The Inquisitor's Ghost

Author's Note: Part I of this story is based on the book "Dragon Age: Asunder" by David Gaider, the lead writer of the Dragon Age games. The book takes places about a year after the conclusion of Dragon Age 2, and about two years prior to Varric's interrogation by Cassandra. The book is the origins story of Cole, a mystical killer who stalks the halls of the White Spire and later a possible Companion of the Inquisitor in Dragon Age 3. The whole book centers on finding out who and what Cole is, which you the reader (as well as Cole the character) discover at the end. Since Part I of this story takes place before the events in Dragon Age: Asunder, Cole himself still doesn't know what he is in Part I of this story. Part III starts at the beginning of the third game.

Disclaimer: BioWare owns Dragon Age and its characters. I just play with them.

Part I – The Ghost of the Spire

Chapter 1 – Cole

In the absence of light, shadows thrive

- Threnodies 8:21, Chant of Light

9:36 Dragon

The White Spire

A dark figure moved easily through the blackness of the catacombs like a wraith. The shadows skittered around him, frightened by what was coming through the darkness. The rats fled out of his path, as if threatened by an approaching danger.

The catacombs were located beneath the White Spire Tower in Val Royeaux, which was used by the local Circle of Magi and acted as a templar stronghold in Orlais.

The lone figure came to a stop in front of a large, heavily armored door that blocked his path. His pale hand lifted, his calloused fingers tracing over the ancient and arcane symbols that were carved into the stone wall next to the door that led to the dungeons. Despite the templars' hatred of the Tevinter magisters, they were more than willing to use the magisters' magic to lock up their own.

His fingers moved dexterously over the rusted bolts and locks of the door, until the colossal padlocks opened for him. The metal door opened with a loud, whining creak to reveal a long and dismal hallway.

The figure moved down the dark corridor that was only lighted by a single wall sconce every few feet. His footsteps were a broken rhythm on the cracked and dirty concrete floor. He kept to the shadows, apart of them, proceeding down the gloomy corridor toward the dark abyss that was the dungeons that dwelled below the lively halls of the White Spire where the mages lived with their templar tormentors.

There were many levels in the great Tower, filled with sunlight and wide spaces. He rarely went up there. He was more comfortable down below, with the things the templars had forgotten as well as the things they wanted to forget. The bowls of the Tower reached deep into the earth, and they were his home. He loved the darkness. He felt at one with it, attuned to its harmonies and its discords.

Moments later, and he was passing through the last heavily metaled door that would lead him to the dungeons. The dungeons of the Spire were filled with hundreds and hundreds of cells on multiple levels. But one inhabitant in one particular cell was calling to him, like a siren's call. He could feel them. Could feel their pain. It was as if their broken spirit was crying out to him.

They needed help. They needed mercy. They needed a way out.

And he would give it to them.

Snaking through the shadows as if born to them, the lone figure moved deeper into the dark depths of the dungeons of the Spire. The air grew more stale and harder to breathe with each step he took, his surroundings morbid with their dripping walls and lichen-splotched ceilings. The cries of the tormented echoed in this dark place and the prisoners' blood and death were imprinted into the stone.

He never liked coming here unless he absolutely had to, when he felt he would fade into nothingness at any given moment.

The mages and templars both feared this place. The recent stories that circulated through the crowded halls of the White Spire increased their caution to approach the dungeons. The stories kept them away. Stories of a mystical killer that was rumored to stalk the halls. This unworldly specter was said to appear from the very pits of hell, taking not only the lives but also the souls of his victims. Race, age, and gender were no concern to this killer who willfully took the lives of mages without a single witness. A few mages and templars claimed to have seen a strange young man wandering the halls of the Spire, but their memory was faulty and in time they forgot him completely. And so this killer was granted a name that was feared by both mages and templars alike.

I am the Ghost of the Spire.

It was an unpleasant thought, one Cole had turned over and over again in his mind. It seemed fitting, he thought, since a ghost didn't exist. A ghost travelled unseen amongst the living. A ghost was a soul that was lost on its way to the Maker's side. A ghost was left to drift alone in an empty wasteland of shadow. But ghosts where of the dead.

Cole wasn't dead.

He slept, he hungered, he breathed, he bled, he sweat. Those were not things dead people did.

No, Cole thought, I'm not dead. Yet, at the same time, I don't exist.

Venturing down a circular stairway, Cole navigated into the lower chambers of the dungeons to where the prisoners were held. He turned a corner and glided down a dark and dismal hallway, cells on either side of him. Most of the cells were empty, but some housed mages, young and old and of every different race. But they all had one thing in common: hopelessness.

Cole moved in front of the metal bars completely unseen. The inhabitants didn't raise their heads as he passed in front of their prison cells, whether because they knew no one was coming to release them or because they couldn't see him, he didn't know.

No one ever saw him. No one ever remembered him. He was lost in a world that couldn't see him, couldn't remember him. Loneliness and emptiness were his only companions.

Cole overheard muted cries and sniffles to his right and slowed as he passed a cell that contained a human female with short, white-blonde hair. He recognized the young woman, but only by sight. Cole had watched both the male mages and templars stare at her with a strange look in their eyes that closely resembled hunger. It was odd and he had difficulty comprehending it. Cole had watched the sorceress meet with a few male mages in dark corners of the Tower. Cole had watched them, unseen as always, trying to understand what they were doing rutting against one another and making strange sounds.

Cole looked at the woman through the wayward strands of his hair that always hung into his eyes as he contemplated this woman's fate. She was an apprentice with little talent for magic. She was currently awaiting the Right of Tranquility.

Tranquil.

Cole almost shivered at the name. They walked aimlessly, emotionlessly, stripped of their abilities and doomed to live in passive service to their tormentors.

He felt pity for the woman crying sorrowfully in her cell.

Feeling bad for her, Cole looked away from the woman's pitiful form and quickened his pace, turning left down another corridor.

He was close now, he thought, acutely aware of everything around him. He loathed how his pulse was pounding in eagerness, adrenaline surging in his blood, his anticipation mounting as he drew closer to the siren's call. He despised himself for coming here, for what he planned to do, but it could not be helped. He had desperately fought the pull, but he could fight it no longer.

It was the only way. The only way to remain.

Cole stumbled abruptly as an ominous coldness gripped him. His eyes rolled back into his head and he reached out for the wall to steady himself, afraid his hand would pass right through the stone wall. He suddenly felt like he was disappearing, like he was becoming transparent. He felt like he was drifting away, as if he were exhausted and on the verge of sleep, being lulled into a slumber he knew he'd never awaken from.

There was only one way to ensure he awakened. Only one way to prevent himself from becoming immaterial.

The panic rose within him, clawing at his throat as he felt the shadows surround him, seep into his skin, and he feared at any moment he would be lost in them forever.

It was his greatest fear.

Not now, he cringed, fighting the shadows that threatened to swallow him whole. Not yet!

He was trembling. His heart was hammering. A cold sweat was pouring down his face.

The shadows abruptly stopped closing in on him and he found he had regained the ability to breathe.

On a ragged exhale, Cole's hand came up to rub at his clammy forehead. He inhaled slowly, taking air into his expanding lungs, before exhaling slowly. After a few more breaths, his breathing slowed, returned to normal, and he relished in the feel of firm and solid flesh beneath his fingertips.

He was still real.

It's not too late.

Cole breathed with a relief that was soul deep, though he still felt trapped somewhere between what was real and unreal.

After a few moments, he was able to collect himself somewhat and push the darkness down deep into himself, control it, and keep it at bay. His hand slowly fell away from the wall and he continued forward.

His stride became more determined as he drew closer to the cell that seemed to be calling his name. After passing a few dozen cells, Cole's pulse quickened in tandem with his footsteps as he turned the corner and came to a stop in front of a cell. The siren's call was coming from within that cell, calling out to him, drawing him to it.

Nearly trembling with anticipation, Cole pulled the key he had easily lifted from the templar on guard and unlocked the cell door. It swung open to reveal a male elf in his early twenties lying on the damp stone floor, whimpering. The elf's yellow mage robes were dirty, his face was bruised, and his straight black hair hung in lank strands over his thin shoulders, loose strands sticking to his forehead. The rats surrounded him, nipping at his flesh, but the elf didn't seem to notice or care. The elf also didn't seem to notice or care that his cell door was open, and that Cole was standing in the doorway. He was completely oblivious to his presence.

Everyone is oblivious to my presence, Cole thought with a twinge of misery and soul-wrenching loneliness.

Cole strode right up to the man, completely unnoticed. He bent down to rest 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 the elf didn't seem to notice him. Cole's eyes ran over the man's emaciated form huddled on the ground. The mage was lying on his side, curled into himself, praying in his lonesome cell with his head bent and hands folded in prayer.

There in the cold and nothingness, Cole watched the mage beg for death, just like all the rest. Cole's head tilted slightly as he studied the elf. This right here was the most painful moment of this man's life. He was beaten, bruised, tortured, helpless, hopeless, and left in a deep, dark hole to rot until the rats were eating at his dead carcass.

The mage suddenly lifted his head, the last words of his prayer falling almost silently from his lips as his eyes met Cole's. Cole's heart leapt as he saw recognition.

The mage could see him.

The elf's eyes were staring right at him with confusion, weariness, fear, and pain. So much pain.

"You can see me," Cole stated quietly, his relief palpable. He suddenly didn't feel so alone.

"Who… who are you?" the mage said without emotion, his lips cracked and chapped from dehydration.

"My name is Cole." His voice was raspy from none use. He hadn't spoken since the last one.

The elf's gaunt face was apathetic as he sat up, though Cole remained kneeling in front of him on the balls of his feet with his elbows resting on his knees.

"What are you doing here?" the mage asked, though it didn't seem like he particularly cared to know the answer.

Cole was silent for a long moment. "I came because you can see me."

The elf stared at him with dead eyes. "What do you want from me?"

Cole reached under his leather vest and drew a wicked looking dagger from its ebony sheath. It was an ornate blade with an elaborate brass hilt carved in the shape of a dragon's head.

The elf's eyes fixed blankly upon the dagger in his hand. "Are you… are you going to kill me?" the elf asked in a small voice.

"I think so. Yes."

The elf's expression remained eerily calm, but his eyes turned questioning. "Why?"

"I'm… fading away," Cole confessed solemnly. "I can feel myself becoming immaterial… unreal." Cole's expression was apologetic, his eyes somber. "I have to do this. I'm sorry."

The mage released a ragged breath of acceptance. "Oh… okay."

His eyes lowered and stared fixed upon the ground for a moment before they looked up at Cole again with something akin to serenity. "It won't hurt anymore?"

Cole's eyes remained locked with his. "No, it won't hurt anymore," he promised. "I'll take the pain away."

The elf swallowed hard. "Will you… will you make it quick?"

Cole nodded slowly.

The elf's head bowed and his hands clasped as he said a final prayer. When he was done, his head remained bent, but his hands fell limply into his lap.

Cole leaned forward, his heart thumping madly in his chest. "Look into my eyes…"

The mage's head lifted, slowly, so slowly. When his eyes finally met Cole's, they were filled with weary relief and peaceful acceptance. "I'm ready to go to the Maker's side."

"Thank you," Cole whispered, his grip tightening on the hilt of his dagger, his pulse erratic.

The blade in his hand gleamed in the darkness of the cell a second before Cole buried it in a smooth upward strike into the heart of the mage. Blood gurgled in the elf's throat before spilling out of the corners of his mouth to roll in lines down the sides of his mouth and chin. Cole stared down into his wide eyes, drinking in every moment as the life ebbed out of him.

The mage collapsed forward into Cole's arms and the knife was gently pulled free, releasing a flow of blood that stained his yellow robes crimson. Cole held the mage close, waiting for the spasms to stop, watching the final spark of life leave his eyes before gently allowing the limp body to sink to the floor.

Cole immediately stumbled and fell back against the cell wall clutching the blood soaked dagger in his hand, his bloody knuckles white around the hilt of the blade as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't stop looking at those eyes, staring off into nothing.

Cole cradled his head on his knees and rocked back and forth.

Murderer.

That's what they called him – both the mages and the templars of the Tower. But he didn't see it that way. He wasn't taking their lives away from them. He was freeing them, granting them a swift end, rather than the eventual prospect of Tranquility or execution by the templars.

He wasn't acting selflessly though, Cole knew. He felt as if he were fading away, lacking a connection to the world, and the killings somehow strengthened it. They made him feel alive. He thrived on the adrenaline, the blood rushing through him when he pushed his blade into a mage's chest, seeing the gratitude in the mage's eyes as they stared up at him, silently thanking him. Each time he looked into their eyes, he saw recognition reflected in them.

They saw him. Truly saw him.

In those moments before he granted them freedom, he was the most important thing in their entire world. Those moments reduced the cold emptiness in his chest and the loneliness chilling his veins. It made him feel a part of the world, rather than an insignificant speck floating in and out of existence.

You can't keep doing this.

Cole continued to rock back and forth as the thought echoed in his mind. But killing like this… it felt… good. It left him burning with life force and feeling real, vital, and alive. And that's what he needed most - to feel alive. He wanted it, needed it, with a desperation that reached the very marrow of his bones.

You need to stop.

Cole lifted his head and took slow and deliberate breaths as he watched the blood oozing out of the hole he'd made in the mage's chest. It was red - dark, wet, glistening crimson on the stone floor.

Blood red… it was his favorite color.

He liked blood. Liked the red color, liked the coppery smell, and the feel of it between his fingers. Blood was life. Blood was power. He could see the allure of why mages turned to blood magic.

You need to stop.

Cole steeled himself as he rose to his feet. He would resist the siren's call next time, even though it might mean he would cease to exist in this world.

Cole left the cell and locked it behind him. He moved swiftly through the dungeons to where the templar guard was sleeping beside the door that led to the higher levels of the Tower. Cole easily returned the key and washed his dagger and his hands in a bucket of water before sheathing his blade.

For a moment he considered going up to the Tower to steal some food and watch the mages as he typically did, but decided against it. Instead, he turned and started making his way back to the catacombs where he lived.

Cole was making his way to the other side of the dungeons when he turned a corner and came to a stop at the end of a long hallway that was lined with cells that held some of the most dangerous mages. He saw eight armored templars at the end of the hallway throwing someone into a cell. Cole's head cocked to the side as he surveyed the templars struggling to keep the lone prisoner from escaping the cell.

Cole's eyes glistened with interest in the shadows beneath the shaggy bangs that hung in his eyes. He should retreat and take the longer route to the catacombs, he knew, but his feet remained rooted. He couldn't help but be curious. He'd never seen so many templars drag down a single mage.

"Careful," Templar One warned the others. "This one knows how to conjure fire and ice as well as electricity and earth. She's dangerous."

Templar Two snorted contemptuously. "I'd like to see her try to-"

A fist came flying out of the cell and slammed into Templar Two, sending him flying backwards into the metal bars of the cell behind him.

"Sweet blood of Andraste!" Templar One gasped as he watched Templar Two sink to the floor, knocked unconscious by the single blow. "I thought we bound her hands with Mage's Bane-" A Stonefist suddenly slammed into the side of his head and Templar One fell to the ground, the loud crack of his skull as it collided with the stone floor echoing in the hallway, reaching even Cole's ears.

"How is she able to use magic?! She should be entirely drained of mana?!" Templar Three shouted as he unsheathed his sword when a knee came up to ram into his family jewels. Templar Three grunted in pain while he doubled over, cupping himself as he fell sideways to the ground.

Templar Four swiftly performed a Cleanse to purge the area of hostile magic, while Templar Five rushed forward, but became encased in a block of ice before he could reach the cell.

Templar Four's eyes widened in fear. "I used a Cleanse! She couldn't have been unable to use magic for-" His words were cut off as he was suddenly lifted into the air by an invisible force before being slammed back down to the ground, like a ragdoll, as though pummeled by a great fist.

"Telekinesis!" Templar Six shouted. "She's a Force Mage!"

Templar's Six and Seven jumped together to overpower the prisoner, but their bodies instantly fell to the floor, seizuring and spasming, as jolts of electricity shot through them.

"Andraste's great flaming ass! Lock her up! LOCK HER UP!" Templar Seven shouted before a spell of Horror hit him causing terrifying visions to rend his mind, leaving him stunned.

Templar Eight rushed towards the cell but a Spirit Bolt shot out of the cell toward him. Templar Eight spun and avoided it before launching himself at the unseen prisoner inside the cell. Cole could hear the grunts and scuffle of a fight going on inside of the cell followed by a loud cry of pain by a male voice and then a loud crack of what could only be a fist slamming into bone.

"You bitch!" Cole heard a male voice bark inside the cell before there was a loud crash, of what could only be a body being thrown against a stone wall.

Cole watched Templar Eight limp out of the cell, cradling a heavily bleeding arm and sporting two black eyes and a busted nose before slamming the cell door shut with a loud and ominous clang. Templar Eight fumbled with a large ring of iron keys before sticking the one he wanted into the lock and sliding it into place.

Two small hands suddenly reached through the bars to grab his armor before yanking him forward and slamming his head into the metal bars. Templar Eight slumped to the floor in a heap.

The prisoner's hand was reaching between the bars and was twisting the key to unlock the cell, when Templar Seven recovered from the Horror spell and stepped up to the bars and slammed the hilt of his blade between the bars into the cell. There was a loud grunt followed by what sounded like a body falling to the ground.

Cole watched, astounded, as the templars struggled to their feet and revived their fallen comrades with health potions. The eight templars stood and limped away towards where Cole was hiding at the end of the hallway, each sporting numerous injuries.

"I'm surprised you didn't stay, André," Cole heard Templar Seven say to Templar Eight. "You usually like having you're way with the women. You know, teach them a lesson about authority."

Templar Eight cradled his arm as he shook his head. "That one's not pretty enough to tempt me, especially knowing the fight she would put up. I'd have to beat her into submission, and even then I don't think she would submit. I'd probably just end up killing her. Too much trouble."

Templar Three snorted. "You've got that right. She's a bloody she-devil, she is! She nearly scratched my eyes out dragging her down here!"

Templar Five nodded in agreement. "Trouble is the best way to describe that bitch. Though, I wonder if the drapes match the carpet? I've never seen hair that color before."

There were a few snickers at that remark. As they drew closer to where Cole was hiding, one templar lifted his head, looking straight at Cole. Cole sucked in a sharp breath, expecting to see recognition in his eyes. But the man saw through him and soon looked away.

The templars drew impossibly close and Cole stayed where he was, nervously holding his breath as they drew even closer. He felt immaterial, as if he were made of the same substance as the shadows. When they reached him, however, they did what most people did: they walked around him, completely oblivious to him. It was never a sure thing, and Cole always half expected that someone might see him. Half hoped, even.

Once the templars were out of sight, Cole turned his attention to the cell that was at the end of the long hallway. Fascinated, Cole moved on silent feet toward the cell of the prisoner that had easily taken on eight armed templars. He moved silently down the dark corridor, his footfalls muted against the grimy stone floor. Moments later, he came to an abrupt halt in front of the metal bars to the prisoner's cell.

The cold, swirling emptiness in his chest froze for a second as his eyes collided with a young woman, no more than eighteen, sitting on the floor with her back against the grimy wall and her arms resting on her bent knees.

Cole's gaze traveled over her, assessing her with utter curiosity. The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. How could he not? It was a thick, heavy, untamed mass of curls that were a shocking fiery red color that tumbled over her shoulders down to her stomach. The vibrant crimson color of her hair contrasted richly with her sun-kissed skin, her smooth complexion sprinkled with light freckles, a healthy glow to her features. There was a bruise on her cheek that was a terrible black and dark purple and she sported a busted lip, but her lips were full and ripe and so dark a red they almost matched her hair.

His eyes trailed lower. She was not dressed in robes as he imagined, but in coppery chainmail, with black leather boots that almost reached her thighs. She had a tall, slender figure that was only accentuated by the figure-hugging armor she wore. She looked strong and tough, like a girl who fought as easily as she breathed.

The girl lifted her head to the ceiling and exhaled heavily, wearily, but surprisingly not in defeat.

She doesn't belong here, Cole immediately thought and was surprised by the force behind it. She looked too young and too bright to be here… in this place… a place full of nothing but darkness, hopelessness, blood and death.

The girl's head suddenly turned sharply toward him and Cole found himself staring into the deepest most mesmerizing blue-green eyes he'd ever seen.

Cole stilled, his body rigid with shock and disbelief as those arresting orbs stared him dead in the eyes beneath a thatch of charcoal lashes.

"I know you're there," the girl said in a low voice, answering his unspoken question, her eyes sharp with keen intelligence.

Cole felt tension coil within him as she stared right at him, a tightly wound knot. His world came to a standstill as a single thought ran frantically through his mind: Did she see me?

"Come out of the shadows," she stated firmly, the authority in her voice enough to rival that of the Knight-Commander, despite her few years.

For a long moment Cole did nothing. He stood perfectly still, cloaked in shadow, staring numbly the girl. The shock of finding someone who could see him was so considerable that he felt the effects of it deep within himself.

The girl's head tilted slightly, her eyes locked with his, refusing to release him.

Aquamarine, Cole thought as he stared into them, like gemstones.

Cole's eyes closely followed her arm as it lifted in front of her and watched as she drew upon the Fade. Part of Cole wondered if the girl would use her magic on him. Would she conjure fire? What would that be like? Could she kill him?

But she didn't try to kill him. Instead, she summoned a flame that hovered a few inches above the palm of her hand. The flame brought light into the gloomy darkness and caused shadows to dance across her face.

Something within him shifted as he stared at her. Now, as he studied her, he could see that there was a light inside her that shone like a beacon, bright and warm like a welcoming fire on a cold night. He could feel it then; inside him. And then, for a fleeting instance he could see it too. The light in her hand and the light that seemed to be shining from within her stretched out across the cell and seeped into his skin, making him feel warmth for the first time since… since he could remember.

Irresistibly impelled, Cole stepped closer toward her, toward the warmth, his nose almost pressing against the metal bars.

Cole watched her eyes flicker with new emotions as he moved out of the comfort and safety of the cold, dark shadows that surrounded him and into the warm, bright light she cast.

Now that he was visible to her, he expected to see fear in her eyes. They always looked at him with fear. But there was no fear in this girl's eyes, though there was sudden suspicion and distrust reflected in those brilliant blue-green orbs.

"Who are you?" the girl demanded, her voice direct and challenging, a blood red curl falling over her eyes that were impaling him with such a severe look that it stole his breath away.

Cole could do nothing but stare at her, unblinking and dumbfounded. He felt like the world was collapsing around him. His mind was unable to comprehend just how this girl was able to see him. She was neither weak nor praying for death. She was neither hopeless nor consumed with defeat and despair. This girl was strong and fierce and would never give up trying to escape, he could see it right there in her eyes.

So then how… how can she see me?

Author's Note: This chapter has a soundtrack: Mad World by Michael Andrews. The opening words of the book Dragon Age: Asunder are: "I am the Ghost of the Spire. It was an unpleasant thought, one Cole had turned over and over again in his mind." I thought I should give a little salute and tribute to David Gaider. There are also a few other lines taken from the book. For example, the description of Cole's blade is the same as in the book since we will most likely see it in the Dragon Age 3 game and I thought you guys might like to read the original description of it. Also, when Cole says, "Look into my eyes…" that is a line Cole says multiple times in the book right before he kills someone. It is a line he will most likely say in the third game. Also, I have uploaded some pictures and videos on my bio page, take a look if you want.