Chapter 6: The Devil named Lyrium
Things would be good here in the massive fortress in the snow.
They'd entered the fortress keep together, she and her advisers, together but not equals as she strode ahead of the others through the rubbled entry. Best they know now how the chain of command would be observed. Clearly they were used to subservience as not one moved to overtake her.
That had been earlier in the day, but now the Bainsidhe's red rimmed gaze wandered over the tower room they had appointed her. Quarters that fit her new stature as a free woman and military rival to a God. The highest of towers and the most defensible place in the fortress. She would gloat, but the withdrawal made all advances precarious.
The subsequent day had certainly had it's trying moments. First, a rather pointed questioning by Dorian. His gaze had been intent, thoughtful. Breaking down into a million political aspirations every word and gesture as she responded. Watching carefully the shaking of her hands. He couldn't know it was withdrawal, so he must have assumed it was fear that caused her trembling.
When he'd outright asked her if she wanted the accolades of the world, she'd been able to answer honestly, "That's not why I'm doing this." Of course, he mistook the reason for her answer as she had hoped. He was a slippery eel though. A slippery Tevinter eel, and that meant that the corruption that was Tevinter bread and butter likely oozed through his veins. Making him potentially more useful to her.
The Iron Bull had been another tricky interview. He'd dragged her around to listen to her soldiers, assuming she had no practice with command. An assumption she attempted to foster so that he would underestimate her.
But with the undermining of the withdrawal, she'd slipped up somehow in speaking to the ben hassrath. His body language soon gave away that he knew now she was not what she presented. She'd just begun working out his murder in her mind when his careful words made it clear that so long as she lead well, he didn't care about her other purposes. Of course she didn't believe that, but perhaps his skills could be manipulated for her benefit, much as Leliana's.
As she paced the intricately embroidered carpet that softened the cold of the stone beneath her feet, she pondered the two most troubling parts of that long day.
Varric...wouldn't you know it would be Varric to bring a host of trouble to her door while intending to help. The Champion of Kirkwall herself.
The two women had sized each other up while dancing around each other with the verbal circling of two she-wolves. Then the woman had spoken words that made the lyrium infused mages heart skip a beat. "The Templars in Kirkwall were using a strange form of lyrium. It was red."
Red lyrium. Bainsidhe's eyes flew to the other woman's. Did she recognize the markings that she passed off as Dalish to the others? This woman, of all the people around her, may be able to recognize the lyrium tattooing for what it was. The stories spoke of her companion who had undergone the blue (and legal) form of the ritual that had inscribed the poison into each of their flesh. And now she knew that lyrium could be red.
But the older woman's gaze slid off her without suspicion. Or seeming without suspicion. In that moment the Bainsidhe knew this woman would need to die. And soon. Before that hawks gaze figured out what it was really looking at.
And then, the meeting that had sent her in retreat to the opulent room she now paced.
Cullen.
She'd already learned the lyrium potions that she carried as a mage would not help the withdrawal. Something in the preparation that made it too easily consumed by the body. She'd initially approached the commander with the idea that perhaps the templar preparations would help. The carefully crafted reasoning she'd prepared never even got a chance to be presented.
Instead, he'd informed her that he, himself, was going through lyrium withdrawal. A complication she had tacitly NOT seen coming.
Madness, death...those words he uttered with such trepidation rang in her heart. That was what awaited if she could not find another source of the red.
Madness and death. When he asked her if he should start taking it again, conflicting emotions warred within her. The wisdom of keeping the commander leashed and under the control of the lyrium, versus the shared pain of withdrawal exchanged for information on how best to fight the addiction.
He would be her guinea pig, she justified to herself as she pushed him to stay off the lyrium. He would go first as they navigated that mountain of pain and madness unknowingly together.
Of course, it had to get worse from there she sighed to herself as the pain in her blood began to rise. Cullen knew of red lyrium as well. Cullen knew Samson, her former lover and abuser. Cullen knew the price she was paying, even if he didn't know that she was the one paying it.
She could feel the walls of her safety tottering around her. With a swift excuse she'd left, moving unthinking to cut through the rotunda on her flight to her quarters. And there he was, looking at her with that gaze that read of multiple levels of thought. The conversation meant nothing. Thrown by their kiss? She could see the falsity in that statement and knew he was aware she saw. He'd brought up the embrace because he knew it fired her blood with the memory.
If his stance was any indication, it fired his as well, however. A dangerous opponent, but she was finding herself enjoying this particular battle.
Finally she'd escaped to the quiet of her vast room. As the twilight grew, so did the withdrawal without distraction to damp it. As it flamed through her body, rather than screaming she took once again to the courtyard, pacing out the mantra of her pain.
And then suddenly Cole was there. He looked at the soldiers as he spoke, but she knew his words were for her. They were her.
In her desperate pain she made a decision then she would never have before.
She would...be honest with the spirit boy. Perhaps of all beings (for he wasn't a person) he was the one who could help her not go mad.