Title: All you have is your fire
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Calpernia, Samson; Sampernia
Rating: T
Warnings: spoilers for DA Inquisition
Summary: Maybe in another life they will have just enough time (and courage) to do what they truly want.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine.
A/N:
Aeliana Erimond mentioned in this story belongs to Venatohru (you may find her on tumblr).
Aeliana is one of those incredibly believable OCs that you wish were canon. You may read more about her on venatohru's tumblr.
Title from Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier. This is the last story of the series.
Observing the Red Templars preparing for their greatest battle, Calpernia can taste excitement in the air. Obviously her own feelings regarding the situation are far from enthusiasm, but she won't let her personal opinions get in the way. Corypheus made his decision, it's not her place to question him.
Her eyes look for the red knight walking among the monsters. Samson looks like a stray dog leading his pack. They certainly seem as loyal as dogs, Calpernia idly muses. Her gaze doesn't want to leave him as she watches him from a distance, wondering how many of his soldiers will be sacrificed so the Elder One can triumph. All of them, perhaps.
When one of the Venatori dies, she knows their death won't be for nothing. They shouldn't be afraid, their death serves a purpose (or so she tells herself). Ars moriendi, as some say. It's different when a Red Templar dies. Samson mourns as if his own child died. It's difficult to say what he sees when he looks at those deformed monsters. It's not that she asked him about it.
His silent obedience is convenient but this time she finds herself wanting to ask him a whole lots of things. She would like to listen to him talk about the Free Marches. And Kirkwall, because the City of Chains fascinates her in some twisted way. Her agents provided all the information she needed, but knowing something about Samson, now that would be interesting. It's too late now. Maybe in another life they will have just enough time (and courage) to do what they truly want.
Their eyes meet for a brief moment, she nearly gives in and walks right to him because she wants to hear him saying–
(anything; she likes the sound of his voice)
– how proud he is that he was chosen instead of her because she is nothing, and she will always be nothing but a girl with a dream too big for her silly mind. It would make everything so much easier if he could just admit how much he hates her, and how he wants her to rot here while he is conquering all Thedas in the name of their god.
It's not true. Or maybe it is, Calpernia isn't sure anymore. Something is scratching the back of her mind with a long claw, so persistent it nearly drives her mad. Her grip on her staff tightens, hands shaking, and she's certain she will soon hate herself for her pathetic dreams that mean nothing in the grand plan of gods.
Samson turns his head away. Maybe because he respects her too much. Or perhaps he doesn't care about her at all.
When the night comes, she's dizzy with doubt. Calpernia looks in the mirror, amazed that her reflection didn't change. She should simply accept her fate of being no one important, someone left behind. If only the ache inside her chest would go away.
Everyone always wants her to do something. What if she doesn't want to do anything this time? What if she decides to stay away from everything – everyone – and simply let things happen?
So she drinks a potion that offers a promise of dreamless sleep, silencing whatever persistent thoughts she has. Calpernia closes her eyes, and lets herself pretend she truly doesn't care about anything. When she wakes up, something feels odd. She searches for her magic, but the flames feel distant and cold in the prison of her mind. She blames the potion she drank (deep down she knows she can only blame herself).
The ache still coils insider her, she notices with a frown as she gets up in the dull morning light. Nothing else matters, all her thoughts disappear, her mind focused on one need she can't supress any longer. Cursing her own stupidity, Calpernia gathers what's left of her strength and leaves the room. Her whole body feels so cold and unnatural she wonders if her blood froze.
Running through the halls she looks more like a ghost, a creature from the other side of the Veil searching for something lost.
When she stops, hesitant, she takes a deep breath before opening the door without knocking. Her eyes scan the room, but there's nothing left. Flames in the fireplace are slowly dying out, giving barely any light. He's not here and he's taken everything he had with him leaving nothing behind. The room is so dark, cold and distant that a shiver runs down her spine. Feeling numb, she walks to the narrow bed and sits down. All hope she had disappears completely.
They always leave.
For the first time since the Elder One came to her and broke her chains, Calpernia doesn't know what to do, and it feels like dying. Her magic comes back, a reminder that she can't give up, not yet, not ever, not until she sees the change she wants to bring.
She fights with the numbness that threatens to overpower her body, and sits up. It's time to move or else she might stay here forever, turn into a statue or disappear. It's no use wondering about whys and ifs, she has to focus on doing. A plan slowly forms in her head. There are many things she needs to set in motion. It is comforting to know that her path leads… Somewhere. To salvation, perhaps. She's just not sure anymore.
The Elder One already made his decision. Now it's time for her to choose. It's a gamble, and part of her feels like a traitor – but then again, didn't Corypheus betray her first? She's still alive meaning she can still do something. There are no chains holding her back.
When her feet touch the floor, Calpernia turns her head to see there's something laying on the table, glistening in the firelight.
She has seen it so many times before. It's a simple shape of a bird with outstretched wings, made from a scrap of metal. When the realisation hits her, something inside her snaps open.
Flames in the fireplace crack once, twice, then die, disappearing into thin air as if they were merely an illusion.