A woman stood near the shoreline, her gaze distant, shining green, a jewel amid the unsightly landscape.
Radiating from this person was a familiarity that was markedly absent from what lay around them.
Initially he thought they were outside the Gallows, until he realized it wasn't the one he knew. It was an earlier version of it, the living replica of sketches from his textbooks. The sky was smudged like the shore. Walls had missing bricks. Beneath him he sensed those escape tunnels were in use. Everyone was striving to escape the horrors within its walls. And now it was time for him to do the same.
"Are you going to be safe on your own?" she asked.
"Yes. Although…"
"What is it?"
How could she look so young, yet it felt like they had been here for a very long time?
No. He knew. Regret warped what he knew was normal and fair, a depression so deeply impaled it stretched short amounts of time into drab, endless tunnels. A labyrinth without landmarks, in which one would wither and die.
If you had made different choices, you wouldn't be having this conversation.
To be a comfort to his fellow Templars he became resolute and invulnerable. The Chantry taught him well. Emotions were a sign of losing focus. Emotions were an indicator that one could be taken advantage of by a demon. They could be anywhere, even in brothers and sisters.
Through that determination, he lost her. And she would lose him. A fighting spirit failed in the face of vulnerability.
He hesitated and did not hold out a hand. How cruel it was, since he wanted to and wander alongside her, as companions did, as lovers might, but did no more.
"Sometimes people can't be around each other, no matter how much they may want to," Samson said.
"That's just life and it changes them. The more they embrace what they shy away from, the less it can hurt them."
This wisdom seemed to come from nowhere… although the message didn't stay. Just like he couldn't, nobody could.
The girl smiled. His old friend tried to hold his hand and he pulled it away. For a moment she looked hurt.
Then she turned her head to one side and spoke in the voice of many with one chime.
"You embrace nothing except the disappointment in yourself, your anger and bitterness."
The message wasn't strange here. It rang true. He understood and swallowed it. Yet he did not agree with it or her. She was a whirlpool, and he had to escape her, and everything that felt homely and normal.
"Have a good day, friend," Samson said, formally.
The girl said nothing. Her eyes flashed with resentment - a feeling he shared, though not for her. Never her.
He woke from another dream that felt like a nightmare. About someone who used to be his friend, who turned traitor. A charming, parlous betrayal.
From underneath the bed, the sword radiated a comfortable warmth like the steam of a bath, bringing back memories of resting at Lady Elegant's place. By the Dead Maker that woman was brilliant. Genuine kindness in face of scarcity was hard to come by.
Since Maddox had invested so much time into fixing the red lyrium sword, Samson guarded it. Its light reverberated into his mind, hungry for something.
What do you want me to do? He asked, trying to go back to sleep while the picture of the Gallows courtyard faded. Something was missing.
One piece at a time, he'd gotten Maddox to help with mending Faith's house. Now the sides of old crates from the Docks covered what was broken. Maddox had taken Faith's place in the bed so they wouldn't overcrowd Elegant's house. It never would feel the same without Faith, though something else was amiss.
Samson searched his mind for answers and it came softly, but with certainty. Like a drip of rain from the rooftop, it gradually dawned on him that he didn't know where this person in his dreams had been inspired from.
Didn't I actually twirl her in a tavern? He thought, groggily, rolling over to the other side of his bed.
His memories of the Gallows were disjointed. How difficult it was to recall if they had always been that way. The ones with Wystan were the clearest.
It had to be stress. So much had happened in the past week that there was no other logical explanation.
Why did that seem familiar?
In an instant his skull felt it was closing in, clawing into his mind, piercing the flesh beneath, then crushing pain followed. Like a crash of thunder it vanished. A new sensation was fixing him, making him better. He had a very strong urge that sung to his core, lyrics of truth. It came with understanding, a wave of knowingness. The lyrium did not communicate in audible words, yet in a message nonetheless. A picture of the Courtyard, her resentment and sadness passed him in a blur of white and grey. Zoe had only existed in his dreams. There was nowhere she could have come from.
But the letters, Samson thought, disheartened that he would not be able to retrieve the last one or reply, I wrote letters to her. She wrote letters to me. That couldn't have been a dream.
Again, the lyrium replied in a burst of intangible thought and knowingness. This was the lyrium's plan. Zoe only existed in his head and was created by the lyrium to lead him to them.
Sleep deprivation and disorientation meant… this made intuitive sense. Just like the Fade, in the world of thought, fantasy and the unreal, the details made unquestionable sense, even if they were illogical. But his mind said no, he still refused to accept it.
How did I get here then?
I have an important purpose.
Get fucked. You're just a load of voices.
His head ached, stretching to accommodate the swirling, burning smoke of the lyrium. The message was the same. Zoe was nothing more than a construct. Cullen, Phillipa, Maddox… all of them had been fed this delusion so he could be lead to the lyrium's calling. Zoe was a non-entity.
Samson felt suddenly sick. If that was true… what did that mean for him, his past and choices?
"Prove it!" he grumbled at the sword.
Maddox stirred in his sleep.
The humming engulfed his entire being. He saw clearer pictures than the world around him. It was no coincidence she was a butterfly, a constantly disappearing insect, because she wasn't real. That time in the tavern never happened. It was only a fleeting image. Everybody was part of the lyrium's plot, but they only told Samson their plans. The lyrium had plastered lies over his eyes until he was ready to see the truth.
The voices were so strong and overpowering that it was exhausting to fight it. Their message felt so completely true in his bones that it was luring him to believe, coaxing him to resist arguing.
The lyrium whispered that Zoe was only a distraction, and he had gotten strong enough to not need her anymore. She was a crutch to keep him alive until his true purpose became clear. This was all part of their plan. It was the calling to his destiny.
Samson thought that hallucination or not, maybe he could still like having an illusion of a girl around. Even then, the lyrium pushed and pulled at his mind, telling him no. Hallucinations were a waste of time. There was work to be done. Nobody else could do it but him.
Samson felt intensely nauseous. There was something entirely wrong with the world. A giant fissure had been created down the middle of it. The real world was a nightmare. The dreams were more important. Zoe was more important.
He felt like he was being held by the lyrium, heat pulsing through his body. Everything was going to be okay… so long as he had the red.
The sword's name was Certainty, and it spoke the will of the lyrium and knew how to live up to its name.
She was gone. It didn't make any difference anyway.
Days passed, which Samson used to arrange his next steps. The Carta arranged a meeting in a public space. Samson talked frequently to Marie and Hope, as he didn't like leaving them at Elegant's house like pets. They used Elegant's cook book to decide what to make for dinner. That was sadly the highlight of their day.
Wildervale. That's where they would go, a walk he had taken many times. Samson wrote to his previous contacts to organise transport and accommodation. A small number replied, meaning Samson, Marie, Hope and Maddox would have to find their own way for long stretches. Still he was confident they could do it. The only thing left was to sort out the Carta and lyrium for the trip.
Sometimes he strolled outside and heard talk of a war, chatter of persons gone missing. This didn't surprise him much. Houses and buildings were damaged and it seemed a different one was set on fire every day. He sometimes had moments of clarity that his mind was being manipulated by the weapon he held in the house, but most of the time, he followed what the lyrium told him to do. It was nice to him and nobody else. He had something important to do. He couldn't afford to question them. And really, he didn't care about that annoying Zoe anyway.
He spent a lot of time talking to Maddox, borrowing Lady Elegant's herbalist books to read or observing the pieces of Meredith's sword. It had a very intense hum, like a heart pulsed within, a living entity.
Hours went by without him noticing because he became so enraptured in it, wanting to know what the lyrium wanted, but he always sensed orders were coming. At random moments of the day Samson went on spontaneous ramblings about where Faith might be, in what brutal, unforgiving way she was most likely to die, how stupid the world was and the people in it and the mage only nodded understandingly. Good old Maddox.
The times where he argued with the Red Lyrium got less and less. They were taking over. He let them. He didn't want to be weak. He wanted to know how it was to be special. He wanted the power that Meredith wielded, and he knew if the lyrium let him he could control it.
"Wanna go find anything of yours from the Gallows, Maddox?" Samson wondered, leaning against the bed.
"Any friends?"
Maddox turned one of the pieces over, "The Gallows is not safe."
"It's probably never going to be?" He felt hung over. When he talked, his voice sounded dead, toneless.
What was Cullen up to? Pah, what did he care?
"I am content to wait," Maddox said witha level of patience only capable by the Tranquil.
Samson was not content to wait. He hated doing nothing.
It wasn't an uncommon story to lose contact with the outside. Many of those in Kirkwall couldn't send word to their friends and family when the rebellion sunk its claws into the city. Still, judging by how Susanne had only appeared briefly to drop off lyrium, either her family was in trouble or the Circle was in a complete state of disarray. However, he didn't like the thought of showing his face when Cullen would probably get suspicious and stuck up like he always did.
Where was everybody and how could he contact them?
Civilians had these questions too. Nobody knew what address to write on the envelope. Samson felt like an envelope with no address. He wasn't alone in that, but sometimes he thought he was, especially when his surroundings became so bleak like a room without oxygen, the last of the light extinguished.
Preparing for the Carta meeting, Samson donned his armour, sword and shield… and went to have a few drinks. Nothing else would absolve his numbness, and Maddox could only nod his head so many times. All he needed was enough grog so he couldn't think clearly anymore, couldn't remember who any of his history or friends were. The only place that would keep serving him past drunken point was The Hanged Man.
He ordered mead and sat away from people, far from the bar, gulping it down like water after a trek in a light wasn't comforting like usual, it left odd colors in front of his eyes like he'd been concussed. With an odd fondness, Samson remembered when he'd listened to Thrask and a noisy dwarf play cards, or even the times he'd cheated at Wicked Grace for the fun of it.
Ser Thrask had been an admirable lad. It wasn't fair he'd died. It was cruel and wicked that anybody had to die, mage or Templar, dreadful or innocent, but it wasn't the Maker who decided who would live or die, it was the ones who could step into the boots of the Maker.
The time he'd gotten terribly drunk, he had been writing a letter to a lady with emerald eyes. She… they had shared a drink here a long time ago, what, four or five years ago, maybe longer?
Piss on everything… it didn't feel right to think about her. What was Faith doing right now?
Before he knew it he was sipping at another drink, scotch. It made him feel nauseous. He shouldn't be surprised, yet he kept drinking all the same. Forcing himself to observe the crowd he met the gaze of a dwarf with a glass eye. That wasn't anybody; it was the Carta member who had met Samson the first time, the one Samson had a special disliking for and rememberedbecause the initial experience was so egregious.
It was slightly unnerving when the dwarf approached him and Samson prepared to grab his weapon, but the Carta member only stepped beside him.
"How's being without work again?" Eindride asked.
"Brilliant," Samson lied. "To business. When's the next lyrium order due? I need to change it."
"Yes, you do," Eindride agreed curtly. "Formidable Adessi has debts to pay, and it's our code that we don't sell to customers in debt."
"First I heard of it," Samson said. Admittedly, he was worried. "How much does mistress owe you?"
"Only one thousand sovereigns, fifty silver." Eindride responded.
"What?" Samson asked flatly, attempting to hide his denial. That was a lot of coin, more than anything him and Faith had paid together for lyrium. And they said it like a thousand gold was nothing, the greedy bastards.
"You heard me correctly." Eindride pulled Samson's near empty glass away. "Her whereabouts are a mystery to us, but are they to you?"
"Yes."
Samson showed the dwarf the letter he always kept in his pocket. It was nearly ripped into shreds simply by living there. Still, The Carta member read it once and gave Samson a meddling look.
"Unfavourable filth, she says," Eindride mused. "She's so kind with her insults. Don't you agree, prisoner?"
Samson smiled, and tried to change the subject. "Let's be fair here. She's the one in debt, so... can't you sell some lyrium to me?"
"No. The contract was under her name," Eindride said. "You were just the appointed delegate to collect her orders."
"Hasn't the past few years proven I'm trustworthy and reliable?"
"Not precisely," Eindride said. "Especially not since she used that argument to con us. And familiar minds tend to find each other."
"Right. What if I paid the debt?"
"Then we can arrange a contract."
Samson groaned and rested his head on the table. "Sorry, just the drink."
It wasn't just the drink. He was failing to hide his unease.
Is it months of debt? Is there interest on the top of it?
Tried as he might to think in a fog, Samson couldn't help but wonder why Faith had never explained this. He gave her enough coin from the Circle, he'd tried to help. How did this even happen? The Carta weren't stupid. They didn't let customers owe them money.
"Were the orders the same?" he asked finally.
Eindride paused. "Talk of Adessi can wait…" he held onto Samson's glass. "I will take this back and have my own. There's someone upstairs that asked for you."
Bewildered, Samson followed where Eindride gestured, to the stairs, as though expecting the visitor to be waving there.
"Who?"
"A business partner. He won't hurt you."
I bet you would, Samson wanted to say.
Not wanting to talk about his princess's financial problems anymore, Samson got out of his seat and head up the stairs, his gait slightly uncoordinated.
Samson rarely went to the Hanged Man, as the Blooming Rose was far better, although he knew enough about upstairs. He understood it had a fireplace, and was often reserved for those too drunk enough to walk home. Although as he managed to level his head and enter, the room had a bleak chill that made the fire seem appropriate for blood magic sacrifice. Tipsy, his eyes jumped to the back of blue and white striped armour, only saved for Grey Wardens.
What does a Darkspawn tainted warrior want with me?
Ice rushed down his spine as everything above the stranger's shoulders temporarily distorted into a wispy shadow of black and grey, becoming taller, the vague discolouration of the Warden forgotten underneath.
Something more than a warrior presented itself, its gaze piercing. Like the shards of the red lyrium weapon, Samson felt a strong invisible force pushing him, keeping him away from this being. Suspecting blood magic by habit, Samson grasped the hilt of his sword, steadied himself, hoping he wouldn't have to use it.
"I was told you provide a voice to forgotten mages, to the fallen and dead. Raleigh Samson. Correct?"
It spoke in two voices, one that was closer, appearing to belong to the Warden, and a deep rumble powerful enough to cause earthquakes.
Clearly a case of mind control, or possession.
"Yeah, that's me," Samson said, thinking, Who the fuck are you?
Yet he couldn't. Something told him a contact of the Carta was not worth swearing at. At least, not during introductions. Finally he managed, "Are you a mage?"
"I used to be a Magister. I recognize your armour, yes. There are many like you… Templars, Knights of the Maker. Are you a Templar?"
"Not anymore," Samson said, and added, "Not of the Chantry, anyhow. There's no Chantry left."
"It is how it should be."
The shadowy figure was so obscure, the Warden so blank faced, it was impossible to tell emotion. Even if it was angry, it didn't seem like this Magister was going to attack him. Samson loosened his grip on his sword as the Magister said, "This place is foreign to me. Explain clearly: what is a Templar?"
Bewildered, Samson took pause. His definition of what a Templar should be and was differed. It had been this way for many years. A true Templar would have integrity, do well by its mages, brothers and sisters, aiming to protect and show mercy when it was due. But none of these qualities reflected what Templars had been or were, not in all of Thedas. And it was all summarized by Faith. That even if the Maker listened, he didn't speak loud enough to those that served Him, so he might as well not be there at all.
"The Order deserves better," Samson growled. "We trusted them: we deserve better than being used until our minds are washed away." All seven years of his anguish poured in a vicious roar, "They treat us like animals. Their own templars!"
The possessed man held up a glass vial, glowing red instead of blue. Samson tilted his head, and could hear the red's proclamations. It wasn't like the stuff he was used to; those were just the lyrium's pawns. The red were the commanders who ruled each section of the army.
"If you could tear this upstart Chantry out by the roots," the two voices boomed, "bring about a new Order, what price would you be willing to pay?"
Relief, electricity and fire from exhilaration burst in Samson. This was part of Certainty's plan. This waswhy he'd been offered Meredith's sword. His destiny was right in front of him.
"If it gave one templar a better end than mine," Samson said, "I'd pour out my own blood for it." Almost overwhelmed with the power he'd sensed, he added, "But I burned out long ago. You're asking the wrong man."
"I think not," the Magister stepped forward and held out the flask, just like Phillipa and Maddox had held out their letters. Like how he'd made them happy, Samson felt similarly moved. He was going to do well in the world, inspire his brothers and sisters and march them to the front lines with confidence. The world was not a safe place, so he was never safe, but he could with this. He could be strong and keep others safe.
Looking at the creature expectantly, there was only a shadowy nod. Who was this Grey Warden, and more importantly, the tall, misshapen beast that had started speaking through him?
Samson didn't know, but he knew the power of lyrium. He understood well how it could destroy a person as well as bring them to glory. At least, that was with the blue. This…
Samson pulled off the cork and smelled it. Immediately, like smoke, he coughed and pulled away. It confirmed what he'd expected, that the red was at a higher level than the blue. If he had to guess, it would create larger disconnections in its hosts, turn him into a King, but also have the potential to harden him to lava, like Meredith, something monstrous. It did this to everyone, and even those in its presence.
"What am I to do?" Samson asked, "What do I call you?"
"If you want to know more, come to the Vimmark Mountains," instructed the creature. The Grey Warden's voice had been silenced. "Wewill be properly introduced, and we will prepare for upheaval and chaos to purify the world. Then come with your men and women when they are ready to march. Preparations are already underway."
"Why me?" Samson probed, unable to stop himself, "and why the red? What will it do?"
"Consecrate your stomach with this offering," the Magister said, "and it will answer your call for justice."
Tipsy and low on blue, Samson wouldn't resist. He downed a mouthful of red and groaned in the enjoyment of the rush. It was like those times he'd had cake with Faith, but with more power, more magnitude, the promise of supremacy.
The Grey Warden snapped a finger in time to the shadow and Samson saw what the red lyrium did. The cost of Godhood came at a price, evident by the creature in front of him. It turned its hosts into beasts, monsters, freaks of nature, unable to think or feel how they usually would. With sadness, Samson didn't think this was much different to how his emotions were since addiction to the blue. It meant anyone who took this stuff would need to bid goodbye to themselves as they knew it and embrace the part of themselves that was underutilized, impactful, yet unsightly.
But Samson had to do this. It was his destiny. He was going to tear the Order apart and make it a kinder place. If the Greater Good was great enough, the means didn't matter.
The Grey Warden was nobody, a tool, but the shadowy projection was the real master. Samson felt respect for him, but not much else.
"Show me what you're on about. I'll give it a think," he promised the creature with a smile. "If I agree, I'll have a nice long chat with my allies."
Samson returned downstairs somewhat exhilarated. The tavern seemed like a completely different place. He felt hopeful, which was new. He had felt some of this hope when returning to the Gallows after so long, but it was nothing like this. He nodded to Eindride. The Carta member followed him, though Samson realized he was associated with the Grey Warden character, who was now in a large dark cloak. He was an elderly man with no pupils – bizarre – and many patches of his hair missing, as though he had personally ripped it out, even his beard.
There was no talking, only understanding as they crossed the streets of Hightown, not so much of a 'how are you?' until they were out of the city, climbing a slope. Even then there were no pleasantries.
"Grey Warden," Samson said with suspicion, "What have you got to do with all this?"
"Don't ask him questions," Eindride cut across him, "the Elder One doesn't like others playing with his toys.
The Warden can hardly hold a conversation as it is."
"The Elder One," Samson mused, figuring that Eindride must think of everybody as a toy, so this hardly meant anything, "What do you know then?"
"The Elder One has been given free reign, thanks to myself and some others." Eindride said the words slyly. "He knows what to know about everybody. You've been chosen. You might be more than a toy, though I volunteered to fetch you for my own agenda."
"Coin, right?" Samson scoffed. "Some blighted original agenda."
He felt somewhat pleased that he could speak his mind around the Carta member now. There was likely to be little consequence if the dwarf was relying on him to provide information. It was extremely satisfying.
"I am doing business, and when I do business, I don't enjoy chasing my losses," Eindride said, his glass eye looking as creepy as the Grey Warden's eyes. "You have the coin or not?"
"Not that much." Samson said, which was an honest answer, "But maybe this Elder One can help me with that?"
The dwarf shrugged. "Pray on it, Adessi's captive, and be prepared to declare bankruptcy if it isn't."
Samson wondered if Faith's crappy, run down house would even pay back the loan. "Yeah, yeah." He waited a moment so he knew where to walk next. "Are you going to tell me why she was in debt in the first place?"
Could he avoid paying the debt… was there some way to remove Eindride from the picture entirely?
Samson always hated the Carta but co-existed with them simply on the basis that they provided lyrium. They were scummy. But now they wouldn't provide him lyrium. That meant they were nothing.
Faith always said the Carta was a large organization, and killing one member meant the others would hunt you until you were nothing. The temptation to kill them had been pushed away. The Grey Warden had given him red lyrium. Were the Carta necessary anymore?
Samson realized he was considering murder and he didn't even care. He'd always wanted to rip the head from this bastard. If the circumstances were right, the benefits would far outweigh the losses. He tried to keep a level head as he observed Eindride's smirk and pretended he wasn't thinking about violence.
"The lyrium growths in the mines slowly changed colour," Eindride continued. "We verified if we could still use it. We could. We informed Adessi of the change. She didn't trust what we'd discovered about the red. Her sights were on the blue still… with the short supply we put up the price a little."
"Is that all?" Samson was almost unimpressed. It was a good idea for Faith to stay away from the red, but if she wasn't able to afford the blue...
"She put on a strong front," Eindride continued, "demanded we lower the price, because she was a long term customer. Even for the mistress, the price was not negotiable. Price matches rarity. She borrowed coin. Two months and no concerns… then she wanted to pay what she used to for the blue, whatever that was in red. She didn't have a problem for three months."
Faith took the red, Samson thought, not sure how to feel. It was strange she hadn't told him. In fact she had lied by saying she didn't know anything. Now that he thought about it, when they'd seen each other the only unusual change was her sadism. It had reached a disturbing level that went beyond rules and games.
"We had our numbers disrupted recently, so one of my other associates started managing her payments. From the records, her orders were substantially increased and she was able to pay for it. Her income tripled, somehow, as it does in this trade. The last transaction was the same as it had been past few months, only she demanded to pay it back a week later from a payment delay. What do you know about that?"
"Nothing. I don't know how she got all the extra coin, either. It couldn't have been from me."
Eindride snickered. "Isn't it obvious?"
"No."
"Adessi could have easily brought her work out of the public eye."
Samson frowned. "Don't think so, lad. She wouldn't have had the energy. And she wouldn't have put her health at risk."
"What makes you so sure? She's proven herself to be capable when really desperate."
True, Faith had been risky with her sexual behaviour the first time she withdrew from lyrium, the nadir of her life outside the Circle, and had gotten sick from it. The strange thing was, "How do you know about that?"
"Word of mouth," Eindride said, with a grin.
Disgusting.
"Uh huh. You were talking about how a payment got delayed."
"Yes. She said she'd been paying on time for years..."
"We both had," Samson corrected him.
"She coerced my associate," Eindride said. "She shouldn't have been trusted. She never showed up to pay for her red and we went out to make sure she gave it."
"You trashed her house?" Samson wondered. Their numbers had been disrupted recently… how many was that?
"Friend of a friend of a friend," thedwarf said calmly, his glass eye turning to him, "Though she had left."
Samson felt at a loss about what the hell could have happened. She wasn't paying for the red with his coin, or even Elegant's from the sounds of it. Despair accompanied the words tumbled from his lips, "She must have gotten money from somebody else."
Somebody she hadn't told him about. It still seemed unlikely she paid for it herself. Then again he could be in denial. What in the blighted shit? If Faith had hidden it from him, there was little chance she told anybody else.
"I'll let the Elder One say his bit," Eindride said, "and I'll be keeping an eye on you to make sure you pay me back."
"That won't be necessary." Samson gave his most pleasant smile, "I'll scrapetogether the coin."
This was his worst lie yet. He was more interested to know if he could simply kill the dwarf instead. That was far easier and more satisfying.
Eindride knew he was lying. Samson felt a sharp pain hit his thigh, and looked down to a blade poised between a weak point of his armour. "Your imprisoner is gone. You have no reason to pay me back."
True. Even if Faith had lied, he trusted her. The portrayal she'd given to Eindride all those years ago was wrong. It wasn't like that. She wasn't his imprisoner. She had been on his side… However pissed off and upset he was she'd kept all this to herself, he'd trust her one last time even if he never saw her face again.
She wouldn't have betrayed him without a good reason, just like she hadn't shut out Lilley and Meeran without a good reason and he hadn't done anything like what they did. She said she loved him.
"I'm a business man too, Eindride," Samson said as calmly as he could manage. "I do what's fair to others when it comes to coin. I think paying back your coin, even if it severely pains me, debilitates me, to do so, fits that criterion."
It was fair in finances, but it was severely unfair in his heart. His soul, however void and empty it was, wanted vengeance. If Faith had fled because of the Carta, he wanted the peace of mind knowing he'd eliminated them.
The ring he gave her was a promise to her cause, to protect her and the ones the Chantry had wronged. He'd murder every one of the remaining Carta if the numbers were within his means. And if this Elder One was going to make him more than a toy, or even if he did become a toy, if that gave him the power to mess with the people who deserved to be messed with it was an easy price to pay.
The lie had enough truth that Eindride put his weapon away. "We'll see, captive."
Samson raised a hand and made it glow with silver light, his Templar light, the power of making sure no one got stepped on … what it was supposed to be used for.
"You're right, Eindride," he said with threat in every inch of his voice. "Adessi is gone. That means she can't call me captive. That means no one does. It's Samson."
The Carta member gave a shrewd smile. It was the grin of a manipulator, the same grin Samson was sure he had tried to hide moments ago. "That's fair. Samson."
The inside of the cavern was dark, desolate and miserably empty, though Eindride assured him it wasn't deserted - there was a creature inside, a malicious one.
A dragon?
As they approached the entrance to a smaller tunnel the Grey Warden's voice merged with the other. It held out a hand. "Dwarf. Remain where you stand. Beckon forth, Templar."
Samson's heart leapt.
Eindride stood to the side but he didn't look pleased.
Samson entered the bottom floor ofthe cavern. As he did, he felt the air around him pull and thicken, pooling around the sword attached to him. Thelight temporarily lapsed before brightening. A figure stood, and truly, it was not human, its features illuminated by the lanterns in the cave. It was tall, whatever it was, with a body that was disfigured, like someone had torn the insides of a human out and then tried to put it back together blind. Its face was heavily scarred, with large shards of red lyrium poking out of it. Whatever it was, Samson felt no fear. He was impressed by what he could sense. The creature was powerful. It held a lot of knowledge. It believed in him. Had this creature been consuming red lyrium? Is that why it knew so certainly what its side effects were?
One of its eyes turned on him. "Stumble, your kind are always stumbling. There is no purpose to your stance, no drive. That can change. A plan for renewal is beginning to unwind."
"Thank you for seeing me, uh…" Samson started with basic etiquette, though was lost on how to address the creature.
"I hold many names, but to my followers I am Elder One, Corypheus, master. Address me only when your purpose has been granted," Corypheus boomed.
Samson had a lot of questions, as many as he had about Faith. "What's this plan of yours?"
The creature surveyed him menacingly. "Do you remember the tales your preachers declared of the Golden City?"
"Yeah," Samson admitted, having read over the passage recently when bored. "What of it?"
"Your religious institutions are founded on lies and corruption," Corypheus said. "Corrections are in order, in these sanctuaries and the world itself. The truth requires a vessel and message. Does your consciousness have the will to devour the truth?"
Samson felt his head almost burst with intrigue. Despite the Chantry being exploded, he despised it for not taking responsibility to clean up its own mess and wanted as much reason as he could to stand against it. A fight to eliminate corruption was a worthy one.
"It does."
He departed the tunnel marching with vials of red lyrium in his satchel and the after taste in his throat.
Eindride was organizing a bunch of papers in the corner of the cavern Samson had left him. The Warden had disappeared from sight.
"Hey there," Samson called, giving a short wave.
"Hello," Eindride turned, a forced pleasant smile on his face, "What's the proposal?"
Samson smiled as nicely as he could. "I figured out how to pay you back your coin, friend."
The red lyrium could be used like the blue, though it was more powerful. He could strike this dwarf down with its supremacy, drain all his energy or immobilize him.
"The Elder One will help you after all?"
"Yeah."
With the hand still partially in the air, Samson focused entirely on harnessing the power shooting through his insides. With a bolt of electricity it shot through the air, immobilizing the dwarf in place with sparks of red. Perfect. Even if Samson felt slightly unbalanced from the sudden disruption, he widened his stance, hissing through his nose. It smelt metallic and rusty, of dirt. This Carta bastard was going to die.
"Don't worry. I'll forward my payment to whoever else is further up the line," Samson said calmly. "This is more personal. I don't do business with Carta anymore. I don't need your lyrium. I stopped needing it years ago… and most importantly," he suppressed a smile, "I really don't like you."
He withdrew his sword, and as it moved he heard the red lyrium's song understood, but the stunning spell of the red lyrium was far more powerful. Looking past the dwarf's head to wall behind, Samson drove the sword through the weak point of Eindride's armour to his stomach, twisting it and then pushing it until it broke the skin and got jammed in the chainmail on the other side. The singing became temporarily muted, the glow dimmed, though he still knew that song. It lingered in his head.
He felt powerful. He felt fearless, and most of all, he could punish those who deserved it. "As Faith once said, no one is allowed to punish me except her, no matter how glorious your reasoning is."
Then, imbued with the red's strength, he pulled the blade out. Blood gushed from the hole. The ruptured guts that followed were fouler, like a tangle of bones, shiny with grey coverings and yellow and white grime from fat. It dribbled out while some merely bulged and pulsed. Disgusting… but appropriately dead.
Faith's promise had been fulfilled. Now, with Corypheus, he had a greater task to do. The woman would be proud of him, surely.
Lit by multiple lanterns, brother and sister Templars were finishing the crusts of pie. Vaguely, he thought he'd eaten the exact type of pie once. It had tasted good. Faith's house was cleaner than ever. Every day, he would clean it, hoping to find something more. He knew it was pointless. In his casual garb he felt more comfortable.
"We were starting to think you'd abandoned us," said one of the girls.
"Course I wouldn't," Samson said, while bitterly he thought, I'm not like Faith.
"So what's your big plan?" Margitte said. "It better be good or I'm not staying."
"Yeah, fine."
Samson didn't want to listen to them complain. Many of the jobs in Kirkwall had been interrupted or ended by the Chantry explosion. It made a lot of people rely on taking out loans to eat, beg or be reckless. People were moving out of Kirkwall entirely.
"I met somebody who's got a plan for this ruddy hole," he began, choosing his words carefully. All eyes were on him. "It involves traveling, making a difference. Before I get into that, the first hurdle is this."
He reached into his satchel, which had many vials of the red lyrium. Touching the glass with his fingers made him feel like he was hiding gold. Having it made him feel above others. Placing one on the ground in front of him, his Templars crowded around it.
"What is that?" Margitte asked.
"It's lyrium," Susanne answered, "Red. Like Samson's sword."
Numerous pairs of fascinated eyes turned on him.
"Where from?" came Paxley.
"I have a guaranteed supplier which I trust," Samson said. "Even if you're not interested in taking the stuff we can travel together. You're still going to be around it though. Can't escape it fully. But I gotta tell you about it first."
"It messed up Meredith, for sure," Wystan looked stony faced. He eyed Samson cautiously, "and… What do we need to know?"
The last time Samson had visited Orsino's office, Wystan had said the power was bad. He still looked concerned, but it wasn't the dread from before.
His roommate was trusting Samson.
Samson took a deep inhalation, looking into every one of those innocent eyes. Whoever agreed to take the lyrium would be part of his new Order, though he wouldn't draw them in on falsities.
"It gives power, more than I can comprehend," Samson said, recalling the images and information transferred by Corypheus, "It'slike the blue, but stronger. Greater power, so risks and stakes are higher." He hesitated. "You following so far?"
The Templars nodded.
"Makes sense," Wystan said when no one else appeared confident enough to comment.
"There's no telling what bad happens to you once you take it, but the good always comes. Always," Samson said firmly. This was its only constant. "Worstcase scenario, you'd turn into Meredith. Not literally but close. A creature with a mind no longer yours. Your brain becomes your best friend and your mistrusted enemy. The nightmares can be so real the rest of the world starts to fog. You stop feeling like a normal person, you stop seeing the world the same, but it will make us strong. It will give us leverage above others, because I will teach you how to tame the corruption and fortify your minds. We can harness skills no other person will."
He hesitated, to think. "I won't make you choose right now. Not whether you want to join my cause, I don't even want to utter another word of it, but I'd like you to consider the red shit." He held out a palm, as if offering rare treasure, "I have enough in my bag for you all to try, but I can't guarantee you'll be quite the same person once you do. But trust me, I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't certain it'll be worth it. It is enough to give us a high unlike other highs. Give you a taste of what you're missing. I'm going to take it. I won't judge if you want to walk away. You have that choice." Hehad to pull away from staring at the red. "Any questions?"
"Does it do anything bad to our stomachs?" Hugh asked.
Samson sought the ever present wisdom in the imparted messages. The answer flowed freely, "Might make you chuck if you can't keep it down. The corruption will toughen your stomach and intestines though, over time. The red knows what it's doing."
Hugh looked slightly impressed, or maybe it was terror, at Samson's implication that the drink was sentient.
"What about hair?" Margitte asked.
"Could all fall off," Samson admitted, "But hair is the least of your worries."
The kids all exchanged glances of varying emotion.
"What about withdrawal?" Keran tested, uneasily.
"Blue withdrawal is hell enough," Samson said, which implied the answer.
Susanne had been watching Samson determined the entire time. "What of delusions, Ser Samson?"
"Delusions…" Samson quickly turned his questioning tone to a calm one. Susanne knew about how the lyrium sometimes spoke to him. Hell, Wystan knew too. What was she trying to say? He remembered her interrogation of his motives on the Wounded Coast. She'd implied he was kind of nutty. The stuff he'd been told so far was true. The lyrium marked him as special. He knew what he was on about. They weren't like hallucinations that tricked and snared. A delusion would make him do things like rambling about the Maker's goodness. It'd make him act out incredibly harmful, self-destructive behaviors, like binge all the lyrium in his bag, that the lyrium would explode his insides. He wasn't like Faith. He knew what delusional looked like. He'd know if he was delusional.
"It is part of the process," Samson recited dully, remembering Faith's delusional episodes as he did so. "Your mind merges with the world. It can be hard to tell what's real and what's not. It's not bad though. It has uses. You can feel, transmit messages or understand things impossibly fast. Though…" he recognized the blank expression on Susanne's face. There needed to be more conviction and persuasion than that, "if anyone worries they're losing touch with reality... talk to Maddox about it." He shoved a finger in the mage's direction. "He's brilliant at sorting out that kind of rubbish- a real clever lad."
Some looked over at Maddox, though he did not react to the sudden mention.
Samson noticed interested that there were far more of the room looking at the red lyrium than before.
Wystan suddenly chuckled and timidly raised a hand. "I have a qu-question."
The guests were practically obediently still and stony faced except Wystan, whosesniggers were hard to hide. Something was entertaining the kid. His eyebrows twitched in discomfort and amusement.
"Go ahead, brother." Samson gave an acknowledging nod.
His roommate had to look at the ground to speak, and even then he paused for a moment before blurting out, "What does red do to… more physical wants?"
Immediately snorts and embarrassed chuckling spread across the room. Samson smiled. That was a very good question. Judging from the sudden air of tension, everybody else wanted to know too. He almost thought no one else had the guts to ask.
Once he figured out how to explain the information he had been transferred, Samson grinned. "You're brave to ask that, Wystan."
Wystan was slightly flushed. "I thought so too."
Samson waited, enjoying leaving all the Templars on edge. Even the ones who had been uncomfortable before were leaning forward like he was Andraste or something.
"It depends on the level of corruption," Samson said, "it changes in waves." He tried to draw lines in the air to demonstrate. "Mostdays, it's whatever it normally is. Sometimes, it might spike. It could spike for a day, or three. Once and if the red lyrium has spread to those areas you might as well havecut them off. You won't have any urges; you won't see the point of any of that stuff anyway. Probably lucky since you might be barely flesh."
He was proud of himself for explaining in such a calm way, though it was probably because he and Wystan had talked about sex before. Even then, he liked making them all squeamish.
Susanne was the first to move gracefully forward and pick up the vial. "I want to figure out what's got you so dedicated to this."
Samson was somewhat bewildered but nodded. He knew some would join, though he didn't expect they all would. Who would be the ones to leave? He rummaged through his satchel, "Anyone else wants some?"
Margitte got to her feet. "Sorry, Ser Samson. I am hoping to stop using lyrium, but thank you for offering."
She gave a half curtsy and left. Four others, including Keran and Hugh, followed her.
"Just got stuff to do."
"I don't want to risk it."
"Blue is hard enough a potion for me."
"Pleasure to have you all," Samson gave a polite nod, yet he didn't think he'd see them again. Ruvena, Paxley, Wystan and two other blokes Samson could never recall the names of remained to make their choice.
They all took a vial.
Wystan was the last to grab one. "I'm with Susanne," he said, "Besides, can't have you getting fucked up or messing up without Faith here to kick your ass."
Spoken like a true brother. Samson thought mournfully that sometimes he liked it when Faith got to kick his ass.
"Thanks, Wystan."
He pulled the cork off his, followed shortly by the distinct sound of six other 'pops' and downed it in a flash.
He felt alive. For a few seconds, it was like his mind, heart and soul were repaired and in one piece.
He felt normal, then he went beyond the luxury of normal into the realm of strength, a place he'd visited with Faith. The memory became lost as the humming started cause pressure between his joints, as if pulling them apart, but for the purpose of making them work more smoothly and efficiently.
The lyrium was good to him. He was important. He had a reason to be here.
The room brightened, swirled and danced. The sound echoed. Becoming lost in his world Wystan's voice reverberated like it could traverse the entire length of the Kirkwall tunnels. His excitement distinguished him from others.
"This is so much better than dust!"
They confided about parents...
"My cousin could never understand why my dad got so stressed around him, when he wasn't like that with me," Wystan said. "My dad wanted to do right by him. So we didn't visit my cousin's parents again."
"I wish my family were as kind as yours," Susanne said. "I often felt like I was parenting my parents."
The other blokes had siblings who used to get into 'play fights' but they sounded more like fights to the death.
Samson surprised himself with recalling his dad picked out clothes for him to wear every day, though didn't say it. It was such a mundane memory.
And the subject turned to charges...
"One of my first charges was this girl who had an obsession with keeping a three-meter gap around her at all times - three meters! Except friends I should say. I should also say... It isn't far to walk but keeping that distance was stupid. Handing her a book was 'invading' the space," Paxley explained.
"Wow," Wystan said.
"I never had someone like that," Samson said.
"You have more experience than us," Susanne said.
"Maybe put together," Wystan suggested.
"Shuddap," Samson groused. "I mean one lass used to smear her dirty handkerchief on the walls whenever she got sick. That was gross. She stopped it after talking to the First Enchanter though. And… a lad… he kept 'pretending' to walk into girls to grope them. That didn't last long either. I told him I would go to Orsino if I saw him do it one more time. Meanwhile a lass kicked him in the balls as revenge."
The other Templars laughed.
Soon the topics became daring. Who had ever seen something they shouldn't have?
Wystan nervously chuckled. "When training, I once went on a dare to steal girl's towels from the showers. I didn't see much except the sides of their chest. I was spotted by a woman who had been crossing the corridor at the time and paralysed me I was left on the ground for the other girls to torment on their way out."
"I didn't spy, although I used to think… one of my friends charges had smouldering eyes," Susanne said. "I deliberately spent time with the friend so I could watch him from time to time. I did not stray from duty although it was quite lonely.".
"I'll tell you what… you're lucky he didn't try anything," Ruvena said. "One of my charges was flirting with me so much I got Meredith to move him to a male Templar. Meredith had words with Orsino and I think that's why it stopped."
Samson couldn't remember if he'd ever fancied anybody in the Gallows. He didn't add to the conversation.
Then they got even more personal. Life regrets, abuse, rumours of Templars taking advantage of their charges….
As interesting as it was, Samson stopped commenting to move the conversation along. He dragged Wystan around the room from his ankle while his roommate continued talking as though nothing unusual was occurring.
"Maker, you must really miss Faith!" Wystan suddenly said.
Samson dropped his roommate's leg onto the floor and climbed onto the bed, where Maddox was trying to sleep.
"How's company, Maddox?" Samson asked.
"Familiar," he replied.
"Good." Inhibitions gone, Samson hugged him. "Maddox…"
"Yes?"
"You miss people, right? You miss me?"
"Not in the way I believe you would understand."
"You can't. You're lying," Samson mumbled. "You're not addicted to lyrium. You can still feel emotions."
"I do not," Maddox said, in that same passive serenity. "I will sleep when you do."
"I don't wanna," Samson grumbled, accidentally knocking Maddox's shoulder. "Sleep hurts me."
"Sleep is not a conscious experience. It can't cause physical harm."
Samson was about to say sleep was excruciating anyway, but was interrupted.
"I always thought you had weirdly shaped feet!" Wystan grabbed one of Samson's boots "Let me look at your toes. I bet they're disgusting!"
Instinctively, like dislodging mud stuck to the sole, Samson kicked at Wystan. From the sounds of sparks, the others were practicing red versions of Templar spells.
"Take off somebody else's clothes!" he retorted.
"You're so gross, Samson." Wystan sounded affectionate toward him, like how young ladies thought a baby burping was adorable.
"Fascinating." Susanne said, aloof rather than hyperactive like Wystan had become.
Samson anticipated a potential outcome and told her, "No more room in here."
"I suspected as much," Susanne said.
"Brother, she wants attention," Wystan said.
"It's not my job to give her attention!" Samson shouted. He didn't mean to yell. Anger had come over him before he could deconstruct it. "If you care so much, go ahead."
Susanne frowned. "I am not Faith."
"I know," Samson said. "Though I have made everyone here my responsibility." He addressed Wystan before a retort could be made. "The room with the bathtub locks if you need it to."
He climbed out of bed and headed toward the door.
"Baths!" Wystan seemed excited. "Stay, stay with us!"
"No!" Samson called over his shoulder, and he pushed the others away with more force than what was needed.
This wasn't the same without Faith. He'd only ever been messed up on lyrium with her. His experience contradicted itself, in anI'm-high-but-this-still-sucks way. Lyrium had a purpose in the world and this was just to win his allies over.
It could do great things like make others feel connected to the world. It could make people feel strong. This wasn't like his first consumption of the blue. He could remember his reaction to the stuff but not what it felt or looked like, even what the room looked like. Bailey had been there but he couldn't remember where he had been in the Chantry. Confused, he thought memory was bizarre indeed, to make memories fade that he knew were important, that he knew held significance. What story remained without it? Following his graduation from Templar training he had visited the Rose with Bailey and lost his virginity for a couple of coins. Yet, he could barely conjure to mind how that woman had looked or felt.
Lyriumwas easier to recall. The pictures were brighter. In this same light on the floorboards, he imaginedFaith within his arms, covered in sweat and intoxicatingly alluring… and knew somewhere in the back of his mind, like how people sometimes had suspicions about things, that those times were far behind him.
Surely he was just getting to that age where everything started going to the Mabari. It couldn't be because of his heavy drinking the past few days or lyrium. No matter what. Thrask had warned him of the Chantry's wickedness and lyrium was the by-product. Still he wouldn't be like the Templar who ended his life to escape the lyrium's nightmares. He had sworn to never let Thrask down and become lost to drinks. Neither would his family name be lost to harshness. Like his mother was stolen by religion. Father was taken by mine fumes (or perhaps murder, he had never bothered to investigate). For times like that, truth was the enemy.
"I am going for a walk. Maddox is in charge until then."
"Got it," responded some members.
"Night." Samson opened the door. "Stand together, brothers and sisters."
"We're sitting." Ruvena replied.
It was figurative, Samson thought disdainfully.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard Wystan cackle.
Now the red's effects were wearing off, the world felt abstract and obscure, the unsold dregs of an artist, like the walls weren't really walls and the floor was threatening to turn into an abyss where he'd keep falling and die. It was more than odd, a painting in the wrong ink. There was something deeply wrong with this place.
He was leaving Kirkwall, the place of his upbringing and whole life. Nothing mattered anymore. For he was strong and fearless and could overcome wrongness and injustice.
One last time he approached Lady Elegant's house.
Lawrence opened the door, wrapped in a dressing gown. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. Could I sleep on the couch?"
"Yes. Marie and Hope have been sharing the guest room bed." Samson entered the house and Lawrence closed the door.
"Let me find where those spare blankets went. They might be a tad filthy, I am afraid. The laundry basket lately has been mental."
"Don't stress. I need to talk to Marie and Hope tomorrow."
"Certainly. Have you received news?"
"Yeah. I know where to travel to and who with."
"Really? How lucky is that?"
"I know. It involves a detour but I have trusted friends to accompany us so it will be a lot safer. The plan is to leave tomorrow or the night after. I just need to ask if they are interested."
Lawrence smiled. Even by candlelight, it seemed warm and genuine. "I have no doubt that they'll be delighted to hear it."
A/N: Thanks for Schattenriss for the beta.
This chapter lifts dialogue and expands on a scene from Joanna Berry's short story "Paper and Steel", which gives more background about Samson. Please read it! Those bits aren't mine. I just added to it. The short story was published a 27 days after I uploaded the first chapter of this story. I don't know if Jo will ever read this, although if so, I hope she doesn't mind me taking inspiration. I just want to make this seem consistent with the canon. If there's any issues let me know.
Now for time skips! 4 chapters left that will branch off to other AUs.
