When they were hauled out of the dungeons and up to the main level, Samson was certain he was bound for the gallows. The pain and the headaches served to dam up his fear, leaving only empty acceptance in its place. When he saw the Inquisition standard, the coterie of soldiers and Commander Cullen, Samson thought in his mind's clouded and muddled state that Cullen would finally have his vengeance after all.
You've won, Commander, Samson thought with a bitter laugh that sounded like a dry cough, you can spike my head in Kirkwall for all to gawk at. And then you can console your Inquisitor if she didn't give the order herself.
The thought of Hadiza sanctioning his execution a year after sparing his life jostled him into some semblance of clarity.
"I am disappointed in you, Commander," Bann Teagan said, "that you would turn your back on justice for the sake of keeping this traitor alive." Cullen crossed his arms, golden eyes hard, his expression harder.
"I am not exactly a supporter of this sentence either, ser." He replied, "But my orders from the Inquisitor still stand, and you have violated the tenets laid down in the treaties signed by your sovereign, Queen Anora. Through her, you are all bound not to interfere in our affairs."
"And to do what?" Bann Teagan protested, "Trust that criminals will be brought to justice? Do you think me a fool, Commander? This may not be the glittering pageantry of Orlais, but don't think the rumors of your Inquisitor have not reached our ears. We know what this…this filth is to her."
To that, Cullen said nothing. He was no fan of politics but he knew better than to respond to such easy bait. Samson, for his part, struggled to remain upright between the two guards holding him. Cullen did not so much as spare him a glance.
"Whatever you choose to believe is your choice, ser." He said evenly, "But the fact remains that you apprehended my men and a sanctioned Inquisition agent and prisoner with the intention to execute them for crimes for which they have already been judged. It is only by the will of the Inquisitor and the treaties drafted by Ferelden and the Inquisition that we do not retaliate."
"You dare?" Bann Teagan growled, "You are no better than the jackbooted thugs that call themselves the Grey Wardens! Issuing threats as if you are some overarching authority!"
Cullen ignored the Bann's increasing temper and nodded toward Samson and the others. The guards, confused, looked to Teagan for guidance.
"Release them." Teagan said tersely, "And then you and your people get off my lands."
The ride back to Skyhold was long and Samson didn't care, grateful as he was when he was given a vial of lyrium to clear his head and settle his stomach. He was well and able enough to ride, at least, and he rode in pensive silence, trying to regain his bearings. Cullen said nothing to him or Blackwall, and Samson was reminded that Cullen bore no love for either of the men. Blackwall, while his crimes were years old and he was a Warden in truth, had still done something unspeakable. And Samson…ah well.
When they made camp at one of the Inquisition outposts, Samson made to speak with Cullen alone, finding him in his tent looking over reports, and delegating tasks to his subordinates.
"I hear your mission was a success until that stunt you pulled in Redcliffe," Cullen said by way of greeting. Samson wanted to sneer but found only the energy to lift his lip a little, giving him a feral appearance.
"Well, it was no stunt," Samson said harshly, "if the damned guards had let us be, we might have escorted those two templars to safety and been on our way. Not my fault—" He paused, brow knitting in pensive thought before he rolled his eyes, "Actually, it is my fault, but that's besides the point."
Cullen looked up, one eyebrow raised in question. Samson sighed, running his hands over his face and sighing again for good measure.
"Look, I did what I did. You all hauled me up before the Inquisition and judged me. I don't know why she let me live any more than you do, but I think I'm beginning to understand it. Still, even though I probably deserve no more than having my head piked in Kirkwall, I think the Bann was a little bit over dramatic when he took the men and Blackwall too."
Cullen said nothing and went back to looking over the reports on his desk. Samson frowned.
"And how'd you know to come anyway?" He asked.
Cullen laughed. "That spirit—Cole—showed up at Skyhold much like he did before you attacked Haven," Samson didn't miss the dig, but he refused to flinch, "when he started going on and on about lyrium and the like, I took it to Hadi—the Inquisitor." Samson held back a sly grin. A year later and Cullen still couldn't rid his tongue of her name.
"We asked why he had returned without you and your men, he went on about pain, lies, someone being hurt…she was able to make more sense of it than me, obviously." Cullen waved his hand.
Samson rubbed his chin, freshly shaved. So that's where the boy went. Not like him to not put his knives in the backs of enemies. Then again, Cole was pretty particular about who and what constituted an enemy. Wasn't too long ago he wanted to skewer Samson himself.
"Alright, so the lad saved our skins." Samson agreed, "And how is she?" He was surprised when he was apprehensive about saying her name either. It felt too intimate to use in Cullen's presence.
Cullen said nothing, and went on reading and signing.
"Rutherford. How is she?" Samson asked again, more forceful than before. Cullen paused, setting his quill aside.
"She's not getting better," the Commander said grimly, "but she's not getting worse either. The aposta—the mage, Feynriel, has been monitoring her dreams, keeping whatever infects her contained." Samson noted the tightness in Cullen's voice. It was fury.
"I would have told you, Rutherford. But I know how you get around stranger magic than what the Chantry brought us up to believe in."
Cullen's hands balled into fists on the desk.
"Oh really? And when were you going to tell me about her little chamber of secrets below Skyhold? The forbidden magic she tampered with that got her into this mess to begin with?" Cullen stood, his gaze molten, and Samson prepared to be drowned in the oncoming tirade, but stood his ground regardless.
"It's not what you think, Cullen…" Samson began but Cullen was determined to remain angry; all the resentment and hurt he'd kept locked away now given free reign.
"Were you two sneaking about the whole time?" He demanded, "Is that why she practically leapt into your arms?"
Samson grew far more angry than he should of, with this quarrel a year old.
"Now listen here, Rutherford," he warned, "I'm not about to fight you about this. She's got her own mind and no, it's like I told you before; I never touched her in a way that was untoward or inappropriate. I didn't even think I should touch her at all, but she needed a templar she could trust not to question her methods."
Cullen's face looked like someone had kicked his mabari pup and Samson couldn't fucking take it. The man hated to lose, Samson knew, and whether Cullen liked to admit it or not, he had more pride than the two of them put together. Samson knew this anger was more wounded pride than anything else, and so he knifed his fingers through his hair to stymie his own frustration, but just barely.
"You were already off the lyrium, Rutherford, you couldn't have helped her. And let's face it, you scared the shit out of her sometimes. All that talk about abominations and not trusting mages when she went to rescue them from that magister? Of course she's not going to ask you to help her."
"That's not…" Cullen looked away, "…she could have told me. She could have trusted me."
"But you gave her too many reasons not to, you idiot," Samson replied, "Maker! You think she wanted to keep this from you?" He paced the tent, agitated and restless, a wolf trapped by the ones who'd hunted him down. A wolf that willingly accepted shackles on his heart and soul. Damn her. Even now, his heart was filled with her, aching to see her again, and worried that her health had worsened in his absence. Maker, is that why she never wrote him?
Cullen said nothing, looking as sullen as a petulant child, and Samson closed the distance between them until the desk was between them both.
"She's sick, Rutherford," Samson explained, "something must have gotten through to her during her search for Corypheus, and it's why we're all working to contain and neutralize it. But…" He remembered Teagan's confirmation that rumors of their relationship had spilled beyond Skyhold's borders, "There's a possible solution, and she's planning to go to Ostwick and find it."
"And you'll accompany her?" Cullen asked, his anger cooled significantly.
Samson hesitated, refused to meet his comrade's eyes.
"I don't think it's a good idea. If Bann Teagan knows, then all of Orlais' tongues were wagging about it months ago. And I imagine it won't sit well with the monarchs to know about…us. I wouldn't want to be the cause of an Exalted March on the Inquisition."
Cullen's eyes went wide. "What? You what?" He seemed genuinely confused and Samson had to applaud the man for being so splendidly clueless about some things. Only golden-haired Rutherford could be this woefully obtuse about what should have been so obvious to begin with.
"Teagan mentioned he knew what I was to her. He didn't have to call me by name, and didn't have to name what he was talking about; the intent was clear. He knows about me and her, and if he knows, then everyone else does too."
Cullen hesitated but then it dawned on him. "Maker…" He whispered, "…and we just freed you from prison. If you're seen traveling with her it will confirm everything."
Samson nodded his expression grim. "I won't ever ask any of you to take a lick for me that I earned from my own misdeeds, especially not from the Maker sodding Chantry. And she deserves it least of all. So when she goes to Ostwick…you gotta go with her." Samson did meet Cullen's eyes, then and the Commander went ashen.
"I can't abandon my post," he said quietly, "not even to save her life."
Samson grew angry, tasted the ash and fire in his mouth, felt his chest hollow out with fire and smoke. It was not that Cullen would not go, no, it was that he said Hadiza's life was secondary to his duty. Was this not why Kirkwall's Circle had been allowed to become the hell that it was to begin with? Did Cullen learn nothing from his fucking inaction in the past?
"She needs someone with her, Rutherford, and it can't be me. I wouldn't ask you if I thought I could go without endangering everything she's built this past year. I've got enough sins to carry." Samson felt something in his chest crumble, like ruins into the sea. Was this what it felt like? Heartbreak from love of another? He'd not felt this since he'd been stripped of armor and title and kicked into the dust of Kirkwall's lower districts.
Cullen said nothing, watching the bloody transformation and realizing what Samson implied.
"I cannot abandon my post, Samson," he repeated, "one of the companions may accompany her, and she'll have her sisters. Perhaps…" Cullen's expression was one of sympathy, "Perhaps this is one leg of the journey that you must walk separately."
Skyhold was quiet when they passed through the gates. Winter closed its fist tighter in the Frostbacks, and Samson was never so glad to be back home. He did not feel very welcomed, nor did he expect to, but the familiarity of the place was felt in his bones. Blackwall rode alongside him, pensive as always, keeping his own counsel. Samson was all too eager to dismount and let the stabled take his horse, all too eager to get inside and see her. For once, he was grateful for the ignominy he faced, as while the others were holed up with reports and greetings, he marched inside and made straight away for the Inquisitor's chambers.
And found his way barred by Aja.
"The prodigal son returns," she chuckled darkly, "looking for something?"
Samson didn't have time for games. He was road-weary, and his bones ached, dry of his usual dosage of the blue. He felt a cursory bite of shame at the thought, but pushed it aside.
"Not now, Trevelyan," he snapped, "I need to see her." Aja raised a brow, but did not stand aside. Samson met her gaze with his own and Aja did not cow; instead, she dropped her chin a fraction, allowing him to see the glimmer of red that ringed the silver of her gaze; the definitive mark of a Reaver, and the blood-madness that lingered just beneath the fault line of her sanity. Samson knew any altercation with Aja that turned physical would be deadly to him in his current state. With a frustrated curse under his breath, he held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Anything to quell the monstrous warrior that swam the hot magma of Aja's blood.
"Look," he began, "I know I fucked up, but at least allow me to explain myself."
Aja smirked. "You know, I wanted to believe you'd know better, but here we are, having to clean up your mess."
"Where is Hadiza?" Samson demanded, ignoring the digs at his already shaky confidence.
As if on cue, Aja jerked her head down the main hall. The side door leading to Josephine's office was opened forcefully, and out strode Josephine, looking worried, alongside Ariadne, who, while cool and composed, looked mildly agitated. Then he saw Hadiza, and she looked awful. No, she looked sick. Her skin seemed drained of the rich vibrancy that made her glow most days, and her hair had lost most of its sheen. She knifed her fingers through the matted waves and curls in frustration. Aja shook her head at Samson imperceptibly, but Samson was already striding toward Hadiza, who looked up, eyes unfocused for a moment.
There, before all assembled, Hadiza's gaze sharpened momentarily, and she lifted her left hand which was covered in a glove, but Samson saw a flash of her skin beneath the sleeve, where several red veins pulsated and glowed beneath her parchment-like skin.
No.
"Ser Samson," Josephine greeted with an exhausted sigh, "I trust you and the Inquisitor have much to discuss." She looked tired as well, and Samson noted the dark circles formed beneath her own eyes. Maker, what had been going on while he was away?
Josephine gave a brief curtsy. "If you'd excuse me, I must attempt to repair what remains of our relationship with Ferelden. Ariadne?" The spymaster nodded and followed Josephine to the stairwell leading to the rookery. Samson and Hadiza were left standing in the main hall, which was virtually empty as evening encroached.
"Hadiza…" Only her name, and yet it was weary with everything that needed to be said between them. Hadiza did not smile, but the corners of her mouth trembled in an attempt. Wordlessly, they left the main hall, and Aja finally stood aside as they went to her chambers.
"I'm so sorry." Samson said when they were in her bedroom. Hadiza hadn't spoken the entire trip up the stairs. She was usually very chatty during their reunions, but Samson noted the hollowness in her eyes and cheeks, the weariness that overtook the sway of her body as she walked. Her eyes were bruised from lack of sleep, heavy-lidded and drugged. Samson began to worry, a feeling like a snake slithering from his gut to coil in the cavity of his chest, waiting to poison him.
"Hadiza," he said her name again, trying to get through to her, "talk to me. Shit. You…" He glanced around the room. It was usually so meticulous, well-kept, smelling faintly of the powdery scent she wore on her skin. There were vials all over the floor, and he knew from the faint tingle at the base of his skull that they once held lyrium. Maker, how much had she consumed in the weeks he'd been away?
"For the dreams," she finally spoke, her voice a whisper and crackle of fatigue, "helps me sleep without incident."
"Where's Feynriel?" Samson asked her, unable to reconcile the untidiness of the bedchamber with the woman to whom cleanliness was simply a state of being.
"He went to gather more herbs in the valley," Hadiza explained making her way across the room to the bed, where she sat down tiredly, "he should be back within a fortnight." She reached down to try and unlace her boots, but her hands trembled, fumbling with the laces. She muttered a curse.
"Fuck," Samson hissed, "Let me." He went to her, kneeling at her feet. Slowly, carefully, he helped her unlace them, sliding them from her legs and feet and setting them carefully aside. Hadiza watched him, but her gaze was unfocused, seeing him but not seeing him. Samson continued to worry, that viper in his chest beginning to uncoil slowly, rearing its head, but he said said nothing. Something was terribly wrong, he felt it, but he could not place his finger on what it was.
"You killed two of Teagan's men," Hadiza said quietly, "and now he sends emissaries telling the Inquisition to clear out of his lands…what in the void happened?" Samson almost smiled, but he knew better. His hands slid up her calf muscles, giving them a gentle squeeze, and then came to rest on her knees.
"Did you not get my letters?" He asked her, his voice gentle and concerned.
"I…have been slow about getting to my missives…" She explained and Samson shared her gentle smile with his own. He'd never seen her this messy. It would have been endearing had he not glimpsed those veins in her forearm, spreading like a plague along her skin.
"We found some templars along the path we were taking," he began, "told 'em we'd escort them to Redcliffe to seek the Arl's help. Got stopped by the Bann's own men just outside the gates. They pushed for a fight, and I…defended myself."
Hadiza nodded. "So they arrested you because they felt my justice wasn't true justice." She said.
Samson snorted. "Can you blame them, princess?" He asked her, "You imprisoned me, gave me backbreaking labor, and now I'm sharing your bed. Others have been condemned to death or stripped of everything and banished. I got lucky…" He looked away, "I'm not so sure I deserve this."
Hadiza blinked. "Are you saying that we…what we have…is the reason for this?" She asked him.
Samson looked up at her. It was now or never.
"Yes," he murmured, "that's exactly what I'm saying. You can't protect me from the consequences of my actions, Hadiza. You said yourself that there would be implications for what we're doing. But you can't let this…" His hands smoothed up her thighs, "…you can't let it stand between me and what has to happen."
Hadiza bit her lip. "So I'm supposed to what? Let the world tear you apart? Maker!" She tugged at her hair, "I shouldn't have let you go out there."
"Hadiza." Samson said firmly, "You sentenced me to serve the Inquisition until the day I died. Are you going to go back on your judgement and further undermine your own authority?"
Hadiza's gaze was a guillotine's drop on him and he felt the chill in the room drop lower as she considered him.
"So what? You want a harsher punishment?" She asked him, then reached to scratch at the veins on her left arm. "Want me to send you to the Approach to count how many grains of sand find their way into your breeches? To Emprise du Lion to freeze your balls off in Suledin Keep? Where do you want to go, Samson? To Weißhaupt to join the Wardens? Answer me, damn you."
"Hadiza…cut that out," he warned, "I am not asking you to rescind your judgement, though if that is your decision, no one will argue. Inquisitor and all that. But I'm telling you that you can't intercede every time the world wants to take a bite out of my ass."
"So self-flagellation is part of your penance." Hadiza sneered, "Will you wallow in self-pity every time?"
Samson frowned, taking away his hands and rising to his feet.
"What have I done to you, Hadiza? To you personally, to deserve that kind of talk?" Samson demanded, "They attacked and I defended. But the Bann was well within his rights to see me locked up. If for nothing else, for the murder of his men."
"It wasn't murder! And you are under my—the Inquisition's—aegis!" Hadiza's voice was slightly hoarse and she stood to face him, "If he wished to try and convict you, he was obligated to seek my permission and approval first! You are mine!"
Samson glanced at her sharply. The words lashed between them like the tail of a demon, dwindling to smoke before the silence stretched in the wake of her words.
Hadiza swallowed hard. "I defeated you in battle, I tried you, and I judged you. And as you belong to the Inquisition, you are still my responsibility. If he wishes to be recompensed for the loss of his men, the Inquisition will gladly do so." She turned away from him.
Samson thought he saw a flash of red in her eyes. With her back to him, he felt that growing worry in his gut again, prickling at the base of his skull. The serpent in his chest reared its head and began to hiss in warning.
"And if he wants your head on a pike," she said dangerously, eyes glittering with the madness that now made itself known, "he will not so much as alert the headsman without my say so. Your head and your life are mine to—" She rubbed her temples.
Samson frowned. "Hadiza, what's gotten into you? This doesn't sound like you at all…" Hadiza glanced at him over her shoulder and he thought he saw, for a split second, a fanged grin, impossibly wide, curling the corner of her mouth upward.
"If the Bann continues to push," and her voice sounded harsh and discordant, two pitches grinded against one another like harp strings snapping in succession, "then I will retaliate, and I will show him what it means when they say the Inquisition may act without approval or authority from the Chantry."
"Do you want a fucking Exalted March called on your head, Hadiza? Are you mad?"
Samson watched as Hadiza turned to face him and he knew.
Dry of lyrium, his powers were weak, and she—it—knew. Hadiza was quicker than her tired form belied, and Samson found himself pinned against the stone wall. Anyone who heard would attribute it to their usual bedchamber antics.
"Your life rests in my hands, Raleigh Samson," she said in that same grinding noise of two voices competing for an outlet, "and believe me, you will wish Bann Teagan kept you locked in darkness when I finally deign to take it."
Samson knew that when facing an abomination it was best not to panic. He had enough experience to know that panicking got one no where. He also knew that Hadiza was not fully possessed just yet. The encroachment on her arm was indicative of something far more complex than a routine possession. He saw something in her, some ghost of her, clawing from within the cage of her bones, struggling to retain control.
"She's safe," the demon assured him, "for the moment." Samson said nothing in response, never breaking his gaze. He found that center within himself, the one all templars needed from which to draw their strength. While his faith was no longer what it was, it said nothing for the raw and nigh unparalleled skill the Order had bequeathed him. So when he looked at the demon wearing Hadiza's skin, he felt no fear. Not for her.
And not for himself.
The Holy Smite came down without warning, a fist said to be of the Maker's own forging, flattening Hadiza on the ground as the air and mana were drained from her. With the magic dispelled, Hadiza resumed control of her body, and he saw the significant change. Her eyes, fever bright, blinked, wide and fearful.
"Raleigh…?" Her voice was a tremulous whisper as he knelt before her, scooping her into his arms. He lay her down wordlessly, exhausted and wearied from the effort. Hadiza was quiet as what transpired began to dawn on her. Her hands trembled, going to her mouth, and she let out a broken sound, realizing what she had almost done. Samson was grim as he went to the door.
"Trevelyan!" He shouted when he spotted Aja leaving the undercroft. She jogged toward him, smiling jovially.
"Done already? Here I thought you two would be—" Seeing his expression, Aja frowned, her smile fading. "What? What's wrong?" Samson glanced back over his shoulder, and she stepped inside, shutting the door behind them.
"You didn't tell me she was nearly possessed in the weeks I was gone!" Samson hissed. Aja startled.
"What?! That's impossible! Feynriel—"
"Has failed to keep whatever this is at bay. Hadiza's arm is withered with red poison, and she just tried to kill me." Samson snapped, whirling on her. "Sometimes I wonder why the Circles were dissolved in moments like this. We need to get to Gwaren."
Aja nodded. "The winter thaw will be soon. We can catch a ship out th—"
Samson stood up a little straighter, though it pained him to do so.
"No. We're done fucking waiting. While we wait, Hadiza's fucking flesh and bones have become a battleground, and she's losing daily. We need to get to Gwaren and you better find something that can float us to Ostwick. We need to be gone yesterday."