Samson got his lyrium dosages in the coming weeks. He was given two doses daily, one with his morning meal, and the other with his evening meal. It was not as potent as the red, but it eased his discomfort considerably and he found he attacked his work with a more clear-minded vigor than before. He'd burned away his bitterness and now he sweat because the work focused him, but the lyrium took the edge off.
Master Dennett had taken to giving him less menial tasks and had begun entrusting him with the care of the mounts proper. He still was not allowed to touch Hadiza's dracolisk (not that he wanted to), and Dennett informed him that Hadiza tended to the draconic beast herself. At that, Samson was amused if a bit incredulous. Hadiza didn't seem the type to know how to properly shoe a mount, but he learned in the coming weeks that horseflesh was the bread and butter upon which House Trevelyan's prosperity stood. How not, with their symbol being the majestic profile of the Friesian?
Samson was taking a break after shoeing one of the Orlesian coursers when he spotted Cullen on the practice field. Since their 'chat' in his cell, Samson hadn't seen much of the Commander save in passing, and Samson bet the man was going out of his way to avoid him. When they were forced to pass too close, Cullen didn't bother to acknowledge his presence and Samson didn't bother to care. He stood by his convictions, most of which were mired in the ugly truth Cullen so desperately tried to ignore. But watching Cullen bark orders at his men reminded him of their days back in Kirkwall. Nothing had really changed in the man, save he was a few years older, and he was fucking a mage.
The thought still galled him.
Samson took a swig from his waterskin, and turned away. He continued his work, and by the time the sun had drifted past its zenith, he was done, making his way back into the keep, his taciturn escort in tow.
"You haven't said but a few fuckin' words to me since you got assigned to this boring duty, Raynis," Samson said casually, "your Commander forbid you to talk to me? Fear you might get corrupted?"
Raynis' face went a little red and Samson rolled his eyes.
"Fuckin' typical. The bastard's still jumping at shadows." Samson muttered as he made his way back to his cell, which was less of a cell and more of a small bedroom. It was dry, clean, and his, and much better than rotting below the keep at the mercy of Cullen's secret vendetta. However, given the lunch bell had just rung, it was lacking in something.
"Where's my fuckin' food?" Samson demanded of the guard posted at his door.
"The Inquisitor sent word. You're to…take your meal in her new office this afternoon." The guard said in clipped tones. Samson's brows furrowed. New office? What the fuck? He wasn't even sure where her old offi—oh. Right. Andraste's flaming sword he was daft for that.
"Right. Guess I better not keep Her Worship waiting." For some reason, he was looking forward to it. Hadiza had summoned him, specifically, and that held promise. It was a chance to truly be alone with her, to speak to her from the position of…well, not an equal, per se, but he wouldn't be half-dead and on his fucking back this time around that was for sure.
When he arrived at the Inquisitor's 'new office', the door was shut, as expected, so he knocked.
"Just a moment!" Came the muffled response. He heard shuffling, the sound of glass clinking together, and thump, and a muttered swear. He waited, arms crossed, as the door unlocked and creaked open. Hadiza blinked, narrowing her eyes at Raynis.
"You. Beat it. Breathe one word of where I am to the Commander and I'll roast you on a spit." She said. Samson's brows went up, but his escort went ashen, throwing up a shaking salute, and was all too quick to abandon his charge in favor of safer pursuits. Samson watched him go and let out a huff.
"Boy hasn't spoken to me since he was assigned. I almost forgot he was here." He muttered. Hadiza smiled, opening the door a little wider and gestured for Samson to come in. He stepped inside, and his belly rumbled in response to the fragrant scent of whatever meal she'd had brought for the two of them. It was set up in another corner of the room, and Samson did a quick circuit and realized that Hadiza had been busy. The chamber looked more like a room in the Circle than anything, and she'd even had a small bookcase brought in to hold the tomes she needed specifically. A small alchemist's lab had been set up, where she could mix quick potions, tonics, and poultices for her use, and her desk was littered with blank scrolls, vellum, and unopened inkpots. This was the chamber of a spellcaster, through and through.
How could Cullen ever hope to be with a woman like her?
Samson made his way over to the table where their meal was set up, and noticed that it was set up only for one.
"Eat." She said, waving her hand dismissively, "I've already taken my meal, but I wanted to borrow you before someone else did."
"You practically own me already, my lady," Samson said with a grunt, "not as if I'm like to go anywhere." The lunch consisted of a hearty beef and vegetable stew, but he detected the scent of unfamiliar spices. He had to ask.
"What's in this?" Hadiza was pacing, a book in her hand, reading intently.
"Some Rivaini teardrop peppers." She said absently, "I guess my mother's roots are strong in me. I think Ferelden taste is as bland as their sense of style." Samson smirked. They were both Marchers, but he forgot how close Antiva and Rivain were to Ostwick, not to mention Ostwick was a port city. Still, he should have guessed she'd be part Rivaini. It accounted for her complexion, at least.
"And who gave you the eyes?" Samson asked between bites. Hadiza paused, giving him a dark look.
"Mother." She said laconically, and then went back to reading. Samson grunted. Their mother's genes were strong then, to have passed on such a startling look to both daughters. He watched her while he ate, her lovely face drawn in pensive concentration, lips moving as she read to herself. Samson took that time to learn her expressions, to learn the little things that made her tick. She bit her lip when she saw something she wanted to remember later, tapped the page three times, and then would walk over to the desk to scribble something quickly in the little journal she kept. She shoved that same errant lock of her from her face, even though most of it was bound in a loose bun at her nape. Samson wondered for a moment what that hair would feel like all twisted up in his hand.
"Fuck," she murmured, stopping in her tracks, "The spell calls for serpentstone. Shit, did we use it all?" Samson realized she was talking to herself. She took a deep breath, sighed in frustration. He smiled.
"Summerstone is a better choice," he said and she looked up, brows knit; he wondered if she fucking forgot he was even in the room, "when you use the summerstone, it focuses the sight better. You'll see clearly than you would if you used serpentstone."
Hadiza stared at him, mouth slightly open in apparent shock. Samson took a pull from the honey mead, hiding his wolfish smile.
"Didn't the Commander tell you? We Templars are well-read," he wiped his mouth with the back of her hand, "least we're supposed to be. I guess during my time I took a pretty active interest in the reading material. Interesting stuff, that." Hadiza was still staring at him, trying to find the proper words needed to articulate exactly how she was feeling, but her expression alone was enough for him. She coughed once.
"How do you know the summerstone will work?" She asked him, trying to dispel whatever snarls in her mind he'd placed there. Samson wiped his hands on his shirt and stood.
"Maddox was a dear friend of mine, Inquisitor," he said tersely, willing the lump out of his throat at the thought that Maddox would never be anything ever again, "and a brilliant mage. He and I learned a lot from one another." At that Hadiza did pause, and her expression looked crestfallen.
"Maker's breath," she murmured, "Samson, I'm sorry. That was…that was careless of me." Samson hated that look on her face; the way her lush lower lip poked out and her eyes took on something soft and vulnerable. He hadn't meant to make her feel bad.
"Don't worry about it," he assured her, "not your fault. Maddox always was a stubborn one. Bucked against authority whenever he could. Guess that's why I took a shine to him." He shrugged, but he knew it was more than that. He remembered Maddox before Meredith put the brand on him; Maddox who was quick to laugh or tell a joke, Maddox who loved his magic despite the stifling atmosphere of the Circle. Maddox who was patient enough to pore over theories, spells, and technical details of magic both from a mage and Templar perspective.
His fist clenched, remembering how he'd been caught, remembering Meredith casting him aside and punishing Maddox for something as foolish as loving someone. Expelled Samson from the Order for something as farfetched as seeing a mage as something other than a fucking mage. And all Cullen did was fling Maddox's sacrifice and death in his face, as if that were somehow a way to make him feel worse than he already did. Maddox knew what he was about—and it was a testament to Cullen's utter ignorance that he thought Maddox under some influence. He may have been Tranquil, but he knew. He followed Samson after Kirkwall's chaos erupted, and Samson had protected him when the streets began running red with blood from the Gallows.
And Cullen had the gall to use his sacrifice as guilt-fodder.
"You cared about him," Hadiza said softly, "I…when we spoke with him, he seemed fond of you. As fond as one could sound as…" She couldn't even say the word. Samson didn't blame her. Being a mage, she probably didn't dare speak the word for fear the brand might just appear on her head out of irrational fear. She hadn't even been in the Gallows and she feared it, but he'd heard Ostwick's Circle had remained intact even after Kirkwall boiled over into the Marches.
No, her fear of the word was something else, he could tell.
"He was a friend to me in a place where having friends could be deadly," Samson explained, "and he was brilliant. He didn't deserve any of that. And I wish I could have convinced him to leave when I…did what I did." Hadiza nodded, trying to even out her breathing. Samson watched her face, wondered if at moments like this, Cullen cupped her face in his hands, kissed her softly, and told her not to worry. No, Cullen probably stammered over his words, scuffed his foot, and rubbed the back of his neck like some Chantry brother who got propositioned by a working girl.
He wondered if there would ever be a time where he didn't want to spit in that man's face.
"Perhaps you'll make new friends in the future," she told him and he blinked, slightly confused.
"You may have your jest, my lady." He said irritably. Hadiza laughed.
"Not jesting, I assure you." She made a face, "Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. I do not think I should hold it over your head that you made a very poor choice in this…chaos. This is your opportunity to rectify that." Hadiza fixed him with a steady gaze and Samson couldn't find it in his heart to brush her off. So he made some noise of affirmation.
"Now, I have to get some summerstone," Hadiza didn't look the least bit pleased, "perhaps Dagna has some left over. I'm not up for another expedition to the Hinterlands." She pinched the bridge of her nose. Samson chuckled, saw that errant lock of her sweep along her cheek and fought the urge to brush it from her face. He just wanted…for once, to know what it was like to be in Cullen's shoes. Instead, Hadiza tucked it behind her ear and sighed.
"Will you be able to stay out of trouble while I'm away?" She asked, and there was a smile in her voice. Samson snorted.
"I'm not a dog, Inquisitor," he growled, "I'll manage."
"Hadiza." She said suddenly. He blinked.
"What?" He didn't follow. She smiled.
"In here, my name is Hadiza." Samson stared at her and she simply stared back, that damn smile on her face. He hesitated, tried to wrap his mouth around her name, tried to taste it on his tongue, tried to sample whatever sensation saying it would inspire in him.
"Hadiza…" He said gently, and swallowed when he saw her expression go soft around the edges, saw the warmth bloom in her eyes, making them appear more like molten silverite than tempered steel. They were standing too close, he realized. Standing there, he could feel the heat coming from her body, and her expression changed. They were so close that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted. He took a deep breath, caught the scent of jasmine in her hair.
Then he stepped backward.
"It's a nice name, Inqui—Hadiza." It was. He felt the stir in his belly when he said it, felt a thrill in his skin when his tongue curled around the letters and syllables. He felt her name settle in his brain, felt it twine with the lyrium song in his blood, felt it become apart of the chorus that honed his focus.
Hadiza.