MALEDICTUS

4.

Over the course of the year, seeing them together felt less like a carving knife to his heart and more like a string around it. He watched them laugh, watched them fight, argue, play. He saw the change in Hadiza that he knew would not have been possible with himself. When she playfully chased Samson with playful magic after he'd teased her mercilessly on the practice field, or when he caught her up in his arms, holding her over his shoulder while she shrieked with laughter, he realized something in Hadiza had been freed, something Cullen realized he had been trying to keep under lock and key out of his own fear.

In Samson he saw the man that he'd met in Kirkwall over a decade prior, but there was something different about him too. Time had weathered Samson, had used him harshly, but the man had survived against all odds, and even his crimes could be forgiven in the face of his sincere atonement. He was quick to smile, and Cullen saw in Samson a tenderness he reserved for Hadiza when they were together. He saw a fierce determination and loyalty when he trained alongside the men, and saw him undaunted in the face of ridicule and outright hatred of those who would never forgive him.

So much blood on the man's hands, and yet...had Cullen not also been guilty of the same in his negligence? He watched Samson closely, wondering-perhaps hoping-that the torrid dalliances between himself and Hadiza would run its course, but it showed no signs of slowing...only growing. Cullen watched Samson, recalling every exchange between himself and the former general, and he realized that in the past year that he too had changed.

Looking at Hadiza no longer hurt, and he found himself more comfortable being her friend and advisor than he ever did as her lover. Slowly, the cold wasteland between them thawed and the first shoots of new growth began to show. It began with her smile, which he echoed—reluctantly at first—and then eventually the war room felt less chilly and more like it once did before Samson came between them. And eventually, they spoke again, about the Inquisition, about the day-to-day humdrum, and bit-by-bit the tension eased.

Eventually, he worked up the nerve to ask to speak with her after meetings.

Hadiza was wary at first, thinking to receive a berating or scathing comment regarding her relationship with Samson. Cullen understood and realized how unworthy he'd acted toward her in regards to her decision. He sought to amend that, now.

"I suppose I should begin by apologizing to how I've treated you this past year." He said and she blinked.

"I hurt you deeply, Cullen," she replied, "you had a right to your anger with me. But I accept your apology nonetheless." She smiled at him, gentle and reassuring…forgiving him. Cullen didn't know why, but he felt compelled to tell her everything. Hadiza had a way with people in that regard. They came to her with their problems, their burdens, their ghosts and demons, and she exorcized them with all the finesse and gentleness as if she were born to do it.

"I do not think you should accept it just yet," Cullen said gently and her brow knit, perplexed, "I was never truly forthright with you when…before…"

"Is this about Kirkwall?" She asked him and Cullen nearly sputtered in surprise. Hadiza's smile grew wan and humorless.

"Ariadne is a very proficient gatherer of information," she assured him, "I decided it was worth looking into when I sent her to fetch Samson's shield. Your past is your own, Cullen, and I'm not going to hold it against you. We had what we had, but until you own your shit, nothing good would have come of it."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, equal parts relieved and equal parts alarmed. Hadiza sighed.

"Look, we have to work together for an indeterminate amount of time. I'm not going to waste time and energy being angry with you. You're my military advisor and you command the most powerful standing army in Southern Thedas at present. It does us little good to have this bad blood between us."

"You're right," Cullen agreed, "I just…I didn't realize how uncompromising and awful I was to you until I saw you with…with him." Hadiza's brows went up, clearly nonplussed. Cullen's cheeks went warm and pink, and he looked away from her.

"Does he treat you well?" He ventured. Hadiza smiled and there was warmth in it that Cullen once basked in. He had to put that behind him somehow. That tenderness was no longer his.

"Yes," she said, her voice soft and affectionate, "he does. He makes me very happy, and despite what grudges you bear, Samson is a good man at heart. Perhaps if you…kept an open mind, you might see that." Cullen tried not to make a noise of disgust for her sake and turned away from her briefly, trying to focus on anything but the way she looked when she spoke of the man who defiled the Order.

"Did you see that in him when we brought him to his knees a year ago? Did you foresee all of…this?" He asked her. Hadiza laughed, amused and airy.

"Goodness, no, Cullen," she said, "if I foresaw anything it was that Samson could and likely would atone. I believe, in his own way, he loved the Order and the Chantry, and he truly believed in it…but they broke his heart, Cullen. They took from him everything that ever mattered: his dignity, his friends, and his ideals. I do not fault him his desperation. Did I foresee…the two of us? Never. But I do think hearts a joined for a purpose." Cullen regarded her a moment, tried to read the archaic text that he once thought he knew so well, and he found, much to his surprise and chagrin, that he could not.

Hadiza had changed, and the unseen things that comprised her nature were no longer familiar to him. The curve of her smile, yes, that had never changed, but there was a weight in her eyes, a tempered steel that had not been there a year prior. Cullen realized in that moment that Samson had been right: Hadiza Trevelyan belonged to no one, least of all to him.

But it did not do much to lessen the hurt that the woman he once loved—and likely would always love in some capacity—was still bound up in his heartstrings, and he was cut loose from hers.

"What will you do when the word gets out?" He asked her. Hadiza gave an elegant shrug of her shoulders, turning toward the war room door, making ready to leave.

"I will stand by his side, and he by mine, Cullen," she said simply, "come what may."

As she left, Cullen thought to himself that he did not know Hadiza as well as he once thought he did.

The mirror was cracked, and only she could see it.

It was not a very visible crack, per se, no more than a hairline fracture, but as she peered at her reflection the crack seemed to become a fissure. Hadiza rubbed her face, studying it and how it had changed since first they christened her the Inquisitor. She was still youthful, courtesy of her Rivaini genes. Her skin retained the suppleness that gave her that sun-kissed glow, rich and dark like burnished mahogany. Her eyes were tilted at the corners, giving her a whimsical and cat-like appearance, a preternatural silver-gray that was made even more startling when set within her dark face. There were lines in the corners when she smiled, and slight shadows beneath her eyes. Then her nose, a soft round shape, elegantly sculpted, and a wide, full mouth. Hadiza studied her reflection, grateful that it was her face that stared back.

The hairline fracture in the mirror began to glow.

"Stop it." She whispered, reaching to try and cover it up with her hands, "Please stop." The glow subsided, but Hadiza felt rather than heard an echo of laughter, deep and pervasive, as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. She glanced sharply over her shoulder with a gasp.

Samson's laughter could be heard downstairs, her chamber door shutting behind him. She heard the creak of leather and armor as he ascended the steps, tried her best to look bright and welcoming as she saw him. Tried not to look as if she were slowly going mad from being haunted by an eidolon she had buried in too shallow a grave. She saw shadows moving along the floor in the midst of the sunset; a pair of hands reaching for her from that shallow grave, reaching to pull her into the hungry earth.

No. She thought to herself, moving slowly out of the reach of those phantom claws that grasped for her. Samson didn't seem to see it, and instead caught her up in his arms, lifting her, kissing her, burning away the fear and doubt of her mind momentarily as she gladly lost herself in him.

"I've not seen you all day, princess," he told her, settling her on her feet, "you're looking at me like I've fish on my breath…" Hadiza laughed despite herself.

"No, it's just…I'm completely swamped planning this expedition. Not to mention the preparations to receive the Nevarran delegation are still underway. Josephine wants the entire main hall scrubbed and is talking about me mounting the heads of the dragons I've slain on the walls…"

Samson grinned.

"They are known for dragon hunting over there, I thought. Great way to show off how lethal you are. Josephine knows what she's about." Hadiza was already picking at the straps and buckles of his armor, helping him undress piece by piece. She took comfort in his groans of relief as each piece of plate was stripped away and placed on the armor stand. He all but lived in her quarters, now, despite being given his own room. None in Skyhold pretended ignorance that Samson shared the Inquisitor's bed every night, and while he had proven himself her protector and lover, beyond Skyhold's walls and in the world at large, his head was still more valuable on a pike than anything.

Samson always did love sticking it to authority, and to flaunt his immunity to Orlesian fops and fuckheads was cathartic. He'd already answered for his crimes in the last year, breaking his back to help rebuild, avoiding assassination attempts from several unknown parties, and enduring the hatred and vitriol of a rightfully outraged people. He paid his dues as demanded, and found absolution in the blood and sweat he'd shed for his redemption. And while he still clung to the belief that the Chantry was full of shit, he found absolution of a different kind with the Inquisitor herself. Hadiza had given him the power to take back what the Chantry had snatched from him. She could not bring back Maddox, and that was a loss he still mourned a year gone-by, but she had given him back what even Corypheus could not: a fucking chance to truly redeem himself both as a templar and as a man. And he wouldn't have to die fighting just to prove a point.

He sat as Hadiza knelt before him, helping him to tug off his boots. She was becoming rather adept at dressing and undressing him, he realized. He was still trying to figure out the myriad of hooks and stays on her gowns. He'd already torn a few in his haste, much to Hadiza's outright fury, and he'd pestered Josephine to no end to see them all mended. He much preferred her simple mage robes, anyhow; a simple tug on the sash and she was all his. He sat before her and she stayed on her knees, her hands resting gently on his thighs. He admitted, the sight of her like that stirred his blood to liquid fire something fierce. There was something powerfully erotic about having the most powerful woman in Southern Thedas in a position of supplication, and yet the way she looked at him was not the look of one brought to heel at all. She retained all of that power, composure, and authority in the curve of her small smirk.

"Princess…" His voice was rough with desire, a low and growling note she drew out of him with a look. Hadiza's fingers ghosted upward along his thighs, across his belly and down to deftly tug at the laces of his breeches. Samson watched her, heat gathering in the intensity of his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of the fullness of her mouth. It was inevitable, he knew. She'd either tease him until he was beyond saving, or she'd finish him off right then and there. For a moment, he thought he'd die of the surge of desire suddenly pulsing in his blood, but when she freed him, her fingers closing around the hot, hard length of his cock with aching tenderness and familiarity, he exhaled sharply.

"What'd I do to deserve this?" He asked her as she lowered her head to descend on him slowly. She didn't answer him, not for thirty straight minutes, and he ceased to ask, his head falling back, his hands coming to rest on her head as it bobbed along his length, her cheeks working. Who the fuck taught her to do that? It couldn't have been Cullen. The man blushed around women, and it had taken Samson a considerable amount of time to get him to open up about desire at all.

After a long year sharing her bed, Hadiza had learned what buttons to push to make Samson growl, or to quiet him, or to even get him begging and swearing at her. For now, she seemed content to tease out his orgasm with a slower, more methodical approach. She took in as much of him as she could, and he swallowed hard at the sight of her lips wrapped around him, sliding down to meet her stroking fist. Eventually, he felt his orgasm wash over him, felt the shudder rattle the knots in his spine, and felt his cock twitch heavily in her mouth, pumping his seed down her throat. She swallowed him, sucked him dry, and pulled away slowly.

"Andraste's flaming tits…" Samson swore quietly, letting out a relieved sigh, "…what's the fuckin' occasion?" He ran his hands over his face, looked down at her where she rested her cheek on his knee, looking like a very satisfied feline.

"I don't know," she laughed softly, "it just felt right." She rose with consummate grace, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. The shadows no longer moved along the floor, and her mirror lay dormant. And the whispers that plagued her remained blessedly silent. Samson smirked and pulled her into his lap.

"You okay?" He asked her as she buried her face in his neck. She nodded silently. Samson decided not to venture any further. He learned that Hadiza would carry the weight of the world on her shoulders if one let her, but she'd never admit she had a burden if one kept pressing the issue. Thus far, she seemed to be functioning well enough, and she hadn't lit anything on fire in her sleep for a few days.

"When do we leave for this little adventure you've got planned?" He asked her, taking one of her hands in his and massaging the tender muscle between her thumb and forefinger. Her fingers curled loosely as he did.

"We leave in one week," she mumbled into his neck, "I had Ariadne's people set up a base camp not far from the ruins…the way is clear for us to enter." She pressed her lips to his throat, tasting the salt of his sweat, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed leather, hot metal, and him. He stank of manual labor but she rather liked it. She found it comforting, and somehow it beat back the growing crowd of whispers and visions swirling in her head.

"Mm," Samson responded, "and I suppose I should probably load up on lyrium in case shit happens, eh?"

"Don't overdo it, love," Hadiza admonished, "I'll not see your mind burned away for this. If Ariadne's people encountered nothing out of the ordinary thus far, I doubt we've much to worry about."

"Famous last words." Samson teased and she nudged him gently in retaliation, "It's true. People always say that right before shit splatters everywhere. Then you're standing there with your cock in your hand and your pants around your ankles wondering where you went wrong."

Hadiza sat up and fixed him with a look that was equal parts amused and equal parts annoyed.

"Speaking from experience, are you?" She demanded and Samson shrugged.

"Just stating facts, princess. Make sure you're prepared to face down a damned dragon if need be." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, giving her a slight squeeze before he gently eased her from his lap to stand up.

"Now, I'm sure you haven't bathed today," he was saying with a smirk that was all wickedness and no pragmatism, "and I certainly haven't bathed today…"

"Samson, are you trying to seduce me?" Hadiza asked with an incredulous laugh. Samson slapped her bottom.

"No. I have to get you in the bath, first. Then I'll see if I can get you to fuck me."

"Samson!"

"What? I didn't exactly train in seducin' women's legs open. You either want it or you don't." Samson led her to the bathing chamber, and she was laughing the entire way.

"How can you even think of…I literally just finished you off." Hadiza chided. Samson gave her a look over his shoulder that clearly said he was thinking all sorts of things.

"That was just a warm-up. And I can tell you're aching for another go at me." Hadiza wanted to be scandalized but she found she couldn't be. Instead, Samson drew them a bath, and for a while, her head was quiet, filled only with the sordid fantasies she planned on entertaining once she was submerged in the deep, marble tub. The fire runes she placed around the tub glowed a deep and magma-like red, keeping the water steaming until she wasn't sure if Samson was making her sweat or the bath was. Needless to say, she barely entertained an answer, focusing her attentions on letting Samson 'seduce' her.

She slept that night, dreamless and content. The bed hadn't been replaced yet, but the sheets had, and that was good enough for the moment. And Hadiza did so love these moments.

The week went by quickly, and Hadiza assembled her team: Dorian, Aja, Samson, and Cole. Hadiza didn't think they would need much lock picking done, but Cole was an unobtrusive as mist in the grass when he wanted to be and there was no telling when a rogue would come in handy. Dorian was the most well-read mage she had, and a necromancer and one thing Hadiza learned was that everything in Thedas became undead when it was supposed to die. Dorian could serve to lay the undead to true rest if need be.

He also had begged Hadiza to come along, as the lore surrounding the Cradle of Sulevin was also fascinating to him. She indulged him both for his skill and his scholarly desires. With her team assembled, Hadiza had only to make final preparations before they left Skyhold. During that time she was on the fence about one thing.

"Do you have to bring it?" Aja demanded as Hadiza scratched the dracolisk's spine-riddled neck. It screeched—the closest thing to a pleased croon it could make. Hadiza rubbed the tip of her nose on the dracolisk's snout. Argo made small shrieking sounds that could be read as affection, bowing his head and nudging her gently.

"Look at him, Aja," Hadiza said softly, "he's been cooped up in the stables too long. He needs a good run and a long journey to stretch his legs. Isn't that right, precious?" Aja rolled her eyes as she watched her sister coo at the hideous draconic beast, and sighed in exasperation as Argo's spines flexed and it shifted its weight from foot to foot in obvious excitement. How Hadiza managed to tame the thing and get it to respond so positively to her was a mystery, but she adored the ugly creature to bits.

"That thing eats more than its fair share of meat," Samson said crossly, "take the Friesian and do us all a great service. We'll eat better on the road for it." Hadiza glared at him, and he swore she began petting the dracolisk passive-aggressively.

"You're supposed to be on my side." She hissed and in response Argo's spines raised in warning. Samson grunted, but kept his distance. He still bore the scars on his shoulder from when the beastie decided it wanted to know what he tasted like.

"I'm always on your side," he muttered, "but when it comes to survival…that thing will do us more harm than good for resources." Hadiza was still frowning but his gaze was steady and insistent. Finally, seeing reason, she sighed, resting her forehead against the side of Argo's head. Small whistling clicks emanated from the creature.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, "you have to stay because someone," she glared at Samson and then Aja who each gave her a grin respectively, "was thinking about their stomach. I promise we'll go on our own trip next time."

The dracolisk crooned and licked her face, making her laugh.

After she'd saddled Nyx, the Friesian that had been a gift from the Commander, she made her final preparations, and when her party was set, mounted, and fully supplied, they set out of Skyhold.

There was always an insurmountable feeling of anticipation and excitement when she began a new journey. During the days when she was simply the Herald, those journeys had been fraught with anxiety, terror, and nervousness that she would botch the mission and get everyone killed. As her experience grew, so too did her confidence, and Hadiza now set out from Skyhold with a gleam in her eye, and the telltale ache in her heart that only adventurers were familiar with.

Now, she had her most trusted allies to ride alongside her, all of them experienced and powerful in their own fields, and it bolstered her courage and allowed her to face any and all that crossed her path. For a while, the path remained blessedly empty save for the road markers left by the spymaster's agents, marking the safe passages from Skyhold into Orlais or Ferelden. They were indistinguishable from the surrounds to the untrained eye, but they knew what to look for and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the spymaster's agents were keeping an argus-eyed watch over their journey.

Her mind was blissfully quiet, the whispers still hushed, and when she looked around she did not see the ghostly shadows of an enemy she had slain a year gone-by.

They reached the base of the Frostbacks later that evening and opted to make camp in the mountain range's shadow. They were a small group, and thus could move quickly, but to travel by nightfall in such a small company was asking for trouble, especially when crossing the wild terrain of the Dales to get to the Imperial Highway.

Sleep was a fitful, restless thing that night, and they fell into an easy rhythm of ensuring their mounts were watered and fed, that their weapons were ever-ready, and that they worked smoothly and efficiently. They reached the Imperial Highway just past midday the following day, and there was a palpable easing of tension as they turned their mounts westward along paved and well-patrolled roads toward Halamshiral.

Hadiza had opted to travel under no banner for the simple fact that she did not wish to rouse any enemies that lay in wait. Seeing the Inquisition's banner parading through Orlais would be enough to get potential foes curious. With the Breach sealed and the ancient magister slain, there was no true reason for the Inquisition to be so damnably busy nosing about. Still, if the Cradle of Sulevin held what they thought it held, it was in her best interest to travel under secrecy.

"You've been quiet since we got on the road, princess," Samson said to her as they made their way toward Halamshiral, "I think I can even hear your thoughts getting louder."

Hadiza gave him an arch look and he simply smiled at her, an invitation for her to talk. She sighed.

"Just thinking," she said simply, "about nothing in particular. Just…the future, I suppose. Is that strange?" Samson glanced at her, surprised. A year ago he might not have had an answer, or he might have told her that yes it was strange to be thinking of the future when the world was burning down around them. Now? He was not certain it was strange at all, because he found he had ample time and opportunity to consider the future as well…mainly that he actually had one to consider.

"And what did the young seer see when she thought about this future?" He asked quietly. Hadiza gave him a thin smile. He often teased her about her Rivaini heritage, but she knew what he meant. It was something she'd entertained in the past; visiting her mother's homeland, studying the magic there, learning how to become a different kind of mage—the kind the Chantry preached against. Samson was all about anything the Chantry was against. The only line he didn't seem inclined to cross was dealing with demons and blood magic. In fact, it was the one part of magic he and Cullen agreed was abhorrent.

"Nothing of note, yet," she told him, "but I can keep looking."

Samson said nothing but he did imagine a litter of fat babies. Oh, he imagined, and the future was unbidden, bright and fervent, like a star to which he could fix the compass of his soul. Fat babies with silver eyes and warm, nut-brown skin. Maybe jet black curls.

"He and his horse are thinking of—" Cole began and Samson shouted.

"Not one fuckin' word, boy. My thoughts ain't up for discussion." At that, Dorian laughed.

"Aren't they? I'm curious as to what you and the horse were thinking at the same time, Samson. Similar tastes, perhaps?" Samson grumbled under his breath about Tevinter needing to fuck off and Hadiza bit her lip to hide her grin.

It was in the midst of this easy camaraderie that the group of bandits found them.