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Vera looked around, suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of nothingness attacking all her senses. She noticed general Samson in a distance, talking to two bulky, deformed creatures that had scarlet crystals growing on their misshapen bodies. How he could communicate with those monsters, she never knew; perhaps he still treated them like people they once were. Vera had to look away, ashamed that she was afraid of their glowing eyes. She would, after all, transform into one of them as well one day, she was sure. But she still had time.
They were in a village, and spent half a day disposing of what was left from people who used to live here. They worked tirelessly, fuelled by the red in their bodies. Vera barely noticed all those corpses; she got used to seeing worse things, especially the ones that were once her fellow templars now changed by the substance she was, too, gobbling up like a hungry dog.
She put her dark locks in a ponytail all the time now, so others wouldn't notice how much she was losing hair. There were many side effects of taking red lyrium but at least they weren't leashed to the Chantry anymore. The fact that she was losing hair meant nothing. Some of her colleagues simply couldn't take it; Vera would always remember the first time she saw what the scarlet poison did to some templars, how their faces twisted into masks, bodies deformed, crystals growing on their skin. She had seen an abomination once, they seemed so similar she wondered if there really was a difference between templars and mages to begin with, or this was what awaited them all.
But the general taught them to resist the calling of the red, they listened and it worked just like he said. Samson looked human, no tracks of red lyrium besides his bloodshot eyes and that impossible strength that was radiating from the man that used to roam the Lowtown like every other beggar. He changed so much thanks to that substance, others believed he could save them, or maybe they were simply so desperate they would believe in anything as long as it meant breaking free from that cursed city. Not all templars went with him; Vera was one of those who followed. She only couldn't look him in the eyes, afraid of what she would see in them.
Away from Kirkwall, she could finally breath and taste freedom. Although there was something inside her, at the very back of her mind, scratching, sniffing, howling, and when she focused on it, all she could think about was... red.
Samson warned them about it, and she listened. She knew, however, that one day she would lose this fight, letting it win (not today, not tomorrow, but it knew that day would come, so it waited).
They set camp even though they didn’t really need to rest; they were like golems, Vera thought. She was so fascinated with her strength at first, only later realising there was not much of her humanity left, replaced by the powers granted by lyrium. They could still pretend they are human, it was simply easier than admitting they all were changing into something they couldn’t define.
She sat down on the grass and observed as both the Venatori and Red Templars moved around, some talking in small groups, some going inside the houses perhaps to see if they could find something valuable or maybe a bed they could sleep on; others standing silently, red spikes on their skin glowing.
Rhys, a man she called her friend, who still looked human enough she could believe they were both nothing but ordinary humans, walked to Vera and passed her a cup full of water that she accepted with a thankful smile. She didn’t need that much food, she lately discovered, in fact she could survive days without eating, but her throat felt so raw, she was thirsty almost all the time. And hungry, but it was a different kind of hunger making her equally angry and afraid that one day she would give in to the temptation.
Rhys sat by her side with a sigh. His big green eyes, round face and always messy hair made him look so young Vera used to wonder if he wasn't lying about his true age, and he really was only one year younger. Now, however, she observed as he gradually changed into a man she could hardly recognise.
Once she saw him taking off his armour, so he could clean all that blood and dirt. He took off his shirt as well, and she noticed small red crystals growing on his back, infecting him like a parasite. Later that night she looked at her own body, panic in her throat nearly suffocating her; she didn’t find any significant changes, no scarlet spikes poking through her flesh. Not yet.
He was still Rhys, despite all that. Yet Vera couldn't help but avoid looking at him for too long because she could hardly stand her own reflection, she didn't want to see her friends consumed by the red fury as well.
They resisted, didn't let the substance control them, just like the general said. He helped them all when everyone else turned their backs, and he was still helping those who lost and transformed into beasts (because they didn't listen to what Samson said, they let that thing break their minds; it would not happen if they just listened). Vera wanted to follow him, they all did; there was nothing else they could do since the Chantry didn't care about them anymore. Accept the red and fight, or stay and rot, the choice was simple.
Since they left Kirkwall, since she tasted it for the first time, she didn't sleep much, her strength almost never ending, granted by the scarlet substance. Sometimes she wondered if she was simply too afraid to sleep. She knew it sounded ridiculous, and she never told anyone, but when she closed her eyes she could sense there was something scratching, growling, tearing her from within, and if she listened closely, she could hear the chanting in her mind, Lyrium, lyrium, lyrium red. It terrified her so much she never wanted to sleep again.
“Thank you,” Vera said, breaking the silence (being silent for too long meant she would hear it, howling, making her do things she didn’t want to do).
Rhys nodded. Something caught his attention, he visibly tensed, and Vera followed his gaze, curious. She saw one of the Venatori mages. She instantly recognised her, it was Calpernia, their leader. She observed as the woman got inside one of the remaining houses, shutting the door behind her. It seemed that the mages still needed to sleep and rest, unlike them. Vera glanced at Rhys; they were sitting down, but they could be standing or running around the place, it didn’t matter, the substance flowing in their veins made them tireless. From time to time, Vera missed being simply human. Then she was reminded about the sweetness of the poison she craved, and all sentiments were gone.
“Sometimes it feels like she’s the one in charge here,” Rhys said, gesturing at the house Calpernia was in.
Vera blinked, and focused on the conversation. At times it was difficult to pay attention to something else than the hunger. “We do have similar orders, don’t we? Venatori and us, I mean.”
“Yes, but…” he let out a sigh. “I got a feeling that we are secondary, while the Venatori are the important ones here. Why is general Samson allowing her to lead? He simply accepts whatever Lady Calpernia says, and she’s a mage. We march forward, because she said so. We set camp, because she and her mages need rest.”
“Are you saying you’re not comfortable with getting orders from a woman, or from a mage? Because I’m not sure what’s the problem here exactly.”
“No! What I’m saying is… What if– What if she's using blood magic to control him?” he asked in a way that made her realise he wanted to ask this question for a longer while, and only waited for a good occasion to finally voice his concerns.
“Blood magic, seriously? Are we back in Kirkwall so people are seeing blood mages everywhere?” Vera snorted. “Besides, you really think the general would let some witch wrap him around her little finger?”
He chewed on his lip. “She's a Tevinter witch, though. Vints are nothing like our mages.”
“But have you ever seen her using blood magic? Slicing her wrists open instead of summoning flames?”
“Well… Uh, no…”
“And after all we’ve seen in Kirkwall, do you think blood magic just happens? That she can just wave her hand and make all templars her slaves? Have you ever seen them talk, for example? I mean talking talking, not barking orders at each other.”
Rhys frowned. “Well, they did exchange few words some days ago when we set camp after the battle. I saw her talking to the general, and then he seemed more grumpy than usually, and...”
“Oh, dear Maker, Rhys, are you spying on them? What, are you jealous because you think they're having a secret affair?”
“Andraste’s tits, that's even more disturbing than the fact she might be using blood magic on people!” he blurted out, blushing furiously.
Vera could only shake her head in disbelief. No matter how silly this conversation was, she was glad that she could forget about everything else, at least for a moment.
Rhys cleared his throat. “All I'm saying is that someone should keep an eye on Lady Calpernia. She's dangerous.”
“She's a Tevinter Magister, leader of the Venatori. Of course she is dangerous. But she's on our side, believe it or not.”
“Yeah, but what is 'our side'?”
She opened her mouth but hesitated, uncertain what to say. Everyone who is not with us is against us was the easiest option, though before she could answer, they heard someone asking, “What are you two whispering about?”
They looked up to see a tall man smiling at them. Just like the rest of the soldiers, he was wearing his templar uniform, though his armour was in significantly worse shape, damaged in so many places it would be surely replaced if they were still under the protection of the Templar Order.
“Hello, Benett,” Rhys greeted him with a nod. “We're talking about the usual. You know, blood mages and stuff. Care to join us?”
“It's not my favourite topic. Sadly, I don't have anything else to do,” Benett replied and sat down by Vera's side.
Half of his handsome face was covered in a mosaic of different shades of red, as if something burned his muscles and skin, but the reality was more distressing – it was the effect lyrium had on him. Vera was sure if she ever saw the rest of his body, there would be crystals forming on his skin.
She couldn't look at him without feeling something twist in her gut. She remembered when they were both recruits, he was always so popular, girls loved him. Even Vera had a little crush on him; they all did because Benett was just so damn charming. But when they started getting the red thing (her soul twisted when she thought about it; red, red, lyrium red, she repeated until she felt sick), when they broke the chains Chantry put on them, offering their lives to a different poison instead, Vera observed how all her friends changed. Some didn't make it, some... transformed. Others were still the same, although certain changes in their behaviour were so painfully visible; sometimes she could barely remember these people were once only human.
She changed, too, no matter how hard she denied it. If she didn't focus, her hands started to shake so hard it was difficult to hold a sword. Looking at Benett now hurt. There was only a little part left of that young man she once knew, he still had that spark in his blue eyes (if she ignored his dilated pupils, lips twitching ever so slightly, and his unnaturally pale, sweaty skin). He was fighting and he was losing, like the rest of them. Almost all of Bennett's charm was now replaced by anger, that twisted, red fury howling in their heads making them forget there was something else than the scarlet poison.
(Lyrium red, she wanted to scream because she could almost taste it on her tongue.)
“So which of dem blood mages are we talking about?” he asked, and Vera took a deep breath, focusing back on the present moment.
“Do you think Lady Calpernia is using blood magic on templars?” Rhys asked suddenly.
The other man blinked. “Who? You mean Flat–tits?”
“Maker's breath, Benett!” Vera rolled her eyes. “This is the one and only thing you notice in a woman, really?”
“I'm not the only one who calls her that,” he shrugged. “Anyway, she's from the Imperium, don't they all practice blood magic? I’ve heard it's like their number one hobby, next to slavery. But is she using it on templars? Nah.”
“What's with you and this sudden obsession with her anyway, huh?” Vera asked, her eyes fixed on Rhys.
“Well, I'm... I'm a little bit scared of that woman,” he finally admitted, avoiding their curious glances.
Bennett snorted. “Man, who isn't! I saw her fry people with her weird fire spells like it was nothing. You make this woman mad, you may consider yourself dead.”
“There's something about her that makes you... Dunno... Respect her. Like, I get why she's the one leading the mages,” Rhys mused. “I think even the general wouldn't want to make her angry...”
“He's not afraid of that witch!” Vera frowned. “Tevinter Magister or not, no mage can win with a highly skilled templar.”
“Debatable, I'd say. Remember who was the one person who dealt with Meredith when she went batshit crazy? We all saw it. Templars couldn't do nothin', only Hawke, an apostate mage, did what had to be done,” Benett gave her a significant look. “Not saying Lady Calpernia is stronger, but if it ever comes down to Venatori versus Red Templars, then general Samson will have a huge problem.”
“Wait, are we considering who would win in a fight?”
“It would be one hell of a duel,” he laughed. It was nice, hearing him laugh; it never happened too often these days. “But do tell what you think, Vera, who would win?”
“Are we seriously discussing this?” she huffed in annoyance, but couldn't help feeling intrigued.
“Why not, got anything better to do? I could have a nap, but since I don't sleep that much anyway, I'd rather have a pointless discussion instead.”
“It wouldn't be a fair fight,” Rhys said. “What can you do when there's fire raining from the sky?”
“When are fights ever fair? Just, hypothetically speaking. It's not like we're going to provoke Venatori mages to find out, we're not that crazy.”
“My opinion is obviously biased but,” Vera said carefully, “I'm fairly certain the general would win.”
“Well, he has the advantage of his combat training, I doubt Tevinter Magisters spend their days sparring. They probably have little tea parties, slicing people open to demonstrate the latest blood rituals,” Benett added and shuddered.
“Still, all that fire magic might be a big problem. It's like she can summon flames so effortlessly,” Rhys sighed.
“If he could dispel her magic or use magebane somehow, and get close, then it would be over. She's so thin one punch and she's down.”
“Orsino was thin like a stick, and we all saw what that old fart could do,” Rhys pointed out. “Remember what they taught us? It doesn't matter how a mage looks like, they may be a little kid but just let them, and you'll die screaming.”
“Yeah, but take away her magic, and you got a skinny blonde girl with big teeth.”
“You say it all like you've been looking at her,” Vera teased, grinning at Benett.
To her disappointment, he didn't even blink. “Sure I've been looking at her! It's not hard to notice when she's throwing fireballs left and right. She's not like one of the girls from the Rose, but... Kinda cute, if you ask me.”
She gasped in shock. “Two minutes ago you've been commenting on her flat chest!”
“Just stating the obvious. There's something about women with power, even when they are mages...”
“W–what?” Vera could hardly believe in what he was saying. “If you're so into women with power, then don't tell me you had a thing for Meredith!”
“Well, at least our Knight–Commander wasn't so flat chested,” he said with a devilish smile.
She shook her head. “No, no, no, Benett please stop talking!”
“What can I say? I'm a weak man... Especially when it comes to breasts.”
Rhys laughed. “I met that pirate woman once, she had...” he took a deep breath. “Wow,” he ended weakly, his face red. “It was like I could not not look at her chest... I mean...”
“Maker save me, men are worse than pigs!” Vera shook her head.
“You knew that already, I'm sure,” Benett gave her an honest smile. For a brief moment she could believe him that everything was like it used to be, that they were having a friendly chat in the barracks, and would later go to the Hanged Man for a drink or two. “Coming back to the topic, what's the result of this epic fight we were discussing?”
“The conclusion is that we couldn't reach a conclusion,” Rhys let out a sigh. “But we did discover that our friend here has a weakness for stronger women, including mages, so I wouldn't be surprised if one day he decided to ditch us and join the Venatori.”
“I doubt their little mage club accepts templars, but a man can dream!” Benett shrugged.
Vera smiled, but her smile faded as quickly as it had come. She could feel the craving waking up inside her; it was always there, waiting, reminding her that freedom is but another illusion. The voice in her head got louder, more difficult to ignore. She must fight it, or else she would lose her mind.
“At least people don't hate us as much as they hate mages,” Vera said; she had to say something to distract herself from the red hunger.
“Can't say we're much different now,” Rhys whispered, shaking his head. “Not after Kirkwall.”
“We have a purpose, unlike everyone else caught between templars and mages,” Benett spat, his expression rapidly changing, and Vera saw his eyes glow with anger (hunger), as his whole body tensed. “We could have stayed but for what? We would die, like everyone else in that blighted city.”
“Some say we serve a demon who will bring another Blight into this world,” she said even though she didn't know why she felt the urge to say out loud what she once heard from a group of farmers that were foolish enough to stand on their way. She remembered their faces, no trace of red but filled with so much anger she could almost taste it on her tongue.
Benett glared at her in a way that made Vera flinch. She could see the red in his eyes; if she listened closely she was certain she could feel it calling to her, howling, and hear it tearing him from the inside. She never realised how close he already was to changing into one of the horrors; he was losing this battle, and one day he would be gone, replaced by one of the things that marched silently by their side, covered in crystals and spikes, all of them once good men and women, good soldiers.
Today was not that day, however. They still had time.
“And what is the alternative? Kneel and pray to the Maker? Wait for the Chantry to do something, like they did in Kirkwall?” Benett cursed. “People don't know shit, they say whatever in the Void they want. If the general says we march forward, then we march forward. I don't give a fuck what people say, I don't care if all Thedas is against us. I'll follow him to the Black City if I have to.”
They sat in silence for a while, knowing well it was true. So much changed since Kirkwall, including them (the voice in their heads getting louder every day), but at least there was one constant in a sea of variables. They knew no one else would take care of them but Samson, and they would gladly die for him if needed. Templars have no honour, some claimed; funny how people didn't understand certain concepts sometimes.
“Maybe we really do serve a demon, or a god, I don't care, and he will bring the Blight,” Rhys said, his voice tired. He never sounded so old, and Vera wanted to shake him so he would stop being so... so not like the man she knew. “It would be... convenient, if it all just ended, don’t you think? No templars, no mages, just… nothing.”
It would, Vera thought but didn't say anything. It would be so damn convenient if the world truly ended.
If the red stopped flowing.
If they all died so she wouldn't have to see them turning into nightmares.
If the beast inside her stopped howling.
It would, she repeated in her thoughts. But it's not that easy.
“Sure it would. But we have orders,” Benett said, his voice weary. “General Samson is counting on us. He didn’t save us for nothing.”
He gave them a look, Vera could see him breaking into pieces, and they nodded. They spent the rest of the night in silence, listening to the sounds around them, and the twisted song coming from their minds.
When Vera closed her eyes, the thing inside her smiled, baring its teeth, and she dreaded the day she would get another dose of red lyrium. It would burn her throat like before, make her nearly choke but she would later beg for more. What was left of her knew it would be her last dose, because she could feel it growing within her, submitting her body to its will. Soon it would consume her soul as well. And then she would forget about everything that wasn’t lyrium red.
There was still time, however. For now, she had to stand up and fight while she still can.