nel giuramento, nel sacrificio

"you sell yourself short." this is not gently offered as an opinion, it is delivered firm as fact as he stands before him, towering and broad-shouldered with dark eyes watching through the rose-flushed fog. "for i have looked inside you, seen what you are in all that is red and raw."

it's been years. decades. samson has heard the whispers and the praise of all monsters and demons, here, in the fade. he has entertained those with wishes to speak.. laughed in the face of the ones more bold. but, not for the first time, his will withers in the shadow of this man. a stranger with presence enough to know, without knowing, that he doesn't come here for conversation alone. which means he ought wake. shake the fog of this dream from his already cloudy mind and move on.

but he doesn't, now, any more than those nights come before.

" sounds like y' already know all there is to it, " all there was to him. his story, long and sordid. how paths had diverged and, in his slump, here, beyond the pale, it is easy to read, in the fire - ripe burns of passing lyrium, that what remained, for all his touting of it, is hardly worth the work it'd take to salvage it. but he's still listening. he's snorting a chuckle and staring upward with red - ringed eyes, " 's not much left'a me now. "

honesty stung, once. it made his throat itch.. made his head ache. in the aftermath of one more confession, he finds the taste bland, but tolerable. proof of an old contentment that makes itself known when audiences were absent. no more sneers here. no scowls to imply an argument he doesn't have the strength to start. " y'er not the first t' come 'ere with pretty little promises.. might be the last though. what would you have of this body 'fore it gives up ? "

emmrich begins to wonder if he's gotten into taash's hoard of trinkets or lucanis' knives, which is what prompts him up from his chair with a sigh. but it's as he's setting his book aside that he hears it — the shuffling of manfred's boots... accompanied by a second pair in pursuit as well as a cacophony of hissing, urgent and distressed. the voice that emmrich hears snarling its chase tells him all else he needs to know.

ah. so he is involved. not only that, but he is clearly causing problems. on purpose.

which is why that angular jut of jaw gets trapped in the hand he extends out to catch it. and why his own chin tilts up high and his gaze hardens unimpressed from where it assesses samson through the chamber's candlelight.

"well, now. don't make it sound so tempting." his voice is less his usual, polite lilt and more a prim taunt to match the upward tilt of an eyebrow. but his hand does at least release the man, flexing long fingers in a languid flourish that flickers with pale green embers just momentarily. meanwhile, manfred chitters smug from behind his savior. emmrich will have to remind him not to gloat later.

he tries. earns little credit for it, but samson does try. to maintain some fragile air of camaraderie among those who wouldn't dare call him such. kept at arm's length, it's been easier to settle into his crooked, hollow room of the lighthouse. where the only trinkets and baubles to be found are what he'd carried alongside himself. necessities. the small things he'll not confess attachment to, though the threat of theft has made clear he'll not so easily be parted with them. not when the bony fingers what think to do so are eerie and wholly unwelcome. and for his puppeteer—

" ..y'er protection, aye ? " there's the challenge he'd been itching for. the subtle, underlining threat that this stalemate wouldn't take much to crumple. and he wants it to. for the thunder in his eardrums and the thud in his chest, samson craves the chance to find an outlet outside of what rare occasions rook has granted him to do so. what better place to land his knuckles than in that imperial tilt of emmerich's chin ? an offering in how its angled, taunting him. one more way to look down.

no one will sing his praise for a stayed hand.

" y' don't know shit about what i endure. " his burning veins. the blur in his vision. how the remnants of red lyrium stick to his ribs and mark him with pinpricks for each breath he takes. no one here, pretending to align their causes, know what he endures and that old, ancient voice what croons in his ear urges, as it does, for him to show them. go out in the blaze of glory he'd once intended.

no one knows what he endures when that voice is denied.

from the hissing maw of a skeletal face, upward, to the clink of ringed fingers, moving with practice and threat, samson lands on an expectant look, eventually. scoffs his laugh at it. " keep y'er pet outta my things an' i'll have a few less frustrations. " his teeth are grit but his voice is steady. a self-control no one knows the depths of. what he won't let them know the depths of. not to they may call him shallow, later, after the smack of his own gloved hand makes contact with what's left lingering too near his face for good faith. " ..that clear ? "

samson is definitely different. and that's interesting. enough so that rook starts to bend just languid at the waist to better look his guest over. there's almost something undead about him — in red-rimmed eyes and puckered flesh poorly healed over old wounds, old scabs picked apart between chipped nails.

"you look tired." he straightens up, mismatched gaze watching him lazily half-lidded. "some of the others think you should be left somewhere in the wetlands." like harding, like davrin, like taash. "i'd rather hear you out. how you're going to help."

he's spent years beneath gazes both kinder, and crueler than the one that rook gives now. it borders on curious before diving deep. looking for something samson doesn't wait around to ask if he finds. " tired ? what makes y' say that ? " the heavy, darkened bags, hung under his eyes ? the fine lines that border wrinkles while brows struggle not to furrow ? from the slump of his shoulders to the stain of his sclera, he knows the image he cuts and doesn't blame the assumption. even if he, for the first time in a long time, would argue the contrary. these days, he's more lively than most would like.

" y' got some smart friends, " with their bared teeth and barked accusations, he'd grinned through the lot of them and earned worse for doing so. good on em, he thought.

there's a stand-off, brief and unfettered, as he gives him a second once-over since introduction. taller than expected. tickled with magic that always earns his clenched jaw for its buzz, rather than its presence. memory serves well enough ; he knows where this is going. " don't think the wetlands'll be wha' does me in though. might enjoy the swim too much f'er their liking. so i guess i best make my bid, aye ? y' wanna sniff the baddies out, won't be findin' no one more suited f'er it than me. "

at the end of inquisition , he's taken prisoner and given the choice to rot , die , or repent. dying sounds wonderful but samson is still a coward about it. he'll go through the process of weaning off the lyrium , but it's a tiresome battle that comes with many , many setbacks. what damage has been done to his body is irreversible. his eyes stay stained with a reminder of what he was ( and fears he still is , at heart ). his vision suffers from it and , most days , if given a choice , he'd rather keep inside , out of sunlight , where their sensitivity is made worse. there are countless scars from where the lyrium eroded his skin , either forthright or from where he'd picked the sores. all this to say he's relatively pretty compared to the mess he's made out of his insides. probably should've died from organ failure but who is he if not the maker's favorite play thing.

aside from being thedas' next top model , samson.. tries to be a good person. tries to remember what it was like not to find a target in every face. he'd have joined cullen for some time in helping other wayward templars overcome their addiction but there's only so long he can sit around the stuff before he's itching again.

tries his hand at being a sellsword but.. well..... OH SAMSON KNIGHT IN RED is a catchy tune. he's pretty sure you can still find wanted posters of him in some of the southern taverns. not a legacy to write home about.

what's funny though , in overcoming his call for the dust.. he can feel the remnants of the red lyrium's blight in his body. isn't sure if its tied to darkspawn. isn't sure if he wants to know how far down the GHOUL spectrum he is now. few other red templars managed to survive their cleansing and those who did were often driven mad come the end of it. it was the armor that kept him intact , mostly. makes him itchy to think about that too.

and then the sky is opening up again and the blight is bubbling up from the ground again and samson stands at a curious crossroads. less of a companion and more a strange informant if rook plays their cards right. someone who knows the underbelly of the world with intimacy , can feel the blight through the lyrium veins faaaar under the dirt.. and , maybe , samson knows he owes the world an apology for helping it get to this point.

[ 01 ] under the shelter of an ancient oak tree in the depths of a dark forest

[ 02 ] a rickety bridge hanging over a massive waterfall

[ 03 ] a tiny village bakery, the shelves stocked with freshly baked goods

[ 04 ] standing beside a massive magical portal. who knows where it might lead?

[ 05 ] the darkest depths of a dragon's lair, gold glittering at your feet

[ 06 ] a vast, empty field with a bright blue sky overhead

[ 07 ] the space between two shelves stuffed with magical tomes and old leatherbound journals

[ 08 ] a rowdy village tavern crowded with drunk, singing patrons

[ 09 ] a winding path in the dark that leads to nowhere

[ 10 ] the crumbling remains of a burnt-out homestead

[ 11 ] another realm, unknown to you, the lights bright enough to blind you

[ 12 ] a tiny tent in the middle of the woods, the fading embers of your campfire still glowing just outside the door

[ 13 ] a tidy apothecary shop crowded with labeled jars and bowls of supplies

[ 14 ] the fiery lair of your mortal enemy

[ 15 ] the hallowed halls of an ancient sanctuary, stone walls covered in vines and light peeking in through cracks in the ceiling

[ 16 ] a civilized throne room, lanterns lit on the walls leading up to the throne itself

[ 17 ] a dewy meadow perfect for a picnic

[ 18 ] a valley packed with tents, knights , and weapons all readying themselves for a major battle

[ 19 ] a bright, snowy glen

[ 20 ] a strange village doused in darkness, the streets teeming with cloaked figures and suspicious individuals

[ 21 ] a chilly cave hidden behind a waterfall

[ 22 ] in the midst of a dangerous battle, bandits attacking from all sides

[ 23 ] at the foot of a massive, venerated shrine, one that's been forgotten by time and worn down with age

[ 24 ] a busy village market, shopkeepers shouting their prices and selling their wares to curious passerby

do you remember what i told you last time?

have you been doing well since i saw you?

that's not what you told me back then.

when was the last time i saw you?

you were shorter then.

i'm picking the restaurant this time.

we've known each other since we were children.

always knew i could count on you.

that time was different. this is worse.

you're not going to let me live that down, are you?

i seem to remember a conversation we had back then.

so you changed your mind about it?

do you remember our encounter in paris?

you should know me by now.

am i the only one that knows the truth?

we had a lot of help back then.

your mom told me to look out for you.

you just love bringing that back up to annoy me.

maybe don't mention my past indescretions?

this was never going to work out between us.

i told you not to get attached.

i know more about you than you think.

i was there, remember?

i'm not about to forget all the shit you put me through.

you told me you were going to try and make this work.

remember what i said to you?

the last time i saw you, things were good between us.

you never mentioned this before.

that was the longest flight of my life, and you made it worse.

can i still trust you after all that?

at least we tried to make something work.

we never discussed what happened between us.

okay, but i'm driving the car this time.

i haven't forgotten what you said last week.

i'm still thinking about your comment.

i didn't realize it was you when i first saw you.

you seem to make a lot of enemies around here.

there's not much for us to talk about.

we worked it out last time.

i know you far better than you know yourself.

we have a long history.

is that the shirt you were wearing last time?

what don't i know about you?

i haven't told them about us.

you were the only person i could go to.

you know me.

this is bigger than both of us.

i can't stand your driving.

are you taking me to the place we had dinner last time?

that's not at all what you said.

didn't we agree on that?

i thought i made it very clear where i stand.

are these the same people that came after you last time?

are you still going on about it?

can we talk about it?

staying silent about it won't help.

you're the only person who knows the real me.