The Inquisitor's Ghost
Author's Note: This chapter has two soundtracks. The first half is The Red by Chevelle. The second half is Your Guardian Angel by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.
Chapter 29 – Samson
Draw your last breath, my friends
Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky
Rest at the Maker's right hand
And be Forgiven
- Trials 1:16
It was midnight in Emprise Du Lion . A cold wind was blowing from the north, a swirling storm of flurry and ice, causing flakes of snow to fall unremittingly from the endless blackness above. The wind howled wildly causing the trees in the dark forest to rustle violently and snow to rise from the ground in sheets, forming small whirlwinds that danced along the open expanse of whiteness that covered the ground.
Below the surface of the earth, two red templar foot soldiers stood guard within the secret, underground, red templar base. They looked like normal templars, normal men, but they had been fed red lyrium, and it improved their powers, granted them new ones, and increased their strength beyond what a human body should bear.
In the distance they heard the thudding of what sounded like bodies collapsing to the ground. Moments later, they felt the fiery radiation of something – something blazing with power – drawing closer to them. They didn't see anything, but the red lyrium allowed them to sense the ominous and mystical energy that was now circling them, like a disembodied predator.
The darkness itself seemed to take on a life of its own by shifting and swaying before their eyes. They felt the hair on the back of their neck rise and a shiver ripple down the backsides of their arms and they instinctively knew that their lives were in imminent danger.
One red templar slowly unsheathed his sword. He didn't see but felt a hand suddenly cover his mouth before cold steel swiped across his throat from ear-to-ear. The red templar reached out a shaking hand to try and warn the man beside him, but all that came out was a strangulated cry before he fell to the floor.
But the red templar beside him heard it, as if from a great distance away, and quickly spun around, brandishing his sword. But all he saw was the other red templar's body on the ground, dead. His eyes anxiously searched the room, his head whipping this way and that as he frantically searched for the invisible threat. He sensed the ghostly force drawing closer, steadfast as winter, undoubtedly a demon needing to taste fresh blood.
"Get… get back, d-demon!" The red templar shrilled, backing away from the enemy he could not see but could sense was coming for him.
And then, he saw it.
Black flames seemed to rise from its body, as if it had been hurled up from the fires of hell and was still scorching. He could feel the demon's anger. It seemed to twist and curl around it, ribbons of some dark power that fed on its rage, as if to draw strength from it.
The blade in the demon's hand gleamed in the darkness a second before it was buried in an almost imperceptible upward strike into his heart. Blood gurgled in his throat before spilling out of the corners of his mouth to roll in lines down the sides of his mouth and chin. The dagger was immediately ripped free and he fell to the floor, lifeless, just another loud thud on the cold stone ground like all the ones before him.
Cole stepped over the fresh corpse at his feet, moving forward, deeper into the massive underground base.
All the fires of hell at his back.
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Evangeline tossed back another bottle of lyrium as she ran as fast as her legs would carry her through the seemingly endless hallways of the underground red templar base.
She wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes heavy. She didn't know how long she could keep this pace up. Her legs were numb and unsteady, and each step she took was becoming increasingly more difficult to manage.
Suddenly cool, soothing, healing magic washed over her, regenerating her and easing her muscles and achy joints. Evangeline looked over her shoulder and smiled at Rhys who was running behind her, his hands still glowing blue with healing magic and a supportive smile on his face.
Maker, she loved that man.
She turned forward and pushed her legs to go faster through the dismal hallway that reeked of damp dirt and clay with rats squeaking and scurrying in dark corners. Her fingers were sore and sweaty around the Inquisitor's phylactery in her hand.
Back at Skyhold, she'd figured out how to use the phylactery. She, Rhys, and the Inquisitor's advisors and companions had been tracking the Inquisitor non-stop from Skyhold all the way to Emprise Du Lion. But the moment they discovered the underground red templar base, Cole had raced ahead of the group with inhuman speed.
Now they were just following the steady trail of corpses he left in his wake.
Evangeline and Rhys both had memories of the strange young man they'd met back at the White Spire, but their memory was faulty. But the little they did remember was nothing like this. Before he'd been so lost, so utterly alone and so otherworldly, and at times such a terrified little boy. But now he was different. He was no longer lost. He had this little band of warriors that he called family. He seemed to have a purpose with them. He'd also shown more human emotion and more understanding of people than he ever had before. She didn't know how to explain it. He was simply… more.
Moments later and the group burst through a door into a large, dark room filled with red templars. Half were alive and the other half dead. The room swam in blood. It ran off the wooden tables in red rivulets, dripping in soundless spatters on the floor. Severed body parts and fallen red templars covered the ground, arterial spray on the walls. Puddles of blood pooled everywhere. The heavy metallic scent of blood hung so thick in the air it was like a fog.
A red templar came running towards them where they stood in the doorway when the tip of a dagger exploded from the red templar's throat. Mouth still open, his jaw hanging slack, he toppled forward face-first to the stone floor.
Cole was crouched low over the body, daggers poised for attack, fresh blood dripping off the blades onto the stone floor, a dangerous lethality coating the air around him. His chest was heaving with exertion, his black armor and hands drenched in blood as he stood in the center of the room amidst the carnage that surrounded him.
Beneath the wide brim of his hat, the torchlight on the walls etched the hard planes of his face. His white teeth glinted dangerously between tightened bloodless lips, his eyes glowing with unholy light.
Cole suddenly moved as fast as lightening, a mere blur of black and ivory, his daggers slicing into the air. Seconds later, his steel removed a red templar's head from his shoulders, blood spraying out of the headless torso.
"You can't stop me."
Cole vanished in a burst of inhuman speed and reappeared perched on the neck of an unsuspecting red templar. He thrust his dagger into the red templar's back, his dagger and hand coming out the front of the red templar's chest covered in blood.
"None of you can stop me."
Evangeline watched in horror as the spirit of compassion continued to decimate his foes with such brutality and prowess, as if he was bred for it, and the sheer viciousness and efficiency in which he dealt with his enemies shook her to the core.
Death was more a faithful ally to him than foe and within minutes the number of red templars in the room began to dwindle to almost nothing under his ruthless and unstoppable assault.
Cole's face was wrenched with black fury, his eyes shredding into the few remaining red templars with their sinister vehemence. The red templars cowered and tried to flee, but it did not save them from the demon they'd unwittingly unleashed upon them by their abduction of the Inquisitor.
"If she's dead, I'll hunt every last one of you." The murder in his voice rasped across flesh like the serrated edge of a knife. "Every last one, I swear it."
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Samson exited the infirmary wiping his bloody hands on a white cotton cloth.
"It's done," Samson confirmed with satisfaction to the mage standing outside the door.
"Do you need me to heal her again?" the mage asked.
"No."
"Why didn't you use red lyrium?"
Samson tossed the bloody rag onto the floor. "Because it would have corrupted her mind and possibly the Mark. I want to be able to use the Anchor whenever I want. And now I can. My wish is the Inquisitor's command," he chuckled darkly.
At the end of the hallway, Cole's lips sucked back hard against his tightly clenched teeth. Anger pumped adrenalin into his bloodstream, a red mist swimming across his eyes. Angry did not cover it. Unearthly rage pulsed all around him, firing from his every skin cell.
"I'm drained," Samson said. "Fetch me more red lyrium," he commanded, dismissing the mage. The mage did what he was told and disappeared down another hallway almost instantly.
Cole crept down the hallway toward Samson, a seething mass of barely controlled fury trapped inside sleek dark armor. His blood roared through his veins like an inferno, burning and stinging.
Within seconds, Cole reached the red templar leader. He stood inches away, looking into his eyes, and knew Samson saw nothing, looked right through him.
Cole reached under his black leather vest and drew a wicked looking dagger from its ebony sheath.
I want you to look into my eyes.
Chips of arctic-colored glass stared into the other man's eyes as he leaned close to Samson, his expression one of deadly intent. Cole continued to stare into Samson's eyes, so close he could smell the man's breath. He could feel it, feel the shroud he'd lain over his eyes. Samson struggled against it, not even aware he was doing so. Cole's temples throbbed painfully.
You don't see me.
Concentrating, Cole raised the dagger. He maintained eye contact the entire time. Samson didn't react as he placed the serrated edge against his neck. It pressed against his skin, drawing the slightest bit of blood… but Samson still didn't react. He continued to stare, as if nothing was happening.
You can't see what I do.
Cole cut deep, the man's neck gushing bright blood down the front of his armor. His eyes went wide and Samson gasped, clutching at his throat in panic. The blood flowed more quickly now, staining his armor and dripping onto the floor. Samson grunted, the slightest bit of blood spurting from his mouth. He raised his gauntlet to stare at it, confused. Then Samson let out a single gurgle and reeled back and fell against the wall. The sword he'd unsheathed dropped to the floor with a clatter. He tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood with both hands.
Completely unseen, Cole bent down in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees as he stood balanced on the balls of his feet. His face was inches away from the other man's, though Samson saw through him. Cole stared down into Samson's eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him.
"You're - too - late," Samson uttered with his last breath through his shock-whitened lips that were speckled with blood, the final spark of life leaving his eyes before sinking to the floor, dead.
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Cole burst through the door to the infirmary that Samson had existed only minutes before. Panic closed off his throat and congealed his blood as he spied the dark, crumpled shape lying on the stone ground in the middle of the room surrounded by empty cots, potions, and tools.
True, unfettered fear speared through him at the sight of Ember's form lying so still and silent, wearing nothing but a dirty and bloodied black tunic and black tights, her beautiful tightly-coiled red curls spilling all around her, covering the cold stone around her head.
Horrified by the reality of the scene, his body became an arrow, shooting across the room to her, his hat falling off in the process.
His legs buckled, forcing him helplessly to his knees beside her. Blood covered her torso, oozing slowly from an open gash across her chest and hole in her stomach. Her mouth was slightly open, her front teeth blackened with blood.
He wiped his hands clean before digging one hand into his pocket while the other slid gently beneath her shoulders to lift her enough to place the red vial of a health potion to her bloodless lips, her head hanging limp over his arm. The liquid spilled uselessly across her unmoving lips.
With his face going white with shock to horror then heart-clutching dismay, he laid her gently down on the stone floor. The world suddenly fell eerily quiet and a cold breathless dread squeezed his chest.
Numbly, he leaned over her motionless form. With a shaky hand, he touched her cheek.
Her skin was so cold, like ice.
"E-Ember?" The words seared as they left his pain-stifled throat.
Nothing.
With trembling fingers, he touched her face, her pale lips, the base of her fragile throat, feeling for a pulse, any sign of life.
Her pulse was weak. So weak. And getting weaker.
"EMBER!" Desperation laced his cry. "HELP! I NEED HELP! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" Cole screamed hysterically, searching the empty room for help, his expression one of utter panic as the earth started to tremble, his world beginning to crumble around him.
Trembling hands took her pale face gently in them, acidic fear rising like bile up his esophagus. "Open your eyes, dear heart. See me. See into me… please," he pleaded in choking desperation, his insides flipping into a near-crippling agony.
Her head was back, her face bloodless, her eyes closed; she looked…
Cole made a harsh choking sound, his skin feeling as if it were being cut from his bones. Hot, sharp shards of flaming glass hit the backs of his throat and his eyes.
"No. No, no, no…" Cole bent over her unmoving body and pressed his forehead to hers, thumbs caressing her cold cheeks, the feel of wetness swelling beneath his eyelids as cracks started to form in his shape. "Please don't leave me. You said you'd never leave me." His voice cracked on the words that thickly coated his throat. "Don't leave me all alone."
It was only then that Cole noticed Rhys kneeling beside him. Despairing blue irises flickered to land onto Rhys.
"Help her," Cole begged him pitifully. "Please… heal her."
Cole watched Rhys as if from behind a pane of glass as the mage's hands glowed blue with healing magic over her. Nearly an hour later, Rhys sat back on his heels from the still unconscious Inquisitor. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. He'd done it. Somehow, he'd been able to restart the Inquisitor's heart and bring her back from the brink of death.
"She's stable," Rhys murmured, utterly drained of mana.
The entire room seemed to sigh with relief. Most of the Inquisitor's advisors and companions had sat down at some point in the last hour and were sitting on the cots scattered around the infirmary, the torches on the wall the only source of light. But Cole had remained with Ember the entire time, holding her hand, his gaze never straying from her face.
"She'd been beaten up pretty badly and suffered a large gash across her chest and a stab wound to the stomach," Rhys informed the group. "They must have been healing her to keep her from bleeding out. But why would they do that? Why keep her from dying? Why not just let her die?"
Just to make certain, Cole reached out to feel the base of her throat. Her pulse was warm and steady and reassuring.
He frowned as he reached out with his thoughts. There was something… different. He couldn't feel her. Wrong. Something was wrong. It was her, but not her. Inside was hardened and cold, as if someone had snuffed out her burning light. He couldn't feel her warmth. He couldn't see her light. The pulsing power of the Mark on her hand was all he felt, and even that felt different, like it wanted something from him.
"Wrong. All wrong." Cole turned his head to look at Rhys. "Do you see it? Look at her, really look. Do you see it?" Cole gasped, desperately trying to catch his breath, but the panic that had lodged itself in his system prevented it.
Rhys frowned. "I don't know what—?"
"There's nothing. No light. No fire. No song. All wrong!" Cole burst out, hysteria clawing like madness at his cracking composure. "I need her here. Why isn't she here? She's somewhere else, far far from me. I don't know why."
Rhys stroked his beard as he looked down at the still unconscious Inquisitor with a questioning look. "Strange. Now that you say it, I sense something but… Maker, I hope I'm wrong," Rhys muttered to himself as he slowly turned the Inquisitor onto her side. "It's not where it normally is. That's a good sign. Maybe it's not what I think it might…"
Rhys' hand parted Ember's long red curls at the back of her neck to reveal the Chantry's sunburst symbol that had been burned into the skin on the nape of her neck by her father with a branding iron. But that scarred skin was now filled with glowing white liquid that pulsed with magic and could be nothing but lyrium.
Rhys cursed harshly. "She's Tranquil."
With two words, the little breath Cole had left was stolen. It struck so deep that it actually felt as if it might have made him bleed somewhere.
"Tranquil? What exactly that mean?" Sera asked, scared, as she got to her feet from where she'd been sitting on the floor for the past hour.
Rhys stood and turned to face the elf. "Samson is a templar. He performed the Rite of Tranquility on the Inquisitor. The Rite severs a mage's connection to the Fade, and the Tranquil can no longer dream nor draw on the Fade to perform magic. As a side effect, their emotional center is utterly removed."
"Stop talkin' with big friggin' words!" Sera shouted, frantic and frightened. "Say it simple!"
"In one moment, the Inquisitor's mind was branded with lyrium, bringing her to a state devoid of either emotion or sense of self. In the mind of the Tranquil, there is no passion. The Tranquil are striped of their capacity to form anything other than a logical opinion. However, they neither lose their memory nor become automatons: they possess free will, but not the desire to object."
On his knees beside her, Cole's inner world was swaying dizzily, nausea trying to take a grip on his stomach. His stomach heaved, making him gag on bile that burned the back of his throat like acid. He felt like the world as he knew it was being incinerated to ash and he was forced to stand back, helpless but to watch it burn.
No.
It wasn't possible.
He couldn't imagine it.
He couldn't even imagine his Ember with a monotonous voice, a placid smile, and blank, expressionless eyes. An inanimate object that spoke. Passionless. Emotionless. Soulless.
He remembered Ember at the White Spire, so young and terrified of being made Tranquil. It was her greatest fear. She's said she would rather die than live without her soul, than be forced to forever walk aimlessly, unfeelingly, stripped of her abilities, doomed to live as a shell of her former self.
Refusing to accept the truth that was staring at him, Cole tried the only thing he could think to do. But when he put his lips on hers, hoping to reawaken her—to prove that she was still in there, somewhere deep inside the emotionless shell—all he felt was the soul-stripping ache of loss.
As his lips touched hers, he felt the wrongness of it—there was no response, no warmth, no taste of starlight. All the color, all the light, all the music, gone.
Tranquil.
In choked desolation, Cole pulled back from her and bent his head.
Opened his mouth.
And screamed.
Screamed until his voice cracked and gave out on a throat-shredding howl of agony.
"Someone shut it up. It's freakin' me out!" Sera shrieked as she pressed her hands over her ears. "Shut it up, shut it up, SHUT IT UP!"
Josephine immediately ran over to the archer, holding her close, comforting her and trying to calm her down from her hysterical state.
"Well, what are you waitin' for?" Blackwall bellowed at Rhys. "Wave your magic fingers around and heal her!"
"He can't," Dorian answered grimly. "Can you cure a beheading? The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed— there is nothing left of them to fix."
"That's a lie," Rhys retorted. "The Right of Tranquility can be reversed."
Vivienne gasped. "No. There is no cure. Everyone knows that. Once you're made Tranquil, you remain Tranquil."
Rhys looked sharply at the enchantress. "It can be reversed, I assure you. However, the only way to reverse Tranquility is to draw a spirit or demon from the depths of the Fade and have them touch the mind of the Tranquil. A difficult task, considering a Tranquil mind is all but invisible to these beings."
Vivienne's eyes bulged with disbelief. "That's impossible! The Tranquil are immune to demonic possession!"
Cassandra cleared her throat, "That has been the secret of the Seekers. To be cured, the Tranquil must be pure. If they are able to prove themselves worthy to a spirit in the Fade, then the spirit will touch their mind and they will be freed from Tranquility, as well as made into a Seeker of truth. But if the spirit finds the Tranquil unworthy, then Tranquility will be permanent."
Cole suddenly lifted his head, his expression a tableau of heart-wrenching anguish. "I… I-I am a spirit," he uttered in a small, hoarse voice.
Rhys looked down at Cole where he remained kneeling beside the Inquisitor. "Yes, but you are outside of the Fade."
"I can return to the Fade," Cole rushed urgently, the words tumbling out fast and desperate. "I can return. I can find her. Touch her mind. Save her!"
"How?" Rhys asked. "A Tranquil's mind is all but invisible to spirits and demons in the Fade."
"She blazes like a flame, glowing like a beacon," Cole answered simply, as if the answer was obvious. "Her hand burns like a bonfire."
"Cole, buddy, you need to think rationally," Bull pressed gently. "There have been hundreds of thousands of Tranquil throughout history, and not a single one has ever been cured. What makes you think that she'll be any different?"
There was a long pause before Cole spoke.
"Because she has me." Quiet, quiet words.
Varric rubbed his forehead. "Wait, wait… if we agreed to actually go through with this insane plan, how will the Kid return to the Fade? He's too human now."
"The Anchor could allow him to pass safely through the Veil in the flesh, just like at Adamant Fortress," Dorian supplied. "It's not like normal magic. She doesn't need a connection to the Fade to use it. She doesn't need to be a mage to use the Mark and create a rift in the Veil and open a doorway into the Fade. I'm sure Samson was counting on that."
"But unlike at Adamant, Cole wouldn't be able to bring the Mark with him and he's too human to slip back through. He wouldn't have a way back!" Varric shouted. "If the Kid goes into the Fade, he's not coming back! You do know that, don't you?!"
Their shouting and arguing became background noise in Cole's ears as his hand wrapped around the back of Ember's neck. He pulled her limp form forward to him, lifting her upper body off the floor, burying his face in the curve of her neck. His other arm slid under her shoulders to clutch her possessively to his chest. She felt so small, tiny, and brittle in his arms that he wondered if her bones would actually snap if he squeezed her too tightly.
Squeezing his eyes closed, he turned his head, his lips brushing against her ear, "Where you go, I go. I will find you in the Fade. I will bring you back. I won't let this world be emptied of you," he whispered, tears in the achy pitch of his voice.
He felt the tears pooling in his eyes and he quickly buried his face in the fire of her hair. He inhaled slowly, taking the scent of her curls into his expanding lungs, before exhaling slowly on an uneven sigh of acceptance that was soul deep. Then, he lowered her slowly, gently back to the ground.
The Mark on her hand sparked to life, as if it knew what he wanted to do and agreed with it. And the moment its eerie green light touched his skin, Cole somehow knew how to use it.
His eyes dropped from her face to watch his hand move to cover the back of hers. He lifted it to his face. He pressed his lips to her palm, then squeezed his eyes shut on a fresh wave of agony. Then, he turned her hand over so her palm faced forward and slowly extended their combined hands forward until their arms were locked straight.
He concentrated, hard, focusing on her hand, on the power trapped within. The world around him faded to blackness as he concentrated harder, his temples throbbing terribly. The abrupt surge of the Mark's power ripped through him suddenly, piercing painfully into his skin, bathing him in a shower of bright, blinding static.
Swirling unfamiliar energy condensed along his spine and radiated outward. From their combined hands, notes rose through the air wrapped in her green-tinted power and the silvery-white from his own, rising in front of them like steam above a boiling pot to form a rift in the Veil at the back of the room.
Cole lowered her hand to her side and quickly removed the necklace he'd made for her from his neck before securing it around hers. Grief shadowed his face as he put his hand to her chest, to her beating heart, the same beating sound he'd loved her to only days before.
His fingertips trailed over the worn leather necklace hanging around her neck as his hand curved round the back of her neck.
"I love you, dear heart." His voice cracked, blistering tears burning his eyes. "Please remember that."
He touched his lips to hers. It made his chest hurt because this hadn't happened enough. Not nearly enough.
His lips parted hers on a silent, broken sob as two tears slipped from his tightly clenched eyes. His forehead rolled against hers, fingers tight on the nape of her neck as the warm liquid slid slowly down his face to the corners of his mouth, coating his lips with salty tears.
"Never forget me," he begged against her lips, agonized.
Cole stood then and tore across the room with a speed he didn't know he possessed. Heading straight for the rift.
Cole clenched his eyes shut.
He held his breath.
And he leapt.
Author's Note: So… wow. Yeah. There is a lot to say about this chapter. One, I wrote most of this chapter way back with the rest of Part I of this story, which was after I read the book Dragon Age: Asunder and before the third game came out. I'd say in summer of 2014. In the book you find out that the rite of tranquility can be reversed by a spirit or demon possessing the Tranquil mage. That blew my mind because up until then the rite was believed to be irreversible and essentially a death sentence. I fell in love with the idea that out of all the companions and love interests in all of the Dragon Age games, Cole would be the only one who could possibly save the Inquisitor from being made Tranquil because he is a spirit.
Also, when Solas grabs the Inquisitor's hand and pushes it forward to close the very first rift she comes across, I thought there might be something more to that. Maybe he was channeling a little bit of his own magic into the Mark to allow her to do that. Anyway, that gave me the idea that Cole might be able to channel his own power into the mark to help the Inquisitor create a rift, even if she was unconscious.
I know it's sad. I let my sister read this chapter and the next one early and she came over in the middle of the night crying and hitting me over the head with a shoe. But I've had this planned from the very beginning and I love it. There are only a few chapters left so hang on. I'm really nervous about what you guys think. So, I would love to hear from you.
