Chapter 8: Red Lyrium Pt.2
L,
T alive, severely wounded and disoriented. Not safe to approach. Situation requires Templar intervention.
Templar camp destroyed. All dead.
Location encoded. Please advise.
C.
They reacted as quickly as they could when word was sent from one of Leliana's scouts that Knight-Enchanter Trevelyan had been found. To the credit of Leliana's people, they searched throughout the night despite the wintery weather. Upon the Commander's return the previous day, they had deployed all available scouts and made a plan of action for when she was found. The Divine had made it very clear that finding her was a priority. If the Divine couldn't keep her honored guests safe as the Conclave neared, then the Conclave would fail before it had even begun. It was made very public that The Phoenix of Ostwick was at Haven and as nobles and high-ranking mages and Templars slowly arrived, many asked to meet her or at least have her pointed out to them from the crowd. Cassandra thanked the Maker daily for Leliana's recruitment of Lady Josephine Montilyet, the new Ambassador and Diplomat for the Divine for the Conclave. On occasion, she'd ask for Cassandra's help in locating the famed Knight-Enchanter, and scoffed whenever she heard them ask, "will she show us her firey wings?" She had answered the question dozens of times with a simple, 'no' allowing the Knight-Enchanter to explain she was not some cheap entertainer, though her words were more refined, clearly owing its practiced articulation to the many times she had explained it over the years to delusional nobles.
Much to the protesting of the Commander, Cassandra was to lead the rescue party made up of the Ostwick Templars, Solas, Enchanter Ilara and an accompanying force of soldiers. When Scout Charter indicated that Templars were needed, it only validated that decision. Cassandra knew Cullen was a man of honor, and wished to repay his debt to the Knight-Enchanter for saving his life - again - but without lyrium there was no use putting him in harm's way, especially since he was recovering from injuries himself. Now that their forces were growing with new recruits signing up daily to serve the Divine and her Conclave to end the war, he was needed at camp more than ever.
It took the rescue party two hours to reach the location through the snow that had blanketed everything during the night. Scout Charter rendezvoused with the rescue party leading them the rest of the way to Trevelyan. She briefed Cassandra on the observations she and the other scouts had made, all of which troubled Cassandra greatly. She ordered the men to fan out around the outskirts of the ruined camp while she, the Templars and mages approached the Knight-Enchanter. Trevelyan was in the middle of the camp on her hands and knees hunched over mumbling to herself. She could see soiled bandages on her arm and leg, but there was more blood coating her down her left side and hands. Parts of her clothing and armor were burnt in various places. Cautiously behind the Templars' shield wall, they advanced on her. Ilara called to her in the hopes a friendly voice wouldn't startle her in her state. Around her lay dead rebel Templars and to the far end of the camp a large pile of bodies. Standing about ten feet away from her they halted. She could sense a strange aura about her.
"Solas?" The elven mage closed his eyes as he entered the Fade. Solas was still a curiosity to her, but caused no trouble and was upfront and honest with her about his abilities. He was solitary and had no qualms about the Templar presence in camp. She followed her instincts and invited him along after the cryptic scouting report from Scout Charter. A few minutes later, he explained that she was not in the Fade, but trapped in a waking dream. Enchanter Ilara pleaded with her to let her go to Trevelyan, and while her gut told her something was not right, she agreed. The Seeker and the Templars readied themselves in case of a violent reaction. She held her breath and shield steady as the Enchanter knelt beside her friend. They exchanged some words in hushed tones before Trevelyan's head turned up to look at the Enchanter.
"Lar," Trevelyan gently caressed Ilara's face, "I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry! I wasn't strong enough to stop them." Cassandra could see now that her face was smudged with soot and blood. Long streaks under her eyes cut through the grime revealing skin from underneath it.
"Stop who?" Trevelyan's eyes squeezed tightly shut as she gave a sharp inhale.
"Ser Aeron and his Templars," she shook her head as if now doubting her words, "we were... in our room and..."
"Evie, that was a year ago. And you saved me remember?" Ilara let that sink in for a moment, as her friend clearly needed time to process this revelation. "We are in the woods outside of Haven now. You're injured. I'm here to patch you up," a warm smile spread across Ilara's face, "like usual." The tension that seemed to grip Trevelyan eased as Cassandra could clearly see her muscles relaxing. Ilara looked to Cassandra giving a nod.
"Knight-Enchanter it is good --" before Cassandra could finish, Trevelyan stood commanding them to back away. An ethereal wind picked up swirling about them all as Cassandra watched the famed Phoenix wings ignite. "No, wait --! Templars, ready!" Cassandra scrambled to get the Templars back into formation after the brief lapse thinking the danger had passed. Ilara was pleading with her to stop, all but grabbing and shaking her.
"Seeker, something isn't right." Solas looked about, then grabbing the nearest dead Templar, removed his helm. Red snaking veins jutted from his neck and his glassy eyes were red.
"Red lyrium." She couldn't believe it. She hoped she would've seen the last of its corruption of the Templars in Kirkwall, but to find it this far south was not a good sign. "Enchanter, what color are Trevelyan's eyes?! Were they red at all?"
"Yes!" was all the Enchanter could call out before Trevelyan push her protectively behind her.
"Shit." She knew what had to be done. "Templars," she paused to ready her own powers, "take her down!" At first, they took turns dispelling her magic, but horrifyingly enough it just seemed to amplify it. Trevelyan's head tilted to the side slightly watching curiously on as they began to combine their efforts. When at last it seemed to have an effect on her, she began throwing fireballs their way. Before anyone got burned, she rallied the Templars to pull together for one large attack to which she'd add her strength to as well. She yelled to the Enchanter to run, not wanting her to get hit in the crossfire. Sensing the incoming attack, Trevelyan conjured so much magic the heat it gave off felt as if she had been put in a bread oven. "Now!" she commanded and air shuttered and snuffed the area of all magic. The blast rendered Trevelyan unconscious on the ground.
Ilara ran to her with Solas close behind. The mages waved their hands about her. She was alive and stable enough to load onto the cart back to Haven despite how heavily wounded she was. With their mission complete, all that was left was to piece together what happened and find out where the red lyrium was coming from. She sighed heavily knowing she was going to have to ask Varric for help, something she was avoiding like the Blight.
***
As he finished briefing his officers for the evening, Cullen felt anxious about going over to meet the other advisors in the infirmary to speak to Trevelyan now that she was conscious. The healers had been working on her for hours since Cassandra returned back to camp with her before midday. Upon arriving, he saw only Henley was waiting outside a partitioned off area of the infirmary. The Templar held up a hand and halted his approach.
"I wouldn't go in there yet, Ser." Cullen raised an eyebrow in question when his answer came in the form of profanities from the other side of the curtain. Henley, who was dressed plainly and resting on a cot nearby, got up and started to peruse the supply shelf. Henley still looked a bit sickly from his bout with red lyrium, but he seemed to be functioning well enough. When asked about his condition, Henley was happy to report he'd be back on duty tomorrow. With an 'ah,' he pulled a bottle of spirits from the shelf and popped its cork. Giving it a smell and taste, he nodded his head adding a 'this will do' as he walked over to the curtain. He peeled back the curtain enough for Cullen to see what was going on. Enchanter Ilara was working with a surgeon on Trevelyan's leg. He noticed a thick cord of some kind being removed from her leg which had reopened the massive wound. There were some protests of Henley's appearance considering the woman clearly had only smalls on, but they were rudely silenced by her who grabbed the bottle with some enthusiasm.
Many of the interactions he had observed between Trevelyan and Henley became clearer now that he knew more about their past relationship. He saw no problem with their relationship, since he'd been guilty of the same breach of Circle rules long ago. Things were changing in the world with the old taboos against mage and Templar relationships being no longer frowned upon as the Chantry held no authority over mages and Tempars. Henley and Enchanter Ilara seemed happy enough from what Henley had confided in him. So long as it didn't get in the way of their duty, it was of no concern to him who was seeing who.
Almost as cat-like as Leliana, Knight-Enchanter Cyrus entered the infirmary with a shirt in hand. He gave a stoic 'ser' and continued on his way through the curtain. Only the surgeon protested to the intrusion this time, trying to save Trevelyan's modesty, to which the former ignored asking Cyrus to help her put it on. She thanked him for letting her borrow his shirt and he left giving the surgeon a heated look. Cullen's curiosity got the better of him once Cyrus joined them.
"May I ask what they are doing to her leg?" More curses directed at the Maker's appallingly promiscuous bride were yelled. "Maker's breath, that woman has a mouth on her." Cyrus just gave a quiet laugh clearly used to it.
"They are restitching her leg. The rogue Templars stitched it with a leather cord meant for lacing armor." Cullen felt himself pale slightly. He had seen a multitude of horrors in his life but that was a new one. Suddenly all her cursing and the passed bottle of spirits were rightly justified. "And before you ask why they didn't just knock her out for this, it's because she refused to be." He made a gesture with his hand indicating something was going on with her mind.
"What is the extent of her other injuries?"
"We aren't sure yet, Ilara was about to tell us when the surgeon arrived to... unlace her leg." Henley looked to Cyrus before continuing with a shared look of pain and worry for their friend. "What we do know is that she took a massive amount of red lyrium, or rather was forced to." Cullen ran his hand down his face then pinched the bridge of his nose. More red lyrium, fuck.
Finally, the other advisors began to trickle in one by one. As the women made themselves comfortable and introduced themselves to Knight-Enchanter Cyrus and Henley, Enchanter Ilara stepped out from behind the curtain. She had recently rinsed her hands and was drying them on her apron. A light tinge of red stained where she had just wiped them.
"The surgeon is finishing up now. I've healed all I could," she trailed off for a moment looking faint. As she went down, Cullen and Cyrus caught her before she hit the ground. They helped her over to Henley's cot and she sat grateful for their assistance. She leaned into Henley who wrapped an arm around her for support. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit exhausted." She took a deep breath and went on to update them of Trevelyan's condition. "Evie will physically recover. Injuries included an arrow to the arm, major lacerations to the forearms and ribs, other minor cuts and bruises and of course the...," she swallowed as if she had a bad taste in her mouth, "leg wound." Guilt flooded Cullen and it was made worse by the news of the mutilation. "I'm more concerned with what the red lyrium is doing to her internally and mentally, however." She grasped the hand of Henley, a well of deep understanding passing between them. "When we came upon her in the forest, she was indeed experiencing a waking dream brought on by the lyrium. She told me it was of a... particularly traumatizing memory. The red lyrium made her relive it over and over." A shiver went up Cullen's spine.
The curtain opened with Trevelyan propped up on her cot nursing the bottle of spirits. Her lower half was covered in a fresh linen sheet and she wore Cyrus' shirt which she used to fan herself from the lyrium fever. She looked to them after taking a large swig from the bottle. Cassandra asked for the advisors to have a private audience with Trevelyan and her friends begrudgingly shuffled out.
"Let's get this over with." She looked as if she had aged ten years. The tiredness of her ordeal coupled with the pain was clear upon her face. As they shifted closer to her cot, she took another swig from the bottle, then placed it on a crate that was made into a side table. Realizing that Trevelyan had never met the Lady Ambassador, Josephine made a very gracious introduction and apology to have met under such circumstances. It was coolly received.
"Let's begin with what happened after the Commander left you." Leliana jumped in. Cullen soured at the memory of leaving her behind, even if she had forced him. The evening was waning into twilight and all four advisors had been working like dogs with preparations for the arriving clerics and guests of The Divine. The discovery of red lyrium being used by the rogue Templars was not a welcome development. They needed answers from her now to make the most of their time.
"Very well." Evelyn took a deep breath before beginning.
Evelyn awoke to find herself tied to a chair in a large field tent. Her head throbbed and it took her several blinks to see straight. Her leg still stung, and she noticed it was newly bandaged. The red canvas of the tent cast everything in an eerie shade of crimson. It was freezing inside. A man sat at a nearby desk writing a letter as a single drop of sweat dripped off his temple. She shifted her limbs against the burn of the ropes trying to find any weaknesses but found none. Her hands were bound behind her and even with a small portion of her mana restored if she would cast she'd end up burning herself. Though compared to what these Templars had planned, it could be the better alternative.
"Ah, you're awake. I was worried the others may have been too rough with you. I had one of my men stitch your arm and leg while you were out. It'll scar but the bleeding has slowed. How do you feel?" The man had large bloodshot eyes and a mess of dull brown hair slicked back. He was wearing mismatched Templar armor.
"Where am I? Who are you?"
"You have been brought to my camp. I am Raleigh Sampson, but most just call me Sampson."
"You're a Templar?"
"Was. Not anymore." He poured her a drink of some sort of bitter tea from the smell. Cupping her face gently, he tilted her head up pressing the cup to her mouth. She protested at first, but he ensured her it was nothing but elfroot tea to soothe her head and leg injury. His confident eyes never wavered from hers as she finished the cup with his assistance. "Now that you know my name, I would very much like to know yours."
"Knight-Enchanter Lady Evelyn Trevelyan." His bloodshot eyes perked up.
"The famed Phoenix of Ostwick here in my humble tent! No wonder Rutherford was with you."
"You know the Commander?" He then divulged to her their history from back in Kirkwall's Circle when they were roommates. He had eventually been expelled by Knight-Commander Meredith for passing love letters between mages. Once expelled and begging on the streets of Kirkwall, he assisted in helping mages escape from the Circle. She remembered a few missions in which the Kirkwall Templars requested aid in locating a few of their escapees who had fled to Ostwick. In hearing Sampson's story, she didn't think it wise to share her involvement in such captures or their punishments. She wondered if any of those requests had come from Knight-Captain Rutherford himself.
"Sampson?" Cullen interrupted her story. After hearing Sampson's version of their history together, he felt a little clarification was needed. "The man would do anything to get his hands on lyrium, don't let his version fool you. He's a chronic lyrium addict. Those mages paid a high price."
"After seeing my leg, I have no doubt, though he was a smooth talker."
"If what I know about you is true Phoenix, you once spoke out against the Chantry about their abuse of Templars through lyrium addiction?" She nodded reflecting on that turbulent time. She had raised the issue with some influential Mothers, but nothing had come of it. In fact, she received a very stern warning from them in response to officially drop the subject. The message was also sent to her superiors in the Ostwick Circle, along with orders to watch her in case she disobeyed. It seemed she had tread on very dangerous ground, so much so First Enchanter Lydia personally feared they would make Evelyn Tranquil should she speak out about it again, prompting her to promise Lydia she would not speak of it again. "I wonder if you still hold that opinion?"
"I do. Though the Chantry threatened me to stay silent on the matter." He chuckled shaking his head. He did not seem surprised to hear that, as he himself was a victim of such abuse. As time went on, she started to find it odd that while in the midst of a long civil conversation with a man who agreed with her on many things related to the treatment of Templars by the Chantry, she was still tied up. There had to be something she was missing. She could hear men and women outside tending to camp duties, but aside from the buzz of lyrium coming off of him, nothing was out of the ordinary even if they were high on the red stuff. She almost felt like he was lulling her into a false sense of security by tending to her wounds, so far as she could tell, and providing thoughtful discussion, all in the meantime obscuring his true purpose for her.
She didn't have to wonder for long before a familiar couple of faces entered the tent. It was the two Templars who had talked to her briefly after capturing her. When they entered, Sampson's demeanor changed as they exchanged sinister smiles. Upon entering, the tent flap caught in the breeze and outside she saw blood strew across the snow. The air in the tent seemed to thicken and she felt herself drawing in deeper breaths. She squeezed her legs together tight so they wouldn't see them shaking in fright. The woman held a glowing red cup in her hands, handling it with the utmost care.
"Here it is, ser." Sampson was pleased, placing it on the desk. The man skulked slowly behind her while the woman stood toe to toe with her. With little else to look at as the woman obscured her view, she looked up into her face. From below her armor's neckline she could see jagged blood red veins protruding from her neck. Her eyes looked similarly bloodshot as Sampson's were with a red haze lingering within her pupils. "I don't like the way she looks at me." A hard punch to the face had Evelyn reeling. The woman had hit her so hard that if not for the man behind her catching the chair, she'd be laying on the floor. Her lip gushed and filled her mouth with the metallic taste of blood which she obstinately spat right onto the woman's boots. Raising her fist again, Sampson thankfully stopped her before she could deliver the blow.
"You may not like her, but I'm rather enjoying her company." Sampson chuckled.
"Shall we see how your stiches are healing?" From the wicked grin on their faces she knew they had done something. She shifted her leg to see if she could feel anything, but she only felt the pulling of stitches. The woman unwrapped her leg to reveal the grizzly sight of her mutilated leg. Evelyn's breath caught in her throat. They had sewn her leg with a leather cord meant for lacing armor. Her leg looked as if she were a stuffed slab of meat meant for the spit. Her arms strained against the ropes wanting to touch and soothe her butchered leg. She was dreaming, this couldn't be real and this couldn't be her leg. Her emotions fluctuated between outrage and despair as her mouth sputtered unsure of what to say. The woman, pleased by her reaction wrapped the wound back up.
"Now Evelyn," he bent over leaning on his knees so he was closer to her, "I enjoyed our talk about your life's work, but now it's time I tell you about my work. While you gave up and surrendered to the Chantry to save your own skin, I fought them. I found others, like these two, who had been thrown away because the Chantry deemed them too broken to keep. Instead of honoring their life of sacrifice, they condemn them to live as pariahs in a world that would only see them as lyrium addicts. Well, now I've brought them together to show them that we will not be forgotten." The man behind her shifted and she flinched when his armored hand hovered over her shoulder before grabbing and holding her face. She struggled as hard as she could but the ropes were biting into her skin still not giving way. "Since you sympathize with our cause, I rather hoped you'd help us with a little... experiment."
He lifted the cup filled with what she could now see was red lyrium. It buzzed creating a ringing in her ears and she felt the instinctual need to push away from it. He brought it to rest between them mere inches from her lips. She knew then the vile liquid was meant for her. The amount that filled the cup was at least ten times that of what Henley had drank. Panic began to set in not knowing how it would affect her, yet in her gut she felt the rising threat of danger.
"This is red lyrium. Quite different from its blue counterpart that you're used to. The red pulls at our primal instincts unlocking our full potential. Your senses are sharper, your stamina is endless and your power is unstoppable. Unlike us, as a mage, you can drink lyrium like wine without the danger of addiction or any of the other debilitating effects we have to suffer. Yet, there is one thing the red lyrium takes from mages," she held her breath swallowing hard as he smiled a crooked grin, "your free will. You will be guided by a... higher power. So far our experiments have not been as cooperative nor resilient as we would've liked them to be and my master grows impatient."
With the grip on her jaw forcing her lips to open, Sampson expertly poured the red lyrium down her throat careful not to spill a drop. It burned, oh Maker did it burn in contrast to the cooling sensation of blue lyrium. They clamped her jaw shut periodically forcing her to swallow. She screamed as it set her insides a flame. Her chest was on fire feeling as if a hole had been burned through her. She thrashed violently against her restraints, unable to feel that she had cut her wrists open. She didn't know how long her body fought against the effects of the red poison, but when her body and lyrium came to a stalemate she struggled to grasp at her new reality. Her body was now host to a parasitic intelligence.
She was fighting for control of her body, becoming more of a spectator than the owner. She bucked and arched in her chair all the while the three Templars sat and watched. Her right leg kicked suddenly snapping the rope that held it to the chair - she didn't tell it to do that. When her muscles stopped shaking from fear and instead coiled ready to strike she knew the lyrium was in control. Her adrenaline surged and when her screaming ceased that's when she heard it; it was a song. A song without words, or if there were words they weren't of a language she knew. But if she couldn't understand it, why did she feel like it was compelling her to do it. What was 'it?' She was trying to communicate with it. She felt it wanted something of her, but what was it?
"She's in the full grip of it now. I'm not surprised she's handling it better than the rest. The others were much weaker mages compared to our Phoenix here." At his words, she felt a rush of superiority, but not the vain or entitled kind, more of the primal need to be the apex predator. 'I am superior,' it repeated in her head. If she was superior, what was she doing tied to a chair? It wanted her to unleash her power from whatever restraint had been instilled in her through her mage upbringing. It was wrong. Something about the whole thing was unsettling. 'No, I'm not superior. I'm just Evelyn,' she thought. A hot prickling feeling crashed through her, the kind that happens when your foot falls asleep just amplified. It seemed the red lyrium did not like her fighting back.
When she was still for far too long from struggling internally, the woman Templar landed a blow to her gut. Crumpling with her head now in her lap, Evelyn heard her voice laugh, again not being the one to do it. The pain of the blow was ecstasy. It never felt so good to be hit like that in her life, and she wanted more. The song whispered to her what to do, knowing and feeling her desire for blood. It fueled this bloodlust as thoughts of dominance over this pathetic woman spurred her into action. With another strong kick, both legs were freed. Sampson was quick to leave the tent, laughing as he left, knowing what was to come.
Unlike Sampson, her capturers stayed to fight, but they were too slow to react to her newfound strength. If they were indeed taking the red lyrium they had not taken as much as they gave her, that much was clear. She jumped herself flat on her back splintering the wooden chair. The ropes binding her hands slipped from her wrist, but rather than discarding them, she held them tight in her hand. With a swift roll, she was on her feet with her boot dagger in hand. A quick backhanded stab planted the dagger in the woman's shoulder and using the momentum from the attack, she spun wrapping the rope around the throat of the man behind her. He gasped for air as she pulled on the rope tight. The woman pulled a short sword in an attempt to save him, ignoring her injured shoulder. As she slashed, Evelyn used the man as a shield. When the woman frustratingly landed each of her blows into her fellow Templar, she charged into the two knocking them to the ground. The man's literal dead weight didn't slow Evelyn's movements. She felt the raw power of her mana at her fingertips building up, as if she didn't release it, it would release itself. As she tried to get up, the woman slashed the side of her ribcage open. Evelyn took two more slashes to the forearms as she defended herself before triggering it.
Her firey wings exploded and came to life. They flapped engulfing the tent in flames, obliterating it leaving only Evelyn surrounded by smoke and ashes. As the smoke cleared, Sampson appeared in front of her in the middle of their camp flanked by at least two dozen Templars. Each one had their sword drawn ready to unleash their corrupted power on her, yet in her head despite the odds it repeated, 'I am superior.' She took a few steps forward out from the black charcoal that was once Sampson's tent, absently kicking the empty set of burnt Templar armor. Her Phoenix wings were still a flame and more brilliant than ever. Blood dripped from the slashes on her forearms to her fingertips. She had to be a ghastly sight as her lip and ribs bled. The rope burns on her wrists were raw and she was still filthy from earlier. 'I need to find a potion,' she thought, but then the pain and the worry were whisked away from the forefront of her thoughts by the song. It was replaced again with the violent need for dominance.
"Aren't you something, Evelyn Trevelyan!" He wasn't angry, but astonished, proud even of his experiment. "You are exactly what I need."
"For what?" Through the red haze, part of Evelyn finally broke through. Evelyn wasn't giving up the fight for her mind and body. In response to asserting her will, the lyrium felt like it was on fire once again, like it was trying to control her behavior by causing her pain when she misbehaved. Her face scrunched up as she winced. Sampson chuckled deeply at the display.
"Fighting it is useless. It will win out in the end then you will be under my master's control." 'Who is his master?' The pain flared up once more with renewed intensity at her question. It seems she was not allowed to know. "To answer your question Phoenix of Ostwick, I need a distraction during the Conclave, something to draw Rutherford's forces away from the temple. That distraction will be you." She thought of all the things she wanted to say in opposition to that, but the song silenced her again with the promise of pain.
"I want to know who his master is. Time is short. I can have my people look into it right away." Leliana impatiently interrupted her this time. A sharp pain seemed to come over her suddenly as she inhaled sharply holding her head. Cullen lifted off the post he was leaning against to assist if he could, but she held a hand up.
"I don't know he never said." The Divine's Hands both shared a look of displeasure at being denied an answer. "Ah, the lyrium is still trying to control me," she gritted out. Cassandra sat up suddenly in case her powers were needed. After it had passed, Trevelyan blinked a few times trying to refocus on the present.
"Cassandra, didn't Varric mention that his brother heard a song when he was possessed by the red lyrium idol?" She looked at him and nodded slowly.
"It drove him mad," she said softly looking back to Trevelyan. He expected to see something like fear or concern on her face, but all he saw was heated defiance. Another wave of pain gripped her. "He was a dwarf though, so perhaps it will be different..." her voice trailed off as she looked on with concern as this latest wave of pain still gripped her. Her face reddened as if she was holding her breath. Leliana remained stoic as usual, but Josephine seemed to be increasingly alarmed stammering to the others asking if she should go fetch a healer. Finally, the pain released her as she gasped for breath. Trevelyan reached for the cup of water beside the bottle this time guzzling it down. As she placed the cup back down she, glanced up to see the distraught Ambassador and offered the bottle to her. Josephine hesitated a moment, looking as if she was going to take her up on the offer, but politely declined.
"I'm not going to go mad. I was able to fight it at its full strength, I won't give in now -- ow, ow!" He wondered if she was feeling something like his withdrawal symptoms, but declined asking, not wanting to get sidetracked or reveal his secret. "It really doesn't like me telling you all this." The advisors all looked to one another quite disturbed by that statement.
"Sampson said he wanted to lure our forces away from the Conclave with a distraction. That you were to be that distraction. What were you meant to do?" As if ensuring everyone's safety at the Conclave wasn't hard enough, he now had to count on an attack from Sampson and his Templars. He shuttered to think, as bad as it sounds, what would've happened if Trevelyan wasn't captured and news of this attack went unknown. Sampson might have succeeded. He felt a headache of his own coming on.
"It's only a guess, but I think he planned on using me as a mindless weapon. I think he planned to use other mages, but well..."
Her head jerked awkwardly to the left as her eyes followed it to what she was being shown. It was a massive pile of bodies partially obscured by supply barrels. From their clothing and belongings, she knew them to be mages. The pile was almost as tall as she reeking of rotting flesh and bile. Even though she wasn't anywhere close to the bodies her heightened senses made her feel like she was nose-deep in the pile. 'His failed experiments.' The song told her it would be her fate if she did not let go of her restraint. A hot sharp pain pricked her at the core. The red poison was trying to tap her mana again. She shook breathing heavily as it chipped away at the control she had long held on her power. 'No!' She wasn't sure if she screamed in her head or out loud, but the pain brought her to the ground. She screamed in agony, yet fought it with every fiber of her being. Suddenly, she was hoisted up by two Templars. She growled and hissed at the pain convulsing as it wracked her body in searing fire.
"Do you want this to stop?" She nodded pleadingly to Sampson who grabbed her by the jaw not nearly as gently as he had been before. His thumb pressed on her split lip, but the pain was nothing compared to the red lyrium coursing through her. "Surrender to it. It's that simple."
"No!" His words had the opposite effect and only hardened her resolve. She looked to the pile of bodies again and the complete disregard for life. They had gone through a similar trial and had lost. 'You are superior,' it chimed in her head again. 'I am superior and that includes over your corruption!' A piercing wail resounded in her head as the song retreated from her mana. As she heard the song switching its tune for its next assault, she pressed her advantage. Before anyone could blink, the two Templars on her flanks were dead, cut clean through by her spirit blade. A look of confusion and then fear crossed Sampson's sickly pale face. His lips mouthed the word 'how,' but it seemed he had lost the nerve to actually articulate it. His remaining force of Templars fanned out around her, shields encircling her, but she didn't flinch.
On any other day this formation would've meant certain death for a mage, but not today, not even without her staff. She twisted her fingers at her side then with a quick turn of her body a wall of flame encircled the remaining twenty-two Templars. She was not the prey, she was the predator. A barrage of their mana-purging abilities bombarded her from all sides, with no effect. To everyone's shock, including Evelyn's, her flame wall still held and she could still cast. 'Well isn't that interesting.' As they all looked from one to the other, she felt a shift in their energy - the song was singing to them, yet it only lurked in the shadows of her thoughts. She remembered it had liked the violence that was done to her - it was orchestrating this fight. 'It's letting me fight.' With that thought came the surge of bloodlust in her and she let out a gasping moan. She began to shake as her mana surged needing release again as the red lyrium pushed her to the brink.
An overpowered immolation spell exploded, breaking the Templar line. Eighteen. Swords descended upon her, but her barrier held. She placed a discreet mine behind her, but it was tripped sooner than she expected as a crazed Templar charged her not bothering to search the ground. Seventeen. She fade stepped dodging the next few lunges that came her way, but instead of moving away from the cluster of Templars, she appeared back in the center of them. Their swords having missed were grounded by the force of their swings. A golden spirit blade appeared cutting them in half with a graceful twirl. Thirteen. She fade stepped again, but this time out of her flaming wall. She walked along the perimeter stalking her prey, who were unaware of the predator circling them. Adrenaline and mana pulsed through her harder than ever. She lobbed a few fireballs in sewing chaos among them. They choked on the smoke, but to their credit they dodged the attacks successfully. With visibility low, the next few Templars were eliminated by fade stepping back through the flames and impaling them with her spirit blade. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight.
Dowsing the flames now, smoke drifted across the ruins of their camp. Every Templar's eyes were on her. It was time she finished them. The Templars acted fast, charging in on her. Acting as a unit, all eight of them grabbed her arms and shoulders draining her mana simultaneously. Their arms glowed with a crackling red aura. Unlike the lyrium poisoning her, their power sought to prevent her from touching her power. Her mana pushed against their power trying to free itself. Evelyn felt the lyrium ignite within and before she realized what she was doing, she had broken the carefully built walls of restraint around her mana. Ethereal fire engulfed them all and one by one she felt their hands slip away from her. Zero. Even after they were dead, her mana didn't relinquish. Like that fateful day back on her family's estate when she was 10 years old, the flame was uncontrollable. She hadn't felt the sensation for years. It wasn't unlike the feeling of blood gushing forth in excess, just not as visceral. Before she could even attempt in earnest to tame her power as First Enchanter Lydia had taught her, it stopped.
From the dark recesses of her mind, the song emerged again, but it was different from before and it came with a plan. Having full access to her mana was only one of its objectives. It used the corrupted Templars to suit its purpose and now it had to control her, as Samson had said. Horror and panic replaced her bloodlust as she was taken back to the Ostwick Circle the night it fell. She didn't know how the red lyrium was doing it, but when physical pain failed to control her, it now resorted to fear tactics drawing on her memories. She looked around her old room in the tower finding that everything was how it had been; Ilara praying to the Maker; Evelyn across the room from her separated by the bed; and three Templars. As the memory moved forward and Evelyn had pushed Ilara over the bed, she heard her friend scream in terror. The door was gone. She immediately went for her dagger under the pillow - it was gone. She reached for her staff under the bed - it too was gone.
Looking over to Ilara, the two men were already pawing at her. Evelyn jumped up to save her friend but found herself restrained by two hands on her shoulders. A quick jerk slammed her into the cold stone wall of her bedroom. Ilara screamed for Evelyn to help her, but Evelyn stood frozen as she looked into the big brown eyes of Aeron.
"Well, well Trevelyan, it seems this time things aren't going to go your way." Evelyn screamed.
Over and over she relived that night in the tower, except she never escaped. She stopped counting after about the tenth time the memory replayed itself. Each time she and Ilara suffered before she was eventually killed in some horrific way. Death was not an escape. They were raped, tortured and sometimes forced to do acts that even in her wildest darkest dreams she could never conceive of. While she could not actually feel the heinous acts being committed against her existing somewhere between the waking world and the Fade, it all seemed real enough to her. Before each act of torture, Aeron would say, "This can all stop, you just have to give it what it wants. Are you ready?" The answer was no, she endured its pain, she would endure this... somehow.
"And that's when I heard Ilara calling to me before it all went black again." Everyone sat in contemplative silence. Cullen admired her resolve, Maker knows he knows what it's like to fight your own demons. To dig so deep within yourself for strength knowing that if you falter for even a moment it meant death. He saw it now written on her face, for he had worn it too - in some ways he still did when he awoke from his nightmares. Josephine stood and walked towards Trevelyan, who looked up at the Ambassador from her reclined position on the cot.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say we are truly sorry for the ordeal and wish you a speedy recovery, my Lady." Josephine eyed the bottle on the side table. With a shaky hand, she reached out and took a quick swig of the spirits, gently placed it down and beat a hasty retreat from the infirmary. Leliana, for once shocked by the uncharacteristic display of the Ambassador, gave her thanks as well and followed her out.
"Thank you Knight-Enchanter, you have given us valuable information at great cost to yourself. Maker speed your recovery." Cassandra spoke softly. "Commander, will you see to stationing a Templar in here?"
"Yes, of course." With that, only Cullen remained. Trevelyan just stared at him with a blank expression. "I -- uh.." He wanted to tell her he understood a bit of what she was going through, but he couldn't put it into words. "I would like to come to check on you tomorrow, if you'd allow me?" She thought about it for a moment, narrowing her eyes at him trying to divine if he had an alternative motive.
"If your time allows. Don't feel bad if you can't, I know there are more pressing matters for you to attend to." He nodded sheepishly and called for a Templar. "Goodnight Trevelyan. Glad to see you back safe."
"Goodnight Cullen."