Chapter Seven: An Invitation

Above them, a river of Light,
Before them the throne of Heaven, waiting,
Beneath their feet
The footprints of the Maker,
And all around them echoed a vast
Silence.

Canticle of Threnodies 8:2-3

x

Valora lay on her bed, just waking up after a dreamless rest. She kicked away her thick cloth blankets and sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. The sun shone brightly through the cracks adorning the walls of her quarters, beaming down on her face and urging her out of bed. She knew she'd be visited soon, so she grabbed her robes from her bedside table and donned them quickly. As she readied herself for the day, she couldn't shake the thoughts running through her mind. The same thoughts that had been eating away at her for a while, now.

It had been several weeks since Valora's last close encounter with Cole. Since that night he found her lost in the snow, he had been distant. He would noticeably try not to look at her if he saw her roaming around Skyhold. Lately he had been avoiding her completely; she hadn't seen him around in days. Valora wondered why he was acting so strangely, treating her as nothing more than a stranger. She had even tried speaking to him in the tavern the day after the incident. She tried thanking him for that night, but he played it off as if he had helped her to simply tie her shoes.

"You needed me. I was happy to help," he had said.

"It was more than that, Cole . . . You saved my life," she had replied. He stared somewhere over her shoulder, his arms crossed, but stayed silent. That quiet disregard almost pained Valora. "How did you even find me?"

His eyes roamed up to the rafters, getting lost in their own world as he searched his memory for the answer to her question. "I followed the light. It was too bright, blinding, and then not bright enough. Calling me closer, but then . . . Fading, flickering and falling away," he replied ominously. His mouth opened again as if to say something more, but he shook his head, dismissing whatever it was. The rafters lost his attention. Instead he focused once more on a place above her shoulder, eyes refusing to look directly at her. "You were afraid of the dark, so I had to make it light again."

"Make what light? The light from my staff?" She slowly crept closer to the man, attempting to get a better look at his face. His features were incredibly difficult to discern, sheltered in shadows cast by his large hat. She wished she could lift it, take it away so she could peer into his deep, crystalline eyes. She longed to see the ghostly characteristics that pieced his mystery together and left her only wanting to see more, to know more.

Cole shifted his feet and wrung his hands together, looking oddly uncomfortable at her approach. Valora could almost swear she heard a sharp intake of breath from the boy, but that wouldn't make much sense. Why would he be so on-edge all of the sudden? She paused in her tracks as she noticed him turning his head away from her to focus on a nearby barrel.

"No." Valora could not tell whether he was answering her question, or denying her closeness. The former seemed easier for her to accept, so she continued with her inquiry.

"What? Then what was it?"

"You." She was taken aback at his sudden change of voice. He exchanged his thoughtful tone with one so deep, so compelling that Valora felt the single word pull under her skin. Forcing herself to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks, she questioned him further. It was to no avail; he simply refused to tell her what he meant by that and replied more sparingly with each fruitless attempt. It was absolutely infuriating.

Valora had given up on making an effort to hold a conversation with him since then, as he seemed more unwilling to associate with her by the second. But she couldn't help but think back on that night. She often thought about Cole. In fact, since he guided her back to her quarters, she had hardly thought of anything else.

She thought of the way it had felt to reside in his protective arms, the way they removed all worries from her mind. She thought of his hand cradling hers ever so gently, as if she might crumble with a single coarse movement. Most of all, she thought of his eyes. They were inhuman, dark and piercing, but full of hushed sentiment. The way he had looked at her before she stepped through the open door to her quarters that night weighed heavily on her mind. How could a single touch, a simple look, bring about so much warmth? So much security? Yet so much . . . longing?

He had taken her all the way up to her room, even though he knew she hadn't needed guidance once they stepped through the large gates of the stronghold. Once they reached the door to her quarters, he stopped and hesitantly let go of her hand. His palm was a warm shield around her own, and Valora felt the stinging chill of the night's air swarm around her hand once he had let go. He gave her a final moonlit glance, one that said farewell. He didn't need to say a word for her to understand; one look spoke volumes, reminding her of her imminent isolation. She sighed in disappointment at a brand new feeling of absence; she didn't want him to leave, not yet. There was something tugging at Valora's mind, something missing from the night.

She felt the missing pieces all the more as she watched Cole turn around to leave, the light of the moon reflecting softly on his lean frame as he took a step away. She couldn't bear to see him fade into the darkness, leaving her alone once again. Valora averted her gaze to the door in front of her, feeling a knot forming in her stomach at all the grateful words left dangling on her tongue, unspoken.

She wanted to tell him, to thank him for everything, but she couldn't bring herself to speak. It was as if a heavy hand was clamped against her throat, robbing her of a voice. It would be easier if she had more time, like the night they'd spent on the battlements until the dawn came to greet them. These things would be much easier to say if he would just . . . Stay.

She shook her head at her own thoughts. There was no reason for him to stay; why would he want to? She was overthinking this whole thing. He was only helping. That was his purpose as a spirit of compassion. It didn't mean anything more than that, right? It couldn't. She reached for the knob in front of her, feeling dejection in the cold steel as she twisted it, and opened the door ever so slightly.

But he had abruptly stepped in front of it, causing her arm to snap back to her side. She heard a low creak and a soft click as his hand reached behind him, pressing the door closed. His broad, masculine build towered over her, and Valora felt a vulnerability that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Turning her chin up to give him a questioning look, she saw the attentiveness etched into his phantomlike features. He emanated a haunting aura, only intensified by the chilling winds flowing through the narrow space between them. An icy gust swept his hair aside, revealing two gleaming irises etched from hard stone, seemingly black in the shadows of the night. This close, she could see his eyes holding a stunning rush of warmth, making her heart turn flips in her chest. Immediately her quizzical expression vanished and was replaced with an air of wonder, her eyes widening and glinting in the shade he cast upon her small, elven frame. The way he peered into her sent a wave of electricity down her spine, a hushed blare of excitement through her ears.

He had entranced her with a gaze like no other: a fervent stare that seemed to reach into her very soul with its hard intensity. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She felt as if she was nailed to the spot, his haunted expression holding her there by sheer will. The shadows clung over every contour of his ghostlike face, bringing forth a treacherously appealing expression; a deadly mystery that Valora only yearned to understand. His murky eyes were penetrating, seeking something in her own. They darted between each of her verdant orbs, searching for answers to several silent questions. Valora didn't know what he was looking for, but she had gazed back into those deep shades of blue, hoping desperately he would find whatever it was he sought. . . Hoping he might seek even more.

They never said a word as they stood there together, gazes intertwined in a powerful moment of unspoken deliberation. Her long, red-tinted hair became restless in the wind, sweeping around her face to carry softly on the current. Cole gingerly lifted a hand to her face, pausing mere inches from her reddened cheek, unsure of exactly what he was doing.

Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions she dared not break the silence with. He seemed to feel the same. His lips parted, wanted to say something, but his head was swarming with thoughts that would make little sense if spoken aloud. One word, it seemed, could destroy the fragile connection they felt surging between them. One word, and the moment might disappear. She felt as if they might stand there forever, silently enveloping each other's minds, but he finally broke eye-contact. With a blink, his eyebrows furrowed and his hand recoiled, gaze taking purchase on the ground.

She wouldn't forget it, the last time he had looked her in the eyes. He turned—a greatly troubled look overtaking his features before the large brim of his hat curved to cover the mask of confusion—and opened her door for her. Her curious eyes followed him as he stepped aside, allowing her to hesitantly walk in. She strode inside without a word, but suddenly the pressure on her throat was lifted, and her mind changed. It couldn't be left like that. The elf spun around, ready to speak—to bombard Cole with questions—but the man had vanished into the night, just like the phantom he was. It was too late; she would have to deal without having the answers, it seemed. Silently cursing herself for her own hesitation, she closed the door.

What had that been? Valora couldn't begin to understand what was going through his mind in those moments, but perhaps he saw what was going through hers. Maybe that's why he had to practically force himself to look away from her that night, nearly two months ago. Maybe her thoughts had been interesting to him. Or were her thoughts the reason he was avoiding her? But, being a spirit, did he understand those thoughts? Then again, being sheltered in the alienage every day of her life, did she understand?

Now she was left with so many unanswered questions, so many unfulfilled wishes that she shouldn't even have. He was a spirit, a being of the Fade, and she was an elf. He probably didn't even know what her feelings meant, and she wasn't completely sure either. It shouldn't, couldn't mean anything . . . But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, her emotions were hanging on to a thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, it had meant something. She sighed, raising a hand to press against her forehead. Maker, I'm a mess.

Other than her restless thoughts of the spirit boy over the past couple of months, she had been pretty entertained with other members of the Inquisition. Varric had taught her to play Wicked Grace, and she had become quite a threat during their weekly game sessions at the tavern. The dwarf noticed Valora had quite the temper, snapping at anyone when they had a better hand than she. Every competitor found her behavior quite entertaining, though the young elf was truly infuriated when she began to lose. This earned her the nickname "Gingersnap," much to Valora's displeasure. She had won many royals and trinkets that were now littered around her spacious room, acting as decorations and reminders of triumph. She couldn't hope to win against Josephine, however. The one time the elf had bet against her, Valora left the tavern without her shoes. She knew better than Commander Cullen, it appeared. That stubborn man would bet on his skin if he could take it off.

She had also learned a very complex board game from Dorian. She didn't like it as much as Wicked Grace; there were too many rules. Not to mention the Tevinter managed to trump her at every single game they played. He would land each winning move with a flourish, a boast Valora forced herself to overlook; she did not admire his superiority complex, even though she unknowingly had one of her own.

Valora found that he was a sweet man under all of the grandeur he regarded himself with. She enjoyed visiting his area of Skyhold the most, probably due to the fact it was surrounded by books she'd never had the chance to study. And she didn't even have to "borrow" them like she'd had to do at the alienage. She could just walk up and grab one, instead of sneaking into someone's house while they weren't home just to snatch a book and return it later with no one the wiser. She and Dorian would often discuss the knowledge from the books they'd read, and he would be the one to come to for recommendations when she had an itch for a new read.

Valora seemed to get along well with everyone she'd met; all except Sera. The blonde elf had a knack for insulting people, especially her own people. Valora didn't understand it at all. Sera had called her elfy. Elfy. What did that even mean? Sera was absolutely maddening to Valora with her loud speaking and her unintelligible slurs. Not to mention her obnoxious gassy mishaps and the fact that anywhere she went, somehow there were always one or two bees left in her wake.

Just a couple of days before, Valora had awoken to find grape jam tangled in her hair. Believing she had been knocked over the head and that the jam was blood, she let out a shriek of terror. The laughter trailing up from below her room stopped Valora's panic; it was Sera. The Inquisitor had warned her of Sera's flair for pranks, but didn't expect the blonde elf to bother her if she kept her distance. She was wrong. Now, every night before she went to bed, she would prop a stray board up against the closed door. If Sera was up for a late night visit, Valora would be alerted with the loud bang of the wood hitting the floor.

Valora was jerked from her reminisces. She had just finished donning her cloak when there was a sudden knock at her door. Solas, no doubt. She wasn't looking forward to traveling out in the snow for the fourth day in a row, but it was inevitable. He had mentioned their training would continue five consecutive days a week until she was as good with magic as he. As if, she thought doubtfully. She had become quite a decent spell caster, learning quickly with the aid of her sharp mind and spirit. That didn't mean she enjoyed waking up as soon as the sun peeked over the mountains, or traipsing through the snow in a flimsy robe and heavy cloak. She rolled her eyes, strolling to the door once more to answer the elf's increasingly annoying summons.

x

Their training had went exceptionally well for Valora being distracted the whole time. Other than basic, miniscule fireballs, she had managed a few powerful frost shards, conjured a steady barrier, deflected a few spells, and even managed to fry Solas' robes with a lightning bolt. She was particularly proud of the latter. She had never managed to get a hit on him before.

He had danced like a fool trying to swat away the smoke billowing from his clothing, much to Valora's amusement. She had a chance to chuckle at him for once, but there was something tugging her laughter back, refusing to let her enjoy the entertainment to its full extent. Those thoughts that left her feeling incomplete.

Cole was going through her mind the whole time, as he was every day since even their first encounter. She kept asking herself the same questions: Will he ever talk to me again? Does he hate me? Was it something I did? Or something I didn't do? I wonder what he's doing right—no. This is getting out of hand. I need to stop. Whatever it was, if it was anything, it's over now.

She had grimaced, a sense of dread kicking her at the last thought. The thought diverted her mind from the task at hand, so much that she almost didn't block the blue flames Solas had sent flying at her, scorching a small section of her palm by trying to deflect with her hands. She shook it off, however, and cooled the burn with snow as she had grown accustomed to doing over the weeks. Oh well. Another to add to the collection.

After training, they traveled back to Skyhold. Solas appraised her for her vast improvement. She was noticeably growing more powerful with each day, a fact that Solas said frightened him. Valora could understand the tone in his voice; he was only jesting with her. But she had silently prided herself. She wanted to be feared. She wanted to be worse than any nightmare that had ever haunted her; more powerful than any beast that may ever wish to threaten her. She desired the power to overcome even the world if it were to turn its back.

Upon reaching the end of the bridge to the stronghold, Valora noticed a group of people bunched by the first welcoming set of stairs, evidently in some sort of argument judging by the heated looks on each of their faces. She had no trouble hearing them as they quarreled, voices raising in cross persuasion.

"We do not know what she may be capable of! She could become an abomination for all we know. Perhaps it is better we find the solution before things get out of hand," a short-haired woman wearing heavy battle armor declared. Valora didn't like the way she emphasized the word 'solution' as if there was a hidden meaning. She didn't really like any of the words that the woman spoke; they were much too harsh, spoken with malice.

"She's only a girl, Cassandra. We can't just leave her locked in this place forever, do you know how maddening it is? We will have everything under control. And no! We need no solution. Chances are, she's just as harmless as the young man with the hat. What's his name again?" a red-haired woman said.

"Leliana is right. I really want her to accompany us; she seems bored out of her wits here. This is one mission that doesn't seem as cutthroat as all the rest. It'll do her good. She has become very talented with her magic; there should be nothing to worry about. This is something she might even enjoy! All she has to do is stand around and listen to the nobles gossip about each other. She is part of the Inquisition after all; it's about time we started treating her as such," Inquisitor Lavellan proposed.

"No, no, no, none of this will work. She must be supervised at all times. We cannot let her out of our sights! You heard Solas; the girl may be in danger. Maker knows all of Orlais will be in danger if she falls prey to that demon while we're investigating! She'd be doing Corypheus' work for him," Cullen stated firmly.

Valora neared them slowly. They had yet to notice her in the heat of their debate, but she had heard nearly all of what they said. It was difficult not to, considering the high tone in which they quarreled. Apparently the louder you were, the more potent your argument really was. Solas told them about the spirit? They thinks it's a demon? And what's this about nobles? Oh, I've got to hear this.

"Hello," she said, feigning ignorance. The young elf managed to startle everyone in the group with her untimely arrival. The Inquisitor quickly regained composure, though it was visibly superficial. She waved her glowing palm nervously at the young elf.

"Oh, er, Valora. Fancy seeing you here," Lavellan said, an apprehensive expression covering her dark, tattooed face.

"Inquisitor . . . I live here."

"Uhhh, right! But you haven't met Cassandra! This is Cassandra!" Lavellan gave a rough pat to Cassandra's back. She was overdoing the casual act, earning a disgusted noise from the woman in question. Valora smiled awkwardly and spoke greetings to the silent woman with short, dark hair and a notable scar on her cheek. It wasn't exactly hard to tell that this woman did not trust Valora. She had an icy demeanor and stared at the elf with stoic eyes. This was the same woman from the outside of the infirmary; the one chopping angrily at a training dummy as if it had given her an unforgivable insult. She looked dangerous and increasingly annoyed at Lavellan's antics.

The red-haired woman turned to the elf and smiled. "Leliana, spymaster of the Inquisition. You must be the fairly new girl everyone has been making a big fuss about. The one with the . . . extra passenger." Leliana gave a sly smile, one that let Valora know she was not perturbed with the fact that the elf may be an abomination. Her introduction was a bit too straightforward for Lavellan's taste, however. The Dalish elf stared at the spymaster in disbelief, arms dangling at her sides with her mouth slightly agape.

"Valora Levisan, Nice to meet you. And believe me, I've heard the fuss," the elf stated irritably, eyes glancing over the Inquisitor and her advisors. They all took on different guilty poses, lowering their eyes to the ground or shuffling their feet awkwardly. All except for Cassandra, whose pose seemed more threatening than anything. The woman's eyes were dark and treacherous as she scanned the girl from head to toe. She imagined Cassandra was determining all of her weak points in case she ever had need to take advantage of them. It made Valora more than a little uncomfortable.

"We were actually just talking about you coming with us—"

"Inquisitor, don't," the Commander cut in, swiping his hand to the side as if her sentence was a tangible thing he could push away with a gesture.

"Hush, Cullen. We were wondering if you'd like to accompany us to a ball at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral. Tomorrow we'll prepare, and we leave immediately the following evening," the Inquisitor finished, grinning defiantly at her irritated blonde advisor. Cassandra shook her head in disapproval and sauntered away with a gait so rigid that Valora was sure the woman was holding back every ounce of fury she contained. Cullen soon followed after giving the Inquisitor a sneer, not bothering to glance in Valora's direction. This made the elf feel incredibly small, but in the same moment she felt an air of importance as Lavellan looked upon her in tense expectation.

Valora opened her mouth to speak, but had no idea what to say. A ball? Halamshiral? Two days? It was obvious to say that Valora had never had the chance to attend a ball, much less in Orlais. Those were for the rich, condescending nobles who hid their insecurities with too much makeup under their ridiculous Orlesian masks. They would jump at the opportunity to trample an elf like her. But she would be lying if she said she wasn't a little interested in dressing up and eavesdropping on the nobles while they metaphorically slaughter each other. Plus, didn't the nobility alway offer free food at social events? No matter how disgusting it all may be, that settled it.

"I would love to," Valora stated definitely.

Cole paced back and forth on the upper level of the tavern. He had been like that for weeks, much to everyone's annoyance. When the night came and the tavern closed, the residents would lay down for sleep. But constantly hearing the tap, tap, tap of feet as they shuffled along the floor was starting to get out of hand. The Iron Bull had a talk with him once, but it seemed Cole didn't quite understand what Bull meant by "finding someone to keep his feet off the floor at night." How was he supposed to walk with someone lifting his feet? In addition, Sera had thrown pillows at him a few times, which he promptly returned and explained why he had no need for them.

Finally the barkeeper screamed at him to stop walking all hours of the night, keeping everyone awake. This command Cole understood. He had stopped pacing in the tavern during the nights, allowing everyone a peaceful sleep. When the moon streaked across the sky, he took to the battlements or the open fields in front of Skyhold's immense tower. But when the tavern was buzzing around midday, so was he.

It wasn't like he paced the sunlight away; he would often search for people who needed his help. He would spend much of his time assisting the nurse in Skyhold's infirmary. She was always in need of ingredients for new remedies, and there were always wounded soldiers who needed patching up. It was the best way to take his mind off of the conflicts he felt nagging deep within himself. The distraction was much needed. During the night, however, most people were at peace, leaving him with no release from his foreign emotions. They were frightening, as he had never experienced his feelings so vividly. It was always other people's afflictions that he heard singing songs of sorrow in his head. Never his own. But now it seemed as if his own songs had become louder, drowning out the din of despair from others. It wasn't right.

He paced to one wall, then turned around and strode to the opposite wall, avoiding the floor's broken planks that threatened to trip their unsuspecting prey. The clinking of glasses and the merriment of men and women below were all but masked by the thoughts whirling about in his head. He had his arms folded across his chest, his eyebrows knit in an expression just as confused as it was almost two months ago when he had returned Valora to her quarters after rescuing her from the darkness.

He had heard a voice—her voice—telling him not to leave, but then it was gone. He delved into her eyes that night, hoping her thoughts would return and tell him not to go, any reason for him to stay with her. He didn't know why he wanted to. He was confused. Why? He would frequently question himself on the matter, but he could never find the answer. He enjoyed his friends being around in Skyhold, but he had no particular interest in sticking around them for too long; they all started to get boring. But she didn't.

This was even different than his friend back at the White Spire. He had wanted Rhys around to not feel so alone; to protect Rhys from dangers because he was the only one he truly had. Rhys was the only one who could see him at first, the only who could make him real. He still missed Rhys, more than anything, but it was unlike how he felt now. He wasn't alone, yet he still did not want to be too far from Valora—not even for a second. What was it supposed to mean? Wanting someone without needing them? It wasn't like him.

He had tried to stay away from her despite his growing attachment, afraid and unsure of what he was feeling. Every time he saw the pretty elf, his heart would give a great punch to his ribs. The butterflies in his stomach would flutter their iron wings until it was almost painful. He decided not to look at her anymore; the feeling was unnatural, uncomfortable. He didn't have the words for this. How do I say it? He shook his head in frustration.

He enjoyed being around her, even through the unsettling ache she forced into his stomach. When he saw her, she radiated a beautiful light that was hard to take his gaze off of. He liked her voice, the way she would softly sing when she thought no one else was around. She was gentle and endearing; she could never be like those people who made others hurt. But there was one thing he liked about her that he couldn't find in anyone else: the way she looked at him.

He could still picture the soft, emerald gaze she held him with. Her eyes sparkled when she saw him, as if he could be something of immeasurable value to her. He remembered how she had clung to him, as if he was the gravity keeping her feet steady on the ground. In those moments they were together, she made him feel important, like he truly belonged in this world. Her gaze was no exception. Others had looked at him as a friend, but she wasn't like that. Her breath always slowed or stopped when she looked at him, but her heart didn't.

He could almost hear the rapid thumping against her chest as he had stood in front of her that night, could almost see the way the shining copper of her hair swept delicately to caress her face in the strong winds. She'd left her hood down, a gesture that told him she felt vulnerable, yet was unafraid to let it show. He wished she would do that more often. Once he'd made sure she could safely return to her quarters, he turned to leave. It would have been much easier if the voice hadn't gripped him, drawing him back to where she was. She'd tried to open her door to part ways with him, but he heard something entirely different.

Stay, her mind whispered. It seized his attention, and he acted on impulse. He stepped in front of the door and investigated the depths of her eyes, trying to pry into her mind to find that small voice again. As they locked gazes, he could feel a slight need radiating from her—different from anything anyone had ever felt for him. He could not understand it. Her senses were a blare in his ears, but her thoughts were silent. He could sense that need—that imprecise plea—escalating as he came closer. Was that an invitation, or an uncomfortable rejection? He couldn't tell, couldn't hear over the sound of himself.

Cole's pacing quickened, and he pressed his fingers to his brow in contemplation. He didn't understand what she wanted. Only Solas was ever able to block him out, but now every time he neared Valora, she would grow quiet, too. His own thoughts were too loud to hear hers, too overwhelming to beat back down. Since he had learned what he was, he had built on his power to read other people, but it seemed he was reverting, receding to reality when he was with her. When he couldn't hear others, the world felt unbearably finite. Was that how humans felt?

How was he supposed to know what to do to make her happy? To know what she needed from him? He didn't want to confront her; he was afraid she would be angry with him for not knowing what she wanted. He had always been able to help, but he couldn't help her if he couldn't hear her. His whole purpose was defied in her midst, but he still had the unbearable longing to be close to her, to hear her voice again.

I have to make her know. He gasped at his sudden thought, freezing in his tracks. The thought intrigued him as much as it terrified him. He wondered how she would react, yet stressed over the possibility she might dismiss his feelings. No one had ever really taken his feelings seriously; the Inquisitor and Solas treated him like a child who needed guidance through all things. Varric let him do things his way, but not without a long sigh or a correction if things were done the wrong way. Sera wouldn't even address him as a person, and The Iron Bull wanted things for Cole that the boy didn't really want at all.

For once, he just wanted someone to understand. Not push him in a direction he didn't want to go. Not tell him he's mistaken, that he doesn't know what he's doing. He wanted someone to listen, recognize that he is more than just some misplaced spirit in a world too advanced for his existence. He wanted someone to make him know he belongs in this world. He didn't want to feel like he wasn't a person. Not anymore. He wanted someone to let him know that he was real, that he could make his own decisions. Maybe that's why he couldn't shake the feelings he felt when he thought about his elven friend. Valora had made him feel more real than anything else. More real than his mistakes.

His mistakes . . . The mages' lives he had ended in the Spire. None of their eyes had held the level of attention Valora's emerald stare had. She didn't see him as a ghost; she saw him as a human, a hero. As real as anyone else, but better. He closed his eyes, picturing the enthralled way she had always looked at him. His heart leapt. The mages saw him as a release from the world's bindings, and somehow Valora saw him in a way even larger than that.

At the White Spire, he had demanded the mages to look him in the eyes while he killed them. As he thrust his dagger into their still-beating hearts, he had reveled in the recognition in their gaze. They knew him then as the most important thing in the world. In those precious seconds before death, the mages recognized him as their only release; he was the only one separating them from a life of torture or Tranquility. He held their lives in his hands, and he loved knowing that he mattered to them. That made him feel real . . . Until his friend, Rhys, made him know better.

There were other ways to help people. Not just to kill them. Helping people, Cole realized, made him just as important to the hopeless. No lives needed to be lost for him to feel real, even for a short time. It didn't matter whether they remembered him or not. They would feel better, and that is what mattered to him. Knowing he made a real difference . . . That was the important thing.

But there was a difference between the way he felt when he helped people and the way the elven girl made him feel. He didn't need to help her for her to make him feel tangible. Just a look, just a whisper; that was all he needed from her to know he was significant. To know he was worth more than just being some easily overlooked helping hand.

Even her thoughts about him before he had been repelled from her mind made him feel alive in a brand new sense. She had thoughts of him the likes of which no one else ever dared. Others either didn't see him, were in too much pain to notice, or were intimidated by his ghostly presence. She was undeterred, admiring him with a vitality that made him feel content in his own skin. He didn't understand why she thought these things; those kinds of thoughts weren't for someone like him.

Sometimes she forgot he was a spirit. She had contemplated what kissing him would be like. A few times. But every time she realized what she was thinking, she distracted herself with nature. The trees, flowers, rocks, or birds soaring overhead suddenly became the most interesting things to Valora when she had let her mind slip in such an uncouth way. This didn't seem unnatural to Cole at first; many people tried not to think about their basic urges when they knew they couldn't have them. It was often painful for people to long for things far out of their reach. But he could do nothing about people's affections for each other. He could, however, do something about Valora's attraction.

What? He hadn't thought much about the basis of her urges in the beginning. They had been brief each time they came to mind, and they weren't desperate enough to take note of . . . until he brought her back to her room that night. When he came closer to her, her desire flared. In that moment, he realized her urges were contagious, becoming his own. But he was too nervous to act on them, too confused at what it might mean. And so was she. He could feel the longing, but there was panic there, too. The apprehension settled in both of them until he forced himself to turn away, ending their internal debate. He couldn't make that happen.

He had never wanted that, not from anyone, not ever! He needed to focus on what other people needed, not himself. But the wanting, the wishing, it was welling inside her, boiling over until it spilled into him as well. Was this a need of his own? But, don't worldly yearnings often lead people to make bad decisions; to corrupt? Was he becoming selfish like the people he swore to eliminate? His unjustifiable impulses horrified him.

Horrified him almost as much as the loud exclamation that came from the Inquisitor as she jerked him away from his thoughts, causing his cloudy eyes to shoot open in surprise.

"Cole! There you are! I have something for you to do," she exclaimed, practically frolicking towards him across the tavern like an excited little child. She stopped mere inches in front of him, panting with fatigue. He leaned away from her, lips curving down in discontent at his lack of personal space.

"You know that thing you do where no one can see you? We need you to do that, but at the Winter Palace. In two days. You need to spy on the nobles. For . . . For the people!"

Cole narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I . . . can. But how does that help people?"

"Great! And you're going to need to wear these," Inquisitor Lavellan yelped, ignoring his question completely. She handed a bundle of red, blue, and gold clothes to him. His eyebrows knitted together as he grabbed them from her, unfolding them to analyze the regality the suit encompassed.

"Can I—"

"No hats, Cole."

Cole groaned, dissatisfied, but set the clothes on top of a barrel for future wear. He had no interest in spying on fancy people, but if it helped, he was more than willing. The Inquisitor departed after patting Cole on the top of his hat. He didn't know why she always did that, but he appreciated the gesture. After a few minutes of solitude, he left the tavern to help the nurse tend to the infirmary.

Author's Note: Important!

I've made dramatic changes to chapter one and two and I plan on making more tweaks here and there, so if some things start to not make sense to you, it's because I've altered the past. I do recommend reading back over chapter one, at least after the part where she merges with the spirit. A lot is different, and I did it for a reason.

LadyStoic, thanks so much for your reviews! I love feedback, and you covered like, every chapter. My heart stopped when I saw I had 5 new reviews, so I deeply appreciate it. Glad you're liking it, and hope you continue to like it (:

Syrilth, thank you for your review! It made me smile like an idiot. It's good to know that people actually enjoy something that I've made. And that review was very sweet, I hope you continue enjoying this story. (:

SinistrousDelirious, nice name. :p Thanks for your review, glad I could catch your interest! Hope you'll like the rest of the story. Oh, and of course. We can't have a Colemance without it being the cutest, mushiest thing ever. That'd just be a waste. (;

To everyone who has favorited, reviewed, and followed: You encourage me to keep on writing. Without you, I'd feel no reason to carry on. You all inspire me, and I want to let you know that you mean a lot to me! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter & I'll try to keep your attention throughout the rest of them. Have a great day! (: