She'd gone to Rivain, Antiva, the Free Marches, and even spent some time in Tevinter.

After years of living alone and on the road, she'd found herself traveling to Lothering in search of the Hawke family, in search of the companionship she'd once felt with them to ease her loneliness. At the age of fifteen, Ember had gone home to Lothering, but when she'd arrived she'd found nothing but ash. The little town had been burned to the ground during the Blight. At that time Ember had heard how the Hero of Ferelden had saved the world three years earlier, but she didn't know how badly Ferelden had suffered because of the Blight until she saw it for herself.

On her sixteenth birthday, Ember had been ambushed by darkspawn while searching the Korcari Wilds located just outside of Lothering. She'd been searching for the small cabin that had once been the home of the Hawke family when the darkspawn had attacked her. She'd almost been overwhelmed, death coming for her, when two hooded figures had saved her. The pair had killed the darkspawn that had surrounded her with a precision that was unmatched, as if they lived and breathed killing darkspawn. Once the darkspawn were eliminated, the two hooded figures had approached her. Thinking they were templars or maleficar, Ember had moved into a battle stance, no fear in her eyes as she'd stared them down, silently daring them to bring her harm or to lock her up. The pair had stopped then and removed their hoods, revealing their identities to her.

Ember had gasped, recognizing them immediately. It was Alistair Theirin, the King of Ferelden. He stood tall and proud in his Grey Warden armor, though he couldn't stop playing with his perfectly coiffed blonde hair. Beside him stood Elissa Cousland – The Warden, the Hero of Ferelden, and the Queen of Ferelden. Ember had stared at her in awe. She was so beautiful with her perfect features, long chestnut brown hair, and deep brown eyes. Ember had kneeled, not sure what else to do, and Elissa had laughed softly, telling her to rise.

Elissa had looked Ember over, slowly, as if searching for something. After a long time, Elissa had asked Ember if she was lost. Ember had looked around her, at the Korcari Wilds that surrounded her. It had been a long time since she'd been in Lothering, but she remembered the path to Redcliffe. Ember had told Elissa that she knew where she was going. Elissa had given her a pointed look and asked again if she was lost. Ember had realized then what the Queen of Ferelden was asking her. With those all-too-seeing brown eyes on her, Ember had felt the full weight of her loneliness. Ember had almost burst into tears then when she'd answered the Hero of Ferelden, telling the older woman that she was lost, that she'd been lost for a very long time.

Elissa had nodded, as if she already knew this. The Queen of Ferelden had looked at her husband then and the two seemed to have a silent conversation, speaking only with their eyes. Alistair had shaken his head furiously and crossed his arms, as if in defiance to whatever it was she had silently said. But after a while, the King's arms fell and he nodded in resignation, as if Elissa had somehow silently convinced him of something. Elissa had smiled at Ember then and told her that she would find purpose with Sister Nightingale. The King and Queen of Ferelden had walked away then and didn't turn around, not even when Ember had called after them, asking them who Sister Nightingale was and where she could find her. Ember didn't know where they were going, but they looked like they were on a mission of some kind.

Ember had been searching for Sister Nightingale ever since, which was two years now. Ember had told Cole how she'd trusted someone to help her find Sister Nightingale and how that person had betrayed her, turning her into the templars, which resulted in her being thrown into the dungeons of the White Spire Tower.

Cole was so much enjoying visiting Ember and the feeling of warmth that always accompanied her presence. It's what drew him to her, day after day. He couldn't help himself. Ember was a talkative and open girl. She had the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen. She gladly answered almost all of his questions, unashamed of her thoughts and feelings and unafraid to share them with him. In the weeks she'd been imprisoned in the dungeons of the White Spire, Cole had visited her and learned who she was.

He knew her greatest fear was being made Tranquil. He knew her second greatest fear was losing her freedom. He knew she hated using magic and preferred using a bow or blades. He knew she trained every morning to keep herself strong. He knew she loved the feeling of sand between her toes, the feel of the wind blowing through her hair, the sun shining on her face, and the sound of waves lapping against the shore. He knew she loved warm cookies when it was snowing. He knew her favorite color was red, just like him. He knew she didn't trust anyone, a result of being betrayed by everyone she'd ever trusted. He knew she wished she had a family and friends. He knew she was lonely. He knew she was lost. She was just like him in so many ways.

But it wasn't enough. Cole wanted to know more. When it came to Ember, any scrap of information was necessary. He needed to know it, though he couldn't explain why. There were many things she kept to herself, saying they were too painful to speak of. He wanted to know them. He needed to know everything.

Cole found himself growing increasingly frustrated. Why couldn't he hear her pain like he could everyone else? He ignored the whispers of the sad songs that came from others, but with Ember, Cole found himself trying almost desperately to hear her song, to hear her pain, so that he could untangle it. Somehow he knew that if he could untangle her hurt, take away her pain, she would glow even brighter, if that were at all possible. She was like a star – bright and shining and pressing against the darkness that dwelled within him – one that he wanted to orbit around.

Cole realized that ever since he met her, he was behaving very strangely. He was feeling things and doing things he didn't understand, couldn't explain. Like the other day when he found himself trying to catch her eyes, just to stare into them. They were the most mesmerizing eyes he'd ever seen - deep sapphire blue mixed with bright vibrant emerald, the color changing with her emotions. Or when her back was turned and his eyes would take the opportunity to stare unabashedly and unseen.

One night during the beginning of Ember's fourth week at the White Spire Tower, Cole was walking in the White Spire Tower, wanting to get Ember a piece of carrot cake – her favorite – when he saw a pair of young mages huddled in a dark corner. It was a young man and woman and they were standing very close to each other, their bodies touching. Their hands were on each other, running all over. But it was what their mouths were doing that made him pause and draw closer, curious.

The entire experience had greatly disturbed Cole. It wasn't the fact that he was watching the two mages that troubled him. Cole always watched people. That was nothing new. It was how he watched these two that unsettled him. Cole didn't just watch the man's mouth press against the woman's, he studied it. Strangely, unexplainably, he wanted to know what they were doing. He wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know how to do it. It didn't make sense. He didn't understand. But that didn't change the fact that he still wanted to know.

Cole didn't understand what was happening to him. He was trying to understand, but he didn't. His body was reacting in a way that his mind was unable to comprehend, as if his body and mind were from two different worlds. It was confusing and overwhelming and frightening, but also wonderful and exhilarating and intriguing.

Cole shook his head as if to shake away his thoughts. He didn't want to focus too much on what she was doing to him. Cole turned the last corner and came to an abrupt halt. He stood a few feet away from Ember's cell, keeping to the dark, watching her. Ember's back was to him, pressed against the bars of her cell. Her knees were bent, her slender arms wrapped around them. She was looking up at the ceiling of her cell and he knew she was wishing she could see the stars. She did that a lot.

Cole's eyes raked her, almost greedily. In a world that appeared to him in shades of black and grey, Ember stood out among the rest. Her body was always haloed with a bright white light, giving her an ethereal glow.

On silent feet Cole approached her, lured by her light. The fire within her called to him, beckoned him, drew him in. And like a moth to a flame, Cole found himself moving closer to her, irresistibly impelled, as if pulled by some invisible force. The pull to her was undeniable, irrepressible, and Cole wondered if this was what a magnet felt like when it met another magnet.

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Ember sat on the stone floor of her cell with her back pressed against the metal bars. She'd stripped off her coppery chainmail armor and was now dressed in only her black cloth tunic and black tights that she wore under her armor and her black leather boots that almost reached her thighs.

She didn't know how long she'd been trapped here. She knew it was over a month, but she didn't know precisely. Once a day one of the templars brought her food and swapped out the small bucket where she relieved herself. She hadn't seen André since that one day all those weeks ago, and she was grateful for that. The other templars didn't bother her, whether it was because they were good templars, they were afraid of her, of they feared the Ghost of the Spire's wrath, she didn't know. All she knew was that she'd have gone mad by now if not for Cole.

Her eyes flickered every now and then to the side to see down the long dark hallway she knew he would approach from. Ember felt jittery as she eagerly anticipated Cole's return.

Cole visited her everyday. She would sit cross-legged in front of him and he would do the same, only the metal bars separating them and the small flame she would cast as the only source of light besides the single wall sconces that lined the dark halls every few feet.

He would bring her water as well as meat, cheese, bread, and fruit that he'd stolen from the kitchens of the White Spire. He would bring her gifts and do little things that always made her feel better.

For instance, one day she'd told Cole about how Bethany Hawke used to make the best ratatouille. She'd told him how merely the smell of it could bring up the happiest memories of her life and how that smell alone never ceased to bring a smile to her face. Cole didn't visit her for a while after that, but when he returned it was with a large bowl of ratatouille. She didn't know how he'd gotten the ingredients or how he'd made it, or if he'd stolen it. The bowl didn't fit through the bars and so Cole had held the bowl up to her while she took spoonfulls through the bars. She'd smiled at him and hugged him for his thoughtfulness.

Another time, Ember had awakened on the stone floor of her cell to find a hand-carved charm on a leather necklace lying beside her. The charm resembled a single star hanging from the top of a half crescent moon. It was clear that whoever made it had spent a great deal of time on it and had used exquisite care to carve the charm. When she'd asked Cole about the necklace he'd blushed a bright red and said he'd made it for her. Ember wasn't sure why he would make her something so beautiful, but she tied the leather necklace around her neck and had been wearing it ever since.

Cole was constantly doing little things like that. They were just small little things, but they touched her deeply. They made her happy. They made her smile. They made her momentarily forget her gloomy surroundings and ominous fate.

Ember couldn't suppress the broad smile that bloomed on her face as she thought of him. Bloody hell, she felt like a total idiot smiling like a fool in her prison cell while she thought about a boy. She'd scarcely ever noticed the opposite gender before, at least not in that way. But she was definitely noticing Cole, no matter how hard she tried not to.

Maker help her, there was no doubt about it, she was losing her mind. Still, she couldn't deny that Cole had become special to her, a precious person in her life. He was so kind, thoughtful and caring, so much so that sometimes she swore he was compassion incarnate.

Ember sensed the slightest shift of air pressure behind her, followed by the electrifying aura that encompassed Cole's form. Her skin prickled with awareness as she felt him come up behind her.

A second later, nearly startling her out of her skin, she felt fingers brush her hair to the side. Neck exposed, she felt warm breath fall against the skin on the nape of her neck causing the hairs there to stand on end.

Ember could do nothing but stare straight ahead, her pulse escalating, aware of a slow heat that filled every pore on her skin. Her body began to tremble when she felt warm fingertips trail down the back of her neck. She swallowed, hard, as something she couldn't identify seemed to crackle over her skin, making it hum in reaction to the way his fingers seemed to burn into her skin.

But something inside of her tightened when his fingers began tracing the symbol that was engraved on the back of her neck.

"What is this?" She heard Cole ask in his low, rasping voice that never failed to effect her.

"It's… it's nothing," Ember answered almost breathlessly.

Oh, yes, definitely dangerous, Ember thought a bit helplessly, even as she mentally chided herself for letting him affect her so. Certainly no man had ever affected her the way Cole did.

"Trust me."

Trust was not a word she believed in. Trust always led to duplicity. Every person in her life had betrayed her, each form of treachery leaving its mark on her flesh and on her heart.

"Can I trust you?" she whispered, uncertain.

Ember turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Cole was crouched on the balls of his feet, his hand holding her hair away from her neck.

It really was deplorable the way her pulse reacted to just the mere sight of him. How he contrived to look so unkempt and rough and attractive at the same time was a mystery to her. Maker's breath, how could anyone not remember this man? Those eyes alone were impossible to forget. She felt as though they were branded in her memory.

Cole lowered his head and looked up at her from beneath his long black lashes. "You can trust me."

"Cole…" Ember was surprised at how husky her voice was. "I don't trust easily. Everyone single person I've ever trusted has betrayed me."

"I won't," he replied gently, sincerely.

"It is a brand," Ember answered, not sure in her decision to trust him.

Cole's eyes fell away from her briefly, roaming idly over the metal bars laid between them.

Ember exhaled slowly. She found that she could breathe a little easier without their intense weight bearing down on her.

"I've seen that brand before," he murmured. "But yours is not of lyrium."

Ember faced forward to hide her expression from him as she reached behind her to run her fingers over the Chantry's sunburst symbol that had been burned into the skin on the nape of her neck. As she traced the mark, her fingers brushed Cole's and she felt a charge of electricity arch between them with the contact, jolting her with an abrupt shock.

Ember told her hand to move, to stop touching him, but her fingers refused to listen and lingered on top of his.

The air immediately shifted, becoming strained and electric.

Ember ripped her hand away and clasped her hands in her lap.

A moment later and Cole removed his hand as well, letting the heavy red curls fall to cover the mark on the back of her neck.

"Tell me," Cole murmured behind her, his voice lower and huskier than it had been before. "Tell me how you received that mark."

Ember tried to formulate a response, but she couldn't when she was maddeningly conscious of the his gaze lingering on her, burning a hole into her back.

"Please," Cole pleaded when she didn't answer. "I must know."

Ember turned around to face him. "My parents were simple farmers in Orlais. They lived in the country, away from other people," she started. "When I accidently set the family barn on fire, they were frightened of me. They'd never seen magic before." She scoffed with derision. "They thought I was a demon." Her eyes met his, the anger in them apparent. "They tortured me. They thought the torture would force the demon from me. Idiots."

Ember's hand absently went to rub the back of her neck. She closed her eyes at the dizzying wave of anger and pain that memory conjured up. "One day, they went to the nearest Chantry and returned with a book. In the book, they learned how mages were made Tranquil. They thought they could force the magic out of me by branding me with the Chantry's sunburst symbol as they'd seen in the pictures in the book. They didn't realize such a ritual required lyrium. They didn't want it on my forehead where everyone could see it and see I was a mage, so they put it on the back of my neck." She swallowed, her throat working. "They… they held me down and recited the Chant of Light as they branded me with the symbol of the Tranquil with a branding iron. It didn't make me Tranquil, of course. But it…" Her voice wavered and faded out on a shaky whisper of breath. "I was… I was only eight-years-old… just a child…"

She watched Cole's eyes grow stormy and a muscle moved up and down in his jaw, as if he were chewing on something hard and distasteful.

Ember bit her bottom lip and cast her eyes down, fixing them upon the ground while she shifted uncomfortably. Never in her life had she opened herself this way. Never had she confessed a weakness to another. The world didn't need any more ammunition to use against her, yet here she was, handing the dagger to him that he could use to stab into her back.

Ember stared down at her boots, refusing to let the tears in her eyes fall. She didn't know why there were tears in her eyes or why there was suddenly a lump in her throat. She hated to cry. She hated when other people cried. Crying never helped anything but show one's weakness. She was not weak. She would not cry. She wouldn't.

"It wasn't your fault," Cole murmured softly, yet firmly.

"No. It wasn't," she agreed in a little voice.

"What your parents did… it was wrong," Cole whispered. "A product of ignorance and fear. You didn't deserve that. You didn't do anything wrong. You were born with a gift - a gift the Maker gave you. There is nothing wrong with that. You were a little girl and someone who was supposed to protect you didn't do that."

"They tried to change me," she said in an uneven voice. "But they couldn't break me. No one will ever break me. I will not go gentle into that good night," she uttered fiercely. "I will always rage, rage against the dying of the light."

His blue eyes lit up with interest and she smiled at him in understanding. "You like that?" she asked.

Cole nodded quickly, his curiosity apparent.

"It's a poem," she explained. "Written by a circle mage named Dylan Thomas. He led a mage rebellion in Starkhaven a long time ago. It's my favorite."

Cole stared off into the distance. "The words are loud and filled with hate and pain. They are dipped in ink and blood, the blood of mages and templars alike. The desire for freedom is wrapped around them, like blankets around a child on a winter's night. Hunger coats them - hunger for freedom, for independence. They resonate with you, just as they resonate with other mages."

Ember used her nail to scratch at a dried piece of dirt on her black tights. "The words give mages hope. Sometimes we need hope that there really is joy and redemption on the other side of deep suffering. Sometimes we need hope that if we make a stand for our rights, if we refuse to back down and be intimidated by the face of oppression, that we will find serenity."

Cole said nothing. He continued to stare off to the side, as if he was somewhere else.

For a long time they sat there in silence.

Once she'd scratched the dirt off her tights, she exhaled a sharp gust of air. "Maker, I'm bored," she blurted out, trying desperately to change the subject and lighten the mood. "I wish I had a book to read or something. I love to read." She flashed Cole a playful grin. "If I asked nicely do you think the templars will give me one?"

Cole blinked. "I don't think a templar would give a prisoner a book. They fear books and the knowledge they give the mages. I think they'll give you another black eye and some broken ribs to go with it instead."

She smiled disarmingly, her eyes twinkling impishly. "Well, that's not very hospitable of them, now is it?"

Cole gave her a pointed look. "Templars aren't known for their hospitality."

She laughed. "You're right. They're more known for the skirts they wear."

"And the mages they brutalize," Cole added with a quirk of his lips.

"Maker, Cole, you're such a downer." The laughing mischief in her bright eyes enlivened her entire expression, giving her an uncommon appeal.

Cole chuckled faintly, a rough, rusty sound that made Ember certain he was not a man that laughed often.

His eyes searched her face before he uttered under his breath, as if to himself. "That would help, wouldn't it?"

Her eyebrows bunched together. "What?"

Expressions, mercurial and rapid, charged across his face. Cole suddenly stood and wiped the dirt off of his leathers. "Bye."

Ember's smile dropped. "What?" She was on her feet in an instant, gripping the metal bars. "Where are you going?"

Cole looked at her as if the answer was obvious. "Parchment and words, stories of old and new, fantasies that only dreams can bring."

Ember blinked. "What does that mean?"

But Cole had vanished into thin air before the last word had left her mouth.

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Cole walked away from Ember's cell, his body edged with tension and rigidity. He rubbed his chest just over his heart, wondering why it ached there all of a sudden. He was breathing deeply, somewhat frightened by what he was feeling, unable to put a name to the many emotions that flooded him. He couldn't fathom his emotions. He was swimming in them, drowning in them. He was overwhelmed. He was also unsettled by how much he wanted to hurt Ember's parents for what they'd done to her.

His mind was racing, contemplating this intense reaction and what it could possibly mean, as he moved toward the lower chambers. Beneath the tower's lower chambers were the archives – rooms upon rooms filled with the books they didn't keep in the upper libraries. There were books about magic there, as well as books of music and philosophy, books in forgotten languages, and even the forbidden books they put under lock and key. Normally the archives stood empty, but sometimes Cole would find a mage spending long hours reading by candlelight. He would never understand what they found so interesting about words and pictures. Books were all just old paper to him. But right now, Cole was very interested in finding a particular book, one he remembered a young elven mage reading late one night.

A few hours later and Cole returned to Ember's cell. She asked him where he'd gone but he was too nervous to answer her. Instead, he handed her the book he'd gone searching for through the metal bars.

Cole watched with rapt attention as Ember took the book from him with a look of astonishment on her face.

"It's a book of poems," Ember read. "Written by Dylan Thomas."

She looked up at him and smiled her thanks as she held the book to her chest as though it were a precious and revered object.

Cole absorbed her delighted expression, as if it were fuel for his soul. He was very, very pleased with her reaction, a tendril of happiness stirring within himself. That breath-caught smile caused something within him to stir, to awaken from some dormant state, touching something within him he had not known he possessed.

"Thank you, Cole," she whispered as she reached through the bars and touched his arm in a gesture of gratitude.

The sudden contact stirred a strange pleasurable spark that flickered along the ends of his nerves. Cole looked down at the small hand that rested gently on the bare skin of his arm. Her touch made him strangely warm, heat crawling down his neck. His skin felt prickly, his pulse doing this weird jumping thing.

It felt… good. Like he was alive. Like he was real.

Ember pulled her hand from his arm and Cole felt a sharp sting of disappointment. She tucked a red curl behind her ear as she moved to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the bars and he did as well. Her knees touched his through the bars, the book open in her lap and the flame she'd cast hovering off the ground beside her.

"Do not go gentle into that good night," Ember read, her voice holding the soft hum of an ocean wave. "Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light..."

Hours later, with most of the book read, Ember had fallen sleep. She sat cross-legged with the book open and forgotten in her lap. Her body was slumped forward toward him, her face turned to the side and pressed against the metal bars. Her neck was arched back at an odd angle that would most likely hurt when she woke up.

A thick, unruly mass of dark red curls were draped over one slender shoulder, forming a small pile on the stone floor. Some of the thick curls fell across the bars, covering his knee and hand that was rested there. His long pale fingers flexed beneath the soft locks and the scarlet curls rippled across the back of his hand, looking like rivers of blood weaving across the ivory skin of the back of his hand. A strange and unexplainable urge hit him to turn his hand over and let those curls rest in his palm, to let his fingers close over them and see what they felt like between his fingertips.

Unable to resist, Cole carefully reached out and lifted one thick, red tendril, stroking the lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger.

Cole's eyes shifted from her hair to the girl herself. She slumbered fretfully while she traversed in the Fade. He stared down at her, puzzled yet strangely fascinated. Of their own accord, his eyes traced every line and curve of her face, etching it into his memory. He wondered what it was that made her shine like that. Was it her heart, her soul, or her spirit?

His heart had accelerated while he'd been looking down at her. He found that strange, unsure of the cause. He wasn't in danger, so why was his heart racing in his chest? His hands were sweaty too, though not with the need to draw his blade and run it across flesh. Heat flooded his body, though he wasn't running or sitting in front of a fire. He feel hot and intensely vital. His body was reacting strangely and he was having trouble explaining it. But it felt like… like she'd crawled in somehow, right down deep inside of him, and made herself at home, like it was where she was supposed to be. He needed something in her as he'd never needed in another. He didn't know why. Understanding hard to grasp. All he knew was that he would watch over this one. He would protect this one, like hands cupping a flickering flame during a winter wind.

Reaching through the bars, Cole ran his fingertips down the delicate bones of the sleeping girl's spine.

I'll protect you.

Cole silently made the decision that no one was ever going to hurt her. Because she understood him and because she wasn't afraid of him… because she was warm and bright and trusting while he guarded her while she slept.

This one is mine.

Cole pressed his forehead against the metal bars that separated them and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.

Author's Note: The poem Ember reads is a poem entitled "Do not go gentle into that good night" written by Dylan Thomas.