Title: All the sinners and the saints
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Calpernia, Samson; Sampernia
Rating: T
Warnings: mild spoilers for DA Inquisition
Summary: An inexplicable sadness settles in her bones. Calpernia pretends it's nothing.
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine.
A/N: Title from Survive by Chelsea Wolfe.
Corypheus speaks, his voice like a distant thunder reverberating through her very soul. Hearing the words leaves her breathless, it's like a blow straight in the chest making her gasp for air so desperately it feels like she's drowning.
Calpernia's hands tremble. For a second she's sure the whole world around her shakes in spasms, reality threatening to collapse and bury her forever. She exhales slowly, balls her hands into fists, tasting rage on her tongue.
After countless days of insisting they should stop ignoring the threat and do something, after talking to the Elder One and seeing him not listening to her advice at all, the decision is finally made.
General Samson and the Red Templars will go to the Well of Sorrows, deal with any kind of resistance they may find there, and return with the power that will change the world. After the recent failure with the Grey Wardens, the Venatori have proven not as capable as the Elder One thought. As he's talking, his ancient eyes look up to the sky, possibly imagining the shape of things to come, the new order with him as the central figure recognised as a god by all.
He won't listen to me. He won't even look at me..!
Samson turns his head to her, and something inside her wants to
(gouge his eyes out so she would not see all that pity, and concern, and…)
dissolve into nothingness, because it would be easier than facing the ugly truth.
When Corypheus summoned them both, Calpernia wondered if he orders them to do more pointless things instead of focusing on fighting with the Inquisition. But no, he's made the final decision. As if he conveniently forgot she exists.
Calpernia was supposed to write a new chapter of the history of Thedas. In the end, however, she is barely a footnote.
The Elder One's words still echo in her mind, making her remember how eager she was to obey his every order.
You have to be ready. Prepare as I have directed.
She wanted to be ready, wanted to do everything she could so she would be considered worthy.
It doesn't matter now; all she did to prepare herself for the role of the Vessel means nothing. She's but a pawn, and when the realisation finally comes, Calpernia touches her neck, surprised she can't feel a collar under her fingers. Her hands seem so light without the shackles.
She never trusted Corypheus fully, and yet… It hurts. More than lashes or sticks hitting her back. Betrayal is an ugly word that leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
She wants to scream, howl in childish frustration, and burn everything to the ground to let the Elder One see she is not to be ignored. There's this familiar tingling in her fingertips, magic begging to be unleashed. It would be so easy to let the power flow through her, flames destroying everything they touch.
She bows her head instead, accepting her fate. Samson is glancing at her, but she can't bring herself to even look at him right now. Corypheus may still claim he values them equally, but it's painfully obvious he has already made his choice. She wants to hate both of them, the Elder One and the templar, hate the whole world for doing nothing but using her and pushing away the second she's not needed anymore. She can't.
An inexplicable sadness settles in her bones. Calpernia pretends it's nothing.
On the way back to her chamber, she speaks to the others. They don't ask, thankfully, accepting the orders as if they didn't see the injustice happening right in front of their eyes. Rumours spread fast, they all heard what happened with other Venatori agents who met the Inquisition. They can still fight, but there's not much of them left, the Inquisitor ripped their greatness into shreds so easily it's nearly laughable.
"Hold yourself high, Venatori", she tells them again. At this point it's like a mantra she repeats. It seems they still believe her or maybe they are simply too blind to notice her distress. How convenient.
After that, Calpernia can do nothing else but flee to her room, leaving the world behind the closed door. Once she's alone, she lets her magic free for a split second, orbs of fire forming in her hands. They crackle and howl for her while Calpernia remains perfectly silent, not one sound escaping from her lips.
She waves her hands and all flames are gone just like that, with an ease that never fails to surprise her. She could rip everything into pieces, destroy the room she so carefully cleaned and prepared for herself, see it all burn until there's nothing but ashes.
The very idea that she could do just that brings her enough satisfaction so Calpernia settles for something different instead. She can't focus on reading anything, then tea will work as a good distraction. She reaches for a cup, the blue one (she has only three teacups but Calpernia vows one day she'll have more teacups than she can count, and she will taste every tea there is, just because this is what she wants no matter how silly it sounds). She sits down by her desk like every other day when she had few moments for herself, when she could do something selfish and meaningless like drinking tea or reading pointless Fereldan novels.
She bites her lip and takes a deep breath, something twisting anxiously in her gut. She slowly sips the tea, pretending she can't notice how bitter it tastes. Maybe it's all in her head.
She looks at the cup but doesn't really see it, tracing the rim with her index finger, her mind too busy to pay attention to small details. With every breath, the impatience inside her grows no matter how hard she tries to ignore it.
Then she hears the door opening. When she glances at the man walking inside, her face resembles a mask. Samson looks like a beaten up dog (even more than usually), and Calpernia has to fight with a sudden temptation to get up and reach out to him because she wants to touch, feel the roughness of his skin. It seems so natural that she considers doing foolish things like cradling his face in her hands while he sits by her feet, letting her do whatever she wants like a loyal dog waiting for commands.
She doesn't move. It would be so easy to let herself forget about everything else. Simplicity is not the beast answer, especially not now.
The truth is that she's been waiting for him, knowing he would come. He always comes to her. Sometimes she wonders if she has him on a leash, and how hard she can pull before he finally snaps.
Calpernia sets the now empty cup on the desk, feeling regret clawing at her throat. For a brief moment she believes the thing inside her is going to suffocate her.
Calpernia seems distant in a way he can't fully understand, as if she was sitting behind a glass wall. Her face is empty yet there's a glimmer of hurt in her eyes, making something twist inside his gut.
"Calpernia– " he begins but the howling inside his head is so distracting Samson finds it difficult to focus his thoughts.
She observes him with cold anger, appearing so different that the woman he knows (he wishes he knew). It feels like he's looking at Calpernia from the past, the one who was nothing more than the leader of the Venatori, just a figure, yet another ally working for the Elder One. So much has changed since then.
With his thoughts jumbled, he can't speak. Hell, he doesn't know if he even should be here. But Calpernia won't give him enough time to calm the storm in his head.
"If you could stop what happened in Kirkwall, would you?"
The question comes from nowhere, leaving Samson with an empty mind. He rakes his hand through his hair. He certainly didn't expect to hear anything like this.
"I was but a templar," he says after a while. "There wasn't much I could do."
To his surprise, Calpernia scoffs. "You think you were but a templar?" The tone of her voice changes drastically, hiding her true emotions behind anger. "You've never been but a templar."
"I'm far from champions and heroes of Thedas," he admits without shame. There's no use pretending he's someone else.
"You're the one Corypheus chose in the end."
And there it is.
Some time ago Samson made an interesting discovery. Calpernia tends to use a particular tactic of speaking, starting with a completely different topic that eventually leads to what she really wants to say. This isn't a conversation, this is a battle, and she has no intention of losing.
He lets out a sigh. Part of him wishes they could revert back to how it used to be. It was all messed up but simple to understand. There was not one hint of guilt in his thoughts. Now, however… Everything seems better than this complicated mess of too many emotions clashing together.
"How can you see yourself as someone ordinary?" Calpernia continues."If a living god specifically chose you, it means you are more than a templar, it means…"
"It doesn't mean anything," he says, weary. This is pointless; she's like a wild animal looking for a reason to attack. "He needed a templar, and this is who I am. There's nothing special about me. What are you trying to prove? That I was chosen for some divine reason?"
"Yes, you were chosen! Twice!" she slams her hand on the desk with so much force the cup standing near her moves dangerously close to the edge. "He chose you, it wasn't…. It wasn't an accident. You were chosen because you have potential, not because it was a coincidence!"
She quickly glances away, face slightly flushed. Samson simply assumed that the Elder One came to her just like he came to him that fateful day, changing his life forever. She commands the Venatori, on many occasions he heard that Corypheus chose her specifically, not some pompous magister.
The truth is that he obviously doesn't know the full story. He should have asked her about it long time ago.
"Corypheus didn't come to see me, I just happened to be there," Calpernia speaks, more to herself than to him, her eyes clouded with memories he's not allowed to see. "It was an accident, a mistake. All this time I thought it meant something, but in the end… In the end I'm not worthy," she nearly spits the last word. "There's so much I need to do, but now… Now it doesn't matter."
She could shatter into pieces at any moment, and it's difficult to look at this fragile woman sitting in front of him. He was never permitted to see Calpernia in a state like this. It's hard to comprehend that the woman who leads her country to a revolution, a mage who can bend elements to her will, under all these layers of power, pride and iron will she is merely human. It's new, strange, and terrifying, seeing her like this.
"Not worthy? What are you talking about, you are…" Samson begins but stops realising words like these won't get him anywhere.
There's something else he should tell her when there's still time.
"It's not too late for you to leave," he suggests, careful, because it's something he shouldn't even say in the first place. She should leave if there's the smallest possibility she could save herself before the Inquisition butchers them all (no matter what their god says they are not going to win this). She has so many dreams and plans that need to happen. In comparison his tactic of surviving yet another day means nothing.
Hopefully his templars will die in a battle, like true soldiers, instead of becoming creatures with twisted bodies, howling in the dark, begging for the smallest drop of the scarlet thing that grants them power in exchange for their minds.
"You want me to leave? Like a traitor?" She narrows her eyes at him, awakened from the numbness of her mind. There's a red blush on her cheeks, hinting at the fury roaring inside her.
Are you looking for a reason to hate me?, he wants to ask. The thought of Calpernia hating him, truly hating him, seems impossible. It's obvious she's concerned about him. Every time he sees worry in her eyes, he wants to somehow make her understand she shouldn't waste her time on him. Hatred would be easier, more convenient. Too bad nothing is simple in this world.
"You think I could simply leave?" Calpernia continues, waving her hands in her usual manner. Her voice is so hostile like there was someone else speaking through her. Or maybe it's that he got used to her treating him differently, perhaps he never truly deserved her wrath.
"After all I've done? After– " she glances at him quickly, but not quickly enough, and he can notice disquiet in her eyes. Calpernia shakes her head. She's strong; her moment of weakness has passed, or at least she can pretend it has.
"I shall do what I was instructed. The Venatori will await your return, like the Elder One commanded. When you return from the Well, we shall join the Red Templars and defeat the Inquisition once and for all."
"Don't repeat what Corypheus said. Tell me what you really think," he insists, almost an accusation.
"Get out," she seethes, eyes fixed on the floor.
She balls her hands into fists. Samson can taste magic in the air.
"You are more worthy than any other person here. And even if he chose you by accident, then he's a fool for not noticing your potential."
"Get out!" Her fist hits the desk with a loud thump, tiny sparks of magic appearing around her hand.
The cup wobbles on the verge, then falls to meet with the stone floor and shatter into pieces. Calpernia lets out a quiet gasp, staring with shock at the broken porcelain. Silence that follows feels unnatural, so heavy like it was about to crush him.
If he was superstitious, Samson would think it's a bad omen prophesising their defeat. He doesn't believe in such things, but he can see the look on Calpernia's face, and that alone is enough to make him wonder if all that they've done was for naught.
She sits unmoving like a statue, eyes fixed at the broken cup. Without a word, Samson walks closer and kneels down, gathering the pieces in his hands. Maybe she wants to keep them as a token of sorts. There's nothing that can be done to put the shattered cup back together.
Samson looks up at her, just like many times before. Calpernia's hands reach out, fingertips brushing his face. The storm inside his head dies out, his mind peacefully quiet.
"I wanted to tell you that I considered leaving," she whispers, so quietly he can hardly hear her. "And… many other things that don't matter now."
She chews on her lower lip, one of her many little habits, her eyes moving to the broken cup in his hands. When she stops touching him and leans back, the air in the room gets considerably colder as if all the warmth he could feel came from her.
"I think you should go."
He nods, and gets up even though his entire body is so exhausted it's difficult to keep his eyes open.
"What should I…" he begins, looking at the sad remains in his hands.
"It's broken. Throw it away."
Calpernia's voice is hollow and distant. This whole situation feels so bizarre that for a second Samson believes it's all a dream. Sadly, it is not.