Title: Piecing together our jigsaw of failures
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Calpernia, Samson, Maddox, OMC; Sampernia
Rating: T
Warnings: canon typical violence; vague spoilers for DA Inquisition
Summary: There's something urging her to run before it all shatters. Before the god she considered her salvation drags her down with him, and all her plans turn into nothing.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine, sadly.
A/N: I had three stories in my drafts since August. I thought they're garbage, that I should never publish them but burn my laptop, and forget I ever wrote them. I was so depressed I had no motivation to do anything, fandom related things and writing included.
However. I personally *hate* when fics are left unfinished, so I think I could at least try to finish what I started despite the fact that I'm completely dissatisfied with what I wrote.
This is the first one, I'll post the next story later this week, and the last one next week. If you're one of those three people who read the previous parts, this one's for you.
Title from Wildest Wind by IAMX. I adore this song.
Comments & constructive criticism always welcome.
When the last of their opponents falls, his piercing scream echoes between the walls. Life disappears from his eyes, leaving an empty, damaged shell. There are poems and stories glorifying death. The truth is that dying is never beautiful. It may be horrifying, sometimes it's a joke, but it's never pretty.
Calpernia lowers her staff, the acrid smell of the burnt flesh curling up in the back of her throat. Some of her people turn their heads in disgust, one man is shaking visibly, his pale face covered in sweat. Argus, a name comes to her mind as Calpernia glances at him. She will talk to him later, and carefully explain– remind. She will remind Argus the Venatori have to fight for the glory of Tevinter. The road is paved with skulls and bones of their enemies, and he should not waver when their goal is so close.
If their god remembers to fulfil his promise. If Corypheus hasn't forgotten about her mission, the very purpose of her life. If she is not yet another expendable piece in the grand game he is playing.
Calpernia keeps her thoughts to herself. Hold yourself high, Venatori, she writes in letters. When the Elder One rises, so too will rise Tevinter. She used to be so certain there's meaning behind these words. She's left with doubts instead.
Ignoring the smell of the carnage before her, she moves forward to inspect the rest of the building. Corypheus sent them here to destroy this temple, killing everyone that stood in their way. If they aren't with us, they are against us – it's a logic simple enough to understand. For now, at least. Calpernia feels the unrest growing in her heart every time she speaks to the Elder One. He doesn't listen to her anymore. Perhaps he never did but she tricked herself into believing a god would pay attention to a lowly slave.
It's unfair and cruel, the way Corypheus doesn't seem to care about her requests. She's certain there's something he's not telling her on purpose. Her spies can't tell her anything. Calpernia learns so much about the Inquisition, but when it comes to the Elder One, she feels blind. Blinded by his promises and her own naivety, most likely.
She doesn't know what she should do. Betrayal would surely fuel her anger, but she must be careful. She's merely human, how could she challenge a living god?
Samson doesn't know much; he's a soldier, he follows orders. He's honest with her, Calpernia hopes. He seems more concerned about his Red Templars, than the possibility that Corypheus may be hiding something from them both, that he is lying to them.
She used to be so proud, that she is the one Corypheus chose, not a magister but a common slave, an incaensor unworthy of her gift. Those who oppose him are wrong, and they will be soon turned into dust if they don't wish to join them. Everything used to be so… simple. Now her former pride makes her bitter every time she thinks about her situation.
The Elder One wants the temple destroyed. Calpernia, however, can't bring herself to simply destroy all this without checking first. There might be something that could help her understand the game Corypheus is playing. Going through a narrow corridor, she soon finds a room so small it's nearly claustrophobic, filled with shelves heavy with scrolls covered in a layer of dust.
"Is this a… scriptorium?"
Hearing the voice Calpernia almost jumps. She briefly glances at the mage standing behind her, Linus, who's curiously looking around. There's always someone conveniently near her just in case; to deliver messages or guard her from whatever danger awaits the Venatori. Being the leader comes with certain privileges, although sometimes they feel more like a burden. They respect her privacy but she needs to be careful when it comes to her words and actions. It's obvious that certain people among the Venatori don't exactly love her.
"Perhaps," she replies, reaching for one of the scrolls.
She narrows her eyes, trying to read the words. It's Elhven, she's sure, but it's not the language she can recognise. She could try to decipher it if she had enough time.
Suddenly the paper crumbles in her hands, its value and meaning lost forever. Cursing in her thoughts, Calpernia turns to the mage behind her. He's been patiently waiting for orders, and appears almost startled when she finally looks directly at him.
"Check which scrolls aren't damaged and take them with you. You'll bring them to my chamber once we return, and you will be discreet about it," she instructs. "If anyone asks, tell them nothing. Is that clear?"
"Yes, but… We were supposed to destroy everything– " he begins and stops immediately, as she continues to glare at him, now with a certain hint of irritation.
"I know what we were supposed to do, Linus. I'm asking you to save some of these writings that may prove useful for our cause."
"Y– yes, of course, I didn't mean to…" he hesitates, eyes fixed on the floor, too afraid to look at her directly. "With all due respect, Lady Calpernia, if I may speak openly…"
He quickly glances at her, and Calpernia's mouth twitches when she notices how much fear there is in his eyes. She gives him a nod.
You are no slave, Linus. You may do as you please, she considers adding but doesn't. Not so long ago it was new to her as well. He has to learn this all by himself. What's the point of ordering someone to act like a free person?
"Forgive me for this blasphemy, but I… and every other person who owes you their life, I'm sure… We are not loyal to the Elder One. We are loyal to you. Whatever you command, we will follow."
His panicked eyes tell her he's awaiting punishment for speaking so openly, for not showing respect for the god she serves. Sometimes it's difficult to remember you are free.
"Thank you," her lips curl into a smile. "I shall remember your words."
He looks so relieved it's heart–breaking. Calpernia's gaze drifts away from his hopeful eyes, so she can't be tempted to admit what she's really thinking. She grabs another scroll, not paying much attention to its contents.
We are not loyal to the Elder One.
It took a lot of courage to admit something like that openly, knowing she could have him flayed for disobedience.
Corypheus might fall but it does not necessarily mean the end of her own hopes and dreams. She can hardly believe in what she is considering, but there's something urging her to run before it all shatters. Before the god she considered her salvation drags her down with him, and all her plans turn into nothing.
She has nothing but words; promises, orders, reprimands when she dares to ask the Elder One because she needs some kind of reassurance. He offers nothing. Only words.
Empty words that don't mean anything, the voice inside her mind whispers, igniting a fire of anger that threatens to consume her whole.
The scroll she has in her hands catches fire, and Calpernia hisses, throwing the remains on the floor, forcing her magic to calm down.
"Hurry up, we should get going," she says to Linus. He's looking at her with something akin to concern in his dark eyes. She wonders how long she can keep pretending before they all notice she's not the fearless leader they wish to see.
We are loyal to you.
One day she will be brave enough to believe him.
Seeing the state of her room, one could call it messy. There are piles of books everywhere, papers and letters on her desk, and now also scrolls, some of them looking so fragile like they could crumble any second. Calpernia doesn't want to think about it, but there's something comforting in having so many books around. Perhaps one day she will have her own library. Like the one that belonged to Erasthenes, a place she considered magical long before she understood there's magic inside her as well.
Previous owners of this house left quite a lot of books scattered around, nothing worth her attention, sadly. She's idly browsing a tome of Fereldan legends. So many of them mention mabari Calpernia half wonders why in the void people here seem so obsessed with dogs. They hate all things that come from Tevinter, yet they adopted the hounds as their trusted friends. Reading one of the tales she scoffs. It's about a dog that escaped after getting captured, and went on a long journey back home. Of course the tale ends with the dog and its owners living happily ever after. How boring.
She would throw the book across the room, but she has too much respect for the written word, so she just puts it aside, vowing to never waste time on such foolish things. Calpernia picks up another book. About an hour later she slams it shut. It's so historically inaccurate it's appalling how anyone could get it published. If she wasn't in the middle of a blighted war, she would track down the author and explained to him how wrong he is.
She lets out a sigh, her brows slightly furrowed, as she glances around looking for something to do. She should finish cleaning, or get up and talk to other Venatori, but she doesn't feel like doing anything in particular. Besides, her people can take care of themselves. They've always been resourceful, and she recently noticed they cooperate with the Red Templars just fine, as if both sides suddenly wanted to cherish their unusual friendship.
And speaking of templars…
She stands up, and before she can think, she's leaving the room. The door is always open, even though one day she found a key. Not all Venatori are truly loyal to her, but those who are not seem too afraid to show their displeasure. Some respect her, others fear her, it all works well, at least for now.
When Calpernia walks through the corridors, it feels almost like her body is moving on its own, not entirely against her will, but pulled by some unknown force that cares nothing for the inner turmoil in her mind. She should do this, shouldn't do that – it's all so very exhausting, Calpernia simply lets the fate decide.
She finally arrives at her destination. She stares at the door, hesitating. It feels good when she doesn't have to think about the twisted mess of reality. There's certain pleasure in forgetting, even for on moment. When she can conveniently forget about all decisions, orders, letters. Perhaps this is how true freedom tastes like.
Calpernia opens the door without knocking, and freezes mid step, realising Samson is not alone.
The room he chose for himself is small, significantly smaller than her quarters. She asked Samson once why he picked this particular room when there are so many to choose from, bigger or more comfortable ones. He just shrugged, saying he doesn't need much, and she didn't question him further. What she learned once she became free was that it's not difficult to take when there's nothing holding you back. No wonder kings often go mad with power. Meanwhile Samson doesn't seem to care about taking what he deserves, even when it comes to such trivial things like picking a room.
There's only a small bed by the wall, an old rug on the floor, a wooden table and a chair. There's also a small fireplace, and a lone lantern hanging from a hook offering just enough light. Samson sits on the bed, he seems rather surprised to see her here, while Maddox occupies the one and only chair by the table.
"Lady Calpernia," the mage gives her a nod. "I see you have returned. Please, do come in."
Kindness in his voice takes her by surprise, and she hesitates, questions erupting in her mind (How much do you know?), before she takes a step forward. She glances at Samson with irritation because he doesn't look concerned at all. Then her eyes return to Maddox. She forces a smile on her lips, pointedly ignoring the sunburst symbol on his forehead.
"It's good to see you, Lady Calpernia," he says, his voice sincere.
"I'm here to – " Calpernia begins, and stops, surprised how hard it is to tell him some meaningless lie. She feels she should explain herself, and yet…
I'm here because…
Because…
Her mind is empty, but there's something crawling up to her throat, threatening to choke her. She feels the mage's eyes on her, the blush creeping into her cheeks. Samson is not saying a word, that bastard!, looking at her with polite curiosity.
"I'm sure you want to discuss some important matters in private," the Tranquil gets up, and gestures at the chair. "I shall leave you, then."
She wants to explain, although Maddox doesn't seem surprised to see her here, which prompts her to wonder what he actually knows. One person can keep a secret, but if people start talking…
Then Calpernia wrinkles her nose, her mind suddenly distracted, smelling something she would rather not smell right now. She's fine with fire and death, but this… This particular smell makes her cringe. She looks at two bowls placed on the table, one of them already empty, but the other one…
"It's fish soup," Maddox says, taking the empty bowl in his hands. "It's quite healthy."
Seeing the expression on Calpernia's face, Samson begins explaining. "There's a river not far from here, and the other day…"
"I'm not curios as to how this got here, I'm simply amazed how can you call something this smelly a soup."
"I'll be in my chamber, in case you need me," Maddox gives them a nod, and disappears before they can notice.
"So you're not a fan, I get it," Samson says, reaching for his bowl.
"I can see fish eyes floating between carrots. It may be healthy, but the word I'm looking for is disgusting."
"Alright then, no soup for you. Though you should start eating better. Under all these layers of your fancy Tevinter clothes you're skinny like a stick."
"How about you eat your blighted soup and shut up?" she blurts out, scarlet blush colouring her face. "Maybe you'll choke to death!"
He shakes his head, and she can see he's trying to hide a smile, that foolish man. Her face is still burning, so she doesn't say anything, hoping her silence will stop him from saying more ridiculous things.
Staring at her knees, she exhales slowly, tension leaving her body. Samson is so irritating she's this close to strangling him with her bare hands, yet his company is oddly comforting. She feels at peace when there's a templar sitting by her side. Part of her mind wants to laugh bitterly because it sounds like a joke. And yet, just few minutes of simply sitting together is enough for her to relax.
When did this happen?, Calpernia wonders anxiously. It's something she can't control, meaning it can be used against her. To her own surprise, this doesn't worry her as much as it should.
"So," Samson's eyes move to her again, and he attempts to sound innocent. "What are you doing here, Calpernia? You didn't come for a bowl of a perfectly fine soup, I guess."
She gives him a stern look.
"Just saying hello," she purses her lips. "I will leave you with the love of your life, then. Enjoy your horrible soup."
"Have I ever told you about that place in Kirkwall that serves just the perfect fish and egg pie? Now that's something I'd call my true love."
She wrinkles her nose. "What is the problem with you and fish?"
He shrugs. "I guess Free Marchers appreciate good food. Don't you have fish in Tevinter?"
"Well, in Tevinter we value quality in everything, including food, and we certainly don't eat anything that smells so bad," she waves her hands. "But I'm done here, I will not waste time discussing food that be only described as utterly disgusting."
"So you're saying Tevinter cuisine is superior because..?" Samson arches an eyebrow, looking at her with something resembling genuine interest but she knows he's just teasing her, that infuriating bastard. She lost count how many times he made her mad on purpose, always saying things so innocently only to irk her, then laughing like a fool he is.
"Enough with this ridiculous conversation!" she hisses, jumping on her feet so abruptly the chair wobbles, nearly falling back. "You are impossible today. I'm leaving."
Samson shakes his head. When their eyes meet (his seem more tired than usually, more hollow, more red), she can't quite decide what she sees in his gaze.
"Maddox already said it, but… It's good to see you."
She expects more mockery, surprised that in his eyes there's nothing but honesty. It hurts to look at him, for some reason, so Calpernia promptly turns around. Avoidance is better that open confrontation, she should know.
For a moment that feels like eternity, Calpernia wants to tell him everything.
The Elder One is not telling us the whole truth. He's lying. He's been lying the whole time.
She lowers her head. It would be so easy to fall apart. The storm in her head makes her unable to speak.
There's a part of me that wants to leave.
And more, so much more it's terrifying.
Breath it, breath out, and she's herself again. It's getting more difficult lately, as if there was something trying to choke her.
"I'll see you later," Calpernia says, staring at the floor. It's dirty, and there are cobwebs hanging by the window, but who is she to tell him that he should take care of his surroundings. She would prefer if everything was nicely cleaned, even though no one is going to hit her with a stick if the floors aren't scrubbed.
After a beat, she adds, although she's not sure if she should. "I'm glad to see you, too."
Calpernia is ready to (run away) leave, but something catches her eye so unexpectedly it's impossible to make a step forward. There's a small metal bird on a string laying on the table. She has seen Samson wearing it; the thought that he pays attention to this little thing makes him more human, somehow. Perhaps it's his lucky charm.
Her eyes linger on the metal bird with outstretched wings for a moment too long. She flees the room, feeling Samson's gaze watching her every move.