So um, I went for sappy this week.
"Lyrium is one hell of a drug."
He watched, while trying not to shudder at the sight, the raven haired mage drink the vial of glowing liquid before she returned to her frantic casting. His former brothers had often spoken of that liquid with a mixture of longing and hate. They spoke of the initial rush, the heightened awareness, the warmth rushing through their veins, the sheer feeling of power. The belief that it was all that allowed them to be templars, rather than being just warriors, no matter how skilled.
They didn’t speak of what happened when that rush faded. The disconnection from themselves, from the world, the lethargy and confusion that set in when they didn’t take their next dose fast enough. Alistair remembered when he was still an initiate in the monastery, a brother was brought in delirious. At first he thought the man had succumbed to a fever, he had the symptoms: not just the delirium, but waking nightmares, confused between the past and the present, sweating, shaking, high temperatures. But that hadn’t been the case at all. One of the other brothers had grimly informed him and the other initiates that the poor man was going through lyrium withdrawal.
It was then they were told that lyrium fueled their holy powers as templars. What allowed them to do their Maker given duty in keeping the world safe from mages of all kinds, not just the maleficarum that so many of the priests worried about. All the other initiates had simply accepted it as the price of doing their holy work. He hadn’t. He didn’t think the Maker would want his warriors to ingest such an addictive and poisonous substance in his service and silently vowed to himself he’d find a way to avoid that drug.
The irony of what had been required to become a Grey Warden wasn’t lost on him. But at least the poisonous substance was only once and not addictive. Though the Joining caused its own changes. Its own madness.
He was still furious at the chains the Chantry placed on the templars, not just the mages. Was he not proof that they didn’t need lyrium to use their powers effectively?
Watching the white haired mage stop her casting to drink more of the stuff made his lips twist in disgust at the memories it evoked. Easier to concentrate on the memories and anger of the drug, rather than the fear of what would happen if their casting wasn’t successful. Easier than thinking of the fear that Morrigan was using what little healing magics she had to help Wynne besides mixing up healing brews and salves. Or who needed more healing than what Wynne was capable of doing on her own.
Finally, the still form in the blood soaked bed stirred. The glorious blue eyes slowly blinked open and looked around in confusion before focusing on him. Saw the confusion quickly recede as those eyes shone in the way they only did for him as a smile blossomed on her face. He drank in the sight the way his former brothers did lyrium and he supposed in a way that she was his addiction. When he was near her, he felt more alive, more aware of the world, her presence gave him the strength to do what he needed. When she wasn’t nearby, life did seem emptier, but at least he didn’t go through the same terrible withdrawal symptoms.
Yes, lyrium was one hell of a drug, but it was nothing in comparison to the love he shared with Marlana.