They were welcomed back to Zazzau with open arms.

In their absence, Assane—at Fasadé and Djeneba's insistence—had proclaimed to the town that Hadiza had passed her Rite of Inheritance, and she and her sister had been inducted as scions of House Fayé and was to be accorded all respect due to her station.

Hadiza and Aja rode back into the town hailed as heroes.

"So this is what it's like…" Aja said to her as they made their way back to the family's home, "To be…noticed."

"And respected." Hadiza said, "This is what mother wanted for us, Aja. I think she knew deep down that no matter what we did, Ostwick would never let us feel at home."

Aja nodded. "But…we're still Trevelyan," she said, "and I'm still a former raider with no magical ability to speak of who loves women."

Hadiza smiled. "Women? Or just the one?"

Aja laughed. "Well. Yes, the one. She's going to kill me, I think."

Hadiza smiled, reaching over to squeeze her sister's arm.

When they passed back through the gates of House Fayé's sprawling estate, with its pristine white walls, and meticulously tended gardens, and swept courtyard, Hadiza welcomed the attentions of the stable crew, who took their mounts, and healers who came to assess their injuries, which were surprisingly minimal save for a few bruises and burns.

The family was chattering, eager to hear of the exploits into Kano, and enraged that the Qunari had breached the sacred and delicate peace achieved by Rivain amidst all the races.

"But why," Djeneba asked, "would they do such a thing? What purpose does it serve?"

Hadiza tried to remember the intelligence Iron Bull had imparted to her regarding the goings-on of Qunari politics, but could not recall anything of note that would point to aggression on this scale. Capturing a dragon to use for their personal weapon was something she did not see the Qunari doing, especially given her exchange with Bull. Dragons were both revered and reviled by the Qunari—at least to her. Still, it warranted further investigation.

"So," Assane said, "where are the spoils from your conquest?"

The assembled party cast glances at one another.

"She let it go." Oluremi said sullenly.

"She what?!" Assane cried, "You let it go? You have unleashed that creature to wreak havoc upon us all!"

"Shut up, Assane." Fasadé snapped, and Assane quelled bitterly, and said no more. Fasadé smiled at Hadiza, who relaxed visibly.

"I sent it home," she explained, "it was heading west…toward the sea."

Oluremi crossed her arms and huffed. "How did you even know? Let me guess: like all things, it just came naturally to you, right?"

Hadiza frowned, turning on Oluremi.

"Nothing," she said quietly, "has ever just come naturally to me. I've been hunting dragons long enough to see the signs. That was not its lair. It belonged to a dragon at one point, but this dragon was clearly a mother, and far from home."

Babacar stood next to his wife, his gaze questioning.

"There were no remains from previous kills, human or otherwise." Hadiza explained. "My guess is the Qunari were keeping it there for some greater purpose…"

Djeneba looked pensive. "But what?"

To that question, none had a viable answer. Hadiza sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

"We will find no answers tonight, clearly," Fasadé said, "let us adjourn for now and let these children rest. They've worked hard and saved many." She reached up, cupping Hadiza's cheek. "You must tell me the story of your brief dragon ride in full, young one."

Hadiza laughed. "Yes, inna." She murmured. Fasadé chuckled, patting Hadiza's cheek.

"But first, tend to your templar before he gives himself an ulcer. He's still and old man, you know." She told her and Hadiza laughed despite herself, glancing back at Samson, who raised his brows in a silent question.

"What?" He asked and Hadiza smiled, turning to find Fasadé already making her way out of the council chamber, flanked by two attendants.

"Nothing," Hadiza said, "nothing at all."

The bath water was softened, scented with jasmine oil, and Hadiza felt her limbs go slack as she scrubbed away the rough touch of her journey, polishing herself anew. It was still strange, to not feel the length of her hair waterlogged down her back, and it was freeing, running her fingers through her short curls. For a moment, she was tempted to go to the mirror and see.

Then she remembered, and shied from it.

She finished her bath and climbed from the deep tub, reaching for an absorbent towel to dry herself. She dried her hair hastily, and then took her robe from the hook on the far wall, smiling as she found it warm from the strange stone on the floor. When she exited the bathing chamber she found Samson standing in her room, unarmored, wearing only a tunic, breeches, and boots. He was studying the cover of a book on her bedside table, and when he looked up, Hadiza felt rooted to the spot.

And yet she wanted to go to him.

"Is something the matter?" She asked him quietly and Samson came to her instead.

"No." He replied, just as quiet. Hadiza felt something galvanize her, felt her bare feet carry her forward. And then she was jogging, and then she felt herself flying, throwing her arms around him. She took him by surprise, she knew, and then she kissed him all over his face as if she had not seen him in so long. Samson returned her kisses, laughing as they missed their mark, but he didn't care. Any part of her he could kiss was just as rewarding.

"Maker's Blood, Hadiza!" He said to her fiercely, "You're going to kill this old man before his time pulling shit like that!"

Hadiza laughed, her heart light in her chest, feeling as if she were made of the very air they breathed.

"I'm sorry." She said through her smile and Samson kissed her again, lingering, trying to ensure that she was real, alive and warm and smelling like summer in his arms.

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry too. Andraste's tears, girl…you're…you're damned foolish for that. I thought I'd lost you."

Hadiza nudged him. "I'm here. Have a little faith, Raleigh."

His name undid him for a moment, having not heard her speak it in weeks. It felt like something tied around his heart, yanking it in his chest, toward her. He stared at her, wide-eyed, wanting her and everything that entailed, foolish shenanigans and all. He knew it in his bones from the moment she shaped his name with her mouth, as if cupping something green and defiant in her healer's hands, coaxing it to grow.

Maker! He was in love with her all over again.

"Hadiza…" He breathed, and she seemed to know…or did she? Did she even know how much she had come to mean to him? This woman who held his hand firmly and guided him back to the light when the darkness threatened to swallow him back up? Hadiza's smile was softer, her eyes searching his face, finding answers to questions neither one of them gave voice to. And he searched her face too, and found that the woman he loved still resided there. Changed, and yet…there was something there he wanted to protect, to nurture, to never see it threatened to be extinguished ever again.

"Raleigh?" She asked him and he smiled, shutting his eyes.

"Maker's balls but it's good to hear you say that, princess." He told her and she laughed, embracing him. He held her tightly, and felt as if a compass within him had been righted, felt themselves align a little more, falling back into phase. They stood there, in the sunset moving across her bedroom window, content.

"Raleigh," she whispered later, as they lay on her bed, with her still in her robe, and him dozing contentedly, one arm around her.

"Mm." He replied, smiling as he felt her hand smooth along his chest, soft and exploratory, coming to rest over his heart.

"Did you ever consider marriage at some point in your life?" She asked. Samson's tensed briefly, taken by surprise as his heart leapt beneath her soft palm. He thought about it—the parts he could remember—the women whose company he kept weren't usually the marrying type, although, he recalled with a bit of wicked relish the few times a wife or two somehow found themselves in bed with him. A bit of a rake during his early days as a knight, when Kirkwall was not nearly as bad before the knight-commander's assassination. He thought about all the times he'd fallen in love, and then remembered he had been too preoccupied with the glory of being a templar to really consider it.

But those days were long behind him, and he was not long for this world, was he?

"Not seriously," he replied, "my days as a templar filled most of my time. I could have never devoted the time I spent in prayer and duty to a wife."

Hadiza nodded, understanding. They both knew that as a Circle mage, marriage had been something eliminated from the scope of possibility for her long ago. But with no Circles to bind her, Hadiza was for the first time free to choose. And yet, duty from both her noble families demanded she marry for political and social gain…not for love.

Love was for the very lucky. Or, in some cases, the very unlucky.

Hadiza sighed. Was she lucky?

"I thought…that maybe one day I'd be married," she murmured, "but if I go back to Ostwick, I know what awaits me there."

Samson opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her.

"Duty, honor, family, that sort of thing." He said with a smile. She glanced at him sidelong.

"Yes," she agreed, "but…as a daughter all that awaits me is an advantageous marriage to some lordling. And then there's this." She held up her hands. Samson frowned. Yes, there was that; something he would never truly understand. He had never even considered it before, and yet, from Hadiza's experience, and even Vivienne's…it seemed that everyone had considered it.

"If I come back here," she continued, "to this place…I will be expected to serve this House with duty and honor foremost in my mind. I will not be permitted the freedom to love."

Samson took one of her hands, gently, an unspoken question for her permission. She relaxed and he brought her knuckles to his lips to kiss them.

"Maybe you ought to listen to your heart for once, princess. What's your gut tell you?"

Hadiza clamped down on the answer, and Samson did not dare allow himself to hope, did not allow himself to desire the words he wanted so badly to be real. She was too beautiful and good for him. He was too broken and useless to offer her anything.

The Maker and Andraste would accept you back, if you but asked.

He frowned, refusing to believe that lie even though it was one he told himself.

"Hadiza," he said, the words coming unbidden, "you know we…I…"

Hadiza sat up to look at him, heedless of her partial nudity as her robe fell open. Samson cleared his throat, unsure of where they stood. There was a time where she welcomed him to touch her at his leisure. He missed the taste of her skin, the warmth of it against his lips, the feel of her pulse on his mouth when he kissed her neck.

"When did you plan to tell me you weren't getting better?" She asked, shattering the spell. Samson took a deep breath to steady himself, nostrils flaring before he sat up, turning to leave. Hadiza grabbed his arm.

"Don't." She said, "Don't run from me. Not with this."

Samson hesitated, and then sighed.

"How long have you known?" He asked her, not wanting to meet her eyes. Hadiza relaxed, crossing her arms.

"Long enough to know that the corruption is back on the move." She bit her lip, sighing. "And that Dorian has been helping you combat it as best as he's able."

"It helps with the pain," Samson said, "but I can still feel it. Slower than before when you all first brought me in…but…it's coming whether you're ready or not."

Hadiza clenched her fists.

"I'll find another way, then." She said firmly. "I can fix this."

Samson smiled, shaking his head with a laugh. "You can't, princess. Too late for me. But you can help others so they don't do what I did."

Hadiza stared at him. "How can you be so calm about this?" She asked. "You know, it's been almost two years, and I never would have imagined…"

"Nor I." Samson said, still smiling, "And I'm calm because it's no use being terrified. I told you it would steal your vengeance, princess."

Hadiza let out a strangled sound.

"It's not vengeance it's stealing anymore and you know it!" She shouted at him and Samson's brows went up. He saw her hand go to her mouth, her lip quivering. Ah, shit. Shit.

"Princess, don't…" He said and she burst into tears. Maker, for a woman as strong as she was she sure cried a great deal. Samson regretted the thought. She didn't deserve that, not after what she'd been through, and not after all she'd done for Thedas…and for him.

"Hadiza." He said her name and she quieted, sniffling, and angrily dashing the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. Samson turned to face her fully.

"Come here." And he opened his arms, and she came to him, holding him tight.

"You and I both knew, from the minute we signed up for…this…what would happen. You've done a hell of a lot to keep me from going down a dark road, and Maker's balls I love you for that. I didn't ask for it…wasn't even sure I wanted it…but you gave me a chance when I deserved it least."

Hadiza made a small sound and Samson laughed.

"Oh come on, it's not as if I'm dead yet. And I've still got my wits. Who knows, might have a handful of years left. And I've you and your Tevinter friend to thank for that. And the cheery little dwarf back in Skyhold." He looked down at her as she looked up, and then pressed a kiss to her mouth.

"So…" She murmured, "What now? I can't…I can't save you."

"Oh you've already saved me a dozen times over, princess." Samson chuckled, brushing his thumb over her tearstained cheek. Hadiza tried to smile, but every time she thought about losing him to something she just knew she could fix given time, she broke down. Samson let her, knew the tears were needed. But he didn't want her mourning him before he was dead.

"This is why I didn't want to tell you." He said gently, "I knew you'd cry." He hated seeing her cry, and Hadiza finally got her tears out, laughing.

"You idiot." She whispered and he shrugged. "Sometimes I wish…sometimes I think it would be easier if we'd never have…"

Samson blinked. "Yeah, you'd be saving the world and I'd be rotting under Skyhold. And you wouldn't be crying about my death sentence."

Hadiza laughed. "And I'd never know or wonder what it was like to kiss you."

He grinned. "And I'd never know the weight of you in my arms. Probably would never hold anything again."

Hadiza moved closer, leaning forward, braced on her arms, her mouth a hair's breadth from his own.

"I'd never see the good man you've become. Even though you drive me up a wall sometimes."

Samson kept smiling, moved closer, brushed his lips against hers.

"I'm not a good man." He murmured.

"Don't argue with me." Hadiza murmured back, kissing him.

It was good. Ah, Maker it was so good. Samson let her take them where she willed, let her kiss him until sentient thought blurred beneath the lush feel of her mouth. Silence closed in around them, save for the sound of their breathing, and suddenly, they were moving. She pushed him backward, stronger than he'd known her to be, and he felt desire wake in him, ravenous and insistent, but he knew he was not the one to guide it. Hadiza was steering them where she wanted, and she gave unspoken orders that he followed with alacrity. She shrugged out of her robe, and the sight of her—Maker's balls the sight of her was enough to get him hard. The lush weight of her breasts heaving and bouncing with the movement of her body, the soft, luxurious satin of her skin, and muscles that had been hidden by the softness of her sweet tooth, showing through.

And there were scars too, still relatively fresh. Slash marks of her own making. Those too were sacred to her flesh, a memory she would carry with her. She got him out of his breeches efficiently, freeing his cock, which she grabbed insistently, making him groan.

"Maker…" He muttered, head falling back against the headboard. She straddled his legs, stroking him slowly, making him groan, wishing her to make an end of it. Hadiza paused, meeting his gaze.

"Hadiza…" Samson's voice came out winded, "…something wrong?"

She didn't answer, not at first, but then she slid away from him.

"I can't do this." She murmured, incredulous. "Samson I can't…"

Samson took her hand. "You don't have to. If you're not ready."

Hadiza nodded, trying to steady her breathing.

"The demon, when I was…it decided to go through my memories. Tried to taint them. I think it worked." She bit her lip. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing." Samson said firmly. "Nothing is wrong with you, Hadiza. You've been hurt bad is all. This shit takes time."

Hadiza nodded again, agreeing but her mind felt scattered, thoughts like marbles rolling out of reach. She ran her hands over her face, sighing again.

"Can we just lay here?" She asked, "And talk?"

Samson smiled at her, felt himself going soft.

"Yeah, princess," he laughed, "whatever you like."

And so they did, skin to skin, body to body, their fingers intertwining as they talked. The silence stretched as the sun's light vanished behind the mountains, and they laughed together, making new memories. And as the night deepened, so too did the well of what they'd forged together. And when she kissed him again, there was no uncertainty in it, only the surety of a woman in love, and the relief of the man who loved her back. They made love in the dark, and Hadiza felt the tainted memories of the demon clawing for purchase. Samson let her guide them, let her set the pace, slow and agonizingly good. He kissed the parts of her he could reach, his hands spanning up the muscled length of her back, passing around to cup the lush weight of her breasts, thumbs passing over her scars and nipples alike.

Hadiza lost herself in what she loved most, trying to reclaim it, reclaim herself. This body, battered and scarred as it was, was her own and Samson revered it as if it were forged by the divine.

Too beautiful. Too good.

In the end, exhaustion defeated them, and though neither of them reached where they so badly wished to go, it was enough that they tried. They lay in panting silence, sweat-slick and unfulfilled…and yet…

"That's a first for us, I think…" She murmured through her panting breath, "We usually…get there."

Samson laughed. "I'm getting old, princess. I'm afraid there's going to be a lot of this in the future."

Hadiza rolled onto her side to face him. "That sounds like quitter talk to me, Raleigh." She ran her fingertip down his chest, tangling her fingers in his chest hair, feeling the vibrations of his laughter as he took her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it again and again.

"Well." He said, "I might be able to remedy that, princess…get up here."

Hadiza eyed him, and with her palm still on his lips, he raised his brows, and gestured for her to join him. And so she climbed atop him once more, looking down at him.

"Now…there's a sight that'll rouse a man for anything," he murmured, "now…let's see if we can get you where you're trying to go."

Hadiza laughed. "Are you a damned carriage driver?"

Samson smiled up at her, getting a firm grip on her ass, fingertips digging in.

"I got a few things I'm good at, princess," he murmured, and dragged her forward, "making you scream is one of them, memory serve."

Hadiza's eyes darkened with desire, and Samson, being a man of simple pleasures, wasted no time. He buried his nose in her sex, soft folds moist and tender from their earlier activity. At first, his tongue traced a wet path to soothe, and Hadiza sighed, head tipping back. When she fully relaxed, Samson turned his attentions from soothing to teasing. He passed his tongue along her slit, forward and back and Hadiza tried to focus on the rhythm, imagining what it looked like in her mind's eye. She heard herself gasp, felt her thighs tense as he parted her again and again, finding the hidden bud of her clit, sucking it between his lips.

She swore, bracing herself against the headboard.

Samson's hands cupped her rear, pressing her hips forward, opening her further as he continued, slow and sure, heedless of the wash of slick along his lips and chin.

"Raleigh…" She whispered, "I'm going to…"

He knew, and as she began to crest, her voice rising in pitch, sucking air into starved lungs, her hips moved, rocking to counter the rhythm of his mouth and tongue. She made a sound, an attempt at a word as Samson turned his focus completely on her clit, the broad flat of his tongue applying pressure, while he hollowed his cheeks to suckle her greedily.

Hadiza cried out, a shiver of release moving through her as she came, a soft feeling of warmth settling over her skin and soaking her through.

"Oh…" She whispered, stars winking across the darkness of her vision as she opened her eyes, "…oh…" She let Samson guide her, and heard him breathe a little deeper of the cool air of the room.

She looked down at him, her face suffused with wonder as she settled back into her own skin.

"You still with me?" He asked her. Hadiza's fingertips brushed aside a few locks of his hair, plastered to his forehead. Her mouth shaped a single word, imbuing it with all that she felt no other words would ever do justice.

"Always."

For a while, it seemed as if things were well in hand. Hadiza sent word of the Qunari attack to the Queen of Rivain, named Mariam Campagna, descendent of Queen Asha, and while they awaited word, Hadiza continued her studies amongst House Fayé's mages. Her sister sparred with Ajisayé often, and the two Reavers bonded over a shared burden. Mimunatu, who was more or less Ajisayé's handler, remarked on this one afternoon after the conditioning exercises were concluded.

"Your sister is a kind soul, for all her brashness," she told Hadiza, "and Ajisayé has ever been a solitary woman. She does not make friends easy."

Hadiza smiled, wiping sweat from her brow as she took a drink from her waterski.

"Aja is very much like her in a way," she replied, "and I think it is good for them both, in more ways than you and I will ever be able to understand." Mimunatu stared at Hadiza from behind her mask, and Hadiza caught a glimmer of silver eyes within the eye slits.

"Why do you wear a mask?" She asked without preamble. Mimunatu was silent for a moment.

"Perhaps when you come to visit again," she said, "I will tell you." And left. Hadiza, fearing she had given offense, went after her.

"Wait! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pry…I just thought…" She felt foolish as Mimunatu turned to face her.

"I know." The older woman replied. Slowly, Mimunatu lifted her mask, just enough to expose her mouth and nose. Hadiza gasped before Mimunatu lowered the mask once more. Hadiza stood there, unsure of what to say.

"I didn't know." She said lamely and Mimunatu laughed.

"How could I expect you to? You are soft of heart, Hadiza Trevelyan; I know your intentions were not malicious." She turned and walked away again, and this time Hadiza did not follow.

The nightmares came back as summer neared its end and the Inquisition made preparations to head back to Dairsmuid. During that time, Samson and Feynriel took turns bringing Hadiza back to reality as she awoke, swiping at phantoms, shrieking curses, sweating and wild-eyed with that old fear. Feynriel, fearful of entering her dreams, merely helped Hadiza through exercises to continue to rebuild the mental barriers that Corypheus and the demon had eroded. The nightmares continued, but the screaming and fighting had reduced over time. Hadiza refused to see herself in the mirror, and shied away from reflective surfaces when she could. When she could, she helped Samson learn Rivaini, teaching him simple words and phrases.

"What's that one you always say to me?" He asked, "The one that sounds like you've had some strong drink."

Hadiza smiled sheepishly.

"Ina sôn ku." She murmured. "It means I lov—" And Samson would steal a kiss, making her laugh.

Those were some of the best days between the two of them.

And then Assane gathered the family for a proclamation.

Hadiza was summoned to the council chamber along with her friends and Assane, who seemed resigned but dignified, gave her the news.

"You are to receive your Tawada Jiki." He said, "As is the custom and your right as a member of the House. You have proven your worth in battle, and brought luster to the our name. And…" His mouth twisted but he continued, "…it has come to our attention that you have the gift of shapeshifting."

Hadiza bit her lip. "I am no master if that is what you mean. I…I was taught the rudiments is all."

Assane nodded. "It is true, but you have gifts in many schools of magic. Perhaps the Circles of the south were worth something after all."

Hadiza was speechless.

Assane seemed smug. "Have you naught to say, Inquisitor? Are you suddenly so overcome with modesty?"

"Assane, please," Djeneba chided, "the girl has been through enough without your constant grousing. She has been given a great and mighty honor. Give her time to process it at least."

Hadiza let out a sound. "What is the Tawada Jiki?" She asked.

There were a few gasps. A few members of the family laughed. Fasadé smiled kindly from her place, flanked always by two attendants.

"Babacar, show her." Djeneba said and Babacar stepped forward, according his mother a reverent bow. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, and shrugged out of it. Hadiza's eyes went wide at the sight. Babacar's torso was covered in an intricate design of tattoos. She recognized the ones of protection, black concentric circles on his shoulders, with some ancient-looking script in the spaces between them. She saw the echo of a sword on his chest, pointing upward, marking him as a battlemage, and a sigil she did not recognize.

"Oh." She said breathlessly as Babacar button up his shirt. Samson made a noise in his throat.

"You sure this is what you want?" He asked her quietly. Hadiza blinked.

"I…" She tried not to wring her hands in nervousness. "You do me a great honor with this, and I…doesn't it…I don't…"

Someone laughed.

"The Inquisitor has finally run out of quips!" Someone called, eliciting laughter.

"Oh shut it!" Samson barked. Hadiza took small pleasure in the silence that followed, sighing as she collected her thoughts. Samson watched, and even thought she was still wounded, still healing, he saw her square her shoulders, saw The Inquisitor come forward to replace Hadiza, silver eyes turning to steel, her mouth setting into a determined line. Maker, she was beautiful!

"You do me great honor," she said in a clear voice, every syllable in clear accented Rivaini, her milk-tongue, her mother's tongue, "and I am greatly pleased that you feel I am ready to receive it. For my mother's memory, and for my own glory, I shall embrace it wholeheartedly, as a scion of House Fayé, that I might carry my heritage with me no matter how far my life as the Inquisitor takes me from this place."

There was stunned silence, and Samson smiled, proud, alongside Vivienne, Dorian, and Feynriel, who watched Hadiza claim her birthright.

"And what of you?" Assane said to Aja, "You already bear the marks of a thie—pirate. But you too are entitled to this birthright." He looked her over, lips twisting into a frown. "If there's room left to put anything there." He added, earning a glower from his wife and mother both.

Aja turned out her hands, smiling. "Thank you, uncle, but no thank you," she said, "I've got marks enough already that sets tongues to wagging in the South. It is enough that you all have claimed my sister and I as your own. It is more than I dared to hope for, and better than I expected." She clapped her sister on the shoulder, squeezing gently, and sharing a knowing smile with her.

"Aside," Aja said, never breaking her sister's gaze, "this is Hadiza's day. Let her claim the birthright for us both."

And at that, the cheer that went up could be heard from outside the estate's gates.

The ceremony called for feasting, as almost all Rivaini ceremonies did. The Tawada Jiki was a rite of passage for all scions of the House, but more important for mages, who wore the mark of their power's specialty on their skin, imbued with magic. The process took days to complete, and the healing was done by the body, and not by magical means, which took weeks. Hadiza was spirited away by the young acolytes, sequestered for days as she was bathed in the jasmine-scented waters, and the seers prayed over her body. It was solemn, and Hadiza felt as if she were a dead woman, and the wails and ululating cries that went up reminded her of a funeral rite. She was draped in simple white cloth, a shapeless shift of soft cotton, and then they began the work of designing her sigil.

Outside of the sacred quarter, her friends agonized and waited. Well, Samson agonized and waited, while the others were more anticipatory.

"Relax, Samson," Aja said, "she's getting a tattoo, they're not going to kill her."

"But she's been gone for three days," Samson said, "and no one's saying anything of what's going on. When the hell is it going to be over?"

Vivienne was reading a book, calm as could be, smiling to herself.

"It will be ended in two more days, and then you will be permitted to fret over her in person," she said, "until then, do sit down. Watching you agitate is giving me—"

"Oh please," Samson groused and Vivienne glared at him, "as if you aren't worried yourself. You're Orlesian."

Vivienne said nothing, but the look in her eyes might have killed him were he a lesser man. Which, to her, he was.

"Why the Inquisitor tolerates your behavior is a question for the ages," she said, "but do not trouble yourself, Samson. It will soon be ended. All of it."

Samson frowned, not understanding her meaning.

"Oh," Feynriel said, trying to diffuse the situation, "perhaps it's over sooner than we thought! Look!"

The music preceded them, and from the sacred quarter, figures in white emerged, singing in haunting harmonizing notes, songs in the old tongue, with words that could not be translated, but the meaning was clear. In the center of the procession, Hadiza swayed unsteadily on her feet, but before he could go to her, Samson was stopped by Aja.

"Wait." She said, her voice devoid of humor.

The family turned out in the courtyard where Hadiza was led, bearing something on her head shrouded in red. It was a large, spherical bowl like structure.

"That is a ƙwariya." Amadou said to them, "It carries the blessings of all the seers within it for the one undergoing the marking ceremony. She will deliver it and bare herself before all that her Tawada Jiki is witnessed and recorded."

Samson watched as Hadiza ascended a small stairway to a dais, illuminated by faerie fire. She lowered the ƙwariya to the ground before her feet.

"Disrobe," Fasadé's voice rang out, "that all may bear witness and know you for a scion of House Fayé, a defender of the people, and a healer of the wounded of body, mind, and spirit."

Hadiza disrobed, and Samson saw the black ink freshly limned into her skin, illuminated by the white preternatural fires cast by the mages of the House. The sword stood blade downward, directly between her bared breasts, the hilt and pommel wreathed in delicate vines. Beneath her breasts, he smiled to see the motif of the butterfly, the shape she took to save her life, also wreathed in the growing vines, signifying her skills as a healer. She was a defender, a protector, a nurturer of life in mind, body, and spirit.

He knew of no better mark for her to bear upon her skin than that of the truth.

When it was witnessed and recorded, the chest of her mother's armor was brought out. They dressed her with slow, ritualistic care, culminating in the diadem set upon her head and inlaid with a fire opal. The armor was lined with blue lyrium veins, and glowed as she touched their source with her own magic.

Samson knew of no better time to admit that even if he had a day left to him, he wanted to be by her side for it all.

Hadiza stood taller, prouder than he'd ever seen, and the family cheered.

Later, there was celebrating. There was always celebrating. Hadiza felt as if she were at an Inquisition party, greeting family members both blood-kin and not, smiling and receiving the kiss of greeting and congratulations for her initiation. Wearing her mother's gleaming armor, she looked like a warrior queen greeting her subjects, and Samson waited, as he had two years prior, when he'd watched her in a similar situation after her victory over Corypheus. And just as before, she found him, coming to him like a dream spirit, the firelight making her armor gleam. He heard the song of lyrium in her armor, a chorus that fit with her, and he kissed her soundly.

"How do you feel?" He asked her. Hadiza smiled at him, peering up at him from beneath sooty lashes.

"I should be asking you that question." She murmured. "You looked at me as if you could not believe I was real."

Samson squeezed her arms. "Ah. Well…you are something else, princess. Inquisitor, protector, battlemage, healer, engineer, reckless, beautiful, and…"

"Yours." She finished, startling him. He searched her face, waiting for the punchline of the joke.

"I thought you belonged only to yourself." He said.

"I do." Hadiza agreed, "But I am nothing if not generous."

Samson laughed. "So you are." He murmured, moving to kiss her. "So you are."

Hadiza let him hold her a moment longer.

"Raleigh," she murmured, and she realized belatedly they were swaying in time to the music.

"Mm." He replied, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"I want to be your wife."

AUTHOR'S NOTE(S):

Inna - Mother or 'mom.'

Tawada Jiki - Literally translating to 'ink body.' A Rivaini custom specific to House Fayé. When mages are 'blooded' or formally indoctrinated into their training, they are tattooed, usually with marks of protection and marks denoting their specialization and attributes of power. For Hadiza, she was marked as a battlemage and healer. The sword pointing downward signifies that she is a defender of the people and does not raise her weapon to deliberately harm others. The vines and flowers wreathing the sword signify growth, denoting her station as a Creation mage. The butterfly is her personal sigil, imbued with the charm of protection, as is the custom. Each mage has their own personal sigil in addition to the traditional marks. The Tawada Jiki is usually placed somewhere upon the upper torso, be it on the back, chest, neck, or upper arms.

Ina sôn ku - I love you. Ku denotes a male as the subject while ki denotes a woman.

ƙwariya - Calabash...the closest approximation. It's a large wooden bowl that carries a variety of things, usually carried on the head and covered with a circular woven mat called a feƴ-feƴ. I don't know the English equivalent of these words, so my shitty descriptions are all you get, sorry!

Tô! We are approaching the Trespasser part of this story arc, which I will say in advance, will not be nearly as detailed. We all played the same DLC, and not much of Hadiza's story deviates from it save for the entire...Samson bit, and her entire adventure prior. But, I will touch on a significant part of the game that will round off this tale. For those who are still reading, thank you so much, even if it's just hate-reading. For those commenting, thank you thank you thank you. I am so honored and pleased that you're still along for this ride. And yes, Hadiza proposed to Samson. I know a lot of people were thinking it would be the other way around. He doesn't have the courage. :)