Author's Note: This chapter has a soundtrack: Fire N Gold by Bea Miller. Oh, and the dress Ember wears is like the dress Merida wears in the Disney move Brave. WARNING! This chapter contains spoilers.

Solas Translations:

Elgar: "Spirit."

Mana atish'all lathbora viran: "Stop from entering the path to a place of lost love."

Fenedhis lasa: A common curse.

Dirthara-ma enfanim mala vhenan'ara: "May you learn to fear your heart's desire."

Chapter 23 – The Winter Palace: Part 1

All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands

From the lowest slaves

To the highest kings

Those who bring harm

Without provocation to the least of His children

Are hated and accursed by the Maker

- Transfigurations 1:1 – 1:5

The Inquisitor sat on the couch in her bedchamber at Skyhold as Leliana and Josephine wrestled with something long and orange in the pile of clothes they'd brought with them that were now hanging in her closet. After a few seconds, Leliana turned toward her, holding-

Oh, hell no. A knot of horror clenched in her gut, all thought of the mission to save Empress Celene forgotten.

"It's lovely, no?" asked Leliana, her eyes glinting. Ember didn't know if it was out of amusement or malevolence. Quite possibly both.

Ember glared. "I don't wear dresses. I don't like dresses."

Leliana fought a smile as she went back into the wardrobe to search beside Josephine The Spy Master was wearing a lavish, sapphire blue silk dress that slid sleekly down her curvy body to heeled shoes of the same blue color. Beside her, Josephine looked lovely in a lavender ball-gown, her neck adorned with a bright diamond, her black hair swept up in intricate braids. They were both stunningly gorgeous, sophisticated, and elegant. They would fit right in at the Palace. She would not.

Josephine pulled back out of the wardrobe, a dress held up before her. Ember's jaw clenched. The gown, in short, was atrocious. One could see that right off. It was hard not to, since the damn thing was made of a garish pink taffeta with awful ruffles. Ember had never worn the color pink and didn't plan on it.

Ember's eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious."

Josephine looked at the dress. "You don't like it?"

Ember crossed her arms. "I loathe pink, and I refuse to wear anything that is absolutely festooned with ruffles."

Josephine frowned and ran a hand over the pink fabric. "What about something purple? With your hair color, you'd look nice in purple."

"I don't wear dresses," Ember stressed again through a clenched jaw. "Ever."

Josephine gave her a sharp look. "I don't know, because you do now. I'm in charge of wardrobe for the mission tonight at the Winter Palace, and unless you want to go naked, Inquisitor, you're wearing a dress."

Ember stared at the pink monstrosity, horrified. "I'm not your doll, ambassador. You can't make me play dress-up."

"Yes, I can," snapped Josephine. "And I will. I've got a dozen years of high-society fashion expertise, and I can make your life a nightmare if you try to fight it. Ever try to sit down in a dress with a bustle?" The ambassador gave her a pointed look. "Behave, or I might consider making you wear one."

"Besides, you can't say you don't like it until you give it a chance, sweeting," Leliana added brightly. "How about this dress? It belongs to Sera. She gave it to me this morning, thinking it would look lovely on you."

Leliana held up a forest green, faux velvet dress. It was a simple and modest dress that reached the floor and had long sleeves. It was still a dress, so she hated it in principle, but at least it wasn't ruffly, frilly, or poofy like all of the other dresses Leliana and Josephine had shown her.

"That one?" Josephine eyed the dress with disgust. "But it's a peasant's dress. Not one the Inquisitor should-"

Letting out a low growl in the back of her throat, Ember stood and snatched the dress from Leliana's hand and stormed into the side room to change. They could make her wear a dress, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

Once she was alone, Ember pulled off her armor and let the dress slip over her head. Her face flamed as she looked down at herself.

Horrible.

Forest green velvet hugged every inch of her. Narrow sleeves fanned out just toward the end, the waist fitted, the skirt hugging her body down to her ankles. The bodice dipped low over her chest, her small breasts having no place to hide. Two little mounds that - to her horror - jiggled with every move she made. One deep breath and she would likely pop free and flash the Queen of Orlais, thoroughly disgracing herself and the Inquisition.

Blushing furiously, she gritted, "I am not wearing this."

She could hear Josephine laugh in her room. "Oh, come now. Surely the gown isn't so horrible?"

Ember's scowl deepened. "'Horrible' doesn't even begin to describe it."

Ember returned to them glowering. Josephine was obviously displeased with the dress, but Leliana seemed to find it fitting. Josephine was grumbling to herself while she tried to force Ember's feet into a pair of heeled shoes, but Ember refused and instead pulled on her black boots before strapping a dagger to her thigh.

Once they'd finished dressing her, they sat her down and fussed with her wildly unruly red curls for a few minutes. But when they were unable to run a comb through them, they gave up and moved on to her makeup. Ember was terrified. She'd never worn makeup before and really, really didn't want to now.

Leliana hummed as she worked, and any complaints Ember had were either ignored or cut off by random bursts of song. Just as she started to wonder if the torture would ever end, Leliana was finished.

"All done," Leliana said clapping her hands with glee and satisfaction.

Ember turned and looked at herself in the mirror on her vanity. Her face was brushed with all of these colors. Her blue-green eyes were heavily lined with dark powders, her cheeks artificially pinkened, and her lips stained a dark red that made them look like they were dipped in blood.

The Inquisitor frowned. "Why do I need all these colors on my face?"

Leliana smiled. "You look great, no?"

"I look like a fancy whore," Ember answered honestly.

Leliana slapped her shoulder. "Hush, you look amazing, sweeting."

Ember didn't think so. She looked like a strumpet, not a warrior. She felt so phony, but she guessed she was doing a good enough job at masking the inner turmoil because the other two women didn't seem to notice her distress. But Ember felt an anxiety attack brewing in her stomach at the thought of being seen in public like this. Not just in public, she reminded herself, but in front of the Queen of Orlais and the entire Orlesian court, as well as the most influential people in all of Thedas.

"Cullen's jaw will drop when he sees you," Josephine giggled.

Ember remained silent as she thought back to last night at the Herald's Rest, and of how she'd woken up this morning with an irrepressible grin, which had faded when she'd rolled over to find Cole missing from her bed.

It seemed he'd stayed with her last night, but nothing had been resolved. There had been no solution between them, nothing fixed or changed. He still had a brick wall made up of fears between them. She understood his fears, the dangerous that lurked simply because he was what he was, and she was what she was. But she felt – no, she knew – that last night she'd made a sizable hole in the wall that kept him from her.

She'd never believed in anything. The world had always been against her. If something could go wrong, it did. If something could hurt her, it cut deep. If something could break her, it tried. This world made her believe in nothing but the guarantee of loneliness, pain, and suffering. But she believed in them.

At her silence, Josephine turned her head and watched her closely.

"You do like Cullen, don't you?" Josie asked.

Ember played with the long sleeves of her dress. "Cullen's a good friend."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"We need to leave for Halamshiral," Leliana said. "Are you ready, sweeting?"

"No," Ember answered glumly. "I'm a fighter, not a politician. I don't think I can do this."

Josephine crossed her arms. "Inquisitor, every noble in the empire will be attending the grand ball tonight making it the perfect place and time for Corypheus' assassin to strike."

Ember grumbled, "I know."

Josephine's voice turned stern, "Inquisitor, I must warn you before you go to the Winter Palace: How you speak to the court is a matter of life and death." Her expression was grave. "It is no simple matter of etiquette and protocol. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness."

Her eyes rolled. "Don't they sound delightful. I'm socked we haven't invited the court to dinner at Skyhold."

"The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards." Josie ran a nervous hand over her gown. "When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire court will be upon you. To be honest, you were safer in the Fade with the fear demon."

Ember got to her feet and headed for her door. "You're just full of joy and light this evening."

Josephine sighed wearily as she followed after the Inquisitor and the Spy Master. "Everything will be fine." The ambassador sounded like she was trying to reassure herself, sounding truly terrified they would all be hanged before the night was over. "Andraste watch over us all."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the other side of Skyhold, Cole was hiding.

He'd squeezed inside a large hollow cavity in the trunk of a large dead tree. A dense moisture and an acrid smell of rot and decay surrounded him in the hollow, damp enclave.

He stood on numb legs with his back against the wall of the tree trunk, his eyes closed, the orange tabby cat that had followed in after him swatting his feet.

"Elgar!"

Cole jumped when he heard Solas' voice shouting the elven name he called him when he was angry.

There was a hole in the side facing the stables and Cole tripped over the cat as he moved toward it, looking through it, and realizing that he had a good vantage.

With his heart hammering, he kept his eye on the open space in front of the tree, watching his friend approach through the hole.

"Cole, stop hiding from me!" Solas shouted. "We need to finish our conversation."

Cole remained silent in his hiding place inside the tree trunk as he watched Solas search for him.

He didn't want to talk to his friend right now.

Solas had found out about what had happened last. His friend was very angry with him. Very disappointed. Frightened for the two of them. Solas said he was making a huge mistake. Solas had said he was endangering her. Solas had said he was putting the world at risk all for something so trivial. Solas had said… many things. But his friend didn't understand.

After a while of searching, Solas sighed, giving up. "You know what I said was true, my friend," Solas whispered to himself, but Cole heard him. "Mana atish'all lathbora viran."

"Fenedhis lasa," the elf cursed as he turned his back to Cole and headed for the stables. "Dirthara-ma enfanim mala vhenan'ara."

After the elf had disappeared, Cole slid out of the cavity in the tree trunk.

He sighed, sagging back against the tree trunk and banged his head into the wood, the cat following out after him to continue to swat at his feet.

The sky was suddenly clear and the fading sun hot on his face. A cool breeze ruffled his clothes and hair as the birds chirp noisily overhead. He looked up into the branches of the tree and spotted a blue jay.

"Tell me a story," Cole whispered to it, needing it.

The blue jay chirped away, telling a story that Cole wished he could understand.

He felt unusually drained, limbs heavy, and the rumbling emptiness in his stomach was growing more insistent than ever. His body ached from head to toe. The cut on his arm hadn't healed yet, which was strange. He usually healed very quickly. When he went to the rookery this morning to put honey in Leliana's tea, she'd seen him even though he hadn't allowed her too. That seemed to be happening a lot more lately. He didn't know why.

Cole squeezed his eyes shut. Last night he'd given up his silent vigil as her ever watchful but distant protector. He'd been touching her cheek, unable to stop from allowing himself that one touch. When he pulled his hand away to go, she'd spoken to him in a voice so sweet.

"Don't go. Don't leave me alone."

Cole slammed the back of his skull into the wood again and then again.

"Hey, Kid!"

Cole jumped to find Varric standing in front of him, flanked by The Iron Bull, Cullen, and Blackwall.

After reading Blackwall's note, Josephine had worked tirelessly throughout the night and used the Inquisition's resources to get Blackwall - Thom Rainier - out of prison and into the Inquisition's custody. Cole was glad Blackwall was back, glad the others weren't still angry at Blackwall for lying to them, or at him for not telling them about Blackwall's past.

"Ready to leave for the Winter Palace?" Varric asked, watching him carefully.

Cole nodded slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

As they walked the grounds of Skyhold, The Iron Bull, Varric, Blackwall and Cullen were dressed in clothes that were different than they usually wore, and were bright red in color and very shiny. He wasn't very bright or shiny in his typical black leather armor.

While Josephine and Leliana prepared Ember for the Winter Palace – whatever that meant - the rest of the group had voted that because of his uniqueness and social awkwardness, they didn't want him mingling with the nobility. That was okay with him. He didn't like talking, preferred helping. They'd said that his unique skills made him the best one to keep to the shadows of the Palace and find the assassin while the others played the Game. He was a little disappointed. He liked games, although they all seemed frightened to play this one.

"Hey, Kid, on the mission this morning that farmer was looking right past you. Why didn't you let him see you?"

Cole looked down at the dwarf walking beside him. "He didn't need me."

Varric shrugged. "Maybe not, but you could learn something by talking with him."

Cole's head tilted. "What would I learn? I can hear when they need me."

Varric grumbled, "You could learn not to scare them so badly that they have to forget you."

Cole fiddled with one of the straps of his armor. "I'll… try."

Varric eyed him closely with a pitying look. "Last night was rough. How are you feeling, Kid?"

Emotions and memories rippled from Varric into Cole. There was an elven girl with black hair, and Varric found the girl similar to him - unstable, senseless, and dangerous yet kind with a good heart . Varric's thoughts about him and Ember were also similar to Solas' thoughts.

Cole's head lifted to look up at the setting sun. "If you don't get some sunshine you wilt. She says she's not a plant, she's fine, but falling, faltering, foolish. Blood on her hands. People and demons always end in trouble. Too many daisies in this garden." Blue eyes fell back to the dwarf. "I am good, Varric. I am me. You don't need to worry, but thank you for caring."

Cole immediately felt Varric's grief and unease rise up inside him at his words, old pain that lingered on the stone's mind. "Al…right? Well let me know if you ever… er… yeah."

Moments later, Blackwall stopped by the flower stand by the stables to pick up something for Josephine. The sight of Blackwall's interest intrigued Cole as the old, frail woman explained the symbolism of different colors and species of each flower.

The old woman was blind, Cole realized, her eyes glossed over in a milky-white and her hair was frizzled and ashen. Her face was covered in the lines of experience and age. There was something different about the withered old woman, though. She was sharper, in both places, like Solas. A mage? Yes, but also no. Magic was there – glittering and glinting - but it was unfamiliar and old, very old. She felt like the hollowed out piece of wood he'd just been hiding in.

The Iron Bull howled with laughter when Blackwall settled on a small bouquet of purple flowers.

"Pansies…" The Iron Bull choked with laughter, though Cole didn't understand why the name made The Iron Bull laugh so hard.

Blackwall looked embarrassed but it passed quickly as he looked down and smiled at the small and delicate purple flowers.

"You know, if you like them so much Hero, maybe you should wear some in your hair. Or beard," Varric joked.

Blackwall continued to smile that goofy grin, though he retorted raucously, "Piss off."

"Maybe you should wear some just around the neck like a necklace," Cullen suggested, stifling his laughter, gesturing to his neck.

"Shut up!" Blackwall shouted at the Commander with a bright red blush.

"And for you," the old woman said abruptly in a shaky, frail voice, addressing Cole.

Cole turned in surprise to see the elderly woman holding out a handful of little indigo flowers to him with a toothless smile.

"I… I have no money," Cole said apologetically, refusing the flowers.

The elderly woman shook the flowers at him rather insistently, "Take, take. She will love. Forget-me-nots symbolize good memories."

Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught Cullen staring at him with a strange look. The Commander's face was pinched and his eyes were narrowed on him, as if he was trying to remember something.

Cole shifted nervously on his feet; glad he'd wiped the Commander's memory last night at the tavern.

"Take, take!"

Cole cleared his throat as he turned back to the old woman still holding the flowers out to him. "I-I don't… ugh…"

"Oh, come on, take them," The Iron Bull urged. "If you give them to Candy, she might give you another night for free."

"Who's Candy?" Cullen asked.

The Iron Bull grinned proudly. "A wonderfully talented young woman that I introduced Cole to a few days ago."

Cullen gave the Qunari a pointed look. "A prostitute, you mean?"

"She's still a woman," The Iron Bull retorted sharply.

"I didn't mean any offense," Cullen replied.

"Take, take!" the elderly woman shouted persistently, shoving the flowers in Cole's face.

"Umm… thank you," Cole said awkwardly as he took the flowers, unsure of what to do with them. He stared down at the little flowers for a long moment before tucking them gently into his armor.

The others continued toward the stables to ready their horses for the trip to Halamshiral, but the old woman stopped Cole with a brittle hand on his arm. The old woman's milky-white eyes were wide, as if in fear, as she stared at his face, as if she could see him with those blind eyes.

After a slight hesitation, she took her withered hand away and warned him quietly, "Don't let the last blue leech perish."

Cole's face pinched in confusion. "Blue leech?"

Her expression was wrought with anxiety. "He will come for the Inquisitor sooner than he should if the last blue leech is destroyed."

Cole frowned. "The Elder One won't-"

She shook her head. "Not the Elder One. The Elder One dies floating in the sky." Her crooked joints extended a knotted finger toward him. "You must save her, Compassion," the old woman said firmly. "He will come for her soon if you don't, but only if the last blue leech is destroyed."

A cold lance of fear stabbed him. "Who will come for her?"

Her wrinkled hand shook as she pressed it to her chest. "Death."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hell came wrapped in a pretty package - a lovely ballroom in an equally lovely palace.

The ballroom at the Winter Palace was a beaux art treasure of opulence. There was a large dance floor with several bards setup in front of it with lutes, flutes, and harps. There were marble floors and pillars, dramatic mirrors on the walls, floor length windows covered with sumptuous golden curtains. A magnificent stained-glass ceiling was overhead along with several crystal chandeliers that dripped light into the room, giving off a warm and intimate glow. Fragrant white flowers that were caught up in massive bouquets that lined the room thickened the air with their perfume.

The ballroom was filled with hundreds of elegantly dressed gentlemen and ladies wearing masks, consisting of nobles and the most prominent people in all of Orlais. The men wore posh breeches, vests, and coats; while the women wore lavish ball gowns of the highest fashion. They were laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking all around her. They were enjoying themselves and mingling with one another.

Standing in the middle of it all, the Inquisitor wanted to scream. Didn't they know there was a war going on? Didn't they know a false god was trying to bring the world to an end? Didn't they know people were dying and the world was going to shit? They either didn't know or knew but didn't care. Damn aristocracy.

"They let the Inquisition in here?" A masked noble man murmured to the man beside him, utterly aghast and disgusted. "I fear the Queen will have to fumigate. That is the proper way to eliminate vermin, after all."

"And did you see the so called Inquisitor?"

"Do you not believe her to be the Herald of Andraste?"

"Absolutely not. The Maker's bride would not have chosen such a creature as her herald. No, she would have chosen someone with class, poise, charm, and beauty. Not some unsightly, crass, heathen rogue."

Those comments were just a drop in the bucket for the night and they were really staring to get on her nerves. Since the moment she'd arrived, they'd stared at her, goggling and gasping, but afraid to get too close. Everything she did, wherever she was, was watched and discussed and criticized over.

Blasphemer, was one she heard whispered a lot. Freak and ugly, were others. At least mage wasn't one of them.

Being the center of attention, Ember decided, was hell. A very pretty version of it, but hell all the same. She'd never felt as alone, cold, and unhappy or as ostracized - and that was saying something coming from an apostate, she mused as she watched the nobility play the Game.

She was disgusted with all the falseness and pompousness, unable to stomach the deceit and the wickedness around her. This place and the people in it made her skin crawl. She felt like she was swimming with sharks in deep water with a bleeding wound.

A young girl in an expensive cream dress came running toward her, nearly bursting with her excitement and curiosity.

"Don't go near her!" The child's mother warned, pulling the girl back by her little arm.

The girl protested, "But Mama, it's the-"

"No, Marjorie!" The mother yelled down at the girl as she dragged her away, as if Ember was poisonous.

Ember's insides heaved, making her feel nauseous. She tried to take deep breathes to keep her temper in check, but the gentry pressed in on her, their sour scents and heavy perfumes clogging her nostrils and making it hard to breathe. She preferred the smell of blood. What did that say about her?

The Herald of Andraste turned her head and was surprised to see the grizzled Blackwall approach Josephine with purple pansies that he seemed so damn proud of, and Josephine seemed equally impressed.

"How'd you know I'd be wearing purple?" Josephine asked sweetly, letting him pin the arrangement above her heart, hovering just below the neckline of her bodice.

Blackwall shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned this goofy little smile that was part embarrassment and part pride.

They make a nice pair, Ember thought with a smile before she downed the rest of the champagne in the crystal flute in her hand.

"Is that the Inquisitor?" she heard a noble man muttered with disdain behind her.

"She's so… ordinary." Was the reply in a tone that indicated ordinary was a mortal sin.

"Less than ordinary," the noble male corrected.

"More like a red haired peasant," his gossip partner cackled. "Do you see what she is wearing?"

With utter contempt, the noble man replied, "It's an elf's dress. Horrendous."

Voice dripping with disdain, "That… miscreant … cannot be the Herald of Andraste. Such arrogance and blasphemy."

"Is this Gaspard's idea of a joke?"

Ember ground her teeth together at the disparaging remarks about her. She forced herself to smooth out the creases in her gown in an attempt to control her temper that was dangerously thin. She let her taut fingers drag up the faux velvet on her thigh, admiring the smooth feel of it, before letting her eyes wander, absentmindedly scanning the faces around her. They stopped when they landed on a familiar shade of blonde hair.

Ember focused her attention on Cullen, who was standing with his back leaning indolently against the railing across the ballroom on one of the balconies. There was a brooding expression on his arrestingly handsome face, a gaggle of men and women surrounding him with lustful eyes as they vied for his attention.

Cullen's expression turned pleading as he mouthed to her, "Help me."

Ember chuckled. He looked so uncomfortable as he loosened the collar around his neck, though every strand of his perfectly coiffed blonde hair was lacquered firmly in place. He wore a high-collared white shirt with a white kerchief, a black coat over a red-satin waistcoat, and an expertly cut black frock coat and trousers tucked into tall black boots.

Throughout the night, she'd observed several women making deliberate eye contact with the Commander and smiling suggestively at him. One even slipped him a piece of paper at one point, probably with a location to meet up with her. Cullen had smiled at the bold woman, flashing her that dashing smile of his, before nodding back at her as he put the paper in his pocket. His responses made her happy. Ember was glad the charming ex-templar was picking up a few women tonight.

Cullen's expression became desperate as he pleaded, mouthing to her, "Please, help me."

Coming to his aid, Ember moved through the throngs of people that filled the ballroom of the Winter Palace to its capacity. She set her glass down and smiled as she approached Cullen out on the balcony as he addressed his group of admirers with a natural charm and charisma that she could never hope to possess.

A masked young woman fluttered her eyelashes at him and bent forward slightly to better display her cleavage. "Can I get you a drink, Commander Cullen?"

Cullen's smile was polite if not a little strained. "No, thank you."

Cullen jumped, uttering a choked sound and turning pale. His gaze snapped to the young man standing next to him, his expression utterly aghast. "Did you just… grab my bottom?"

The young man giggled. "I couldn't help myself."

"Oh look, the Inquisitor!" Cullen exclaimed with enthusiasm and bright red cheeks. "Would you all please excuse us?"

The group pouted as they left the balcony to return to the ballroom, giving Ember nasty glares as they passed her.

Ember chuckled. "You've attracted a following. Who are all those people?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but they won't leave me alone."

She smirked. "Not enjoying the attention, then?"

"Hardly," he laughed lightly.

"You want a drink?" asked Ember.

The Commander shook his head. "No, thanks."

She tilted her head to the side. "You're not drinking anything tonight?"

He smirked at her. "No, women take advantage of me when I drink."

Her lips quirked up at the corners with amusement, and the Commander studied her for a moment before his lips curled into an affectionate smile. He slowly stretched a hand out toward her, his eyes shining as he asked charmingly, "Would you like to dance, Inquisitor?"

Ember's mouth fell open slightly in surprise. She wasn't sure what to say. First of all, she didn't know how to dance. She'd never been asked before. Secondly, she didn't want her first try at it to take place in a room full of people. Thirdly, she didn't want to dance with Cullen. She didn't want him to get the wrong impression.

She took a step back, shaking her head. "I'm not one for dancing."

Crestfallen, he uttered, "Oh."

Suddenly, everything was unbearably awkward.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was dark outside and humid. The moon and stars were hidden behind a steady stream of storm clouds that left the Winter Palace covered in a blanket of darkness.

Crouched down on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, Cole was perched on the rooftop of the Winter Palace like a permanent fixture, a cinnamon stick between his teeth.

A gentle breeze blew through his shaggy hair as his ice blue eyes scanned the grounds around the palace, searching for the assassin while he idly twirled a dagger in his hand.

He could barely make out the music playing inside the palace as well as smell the aromas coming off the foods available to the guests inside. He'd watched the Inquisitor's companions and advisors enter the palace earlier, though he hadn't gotten a glimpse of the Inquisitor herself.

His body tensed suddenly when his ears picked up the sound of a crossbow being cocked, and he triangulated the weapon's location.

Cole disappeared and reappeared on the opposite side of the roof were an Antivan Crow was holding a loaded crossbow that was following Ember his as she walked out to stand on a balcony in front of Cullen.

Protect her.

With the words screaming with alarm inside his head, Cole's body primed for his attack, his heart pumping steadily, the muscles in his arms and thighs twitching in anticipation as he glided across the shingles of the roof like smoke on water, creeping up on the assassin from behind.

The dagger in his hand told him where it needed to go. Cole grabbed the assassin by the hair, pulling his head back, before dragging his blade across his straining throat. Blood gushed out, and Cole lowered the assassin gently to the roof. Cole stared down into his wide eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him. The crow twitched violently and then went still.

Cole frowned as he listened inside the crow's head. This was an assassin hired to kill the Inquisitor, not the assassin here to kill the Queen.

Crouched down, Cole wiped the blade off on the assassin's pants before slipping it back where it belonged, and stood up. He looked around. He made those in the garden staring up at him forget him.

He disappeared and reappeared on the roof right across from the balcony Ember was standing on with Cullen.

He looked at her for the first time that night.

Flaming locks of scarlet curls swept clear of an angular face, freckles speckled on a tip-tilted nose, a golden hue to smooth skin. Eyes two swirling pools of liquid sapphire and emerald. Her sparkling aura mingled with the pulsing green power of the Mark. It made her look like thousands of tiny white-green jewels that had been spilled onto black velvet.

Emerald starlight.

That's what she was.

From out of the sky, rain started to fall, dappling the top of his hat with soft plops. Within seconds, the rain raced slantwise on a hard wind. Thunder grumbled behind streaks of distant lightning.

Cole frowned as he looked up into the falling rain before disappearing and reappearing in the grand library that was completely empty. He stood for a second surrounded by bookcases, his wet hat pulled low on his forehead, rain dripping from the wide brim. The damp had soaked its way through his armor, and his boots were wet and soaked through his socks.

His wet hand lifted to take off his hat and place it in front of the fire to dry off. He tore a piece of cloth from the wall and used it to clean the grime, sweat, and death from his hands. Once he thought his hands were clean enough, he took the flowers out of his pocket.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On a strum of strings from a bard, the room began into a waltz and Ember watched the glittering crowd come together in the ballroom. She leaned back against the wall at the back of the ballroom, as far as she could get from Cullen and that terrible awkwardness, her head connecting with a soft thud. In front of her, men and women danced and twirled in a swirl of flamboyant skirts and masked faces.

Everyone around her glittered and shimmered as they moved gracefully around her, some more garish and gaudy than others. In perfect contrast to all the ridiculous masks, feathers, furs and silks, Ember's sensible clothing looked dowdy. It made her feel more helplessly out of her depth, more isolated, more miserable. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"Is that the Inquisitor?" A masked girl murmured snidely to the girls huddled around her, aware that Ember could hear her. "She looks more like a man than a woman. And who picked out that dress, a blind guy who hates her?" The girl's minions giggled as they watched Ember closely, as if eager to see her bleed.

Afraid that if she stayed in this room for another second she would punch someone, Ember headed for the door that would lead her out of the ballroom, but the masked girl who'd just mocked her stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Inquisitor, before you meet the Empress I think you should change your clothes." There were giggles from the group of girls not far away.

Ember blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

The young woman fought a smirk as she said, "It will not make a good impression for the Inquisition to have its so called leader meet the Queen of Orlais wearing sackcloth." The giggles increased from the pack of hyenas. "A dress like mine, for example, would be more appropriate, don't you think?"

"Not really," Ember replied as she ran her eyes critically over the girl's costly dress. "That expensive material can't hide the lack of quality beneath."

There was a collective gasp and then silence from the pack of hyenas, and the young woman's eyes were like slits as they narrowed on her. "What did you just say?"

Ember shrugged. "Beauty is skin deep, but you're ugly to the bone."

Before the young woman could throw another barb, Ember picked up the skirt of her gown - hands shaking, lips tight - and made for the ballroom's grand archway without meeting anyone's eyes. Salvation was just outside in the hall, and she pushed open the door and headed for the grand library where she needed to search for the assassin anyway.

She wanted this mission over. She had to get out of here. She needed to go home to Skyhold. She needed to get away from these people. Fast. The hallway spun and she fought to settle her stomach. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, knowing she couldn't leave and was stuck here until the mission was done.

Minutes later, and she was in the safety of the grand library that smelled faintly of dust and damp. The Inquisitor stood poised in the doorway for some long, immeasurable seconds, looking around the room that was cool, quiet, and seemingly empty. Row upon row of books lined the tall shelves on the walls. On one wall was a fireplace of stone where fragrant wood sizzled. Her nerves began to calm when the air that greeted her smelled of leather-bound tomes, inkwells, and logs burning in the fireplace.

All thoughts fled from her mind and every cell in her body sighed with relief when she saw shaggy blonde hair and familiar black leather armor. Cole stood with his back to her in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames, with a solitary quality surrounding him.

He hadn't noticed her enter the room and she took the time to stare at him. It was the first time she'd seen him since last night and she couldn't seem to take enough of him in.

Then without warning, he turned his head, looked over his shoulder and directly into Ember's eyes.