Chapter Eight: Fuel

Sitting silent in a daze
A life alone, it never pays
All behind and nothing here
Hiding all the pain and fear
Crawling slowly back to you
Eyes of green meet eyes of blue

Troubled words meet nervous ears
Fighting through the hurt and tears
Finding peace back in your arms
Giving in to all your charms
Crawling slowly back to you
Eyes of green meet eyes of blue

Eyes of Green Meet Eyes of Blue - Sean Hart

x

Valora dressed so quickly she almost pulled her robes on backwards. The Inquisitor had informed Valora to meet her in the grand hall that morning in preparation for the ball, but the girl had been so excited that she easily woke up to the soft light of dawn peeking through the small cracks in the ceiling of her quarters.

Her measurements had been taken the day of her invitation, and the greatest of Antivan tailors had been sewing up an outfit to fit her slim, elven frame. Despite how uncomfortable it had been to stand in front of a prissy man by the name of Alfonso in nothing but her smallclothes, the elf was eager to see the dress he had sewn up for her.

She pranced out of her room, taking the tavern's top floor door as a shortcut to the grassy lower level of the stronghold. The slight chill of the air was all but ignored as the elf hurried up the castle stairs, skipping every other one in her eager haste. A plethora of impatient thoughts rushed through her head as she neared the entrance of Skyhold's main hall.

The hall was bustling with people, all speaking as loudly as they could to be heard over everyone else's chatter. From what Valora make out through the people's overriding voices, there was to be an execution later that morning. Everyone seemed excited to witness the beheading of one Alexius, which sickened Valora. How could so many people crave bloodshed? No matter the crime, it was horrific to imagine so many people could actually enjoy watching the mutilation of a fellow man.

A pain bit at her mind at the thought; there seemed to be something she was forgetting, although it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Lately, she had grown accustomed to the ache in her head as it tried to remember events that had happened directly prior to her arrival at Skyhold. She couldn't remember why she'd been covered in ashes when the scouts found her, or why she felt sick each time she saw the high flames of the fireplace in the tavern. Bits and pieces of an unrecognizable time littered her mind: a bright hand outstretched to her, black flames flickering in the palms of her hands, wide, horrified eyes pleading for death . . .

The people's voices were abruptly intensified, ripping her from her train of thought and back to the moment. She cringed at all the noise, but perked up as she saw the Inquisitor seated comfortably upon her dragon maw throne at the other end of the crowded hall. The woman must have been waiting for the call to put Alexius to death, although she looked incredibly relaxed for someone who was mere minutes away from spilling blood in front of a heartless audience. The practice was appalling, but one the Inquisitor must have been forced to grow accustomed to.

The young elf pushed past a multitude of people, muttering apologies under her breath as each individual gave her a curt look of disapproval. During her stay, she had grown accustomed to these humans, realizing that they were no more a threat than anything else; though they did have a bad habit of spreading gossip to every ear that would listen.

Nearing the throne, she noticed the Inquisitor was speaking with Solas. The Dalish elf giggled as Solas finished a particularly lengthy story that Valora didn't have the chance to pick up on. She noticed how Lavellan's bright eyes looked upon the man softly, her smile warm with interest. Solas held a similar expression, grinning over at the Dalish elf. Valora could almost see the strings connecting their gaze as they shared a moment of intimate silence. Oh?

Lavellan's eyes shifted to Valora as she stood silently before them, and she cleared her throat awkwardly as she realized she was being observed. "Ah, Valora. You're here early," the Inquisitor declared, a nerve causing her voice to waver. She rose from her throne, the light shining through the window behind her making her look almost like a benevolent goddess as she descended the steps before her. Valora couldn't help but be reminded of the statues of Andraste lined along the two long walls of Skyhold's great hall. She felt the twinge of a jealous knot forming in her stomach.

"Follow me, lethallan," the woman chirped before weaving her way through the crowd. Valora dared a quick look at Solas, who had a somewhat disenchanted expression on his face as he watched Lavellan walk away.

"Sorry," Valora mouthed before turning and hurrying after the Inquisitor through the waves of people in the hall.

They took the second door on the right; the same door Valora had used to find the war room on her first day at Skyhold. Inquisitor Lavellan guided her to the antechamber containing a simple desk in the corner, but instead of it being vacant like before, the ambassador was stretched across it, hovering over several papers.

"Josie! We need her outfit for the ball tonight," Lavellan announced noisily, causing a startled Josephine to scatter the papers ungracefully onto the floor. Staring at the fluttering mess, she let out a long sigh, which blew a black curl away from her charmingly dark complexion. Her shoulders were tensed in annoyance, but she visibly bit back the urge to show the extent of her frustration. Valora guessed by the amount of patience the woman controlled that she had grown accustomed to the Inquisitor's quirky disturbances over the months.

Josephine raised her head to give a weary look at the two as they made their way to her desk. Valora stepped up to the ambassador's table, bending down to collect the strewn parchment from the ground. With strands of her hair escaping the messy bun on her head and with the heavy bags under her eyes, the woman looked like she could use the help—and a vacation.

"Thank you." Josephine took the papers from Valora's hand and placed them on her desk, not troubling herself to organize them. She composed herself then, her stress-filled mope quickly replaced with a lovely smile that could capture the heart of any man. "Outfit, you say? Alfonso should have it ready by now. Stay put, I'll return in a moment." The ambassador stood from her chair and hastily exited the room, leaving Valora to wonder why the woman was always in such a rush.

It was getting oddly quiet in Josephine's study as the two elves stood waiting, so Valora decided to break with silence with something that had been curiously floating around in her mind.

"So . . . You and Solas, huh?" Valora chuckled at Lavellan's expression of embarrassment at the shameless blatancy of her question. She could almost hear the Inquisitor's blood as it rushed to her cheeks, but her suntanned face could reveal no hint of a blush. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she could manage an intelligible word.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I mean we—we're not. Well, we're friends, but—I, uh." Lavellan fiddled nervously with a button on her casual attire, eyes looking everywhere except at the girl she was addressing. There was no denying it; Valora knew the Inquisitor fancied Solas, and this brought a touched smile to her face.

"Inquisitor, it's sweet. You really shouldn't hide it. I see the way he watches you; it's obvious he likes you, too," Valora confessed, watching Lavellan's caramel eyes brighten. The young elf was a sucker for the few romance novels she'd stumbled upon in Skyhold's immense library. If there was a chance for love to blossom between the two, she didn't want Lavellan's opportunity to escape her so easily. Like the Guard Captain in Varric's story, the Inquisitor needed to take charge; she needed to tell Solas what was on her heart before the 'ass end of life catches her by the brawny heel,' or something like that. Varric was very . . . poetic with his metaphors.

"I think you should talk to him."

The Dalish elf grinned from ear to ear, eyes alight with hope. "I—I will, if you're sure."

"Completely."

There were a few moments of content silence before Lavellan spoke again, rupturing the peace in the atmosphere.

"I think you should talk to Cole; I can tell you're both distraught. I see the doe eyes you give when you look up at him during Wicked Grace. And it's no secret to anyone how far he leans over the railing to get a good look at you," Lavellan said, giving Valora a playful nudge with her elbow. The girl's jaw dropped, and if her eyes could open any wider, they might have popped from her head. She could feel her stomach flip at the mention of the boy that she was trying desperately not to think so much about. Thinking of him only encouraged feelings within her that she knew couldn't be reciprocated, and the fact that he had his eyes on her only gave her a thrill she knew to be foolish. However, there was one thing bothering her about the Inquisitor's statement. He hasn't been around in a long time, that can't be right.

"What do you mean? I never see him when I look up—oh!" In an instant, Valora was hit hard with the truth of what had been happening over the last few weeks: Cole had been hiding himself from her while still keeping a close eye on her. It was the only explanation, and it hurt about as much as it flattered. So that's why he's been out of sight lately. It wasn't because he was avoiding her; it was because he was shrouding himself from her with his strange ability. Though, despite his disappearance, he had still been watching her. The eyes she always felt on her, they were far from just her imagination. He was there. But why?

Before her mind could have the chance to piece together a plausible answer, Josephine stepped through the door. She was accompanied by a middle-aged man in a purple, puffy suit almost as ridiculous as Josephine's own. Valora didn't dare voice that opinion, however. If the man caught wind of her distaste, he might just be compelled to sass her to death.

"You remember Alfonso, one of our most skilled Antivan tailors. He will take you to the embroidery department to make sure your clothes are fit to perfection," she explained. Alfonso harrumphed—probably at being called "one" of the most skilled, Valora estimated. Josephine and Alfonso walked with a similar elegant gait as they approached. Alfonso scrutinized the elf as he neared, just the way he had done when he took her measurements only two days before. Valora fidgeted nervously, feeling just as exposed as she was then—robeless with scars and dusty freckles littered about her fair skin. She detested the critic's gaze; just a glance from the man was enough to make her feel entirely inadequate.

He waved a hand carelessly through the air, beckoning her to follow. She trailed behind as he led her out of the castle, across the fields of grass, and to a door built into the side of the stony foundation. He stood just outside the door, an expectant look across his dark complexion. Valora quickly caught on. The elf rolled her eyes at the man and opened the door for him, allowing him to gracefully enter the room before she stepped in behind him.

"Wow!" Valora's eyes sparkled with childlike wonder as she walked through the crowded room, gaping at all of the dresses and suits lining the walls of the department. Several mannequins were compacted into the room, as well as desks covered in sewing utensils and half-stitched gowns. She beamed up at a particular gown, an elegant light-blue dress that reminded her of the boundless sky. She had always loved looking up at the sky; it echoed stories of immortality in her mind. The skies were infinite, and she wished she knew what lie beyond that eternal span of blue. The dress's color and regality encompassed a piece of her that she could not identify—the small crystals sewn around the neckline reminding her of an undisclosed vivacity within herself.

"Ah, I see you've taken a liking to this one," the man chimed, waking Valora from her daydream. She nodded excitedly, turning to the tailor in hopes that this was the dress he had prepared for her. He smiled in pseudo-sympathy, and then handed her a neatly folded red suit. Valora narrowed her eyes down at the piece in his hand, confused. When she didn't make a move to retrieve the garment, he scoffed.

He gestured to the gown, his face twisted in pompous amusement. "Ha! You think you're special enough to dress like that to the Winter Palace? You have to be a somebody to look like a somebody! And why would I waste my talent on that for someone like you? You're just some knife-ear—might as well be a servant."

With that, he shoved the red suit toward her once again. His patronizing speech belittled Valora, and she hunched her shoulders meagerly. She felt hundreds of insecurities whirl around her like a storm of angry winds, tossing her about in a hurricane of demeaning thoughts. "I—I'm sorry."

I am foolish . . . She secured her hood tightly around her ears, pressing them down as if the pressure could shrink them down to a normal size, a human size—one that would make her acceptable. With a wavering frown, she grabbed the suit from Alfonso and left without testing the fit, returning to her quarters.

She lay in her bed for hours, darkness pooling around her like a toppled vial of ink. Valora wasn't surprised to find that there was no light filtering through the cracks in her ceiling; the sun was descending, covered by clouds of grey, and it made her feel just as veiled to the world. She felt so small, so overlooked, so insignificant.

You're just some knife-ear. The tailor's words ran through her mind on repeat, reminding her of what little meaning her life held for everyone. Might as well be a servant! His voice amplified tenfold in her mind, screaming at her endlessly. But servants have a purpose. I am no one . . . I'll never be anyone. A thousand different anxieties circled her like vultures gyrating a rotten, lifeless meal.

Then why? Why am I alive?

"The Maker does have a sick sense of humor. I should have died in the wilds, but the scouts had to show up by some cruel will of fate. What was I doing there? Why was I saved? If I've no purpose, why do I persevere?" she questioned herself quietly, but received no answers. At times like this, she would give anything to hear her that strange, monotone voice whisper to her. It had whispered to her many times before, speaking words of wisdom when needed, and words of malice when ignored. It didn't matter; she would have grasped at whatever words presented to her. The silence was deafening, ringing in her ears until she felt the cold extent of her isolation.

These past two months proved her existence meaningless; she had done nothing for anyone. She hadn't accomplished anything of importance, and this realization made her understand that, ultimately, she was valued by no one. She felt completely alone, and even though she was starting to question the allegiance of the peculiar voice in her head, she longed to hear its low tone in the back of her mind. One small hint of companionship was all she craved, but of course, life with its cruelty left her alone in the dark.

Valora sighed and shut her eyes. She just wanted the day to be over, for the ball to come and go quickly so she could stop feeling so uncertain about it all. Maybe then the melancholy air of the day would fade and be replaced with a new enthusiasm for life. She could only hope. The more she lay there convincing herself that her life was destined for nothing, the more she felt like just that—nothing. That sense of hollowness only heightened the urge to release herself to the void in her mind that constantly beckoned for her to let go of life. She felt like she deserved it; she believed she deserved to be swallowed up, taken over, blotted out of existence by that black abyss in her head. No one would miss me if I let go, because . . . Her eyes clenched tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down her fallen face.

"I mean nothing."

Suddenly, her door emitted a low creak, startling her away from the black hands that were wrapping their spindly fingers around her last shred of hope. She shot up from her resting position and froze, eyes darting toward the source of the sound. The wooden door was slightly ajar, allowing a soft light to pool into a bare corner of her room. She could hear a quiet rustling against the ground, but her eyes could not match it up to a realistic image.

Her heart sped up as a pitch-black silhouette entered her room, treading towards her with quiet, gentle footsteps. The rigid gait it possessed was familiar yet frightening, looking as though it may lash out in anger with the large object it held in its hands. It did not, however. It paused beside her, and she could feel the unnatural heat radiating from its being, causing her muscles to tense in fear. She ducked her chin to her chest and clamped her eyes shut, as if the act could make everything simply disappear like any childhood nightmare would. But this was no nightmare; it was real. Valora was all too aware of that as she felt a light pressure on her feet. She gasped, her irrational imagination carrying her away to a dark, frightening place in her mind. The shadow had planted an object on her feet to hold them in place, keep her from escaping—and now it was lingering near her, contemplating its next move. Would it kill her next? Smother her with her own pillow? Stab her through the heart, or drink the marrow from her bones?

But these were only the nightmarish thoughts that Valora's warped imagination had crafted. The shadow meant no harm as it leaned over her, propping itself up with a hand on her bed. She felt an area of the mattress go down gradually under its soft weight, producing an extensive squeak from the springs within. She could sense the silhouette staring down at her from above like a hawk eyeing its prey, but she couldn't make a move. It was a familiar frozen feeling, an icy chill down her spine that left her with only a strangled breath trapped in her lungs.

There was a slight touch, tentative fingertips brushing against her jaw, coaxing her to lift her head up. It was a comforting touch, one that told her there was no need to be afraid. One that let her know she was safe. She raised her head and opened her eyes up into the darkness, seeing nothing, but feeling a wonderful relief seep through her body, releasing the tension from her muscles. She allowed her pent up breath to flow out with freedom, a feeling so foreign and beautiful that it made her eyes sting with the weight of its wonder.

A welled up tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek for only a moment before it was brushed away by the gentle swipe of a thumb. Her heart jumped at the affectionate gesture; it was as if all of her sorrows were bottled up in that single tear, the one wiped entirely away by this dark, benevolent being. She closed her eyes with a new sense of wholeness, feeling the presence hovering inches away from her, surrounding her, blocking out the emptiness of the world with an overpowering aura of empathy—of peace.

"You mean everything," a deep, silky sweet voice murmured, almost close enough for her to taste the familiarity. Cole's warm breath wisped across her ear, sending a tormenting chill down the elf's spine. She could feel his voice reverberating in her ears and ringing throughout her entire body, which caused an unintentional sigh to escape from her lips. She immediately bit her lip to stifle the noise, but she could tell Cole had already noticed by the sound of his timid gulp. He traced his fingertips along her jaw, up to her cheekbone, working his way back to tuck her hair behind one long, pointed ear. She could feel his hand trembling in apprehension as it trailed through the soft locks of her hair, unsure of the motions but irrefutably positive of the message they conveyed.

There was a pause, a prolonged moment of stillness as the young man let his fingers linger in her hair. She felt the brim of his hat trail along the top of her head, causing her hair to stand on end.

He was close. Very close.

Valora's heart was drumming almost loud enough to be heard through the silence, raising an unseen flush to her cheeks. Her lips tingled in anticipation of his next move, her fingers gripping lightly at the sheets as she waited for any sign of movement from the body hovering above her. She could faintly feel the warmth of his rhythmic breaths melding with her own, and it slowly tempted her forward . . .

Cole allowed his fingers to flex in her hair as he felt her inch towards him, but they shivered in uncertainty. He could almost breathe in her air as she came closer. Her need was back, washing over her in hard waves. The waves rushed out of her in shallow breaths, pouring the need over his lips until he felt them prickle with longing. Warm sensations slithered along his skin as he felt her nose brush lightly against his.

Just a little closer . . .

He slowly propped a knee on the mattress, running his fingers down through the soft waves of her hair. The desire she emanated from each motion sent his heart ramming against his chest.

Almost. . .

His hand abandoned her hair to snake around her waist and press against her back, pulling her body up closer to his own. Neither one made a move to close that final inch between them.

Sweet simmering in her scent, a spell to sunder the spirit . . . Have to fill the feeling, lips locking in location, learning to sing a new song, but . . . His mind wanted it, was willing him forward; but the nerves were sending sharp little pinpricks to his heart, pulling him away—a traitorous tug-o-war between temptation and trepidation. He heard the scrape of her nails against the sheets as her anticipation elevated to its peak, giving one final kick to his heart.

No. Can't. Too much. Not ready, not right here, not right now. His sharp intake of breath was immediately followed by retreating hands. It took everything he had to pull away from her, but it didn't make sense to him. He needed to think, needed to sort out the feelings before he let them take him over like they wanted to. His mind was muddled and his breathing a mess as he stumbled for the door like a drunken man.

"Wait!" Valora cried, releasing her grip on the sheets to reach out for his arm.

But he wasn't there.

The door had already been closed, drowning out the vague light that had briefly filtered through the room. Valora was left alone once again. Well, not entirely alone. She could still feel the lingering sensation of his fingers grazing her cheek, the comfort he bestowed upon her with a simple touch. Although comfort wasn't the only feeling he'd left her with in that moment. She bit at her bottom lip to ease the tingle of desire in it, having to accept the fact that it would not be satisfied.

Her deep breaths were the only sounds permeating the room as she sat back motionless in her bed, troubled. Her thoughts were gradually settling down, becoming more coherent as her heart began to slow to a steady pace. The heat racing through her body cooled down to the usual chill she possessed when she wasn't bundled under several blankets. What in Thedas just happened?

She had never been that close to someone before, never had that compelling urge to be even closer. It wasn't something she was familiar with, only something she had heard about in stories but never considered for herself. At the alienage, there was no one to even consider; everyone was either too young, too old, or just not the right type. But all at once, there was one. One who brought out something formerly withheld inside of her. One that called that side of her to want him.

Cole.

A spirit.

That's right . . . He was a spirit. She had to remember that. She had to stop thinking of him like he was human. He wasn't human, wasn't like everyone else. It was a fact so easy to overlook when she saw him, but she had to remind herself that his physical body was merely a construct conducted by a spirit. He couldn't be feeling what she was feeling. Could he? Every text she had studied over spirits said as much, that spirits were not bound to desires of the heart and flesh . . . but Cole seemed like he had been going entirely against that knowledge a few moments ago. Or was he just giving her what he thought she wanted? Was she as perverse as to think a spirit would actually want her in the same way that she wanted him? Or perhaps she wasn't imagining anything. He was made of flesh and bone; it was perfectly plausible for him to feel everything that she had.

No, Valora. You need to stop.

She expelled a heavy sigh and shook her head, starting to rise from her bed when she was suddenly reminded of the pressure at her feet. She wiggled her toes, listening to the brushing sound they made against the object Cole had placed there moments ago. Valora raised a hand, willing a spark of benign blue flames to burst to life within her palm and light up each corner of the spacious room.

She gasped, bewildered, and her free hand flew up to her mouth. At the foot of her bed lay the azure dress that had entranced her only hours ago. She climbed off of the bed, throwing the blue flames up and watching as they stopped to levitate just above her head. She pulled the dress up, inspecting the delicate, low hanging sleeves and the generous dip of the gem-adorned neckline. The silk was soft to the touch, and it bowed out around the hips and flowed gracefully to the floor like the rippling waters of an elegant waterfall.

"Hey!" Valora nearly jumped out of her skin as Lavellan dipped her head through the door and boldly shouted at her. "Val! Are you going to stay in here all night? The ball is only a few hours away and you haven't even began to prepare!"

"Inquisitor! Can you never be bothered to knock?" Valora shouted back, but instead of the argument she was expecting, the woman's fire-lit face rose in amazement.

"Oh! That dress would look brilliant on you! How the hell did you get that? They won't let me wear a dress. It's supposedly a thing for things, you know? We aren't going to 'impress the nobles with our fancy dresses! We have to represent the Inquisition!' Blah!" Lavellan mocked Cullen's gruff voice and proceeded to enter the room. She had been drinking; it was evident in the way she staggered around before clutching to the knob of the door to regain balance.

"I would ask you to help me with putting it on, but I don't think you're in quite the right state," Valora said.

"I'm in the left state!" Lavellan slurred, and immediately toppled forward. Valora rushed over to her to keep her from falling face down on the hard concrete. Catching her with her free arm, she moved to her side to link the arm around her waist for support. Lavellan wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulder to steady herself. "Sorry."

"Inquisitor, let's get you back to your advisors. How did you even climb those steps like this?" Valora asked, but the woman only gave a small burp in response. With the dress in one arm and Lavellan in the other, Valora guided them back to the war room for final preparations.

This wasn't the best start to the night, but perhaps the rest of the night would look up. Even though there were more questions than ever flooding her mind, she could at least hope for things to get better. Especially after that infuriating, wonderful, confusing encounter with Cole. She silently vowed to find that ghost of a man as soon as she returned from Halamshiral and demand an explanation for his odd behavior. Next time she saw Cole, there would be no vanishing into thin air for him; no, she would tie his feet together if she had to.

He won't run away next time. I will have answers.

Author's Note: Hhhhhhh. I was going to make this and the next chater into one, but that would've taken too long and I'm impatient and wanted to get this

out here since I haven't posted this week. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this one… heh...

Syrilth I know, right? I'd like to give him a nudge too because now it's just ridiculous. Thanks for another great review, friend! (:

Al'-chan24 thank you, you're a doll! I'll try to keep it up, but sometimes I do get discouraged. Thanks for another amazing review, friend! (:

Asilyessam omfmg did you really? That is flattery of the highest degree. I didn't know I had such an effect? I feel super inadequate about my writing most of the time, but that review made me extreeemely happy, so thank you soooo so much!

I wanna take this space to thank EVERYONE who is reading this story. You're all just... so terrific. Excuse my bad grammar and mediocrity. I'm allowed to do that in the author's notes. By the way, if anyone is interested, I did make a playlist for these two because I'm trash and they have become my otp. The songs range from indie to folk to dubstep to rock to metal and it's just really fun for everyone involved. It won't let me post the link right here so it's on my profile if you care to look~