Samson would never claim to be the pinnacle of well-traveled or cultured. He would never claim to know everything, nor did he wish to. But he did know that there were few things that could surprise him. If he had sought to make a list of all the things he deigned unlikely to happen to him he might have put his reinstatement in the seventh slot, and Hadiza Trevelyan, the Inquisitor and Scion of House Fayé of Rivain, proposing to him in the middle of a party…at the top.

No, he'd likely never even consider it because she was too beautiful to be serious.

And so Samson stared at Hadiza, and then he laughed, because he could not bring himself to consider that she was doing anything but poking fun at him. He had always thought what they had was as fleeting as the hope upon which his life now hinged. He had never imagined in life—had never considered the possibility—of pledging himself to aught but duty and the Maker. And when his path diverged to darkness, part of him, small and forgettable, had prayed for a sign that would turn him back to the light. He had wanted, in a small part of himself, the salvation the Chantry promised so many, yet never delivered upon. He wanted the light of the Chant in his heart again, and wanted to believe as he once did, when his armor gleamed in the sun, and he walked with purpose and pride.

He stared at Hadiza's increasingly worried face, and wondered if this was a sign from the Maker. She was holding out her hand, and all he had to do was take it and step into the light.

"Maker…" He whispered, "Are you serious?"

Hadiza smile shyly.

"Yes." She said, "I just thought…since we're already…that is…only if you wanted to."

Samson could die happy now that he'd seen Hadiza Trevelyan flustered twice in the same month. But he wasn't sure about his answer.

"Hadiza, you know…you know what you're asking?" He asked her, and he saw her nod, biting her lip. Samson laughed again, kissing her because words were meaningless and his heart was too full.

"Only if you want me." She murmured and Samson laughed again.

"You idiot," he told her, "I should be asking you if you want me at all. Maker! I don't deserve you."

Hadiza quelled his doubts with a look. There was no lie there, only the love of a woman who for some reason had decided he was worth saving…that he was worth it. It was, perhaps, one of the few things in his life that would not end in failure, and as Samson rested his forehead against hers, he gave her his answer.

House Fayé was in uproar about the news, and before either Samson or Hadiza could decide, the women of the house had swept her away, chattering happily about the prospect of another wedding celebration, even if it was to a templar of all things. Samson, confused, asked Dorian what was going on.

"It would seem you two are going to have a proper wedding," Dorian explained, "and it's about time. You two might as well officiate it. You know, to further spit in the faces of Hadiza's detractors."

Samson frowned. "They don't have to know."

Vivienne crossed her arms and looked decidedly displeased.

"And yet, like all news…it will carry fast." She said, "Samson. A word in private, if you will."

They walked along an open-air hallway, and Vivienne's gait was as clipped and swift as always. Samson thanked the Maker for his height otherwise he never would have been able to keep up. She slowed when they got to the garden.

"I hope you understand that there will be a storm from this," Vivienne said quietly, "one from which there will be no power of yours to defend her."

Samson frowned. "If you mean the politics, then yes, I'm well aware. What you need to understand, my lady, is that I no longer care."

Vivienne pinned him with a glare. "You should. If word of this reaches the south in any capacity, the Inquisition will be as good as disbanded ere we reach Skyhold."

Samson laughed. "You're talking to the wrong man, my lady, if you think the Inquisition disbanding would ever bother me."

Vivienne's fingertips brushed the petals of a bloom of crystal grace, mindful of the thorns.

"If the Inquisition dissolves, Samson, so too does the only thing protecting you from this world." She reminded him and Samson took a deep breath, nostrils flaring.

"Just say you don't want me marrying her and have done with it, my lady," he muttered, "it's a damn sight better than hiding behind politics. We're not in Orlais…you can relax."

Vivienne laughed. "My dear, if you think that the politics of Rivain are no less rigorous than that of Orlais, then you have not been paying attention." Samson spread his hands.

"Then what do you want me to say? No, I won't marry her? Maker, I've lost everything I ever cared about…and now I have something—someone—who gives a damn and you want me to what? Say no? Well, I won't. Politics be damned."

Samson chose himself.

Vivienne smiled as if she'd found some answer to an unspoken question.

"Very well," she said quietly, "then allow me to wish you the best in your upcoming nuptials. I would hate for it to…end as well as everything else in your life has ended."

Samson glared at her retreating back, the barbs of her words stuck in his heart. But he was pleased when he felt no doubt. If these were his last days in this world, he'd spend them happy, doing something worthwhile, protecting as he was meant to.

Politics be damned.

Hadiza sat in stillness as the young girls of the house applied a thick, foul-smelling paste to her hands and feet in an intricate design, and she blinked, uncertain.

"This is lele," one of the girls explained, "it will make you more beautiful. Oh! Auntie Djeneba!" The seeress entered the room of giggling women, who quieted in her presence. She made a small gesture, indicating the celebrations to continue. The entire house was bustling with activity, the kitchens alive with the smells of another feast being prepared, and the musicians were alerted. Months on the heels of Babacar and Oluremi's wedding, another wedding was to be celebrated, albeit smaller and more insular given the circumstances.

Hadiza looked up at her aunt, looking helpless as the women around her attended to everything, feeding her syrupy dates and honeycomb.

"To sweeten your tongue for the kisses you will share," they would laugh and Hadiza smiled, tears in her eyes, remembering her mother saying the same when she would give her sweets as a child.

"Your templar is like to go mad if he does not see that you are well." Djeneba laughed, taking up a seat behind Hadiza and aiding in the preparations. Hadiza shivered as her aunt's firm fingers massaged oil into her scalp, and combed her short curls.

"He won't ever admit it, but he frets enough for the both of us most days." Hadiza laughed to herself, "He's not used to our existing in absolute safety."

Djeneba reached for the black thread, and began to wrap Hadiza's hair in sections.

"No, I suppose he is not. And from the look of him, he's not used to having joy and bounty either." Hadiza flushed, not saying anything. Samson's story was his own; whatever her aunt gleaned from her own observations, Hadiza would not confirm nor deny it. One of the girl brought forth a lacquered box, and opened it to reveal the bridal jewelry she would wear. It was coral, a deep and orange-like red, wrought in pleasing shapes, and accented with gold. Hadiza had never seen a Rivaini bride before, and she realized in that moment that she was to become one.

When the lele came off, Hadiza saw the designs stained into her skin and wept for want of her mother. They bathed her in fragrant rose water, rubbed her from head to toe in almond oil until her skin was supple and gleaming, the lele standing out against her skin, and she nearly wept to see how they had artfully covered the scars on her arms with the designs, vines and flowers blooming along the slash marks, black as the ink of her Tawada Jiki, which they tended to with reverence and care. They bound her hair in black thread, weaving the coral diadem into it. The heavy, faceted ruby rested on her brow. Her bridal gown was a garment called an asoke, midnight blue with an elfroot pattern woven in green. It left her shoulders bare and naked, and a sash to tighten at the waist, stiff with embroidery. A coral necklace, set with rubies and gold was settled around her neck, along with heavy gold earrings that weighed at her ears. Hadiza let them paint her face, taking the threads used to wrap and bind her hair, and using them to shape her brows. They painted her eyelids gold, and lined her eyes in heavy black kohl, making the silver all the more striking. Her lips they painted red, a deep oxblood color that shone in the candlelight.

And then they brought her a mirror.

Hadiza looked away, but Djeneba rested her hands on her niece's shoulders.

"It's alright," she whispered, her voice soothing, "I'm here. If nothing else, would you not like to see how beautiful you look?"

Hadiza hesitated momentarily, and then slowly, tentatively, turned to look in the mirror. She froze, expecting seven eyes and a head crowned in horns to stare back at her, but instead she saw a woman who was too regal and beautiful to be called The Inquisitor. Never in her life had she ever been so elaborately painted, bedecked, and presented. Even her dresses and cosmetics she had donned while in Halamshiral paled in comparison to the decadence and luxury House Fayé bestowed upon her. She looked more goddess than queen, more queen than bride, more bride than woman, and yet she saw herself in the reflection. She saw Hadiza in the kohl-lined gaze, in the sleek line of her jaw, in the oxblood-red mouth that gaped in astonishment.

Djeneba smiled approvingly. "Now you are ready."

The wedding wasn't long, and for that Samson was thankful. He felt alien in the Rivaini finery they'd fitted him for, the strange, itchy material too fine and lavish for him. He'd barely gotten used to wearing silk as Hadiza's champion and bodyguard, and now he sat, a kufi on his head, and a heavy coral necklace around his neck, waiting. They'd been planning this for weeks, and he'd barely gotten to see Hadiza through the hectic time they spent. And then the bridal procession arrived in the pavilion, and he saw her for the first time. Truly saw her.

Any minute now, he expected to wake up and be shivering in his cell in Skyhold, his mouth sore from a split lip, his eye swollen shut, and his gut coiling from withdrawing. Any minute now he would blink and all of this would vanish and he'd be back in the chokedamp of Kirkwall, begging for coin on the docks, looking desperately for a place to bed down for the night especially when the summer rains came in from the sea, setting the city to sweltering, and Lowtown to smelling foul. He expected to wake up and even find himself still Corypheus' general, and planning to kill the Inquisitor.

And she stood before him, a goddess, looking at him as if he were the only person in the world.

Maker, was this what it felt like to win?

He rose, out of courtesy, and held out his hand. She took it, and he noted the black designs limned on her arms, the heavy coral and gold bracelets, the rings, and her lacquered nails. She took her place beside him and they sat together as a priestess read them the rites to bind them. Prayers were said, in Rivaini and the King's Tongue alike, and vows were exchanged.

Neither one of them said much in this, and it was obvious from the way they looked at one another, that words were meaningless.

And then it was over, they embraced for the first time as husband and wife, and Samson kissed her soundly, wondering if it would be different.

They left him little time to ruminate, as the celebrations picked up immediately. The music continued, and the crowd urged Hadiza and her new husband to dance. Samson, knowing he couldn't dance his way off of hot coals, tried to decline, but even Aja, Dorian, and Feynriel were urging him. So he stood, and they laughed as Hadiza walked him through several steps of a dance, while Fasadé sang their story, making it up as it unraveled before all assembled. And the feast!

Samson could not argue with Rivaini cooking, spicy as it was. He developed a fondness for the speared, sun-dried meat called kilishi, and the drink called furada nono. He loved the sweetened taste of the cow's milk, offsetting the salt and spice of the camel meat that was kilishi. Samson remembered Kirkwall, and ate heartily, thankful for the bounty.

Hadiza danced and cast magic as she did, harmless little blips of fairy fire, and was joined by half a dozen cousins, young mages still new to their powers and reveling in the legend that was the Inquisitor. They would brag to their parents and peers later that they could claim blood-kin of her, and she allowed it, entertaining them with tales of her exploits in the south. Dorian, who was surprisingly good natured, joined her, and between the two of them, wove the story they had lived in the last two years.

While they left out the painful parts, the children took joy in the dragon fights.

Vivienne was engaged in a conversation with Djeneba, her expression pensive, and then she laughed and smiled, and Samson grew concerned. He had never seen the woman so at ease before. It was at once unsettling, and comforting to know she had found something to like about Rivain.

Hadiza managed to extricate herself from the festivities and find him, and he met her with a kiss, just as enthusiastic as before.

"Have to make sure you're real," he said to her, making her laugh.

"Oh," she murmured, "I'm real." Samson tried to rest his forehead against her, but that heavy ruby got in the way, making them both smile.

"You look ready for bed." She told him, and Samson grinned.

"Oh," he mimicked her, "I am." He smoothed his hand up one of her arms, relishing the feel of her, along her bare shoulder, fingertips tracing the visible edge of her mage mark along her chest.

Hadiza gazed at him from beneath her lashes.

"Come with me." Samson said, and she took his hand, letting him lead her back toward the house.

The celebration died down when the night began to deepen and the stars shone brightly. Drums and flutes were packed away, and drunken patrons stumbled back to the guest wing of the estate, some merely camped upon the couches and cushions in the pavilion littered with the soft, velvety petals of orange blossoms. The wedding had been extravagant, encompassing their newfound family and bonds forged in the heat of battle as well as by blood.

Of course, as per tradition, the family marched bride and groom all the way to their bedchamber, singing bawdy lyrics and pelting them with flowers the entire way. Of course, Samson and Hadiza put an end to it as they crossed the threshhold, Samson shutting the door in the faces of laughing family members. The laughter faded as the crowd dispersed down the hall, and soon, the heavy perfumed silence of the bedchamber was all that remained.

He was alone with her. Hadiza. His wife. Maker, it was hard to fathom it, to think he'd asked her and she'd said yes, that her family had taken to him as if he were one of their own...despite the jests of his pale skin, rheumy eyes, and thinning hair. Still, they'd seen the love between them, and did nothing to dissuade their union.

"Raleigh." Hadiza breathed his name in the darkness, shaped it with something no mortal tongue could ever hope to do justice, and he met her eyes, lined with heavy kohl and shimmering golden dust. He still couldn't believe how beautiful she looked. Perhaps it was the wedding, or perhaps it was just her, he didn't know, but she bestowed herself not unlike a goddess this day. Her hair was bound up in an elaborate shape, twined around flexible wire and woven with bright gold and coral jewelry, a single teardrop ruby locked in gold frame hanging on her brow.

"I don't want to ruin your..." He began, reaching up to brush his fingers against her cheek. She shut her eyes, the lids painted gold, her mouth stained a deep and rich crimson, and then reached up to placed her hand atop his. Samson thought he would be assaulted with feelings of worthlessness, standing before her like that. The coral necklace he'd been given matched her own, and he felt as if this were all some elaborate dream. Any moment now he would wake, cold, starving, and miserable in the streets of Kirkwall as the market roused for the day. Hadiza smiled at him, opening her eyes.

"Kiss me." She told him and Samson obeyed her, compelled by a fierce dichotomy of love and lust. Was he worthy, now? Would he ever be worthy of her? As he kissed her, he was gentle, listening to the chiming cadence of her heavy gold earrings, drowning himself in the powdery scent of her perfume, suddenly achingly aware that she was his wife.

He didn't stop kissing her, even as those feelings of self-doubt threatened to make him stop. No, he was worthy of her; this was not defilement, this was not even worship. This was veneration. He offered himself to her and she took him, all of him, cupped his face in her henna-limned hands and whispered tender words into his mouth. Not a benediction, no; a declaration, a promise. She would love him always, until they no longer drew breath, until all they were was dust and ash. Samson reveled in it, felt his soul purged of something ugly and unclean, the perfidious root of something torn from him allowing new life to thrive therein. He had earned this, earned her trust, her friendship, her love.

Maker, he was worthy of her.

He disrobed her carefully, peeled away layers of richly embroidered fabric to reveal the woman beneath. It was not as if he had not seen her flesh dozens of times before, it was that he felt he was seeing her anew. The henna designs whorled along the length of her legs, up her arms to the elbow, dusted with gold. Her belt of beads, called a jigida, lay across her taut waist, colorful and containing their own magic. The fabric of her gown pooled at her feet, and she stepped from it, the bells on her ankles tinkling prettily. Hadiza knew she was beautiful-Maker she knew what she did to him-and she deliberately stepped into a shaft of moonlight that he might better see what awaited him.

Samson felt his mouth go dry, blood flooding to his groin in an almost painful arousal. This was not defilement, he kept telling himself, this was veneration.

The moonlight limned her in silver, but made her skin glimmer from the golden dust the women had sprinkled it with. With her hair bound up in the coral crown, it made her look the part of some fabled queen of old.

"Hadiza, you look..." There would never be words enough to describe her this night, only actions, thought, and fervor. He went to her, disrobing as he closed the gap between them and they met, skin to skin, kissing again, his hands smoothing over her glimmering flesh, callouses rough against the satin feel of her. This time, her kiss echoed the hot, coiled tension of his arousal, lips parting to as she yielded to him. Her arms came around his neck as he backed her toward the bed, heedless of the scattered orange blossoms on the duvet. They fell as one, and the scent rose up around them, heady and sublime, the petals bruised and crushed against Hadiza's back.

It was not enough. Samson needed to taste her, to know her once more, and he wasted no time, reluctantly pulling away from her mouth to get at whatever flesh came first. Her neck, where her pulse beat like a trapped thing beneath his lips, and then her shoulder, nipping the curve between his sharp teeth, her breast, which he dwelled upon, laving each nipple with his tongue. He traversed the taut plane of her belly, smiling to himself when she laughed quietly, squirming beneath him.

He was pleased when she let out a sound of frustration when he skipped desire and went to kiss her inner thighs instead. Hadiza draped her legs over his shoulders, sitting up on her elbows to watch him. He gazed up at her on his knees, and knew without a doubt that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"You've the look of an amused goddess on your face, princess," Samson murmured, his breath hot and moist against her knee, which he turned to kiss tenderly. Hadiza's smile softened.

"Amused, yes..." She told him, "But hardly a goddess." She grinned as he kissed her calf, his hand sliding down, gently holding her foot, his thumb applying pressure to the tender arch, making her groan.

"Tonight you are nothing less than that," Samson assured her, "have you seen yourself?" He kissed her heel, traced the arch of her foot with his lips, making her giggle. Hadiza licked her lips.

"I may have passed by a mirror once." She murmured coyly, wiggling her toes as he kissed each one. Samson chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest like a distant storm, placing her leg back on his shoulder only to turn his attention to the other, giving it the same tender treatment. This time, Hadiza did not giggle, silver eyes glittering as she watched him bless every part of her with a kiss.

"Well," He mused, sliding back up until her hips were forced to tilt upward, "I'm going to remind you that you are one of the most stunning women to ever walk the face of Thedas." He lowered his head, parting her with a breath and the slide of his tongue. Hadiza's arms trembled and she struggled to maintain composure. He gave another pass of his tongue, slower, lingering on her clit, which he circled indulgently. Hadiza moaned, drawing in a shuddering breath, her hands grabbing fistfuls of petals and the duvet. Samson began his onslaught, shutting his eyes as he buried his nose and mouth in the soft, damp curls of her sex.

Hadiza shivered, head tipping back, a wail spiraling into the air. She said his name involuntarily, unable to form the words in her mind suitable for anything but pleading and beseeching encouragement. Spurred by her cries, Samson pushed her legs further back, seeking the swollen bundle of nerves to wrap his lips around. He sucked gently, listening to the symphony of pleasure he composed when he swiped his tongue way, applied this much pressure with his lips, or moved to lick around her entrance, her slick coating his tongue. To him, she was ambrosia, and he a mortal desperate for a taste of the divine. He felt her coming apart, felt the seismic tremors building, her cries becoming louder and more erratic. As her control slipped, she spread herself wider for him, giving him as much as he needed and wanted, begging him to take all of her.

He did, and with one last bit of pressure applied, Hadiza came undone, unraveling in a series of shudders as her hips jerked involuntarily against him. She rode the sensation until stars burst across her vision, until the room came back into new and sharp focus.

"Raleigh!" She gasped, surprised at her own release. Samson drew away from her slowly, bestowing her sex with wet and tender kisses, licking his lips, her slick coating his chin. Hadiza sat up fully.

"Come here." She whispered and he did, letting her guide him onto his back. She was a bit forceful, and he laughed at her impatience.

"Never been ridden by a goddess before," he said with that wolfish grin she loved all too well, "should be fun."

"Shut up." She breathed, straddling him, reaching behind her to fit the blunt head of his cock to her entrance. As punishment she refused to sheathe him within her, opting instead to slide the head back and forth along her slit. Samson groaned despite everything, grabbing his hair and tugging. She knew how that drove him up a wall with desire, the minx. Hadiza looked down at him, and he knew in that moment he was lost. There was no way anyone else would do.

Slowly, agonizingly wonderful, she sank down onto him until she was fully seated. Her eyelids flickered briefly, and a little groan slithered up her throat to escape her parted lips. Samson, for his part, hissed through clenched teeth, trying to build up the walls so he could survive her. She fit him like a dream, stretching around him with a lascivious familiarity. He would never tire of being inside of her, of how she worked along the length of him like hot, wet velvet. And she hadn't even begun to move.

"Take your time, princess," he ground out, hands coming to her hips, sliding up her sides to cup her breasts, "we've got all night." His thumbs slowly circled her nipples, and he knew from the look on her face that it was enough to get her moving. She came up slowly, then down, and Samson groaned, uninhibited in his desire. She was as wet as tears and hotter than a smith's forge! Maker if he could he'd be inside her all day. He planned to revisit this come morning, to see her glory in the light of day, with coral in her hair and gold dripping from her earlobes.

Hadiza rode him, slowly and smoothly, her stomach working as her hips undulated, sliding him in and then out. Samson imagined for a moment how it must have looked, those pretty lips split around his cock, gleaming from her slick. It was enough to make his balls tight, and he slid his hands back down to her hips, but not to guide her. He wanted to feel every rise and fall, every tremor in her spine. And as he reached between them, he wanted to feel just how much he could get from her with a continuous rub of her clit in the process.

He got his answer in the form of a whispered swear, and she planted her hands on his chest, grabbing at the hair, using him as leverage as she upped her tempo, building and building until she no longer cared for self-control. Samson growled and laughed at the same time, delivering a hard slap to her rear, the sound echoing in the room as she cried out.

"That's my girl," he breathed, shutting his eyes in bliss, "get us there."

There was close for him, now, and Hadiza knew it. He kept at her clit, thumbing it at random intervals, using it as a spur to goad her into further reckless abandon. And when her control slipped, he grasped her hips, pumping his own upward into her, drowning out her cries in the prominent sound of his flesh meeting hers. Her breasts bounced, the bells on her ankles tinkling in time to his brutal cadence. The pressure at the base of his spine built, and suddenly, with a grunt through gritted teeth, he pinned her to him, his cock twitching as he spent himself with a long, drawn-out groan. Hadiza shuddered around him as he pulled her down to kiss her, drinking down her quiet whimpers of residual pleasure.

It was some time as they lay there, the air cooling their sweatslick flesh, his arms still around her. Hadiza's vision returned, and she blinked away the stars in her eyes. Samson turned his head to brush her ear with his lips, groaning when his cock, now soft, slipped from her. Hadiza sighed, feeling the sticky slick of his seed and her own fluid commingling, wetting her inner thighs. When she moved to get up, Samson's arms tightened around her.

"Stay..." He murmured, "Just a bit longer."

For a moment, she was confused.

"I'm not leaving," she assured him, "I'd never leave."

Samson chuckled. "I just want to see if I wake up and find out this was a dream is all."

Hadiza shared a sad smile with the darkness of the room, and turned her head to kiss him gently. He returned it, and his smile was neither smug nor wolfish. It was...it was content.

"I love you." He said, freely, carelessly, as if it were the first time he'd ever breathed the words, and the weight of them held them both in place, anchoring them to one another. Hadiza smiled, shutting her eyes.

He was worthy of her.

The Queen of Rivain sent her response, and with it, came news from the Inquisition itself. Hadiza silently praised Ariadne's prowess at managing to slip her missives in amongst those of the Queen's own courier, and wondered how she'd managed to do it. However, as she read through the letters, she grew increasingly less content.

The Queen found no real cause to take action against the Qunari for the transgression, even though Kano was lost to the dragon attack. She would send her own contingent of architects and soldiers to aid in rebuilding, and remand the housing of refugees to Zazzau, but without verifiable evidence, she could not in good conscience breach the peace achieved.

Hadiza let out an angry shout.

"She's sitting on her damned hands!" Hadiza cried, "An entire village of eye witnesses corroborate the story, and she does nothing! Maker!" She angrily bit off a piece of masa, chewing and then washing it down with mango juice. Samson watched her, crossing his arms.

"It's the way of these types, princess. But there's nothing we can do." He told her, "You march up here bearing the Inquisition standard and you'll have a war on your hands…and not the one you want, either."

Hadiza froze. "I never said I wanted war." She said to him. Samson shrugged.

"You want the Queen to punish the Qunari for their attack, and you let go of the only verifiable proof you had. She's going to rebuild the village and restore those people to their homes. No more than that can you ask for."

Hadiza laughed. "I never thought I'd see the day the Red General clamoring for peace. The Qunari responsible got away."

"And they will move again, when they see the Queen does nothing to bring them to justice," Samson told her, "they'll get sloppy, and then the Queen can handle it. She can turn her head away once, but not twice."

Hadiza sighed, defeated.

The next letter drained her face of color, and she read it over and over again to be sure.

"What's the matter?" Samson asked, knowing it was news from Skyhold.

Hadiza lowered the letter and made a small sound.

"The Divine has been petitioned to march of the Inquisition," Samson blanched at the words, "but instead, has opted to call an Exalted Council regarding the Inquisition's disbandment."

Samson frowned. "Why would she do that? Wasn't she your friend." Hadiza shook her head, speechless.

"Orlais and Ferelden want the Inquisition off their lands immediately, and our forces dissolved piecemeal. Maker…I…" She came to the breakfast table and sat down.

Samson frowned, taking the letter to read from himself. It was there, in plain ink, written in Josephine's flowing hand.

"Raleigh," Hadiza said, "what do I do? I…where do I even begin to tackle this?"

Samson set the letter down and glanced outside of the window.

"We go home."

The farewells were tearful, of course they were.

Hadiza said goodbye to her newfound family, embracing aunts, uncles, cousins, and kissing infants as House Fayé wished her well. Even Assane, who still viewed her with a degree of wariness, embraced her as family.

"You are a strange daughter," he told her, "but Maribasse was always strange. Still, you are no longer ignorant in our ways. Mayhap you can teach those idiot southerners a thing or two about magic. Even though your training is not yet over."

Hadiza laughed. It was the closest she would get to hearing him say he would miss her. Djeneba smiled warmly, folding her into an embrace and Hadiza swore she never wished to leave it.

"Thank you," Hadiza whispered through her tears, "for everything." Djeneba cupped Hadiza's face and placed a kiss on the younger woman's forehead. Hadiza felt a tingle in the roots of her hair, and blinked, wide eyed.

"That was…" She began and Djeneba put a finger to her lips. Hadiza nodded, turning to her friends, ready to leave.

"Inquisitor!" Oluremi called, coming up to her. Hadiza turned, blinking. Oluremi frowned, seemingly at odds with what she wished to say.

"You…" She began, "You are a powerful mage, and I have no doubt you have made many enemies in the south. And your templar is not a bad sort either. But there is still much work to be done with you if you are to beat me in a fair fight." Oluremi frowned as Babacar joined her side. "Babacar tell her." She ordered.

"What she means to say is that she is sorry for her mistreatment and mistrust of you, and that she looks forward to your return when your business is concluded." He laughed, and when Oluremi looked down at her feet, Babacar quickly kissed her cheek, startling her, her skin flushed dark. Hadiza grinned.

"I see." She said coyly, "Well, I look forward to returning here to complete my training as well. And perhaps next time we meet in the pit you all will not be so fearsome."

"Oh I doubt that," Ajisayé said, "but it's endearing that you think you stand a chance, Inquisitor." The woman grinned, and Hadiza was unsure whether to feel leery or to run away at the sight of those pointed teeth.

Feynriel opted to stay and continue his studies with the seers of Rivain.

"Are you sure?" Hadiza asked softly, "We could use a dreamer back home." Feynriel smiled and blushed.

"Thank you, Inquisitor, but I'd very much like to stay. There's so much the seers here can teach me about spirits and the like. Even though it is uncommon for the men to possess the gift here. Aside, I know how to find you."

Hadiza laughed. "Do not enter my dreams uninvited, Feynriel." She warned.

"Would never think of it, Inquisitor." He promised and they embraced.

They were well-supplied, and Hadiza packed her mother's armor away in its chest. Their mounts were fresh and outfitted in traditional Rivaini riding regalia, with hassled fly nets for their ears, braided manes and tails, and bells on the bridles. Samson found the frippery to be strategically inane, and packed away plain bridles, saddles, and the like for when they were back in the Marches and made their way back to Skyhold.

As they mounted up, Hadiza looked back and knew she would miss this place that had been home to her for several months. She turned and faced the east.

"Ready?" Aja asked her, and Hadiza grinned, lifting her hand. She shot three arcane bolts into the air, and they exploded in a shower of light. She heard with a flush of pleasure, children cheering in the courtyard at the sight.

"Let's go save the Inquisition." Hadiza said, and they were off, heading home.