MALEDICTUS

9.

It was mid-autumn when they received word of the somniari. Dorian had been pooling his resources and the Inquisition's, chasing the threads of rumors to find the source. Dorian took great pains to describe the individual: a youngish lad, hairless in the face, and elf-blooded from the look of him, eyes that held wisdom and knowledge no library had catalogued, and a gentle mien that soothed. From the description, the lad sounded more like some dream-spun figment than an actual person.

"How did you even come to meet such a person?" Ariadne asked him when Dorian cracked the seal of another letter, indicating another one of their avenues had led to a blind alley. His eyes skimmed the letter, and he scoffed quietly, tossing the folded parchment onto the desk.

"When Magister Alexius and I were studying the more esoteric arcane arts, he turned up on our doorstep." Dorian explained, "Strange fellow. Very easily spooked, and apparently had a bad run-in with slavers or some such. Either way, he came seeking instruction where his…Dalish kin had failed to provide for him." Dorian's fingertips rummaged through another stack of sealed letters.

"When he described the nature of his problem, Alexius and I knew what he was. Neither one of us were skilled in such an art, but we knew someone who was. Being the scholar I am, I opted to maintain contact with the boy during his time in the Imperium. I guess it's for the best that I did, hm?"

Ariadne crossed her arms, giving him a terse smile.

"I suppose. It's very convenient that you happen to know one of the few somniari traipsing about Thedas." She replied smoothly. Dorian shot her an arch look.

"That a bit of envy or jealousy I detect, my dear?" He asked, "Oh I'm sure given time your own scouts might have eventually found one. But given how hard they are to find as many of them don't want to be found…I'd much rather your sister be alive and uncorrupted before the person arrives." At that, Ariadne's smile cracked into something much warmer, and she watched him continue to read letters.

"Aha!" Dorian held up one missive, stamped with an ornate seal and heraldry of what was obviously a nobleman's letter, "Apparently he was heading south from the Anderfels into Orlais. I suppose I'll let you take up the reins on this part of the journey, young Spymaster."

Ariadne rolled her eyes and began to prepare her ravens.

With the corruption having spread into two veins, Hadiza ceased using her magic. As a consequence, she was also suspended from field missions until further notice, by order of her advisors—mainly Cullen. She hadn't been happy about it, and had nearly come to blows over it, but over the course of the past two moths, she learned patience. She learned its merit and value as she once more learned to live without the aid of her innate arcane abilities. Samson had Dagna take a look at Hadiza's arm and Dagna, and after much probing and examination, Dagna confirmed that while the corruption wasn't from a red lyrium source, it was exhibiting the same symptoms.

"Interesting," Dagna murmured, examining the Anchor, which was still mostly green, but the edges of the scarring had taken on a red tinge, "you mentioned that when Corypheus tried to take the Anchor back his magic was red in color, right?"

"Yes." Hadiza said firmly, adjusting with a grunt on the hard stone table. Samson stood nearby, arms cross, expression pensive. Dagna poked and prodded Hadiza's hand, ordering her to hold it open as wide and still as she could.

"This doesn't look like the kind of corruption that took the templars," Dagna was muttering, "but I could be wrong. I need to run a few tests. Have you tried opening a Fade rift?"

"Dagna, no!" Hadiza hissed and Samson visibly tensed.

"Why in the Void would she want to do something like that?" Samson demanded with a growl. Dagna shrugged.

"If the Anchor's getting corrupted, it might affect her ability to close rift to the Fade, but we can't be sure unless she opens one, first."

"Well I can't very well do it here!" Hadiza cried. Samson glanced at her sharply.

"You're actually considering this?" He asked, "Hadiza what if you can't seal it back?" Hadiza was quiet a moment, staring harshly at the Anchor on her hand. It had been the sole source of her troubles since first she stumbled out of the Fade, with holes torn into her memory and an angry Cassandra clamoring to kill her. It had been a source of hope too, for a people who had seen everything their beloved faith had preached about in fear and prejudice, falling from the sky in droves. It had been a source of pain—that she told no one about—that had driven her to her knees alone in her quarters in the gloaming hours, weeping as it further bound itself to her flesh and subsequently her soul. Hadiza stared at this piece of the Fade imbued in her skin, and closed her fist.

"Yes," she said in a low voice, "I'm considering it. I never got anything done waiting for Corypheus to come and take my head." She looked up at Samson, her expression hard, "I'll not wait for his specter to take me too. We'll leave Skyhold, I'll tear open the Veil, and we'll kill whatever comes out, and then seal it back. If I can still seal the rifts, then we have time before my corruption spreads."

Samson drew in a slow, deep breath through flared nostrils as Hadiza held his gaze, steady and determined. There seemed to be a silent argument going on between the two of them and Dagna glanced from one to the other, puzzled.

"If opening a Fade rift is too much trouble," she said carefully, "I can always run some more tests. Until then, I recommend you don't use the Anchor for a while." Hadiza nodded once, and Samson narrowed his eyes. Dagna wrung her hands a bit, trying to steer clear of the burgeoning crossfire between the two lovers.

"Very well then," Hadiza said finally, breaking eye contact and looking to Dagna, "I'll wait." She turned her gaze back to Samson, "I am patient." The only response was a low growl from the man, who was very much the wolf the people likened him to. Dagna finished collecting samples of Hadiza's blood, hair, and a tiny chunk of her left hand, which was repaired with a healing draught, and told her to come back in three days' time.

They quarreled that evening.

"You would have done it, wouldn't you?" Samson demanded when they returned to her chambers after the evening's business was concluded. Hadiza kept walking, trying to avoid a conflict. Samson stalked after her, cutting off her path. He'd not let her escape this, not this time.

"What do you want?" She asked him, "For me to say 'yes, I would have done it, and I would have enjoyed it', Raleigh? Is that what you want? For me to feel guilty for trying to find answers by any means necessary?" Samson's expression passed through anger, guilt, and back to anger.

"That's not what I'm saying, Hadiza, and you damn well know it. If you'd gone through with that harebrained idea, then what? You find out you can't seal rifts, and now we've got demons being shit out all over again. Or worse, the backlash of trying to close it kills you."

The words hung in the air, and neither said much else. Hadiza looked away.

"Raleigh, I can't sit here and do nothing while this corruption spreads. I was burning. It was like my body was burning itself from within to without and I wanted to die, wanted to tear my skin off." Samson froze at the words, his memory jarred. Somewhere in his belongings was a leather-bound tome rife with his own musings. He knew that no one would write of him when he died, and if they did, they'd not have the full truth of it, and so he had taken to writing for himself. And within those worn pages was the memory of when first he donned the red lyrium armor.

Had Corypheus not been there to stop me, I would have torn my own skin off.

He knew and he didn't know what was corrupting her, but he didn't think it was possible.

"Have you touched or handled red lyrium directly?" He asked her quietly. Hadiza shook her head. "Even when destroying my supply trains of it?" She nodded. Samson sighed. Could any of it have gotten into her by chance? She'd slain Corypheus' dragon, a single shard was all that was needed, but usually the corruption was a quick and fearsome thing. This slow encroachment was too controlled and too convenient.

"When Corypheus caught you scrying," Samson tentatively grasped her slight shoulder, "did he…do anything? Anything that might denote he was casting a spell?"

Hadiza moved to answer decisively, and then hesitated.

"He…I don't know how to describe it. He was talking to me, but his followers could not see me." Hadiza took a deep breath, remembering. "He touched my mind, somehow, like a surgeon's blade. He opened my mind like a book. I think he was trying to destroy me that way. He kept scratching at my memories, kept taunting me with the threat of erasing them. He told me if I survived I'd regret the day I dared to challenge him. And then you…"

"Smote you." Samson finished grimly, "Alright. That doesn't explain much, but it might have something to do with this. Promise me you won't try to open a Fade rift." His eyes were hard, and Hadiza found no reason to look away. But she didn't speak.

"Hadiza, promise me." He said firmly. Hadiza drew herself up a little and nodded.

"I promise."

Feynriel had grown in the time he last let himself be seen. He had grown in power and in manhood. The startled innocence of the youth who had been so fearful of his own magic had been replaced entirely by the temerity of a man who knew his own power, but there was the gravitas of wisdom as well. His hair, an ashen blond, was bound in a single braid at his nape, and when he passed beneath the raised portcullis of Skyhold, autumn had gripped the keep. Braziers were lit within to keep the drafty place warm as the wind carried with it the promise of a bitter winter. Food stores were inventoried and preserves were made. The leaves turned and bit by bit, fell from the trees to cover the grounds.

He was received by Dorian directly, and guided into the keep with no fanfare. Once inside, Dorian sought to take him to the library, where Samson and Aja were already waiting. Hadiza was holed up in the war room with her advisors, sending out forces to do what could be done while she was bound to the keep until her health improved. Aja and Samson were engaged in a quick game of Wicked Grace when Dorian and Feynriel arrived. Aja jerked her chin and Samson looked over his shoulder.

"Maker's shitting breath," he muttered in disbelief, getting up from his chair. Dorian blinked.

"I see you've no care for decorum when receiving a guest, Samson," Dorian drawled, "good to know. This is—"

"Feynriel." Samson said and Dorian's brow wrinkled in consternation.

"Yes," he remarked slowly, "how did you…?"

"I went through quite a bit of trouble to get this lad out of Kirkwall." Samson said curtly, never breaking eye contact with the boy who was now a man. Feynriel gave a small smile.

"I was hiding from the templars," he explained, his voice deep and melodious, "and my mother sought to send me to the Circle, and the Dalish said they had no one to train me in my particular…field. And so I went to Tevinter." Samson shook his head.

"Exact place I was trying to keep you from when I found out you got roped in by slavers, boy. Good to know you're still around." He muttered with a wry smile. Dorian seemed rather nonplussed. It was pure chance that Samson would know one of the few known somniari in Thedas. Of course, since his joining the Inquisition, he was very suspicious of chance of late.

"Where is she?" Feynriel asked without preamble. Aja narrowed her eyes.

"Dorian," she said calmly, "have you explained to this young man that she is completely unaware that we plan to force her into the Fade?" Dorian smiled smugly.

"No, dear lady, I was going to extend that honor to you." Aja's lip curled.

"How kind." She said tightly. Samson crossed his arms, stealing a glance at Feynriel. One would almost swear he was nervous. Feynriel finally met his gaze.

"It's alright, you know," he said with a gentle smile, "I know you didn't mean for me to fall into trouble all those years ago. You're a good man, Samson. Always done right by mages, from what I've learned." Samson looked increasingly unsure of whether he wanted to be in the room or not, and so he cleared his throat and grumbled something about it not being that big of a deal.

"Let's get this over with," Aja said crossly, already heading toward the stairs. Samson watched them go, still wondering. It gave him pause, only because he had not expected to see Feynriel ever again. The Champion—Merishka—had freed him and sent him away, but Samson had never received word about any of the mages he'd helped escape Kirkwall's oppressive shadow. He smiled to himself, remembering how Hadiza had indicated the new mage tower she'd had constructed upon her arrival in Skyhold. There, the rebel mages had settled. Some had since left for the College of Enchanters to the west, but others—mostly apostates and a few former Circle charges—had opted to stay and work with the Inquisition. Hadiza hadn't said much beyond that, but he knew what she wanted him to see. Some of those apostates had once been holed up in Kirkwall, hiding from vigilant templars.

Some of those apostates that opted to remain were the ones he freed.

Samson smiled wider and followed the rest down the stairs.

When Aja told Hadiza what was planned, Hadiza nearly burst into flames, as was expected.

"You didn't even bother to ask me if I was alright with this?" She practically screamed. Samson was the only other person aside from Aja brave enough to stand in the same room. He'd seen Hadiza angry before; he was fire resistant. Aja crossed her arms and sighed.

"Look, had we told you, would you have agreed to it?" Aja asked calmly.

"No!" Hadiza shot back. Aja's brows went up. Hadiza hesitated, and then huffed out an angry breath, rife with flame. Samson thought it was a cute cantrip any other day, her mimicking a dragon and all. Right now it was downright terrifying, mostly because they weren't sure how much of her magic was backfiring.

"Yes." She hissed, quieter this time. Aja glanced over her shoulder.

"Satisfied?" She called. Feynriel and Dorian ascended the steps and came into view. Hadiza visibly calmed, the preternatural glow of her skin ebbing into muted thing, her eyes still fever bright, the two veins of pulsating red stark against her skin. Feynriel glanced once at it and narrowed his eyes.

"Dorian," he turned to the other mage, "we will need a lot of lyrium. She must be induced into a dream state. Both of us." Dorian nodded.

"Oh we've plenty to spare, Feynriel, not to worry," he said cheerily, "shall I prepare the draught, now, or is there some sort of pre-Fade chat the two of you need to have before you take the plunge?" Aja smiled despite herself, but Hadiza didn't look too amused. Quite frankly, neither did Samson.

"Just get the blue, Pavus," Samson growled, "and let them sort the shit out amongst themselves. Sooner we get started, sooner we can fix this." Worry made him agitated, and agitation made him impatient. Dorian leveled him with a look; knowing and shrewd, but said nothing.

"Very well, then," he sketched a mocking salute, "I shall return anon with the blue, and hopefully your rabid general will be a little more at ease for it." When he left, Samson gestured to Aja and she came to him.

"Be honest," he muttered, "you think this shit will work?" Aja pulled a face.

"You're asking me like I'm some kind of fucking mage, Samson," she retorted, then glanced back at her sister and Feynriel who were talking in hushed whispers, "then again, it's worth a shot, right? We don't know what the fuck's corrupting her. Dagna already said it's not the red shit. You think she might be possessed?"

"Don't even fuckin' joke, Trevelyan," Samson growled in warning, "don't even consider it."

"But we have to consider it, don't we?" She shot back, "We have to consider the fact that she may have a…an occupant." Samson's expression was a rictus caught between anger and fear, immediately thinking that if Hadiza became an abomination—no. He wouldn't even consider that avenue. They would save her any way they could. Aja watched him, measuring his reaction, sucking her teeth idly.

"Fine, then," she acceded, "I won't say it, but you've been thinking it since you first saw it."

She was right, of course. Samson had suspected possession at first, but had immediately put it to the back of his mind. Hadiza was strong enough to resist common demons and spirits from tempting her. This corruption had somewhat to do with him or Corypheus, he was certain. Had she handled his red lyrium armor? He recalled their battle. No, she wore gloves in battle. It had been Aja that restrained him, Ariadne providing bow support, and Hadiza had struck the blow that took him down. Without thinking, his tongue poked at the gap where one of his molars was missing. She'd hit him hard enough to knock it out. But not once had she ever touched his armor.

So, Corypheus, then.

"Hey," Hadiza's voice pulled him from the pensive maelstrom of his thoughts, "you alright?" Samson couldn't bring himself to smile at her in full, so his mouth twitched. Hadiza's expression shifted from contentment to concern and he reached up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I'm fine, princess," he told her, "you need to be preparing for your…journey." At that, Hadiza nudged him. Dorian returned, bearing a crate filled with lyrium vials and a single chalice. Hadiza drew in a breath.

"Just like a Harrowing…" She murmured, more to herself than for anyone else. Samson felt his blood run cold.

That was what he was afraid of.