Inspired by the song Samson's Tale
"You're a kind man. Thank you. Thank you so so much."
Delicate blue eyes brimmed with tears gazed at him, the young mage shaking on her wavering knees. The elf looked so young, so innocent, not a day over fifteen. More pure than anything that the Chantry could ever conceive of. This girl was anything but an abomination.
Samson smiled sweetly, giving the mage a slight pat on the shoulder, leaving her be with her emotions. He crept away from the abandoned store room in Kirkwall's tower, pocketing the letter that the mage had desperately plunged into his hands. A small scroll with clean but hurried script, addressed to the young elf's lover. A girl outside the circle. Lovers that magic had scorned.
He gave it a gentle pat from inside the clasp of his armor, drawing back to his position on guard. He'd deliver the letter later, once he had drawn suspicion away from himself. For a Templar to commit such acts, he'd earn the wraith of the Chantry, and the disdain of the Maker. And yet, he could not mask his sympathy for the mockingbirds locked in cages.
He would not stand by as the mages suffered. Even if he could do little else other than deliver words of hope through letters. He'd protect the mages, that much he promised.
He felt a slight pull at his mind, a soft murmur of need. Samson shook his mind clear, facing forward with determination. The desire for Lyrium was growing stronger. The color blue staining his mind. He found it hard to remain still.
"Knight Samson? A letter."
Someone had caught on.
Turning on his heels, he eyed the man wearily, meeting the gaze of a youthful face. Blonde locks swept back, and a sorrowful gaze approached him. The boy stared back with sullen features. Samson held his guard. How long had he beem watching. How much did he know.
"This letter arrived for you," he presented the thick paper with the ruby red seal on top, "from Knight Captain Meredith."
A slight shutter ran through his body, taking the letter with tense hands, keeping his head down. He hadn't seen Samson with tge mage, but someone had. The man's eyes were alight with curiosity, but also unease, as if he wanted no part in the trouble that Samson might hold. He turned away with nothing more than a hesitant side glance, leaving Samson alone to read the Knight Captain's demands. Sweat forming on his brow, he tore at the letter.
Knight Samson,
It has come to the attention of the Chantry as well as the Templar Order's command that rumors have spread with your name. These rumors include claims in which you have defied the Order's teachings, and committed acts of treachery that cannot be ignored. These crimes include:
Theft of Lyrium
Aiding in the escape of Mages
Unauthorized association with Mages
Perjury, to lie while under oath
Blasphemy against the will of The Maker
Assault against the Chantry and it's community
These charges are extreme, and with evidence pointing towards these rumors being true, your title as Knight shall be stripped, as well as any affiliation with the Chantry and Templar Order. Your armor and weapons (As well as any remaining Lyrium in your possession) will be removed.
May the Maker grant you mercy, for you shall find none here.
Knight Captain Meredeth
He was done for. They knew enough.
The letter rippled as his hands engulfed it with trembling fury. The resulting ball of scripture was tossed aside, and with a shaky breath, Samson tracked his way back to the barracks, taking his last steps as a Templar. His hopes and desires coming to rest.
He had always tried to be an honorable man. He helped the mages out of sympathy, not out of scorn for the Chantry's word or the Order's demands. Samson held no regret for his decisions. Only that he had failed to honor his code, and failed to save other innocents in the path. A pitiful excuse of a Templar.
Samson's body tensed, before falling to his knees with a ragged breath. The need for blue was back. The need for Lyrium.
He scuffed his way towards the wall, leaning precariously against it. Each breath gave in to pain, his head aching in agony.
He'd never survive it. He couldn't live without Lyrium.
Finally finding the strength to stand, he used the wall to guide him back to his corridors, shuffling out of his armor and collapsing into a chair, his blade hitting the ground. He had become a waste of effort. Perhaps death was preferable. His eyes rested on the sword beneath his feet. Contemplating.
But his eyes caught the glare of something else. A glow of red through the reflection of his blade. Turning, he studied the small vial that rested on the table behind him. Like crystallized blood. He felt it sing to him. Attached to the cork, was a small letter.
Red Lyrium. When you need more, come find me.
Red Lyrium.
He wanted it.
But he didn't need it.
Samson pocketed the vial. He was a lost man, but not desperate enough to attempt the new drug. He'd move on from the Templars, start over. Forget the voice. Forget the desire. He didn't need such a temptation. He was better than this.
And yet he couldn't seem to forget the vial of red.