Trigger Warning: The same ones that I've had before in this story. You've been warned.
The line of sunlight was red until he opened his eyes. Initially the smuggler observed the dust particles dancing in the air. Then he rolled over. There was no walking stick balancing against the bed frame. And there was no figure of Faith draped with sheets. Instantly, a fiery rage exploded inside him.
"FUCKING BITCH!" Samson screamed.
That whore went to work, that must be it. This was bloody typical. She never listened to him when he made suggestions for her own good. Samson covered his face in his hands as his heart pounded so hard he was amazed his arteries weren't splitting open by the force. She went to work after he'd told her specifically not to. What was wrong with her? She was so reckless and he didn't want her to degrade into a worse state than she already was. Wasting no time, Samson changed his clothes, put on his boots, grabbed his satchel and stormed out of the house, his mind teeming with a wrath so all-consuming that thought wasn't possible.
It was only once he entered Lowtown did he realize that he had not eaten breakfast (or lunch, considering it looked to be about mid-day) or had his dose of lyrium. That was stupid. As he left Lowtown he was frustrated at himself for not asking Lady Elegant about Faith. Maybe the bitch wasn't at work and was exploring Kirkwall. It didn't matter. In either case, he was going to find out. Knocking his satchel against someone in the doorway, Samson entered the Blooming Rose. He had never felt so agitated in the place.
The second the smuggler spotted Madame Lusine, he made a beeline for her. The queue only had three people. Samson waited per usual though changed his mind after one customer was served and simply stood adjacent to the front of the queue until Lusine took notice. By the threatening glance in his direction, Samson knew she had seen him, yet the manager ignored him for a while.
"Good afternoon, Samson," she said curtly, once the second customer went to the lounge. "What may I do for you?"
Samson saw the truth in her eyes. She knew what he was after. She was putting on her professional front of bullshit. Still, he had to give her the benefit of the doubt.
"I was hoping Faith was around," he said stiffly. His hands were trembling. "You see, I need to talk to her and it's urgent."
"She is not in a right state to talk," Lusine said, bluntly, "Instead, you can tell me what you wish to say to her."
Fuck you, woman, Samson thought. He could have slapped her! How dare she deny him the right to talk to Faith, when he knew about her problems in much more detail than her boss.
"Is this going to take long?" asked a female customer still in line.
"No," Samson snapped. "I would like to humbly request that Faith return home to rest."
"Yes, she is ill," Lusine acknowledged, "That's why her job for today is to look over the books. She will be paid a lower rate, and I will ensure she returns home earlier than her usual time."
"SHE SHOULDN'T BE HERE AT ALL!" Samson shouted. To the void with any customers that were frightened. They probably should be, because he was furious enough to use his Templar spells to force them out of the way, if they interfered.
Lusine looked pissed off. "I agree with you. I have confidence that you understand that her life costs are higher than most. We came to a compromise."
"DO YOU WANT TO KILL HER?!" Samson screamed. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
"Lower your voice or leave before I retrieve the city guard," Lusine said shortly.
He put in a conscious effort to lower his voice, but still ended up shouting. "You only care about money! You're a selfish person, not thinking about your workers! You're too attached, letting yourself be persuaded by someone who can't think or do anything for herself. Let me talk to her!"
"I do not understand what you are trying to say. You are making very little sense," Lusine said sharply, "To be frank, she does not want to talk to you. If you want my opinion, I understand why. I warn you, leave now before I have you removed against your will."
The senseless woman couldn't think straight. Samson turned his attention to the staff room next and walked towards it. No one else in the Rose tried to stop him, not even Lusine. He was free. He rapped his knuckles on the door. "Faith, can I speak to you please?"
He crossed his arms, waited and knocked again. "Princess, can you please open the door? I won't be cross, I promise."
Some rustling could be heard from inside. While he waited, he peered over his shoulder and saw that Lusine was speaking to one of the waitresses. See, Lusine didn't care and was getting distracted.
He was about to knock again when the door opened. Faith was there, half her face as non-functioning as the previous night, leaning on her walking stick with the other hand. Her bandages were discreetly concealed by a ribbon she'd tied her hair up with. If he wasn't so angry, he would have told her it was adorable. She made an irritated face like, 'what?'
Samson made the same expression back.
Faith shrugged and rubbed the fingers of her free hand together, that looked like the symbol to mean 'money'.
Samson shook his head. "Sweetie, please come home. I'm worried about you.'
"No," Faith said. Oddly enough, she was looking past him into the background somewhere.
Samson made a noise like a growl and a sigh. "Why are you so stubborn? You almost died last night. You don't fucking remember it but I do. Don't try to tell me it doesn't matter, like it's all the same as last time you had a stroke! It's not! I know it isn't. I saw! You had lost your mind. You weren't capable of doing anything! It was everything terrible happening at once. You can't keep working the same as before!"
Faith started to cry. She shook her head and made a gesture as if she was strangling an invisible person.
"Why don't you talk!? Fucking hell, Faith. If you can function so bloody well, prove it!"
He was expecting Faith would return with a coherent argument. Instead, Faith steadily leaned into her walking stick, and with her functioning leg kicked him in the shins, and then in the balls. Colours and blackness crossing his vision, he staggered and kneeled onto the ground and groaned. Closing his eyes in agony, he simply endured the pain for a moment. If they weren't in a public place he would feel turned on by her burst of violence. What usually followed when she hit him was confusing him, though it wasn't time for games. Now she had to go down with him. Immediately, he grabbed onto one of her ankles and tugged on it.
"How fucking dare mistress hit me without asking," he growled, digging his nails deeper into her leg. "I was trying to help you!"
Faith lost balance and slowly joined him onto the ground, easing the fall by leaning onto the door frame. They were monsters whose prey had been placed into view, cannibals that would tear and consume the other alive. Faith pulled herself closer to him by grasping onto his shirt with her good side and then punched him in the thigh. Samson grabbed her hand, twisted her wrist and pulled her fingers back. Without another functioning hand, she'd be useless. Faith screamed and pulled away, trying to get away from him. She kicked him again with her working leg, though the force was nil.
As one of her fingers disjointed, he saw the world slow down and she was disappearing. It took a few moments to realize he was being pulled away from her, and a pair of hands had roughly grabbed onto him.
"What the…"
"Hi, there. It's Samson, isn't it?"
The question was so mundane and idiotic it startled him out of being angry. Samson twisted around and spotted a man who couldn't be much older than him in armour. A guard. It wasn't one he recognized, though he had a bristly moustache and a bony face.
"Y…Yeah?" Samson said, albeit pathetically.
"I see you were hurting that woman there," the guard said, "Have I missed anything?"
"Yes," Samson said, and he pointed, "She hit me first, and she's my mistress."
"Is that true, Faith?" the guard asked Faith. Another larger Guard had taken hold of her, though she was crying and trying to break free.
"IF YOU LIE, I'LL KILL YOU!" Samson shouted. He wouldn't really kill her, but he would probably give her a good smack in the face.
"Shut up," the guard cut across him. Then he turned to Faith. "He won't hurt you. He can only struggle over there. You can tell us the truth, Faith."
Faith suddenly stopped moving. She went limp in the legs and stared at Samson with bloodshot ones. "I… I did hit him first…." She spoke slowly to enunciate properly, and the Guards leaned in to hear, "b…but he yelled first."
The guards met eyes with strained expressions.
"We're taking you into the Gallows," the guard near Faith said, "Don't fuss, okay? You're not going to be there indefinitely. Once you've settled down we'll figure out what to do with the two of you, alright?"
Faith crossed her arms and nodded, solemn, like she'd accepted her fate.
Samson merely pouted. "What a great start to my afternoon," he said.
The Guard looked like he was trying to stifle a snort, but nodded. "Let's get them out of here."
Samson was about to re-join Faith, but the Guard nearest her said, "Keep them away from each other."
"I will," Samson's guard said, "Chain up one of her wrists, not the one she uses her walking stick with."
"I'm not getting chained up!" Samson protested.
"Yes, you are," the guard said, and he helped Samson off the ground, "It's only for a little while, like we're taking pets for a walk outside, like a nice walk."
"Joy to Andraste's corpse," Samson said sarcastically. "I feel enough like a dog to the corrupt masses. Maybe this is good."
"That's the spirit," the Guard said, as Samson hands were put in chains. Samson got the impression the Guard wasn't really listening to him.
The two of them walked out of the Blooming Rose with their arms chained. Samson felt humiliated, stupid, and kept his gaze a few foot in front of him to avoid the stares from onlookers. He wasn't a child so he didn't need to be followed around like one. The fact he was being brought back to the Gallows, a Chantry based institution, only to be thrown into prison was so extremely ironic that he wanted to laugh.
If only you could see me now, Cullen, he thought, gleefully. It was only an amused thought for a few minutes. Once he left Hightown and drew closer to the Docks, he realized that getting arrested wasn't the outcome he wanted. The ideal would have been if Faith agreed to rest and come home, but she was being stubborn and refusing to. His emotional explosion had been an accident. In fact, he thought it was justified because no one else seemed to understand how important it was that Faith rest. None of them knew what they were talking about! They hadn't seen what he had. They had no idea.
Now he didn't want anyone to find out he had been literally pulled away from attacking someone he cared about. That just sounded depraved, and it was embarrassing, because he hadn't even been thinking when it happened.
Faith and Samson were a couple of meters away from each other. The Guards were making sure there was no way they were going to hold a conversation.
"I'm Simon, by the way. How'd you go with the Qunari trouble yesterday?" the Guard asked, "We've been extra busy today because it's like everyone's gone mental."
"Eh," Samson shrugged. Everything was embarrassing. "I yelled at Faith yesterday too."
"That's not on. What for?"
"She'd taken a bunch of blue poison and nearly died," Samson said, 'It's not referred to as poison for nothing, you know."
"Oh. Righto then."
Righto… Samson felt baffled by the nonchalance of the Guard. He clearly hadn't been with them long enough to be like that. "I'm not the only one who's been like this?"
"Nah," the Guard said, "Doesn't mean it's justified, but you're not the only one we're throwing behind bars today."
"Yipee," Samson grumbled. "How are you after the Qunari rubbish?"
"I haven't slept," the Guard said, "We've been busy ever since."
"Shit, isn't it? I haven't slept much either."
"We'll be throwing Guards behind bars next," the Guard laughed, "One of my mates totally lost it at a lady earlier. She offered him coffee and snap. By Andraste! I told 'im, I said 'fuck off, mate, she's only tryna be nice to you'"
"Street folk are like maggots, aren't they?"
"Certainly are," Guard said, "I mean, that's wrong. It just gets too much after a while. Chaos after more chaos."
"Yeah."
The Gallows trip was wearisome. A different set of boats were used to what the Templars did, which was a relief for Samson. He kept his face hidden regardless. The bizarreness of being brought to the part of the Gallows that Templars didn't usually use annoyed Samson. This part of the Gallows looked more like a prison than the rest of it. The corridor was the usual tiles of silver, except these ones were wet with condensation, mould, and dripping with water. They were darker grey in colour, with patterns of rust and black. Voices from further down in other corridors were audible. They went to a side room which was well lit with torches and drier. A filing cabinet, desk and chairs were in the middle.
"The others will be a while with that lady having a problem walking," The Guard said. He gestured to a chair on the other side of a desk. "Let's chat before they get here."
Reluctantly, Samson sat down, unnerved that the Guard's tone was friendly and conversational. He wasn't used to someone behind a desk talking like that, at least not since he was a child.
"What do you want to know?" Samson asked.
"What happened before you started verbally abusing the business owner?"
"I… wasn't verbally abusing her," Samson said, slowly, though to be honest he didn't know what to call it. "I was trying to get her to listen to me."
"I've heard way better excuses than that," the Guard said with a wry smile.
"Okay, I wasn't paying much attention to what I was doing," Samson said, "You wanna call it abuse, fine. I was just really mad that Madame Lusine let Faith work, when I told Faith not to go to work because she'd just had a stroke."
"Aha. The pretence to the yelling started this morning."
"Afternoon," Samson said, "I slept in."
"Afternoon," the Guard corrected, "She'd already been working most of the day?"
"I don't bloody know," Samson groused, irked.
These questions continued, and they achieved little except make Samson wish they'd throw him in prison already so he didn't have to help the guard fill out his paperwork. Faith arrived ten minutes later, walking slower than everyone, which she looked embarrassed about. She sat on the chair next to Samson and her Guard went to add some notes to the parchment.
"Thank you for waiting," said Faith's Guard, "We have a few more questions for you two before we let you cool off."
"It's very cool in here already," Samson remarked.
The Guards sat down. "How do you two know each other?"
"We just do," Samson replied, shortly.
"Faith?"
She shrugged one shoulder.
The other Guard spoke, "Are you in a relationship?"
"A what?" Samson said
Faith didn't respond. The Guard asking the questions hesitated for a moment, apparently confused.
"For example, are you married?"
"No," Samson said.
"Are you planning to get married?"
"No."
"Do you agree with this, Faith?"
She nodded.
"Hmm… are you friends then?"
"Kind of," Samson said. "We live together."
After a roll of her eyes, Faith made a highly suggestive gesture with her fingers.
The Guards lingered on her action for a moment. "In that case…"
The other guard scribbled something down.
"What did you write?" Samson asked.
"I put, a domestic sexual relationship, with a question mark."
"Right." Samson couldn't tell if he was more disappointed that even that label wasn't right, or just baffled that guards had come up with that at all. He wished they could just put a question mark and be content with that answer. He was.
"What should we do with you?" the Guards said. "Are you going to start killing each other as soon as you're let back out there?"
Faith shook her head and nudged Samson to do the same. He reluctantly did.
"What's wrong, Samson?"
I don't want Faith to get in more trouble, Samson thought. "…Nothing."
By request, he handed over his satchel. The guard who had brought him here looked through its contents. He hoped Faith hadn't seen when the flash of an envelope was visible for a few seconds, yet he didn't dare look over and make him look even more suspicious. The guard didn't seem to care about this though and returned the bag.
"Are either of you wanting to fine the other?"
"Not much point of that," Samson said.
"What about you, Faith?"
"No," she said.
They were warned of one final detail before being brought down to the cells: "This won't go on your criminal record, though it will if we see this behaviour from you again. You were cooperative getting here and answering questions, so you'll be in the Gallows for five hours and then let go."
Despite this explanation, Samson had the impression they were just too busy to update anyone's criminal records. They were brought to cells at opposite ends of the Gallows corridor. Like the guards had warned, it was full of people today, and not of any set type of person. Young, old, beautiful, ugly, families, children, elves and Qunari were there. When Samson's cell shut, he wished more than ever that he had eaten something and had lyrium when he got up. Now he had nothing to do he realized how tired he felt.
The other cells were noisy and the conversations weren't interesting. Some were Hightown trash, and Samson saw no reason why they would commit a crime if they had more coin and food than they knew what to do with. Maybe they had no friends because they were so selfish, and that annoyed them, that must be it. Bored, he rummaged through his satchel and found the letter he was going to send to Zoe. He might as well proof read it while he had time to kill.
As he moved from paragraph to paragraph, he felt disgusted at himself.
Do you want a gold prize or something? Look at how much of a nutter you are.
There was no way he could send it like this. Hildred's advice seemed to have helped with the last letter, so he should do the same for this one. Context, he thought, struggling to find the proper words, context, context, context…
Dead Maker, he didn't have a pen. Angry, he shoved the letter back in his bag.
He lay down on the ground like he had once outside Faith's house and pondered on his letter. No doubt about it, he missed Zoe and Phillipa. Neither of them would have left the Free Marches if it wasn't for Meredith. He missed Terrie too, and Cullen before he became a judgmental prick. If he wrote to Phillipa, he guessed he would sound far more coherent. Although perhaps the guilt about Maddox would not improve his thoughts as much as he suspected. Knowing the two girls, they'd gossip about what he wrote to each other anyway, so he saw little point of doubling letters.
For what felt like the umpteenth time, he thought on the conversation he'd had with Gamlen about Zoe's letters.
"So you love this Zoe girl or something? Like, properly… all cordial and nauseating?" Gamlen asked. "Sounds like you do. Pretty sickening if you ask me."
"What in the name of Andraste's corpse does loving someone properly mean?" Samson demanded.
"I don't know," Gamlen grumbled, "Sometimes you can be stupid without knowing it. Especially with women. It's like they exist to make us bumbling idiots. I mean me and other people in general, not you."
"What's love according to you?"
"Innocent type feelings," Gamlen said, looking self-loathing. "Like you want to protect another person and give them more than what you are capable of giving. It doesn't run you dry, at least, not for half a decade of taking their crap."
"You don't talk about anyone like that."
"I know. Hence my point," Gamlen said. "It takes a special lady to bring out generosity in me. I used to feel that way for Mara but not anymore."
Samson pondered on love and felt no wiser about it than when he had started the conversation. "I want to fuck her all nice and proper. Does that count?"
Gamlen chuckled. "To the Maker with being proper and polite when it comes to that."
They both laughed garishly.
"What will you do about your other lady friend?"
Samson sighed. "What about her?"
"If you feel properly about this Zoe Somebody, what are you going to do with from Antiva lady?"
Samson shrugged. "Eh. I am thinking about telling her. I am not sure how."
"What? Why would you do that?"
"Faith knows about Zoe. She said she wouldn't get jealous as long as I am honest."
Gamlen looked distrusting. "Are you sure she said that?"
"Something like it, yeah."
"She can't be telling the truth. In my experience the more they know, the more they hate you," Gamlen said.
Samson felt disheartened. "Pretty sure she was telling the truth."
"I'll give you some credit. She is a whore. Clearly you have to be a little pathetic to resort to that. For her anyway. She strikes me as highly intelligent, too intelligent for a place like that. You could be right but I would say a lack of a jealous streak is rare, freakishly rare, only for those whom are...err, unusual. Sounds nice but unobtainable, impossible. Maybe her brain is a tad worse for wear with the lyrium on top of everything, made her a tad funny."
"She's not just a whore," Samson retorted, feeling offended and angry at a lot of what Gamlen just said. "Stop talking shit about her."
"Right. Sorry." Gamlen rushed. "I know you are clever so let's pretend you do tell her. She says, 'Do you not love me anymore?' How do you respond?"
Samson sighed. He was getting the impression that Gamlen was an expert in infidelity. "It's not like that. Faith would never say that."
"You don't know that."
"I'd tell her to piss off."
Gamlen laughed. "A great answer but she'll probably not like it."
Samson grumbled. "It's not like any of this applies. Faith and I are not in a relationship."
"Pff. Yes you are. You talk like you're a married couple going on two decades," Gamlen said. "Which would make you, what? Five years old and her twenty when you swore your lives away?"
"Fuck off," Samson spat. "Everything sounds like a sick, rotten nightmare when you put it like that, you lewd son of a bitch."
"I was just joking around," Gamlen chuckled with a pat on Samson's shoulder. "You don't need to be so jumpy. No, you're right. I am not being the greatest friend right now. I guess I am jealous myself. When I was... out here... like you are... I didn't have anyone close who cared about me. You do. Let me tell you, Faith would be wonderful to have around for free."
Samson considered this. "She can be difficult sometimes, but you're right. I am lucky."
Guilt flooded every crevice of his skull. He had wanted Faith to stay home so he could help her, and if he felt so grateful for her being around, how come he had attacked her? That was the very opposite of 'helping'.
Some fantastic ally you are, he thought hatefully to himself. Dizziness and a growling stomach overcame him. He started to punch the place on his shin where Faith had kicked him. It was a tender spot and he was sure it would bruise. It needed to bruise. Everything had to bleed as that was what he deserved for hurting Faith.
It was the most boring, pointless, irritating few hours Samson had ever spent, which was saying a lot for him. He spent most of the time trying to sleep, and finding it difficult to, as racket from the other cells or physical pain kept him awake. In the five hours, a couple more people made it into his cell, though Samson completely ignored them, even when they tried to talk to him. However, he drifted in and out of sleep a few times. One bloke thought it was funny to hit him to check he was still alive. Samson used a Templar spell to hurt the stranger, despite it being a pathetic zap. It was so startling, and the person didn't know what it was, that they were frightened into silence.
When he was brought back to the desk to be released and sign the papers, Samson was bleeding in a couple of places and had grazed his skin. His guard only briefly mentioned this, appearing nonchalant.
"You had a go at yourself too, did ya?" he asked.
Samson merely grunted. As if he was going to explain.
Faith was already at the office, sitting in a chair. They seemed to scan each other's injuries in unison, from feet to their head. Faith had the start of bruises over her thighs, deep scratches on her ankles and arms, and had bitten some kind of hole in her arm. The skin was torn though half scabbed over already. Her perfectly groomed hair was sticking together from slime on the cell floor and the ribbon was drenched. Then he met her eyes and she did his. In her, he saw a layer of apathy concealing anguish and suffering. He had never felt more like Faith and him shared the same soul, not even while messed up from lyrium. She didn't smile. She didn't do anything, except turn to the paperwork. It was like he didn't exist.
They didn't speak until they climbed out of the boat onto the Docks.
"If anyone asks about that," Samson said, slowly, "we were given a stern talking to and then let on our way."
His voice was hoarse, as if it had grown weak in lack of use.
Faith nodded. No one would ever know of this. They'd twist the tale, carry the shame, and keep it a secret until their graves.
"I'm sorry for what I did," Samson said, unable to specify his crime because he was too ashamed.
The woman didn't look like she believed him. "I have told you what work means to me. I can't believe you wanted to take that away. You were condescending and cruel."
With everything had happened today, he had trouble thinking of what she was referring to in that moment.
"You kicked me," Samson pointed out. "You left the house without saying anything. I told you I'd tell Lusine you were going to stop work for a while."
"I never agreed to that," Faith said, still slurring. "Samson, I cannot explain this any clearer. I can't stop working. I'm probably going to work until the day I die."
Samson felt his throat constrict. "I don't want you to die."
Faith took a hard look at him. "Everyone dies."
"That's not the point," Samson urged her. He tried to move closer to her, but she stepped away with a push of her walking stick. "I don't want you to die too soon.'
"And what decides that, exactly?" she demanded, sharply.
"There's more to life than this inevitable path you can see. I don't know what it is, exactly, but it's not this. Yeah, we're all going to snuff it at some point, but I'd rather you died doing something you were proud of, something that would make you look back and think 'I did well. I can pass on peacefully,' rather than 'That was rubbish'"
It wasn't clear if the woman understood, though she didn't look so distrusting.
"You said there's a reason this stroke wasn't like the others," Faith recalled. "Why do you think that?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "You were stuck in a delusion for a lot longer than last time, and your memory wasn't working. It was… a feeling I got."
Faith didn't say anything. She merely examined him, as if trying to read him.
"Look, if you want to go straight home, go ahead, though I'm going to get food, then I'm going to talk to Elegant," Samson said.
"Why do you want to talk to her?" Faith asked.
"Because you won't. I know you don't like me doing things without asking, though I really want to buy you some extra potions."
Faith sounded afraid. "Which ones? What for? What about money?"
"I'll pay for 'em," Samson said. "Stop worrying about it."
Before she could protest, he stepped away from her. Despite having longer legs, she was too slow to chase him. "B-but I'm not worth the trouble."
Startled by the tone of voice, he turned around. She looked like she would cry again, although instead of thinking it pitiful, he wanted to hold her and make her sadness disappear.
Samson sighed. "You don't have to agree that you're worth anything, though maybe you can accept that others can see in you something that makes them care."
It took a moment for the woman to acknowledge the words. When she did, she trembled.
"Only…" she said, her walking stick shaking, "I'll only take the potions if you promise to never stop me from working ever again."
She didn't chase him anymore. Waiting for his answer was all that was left, balancing awkwardly against her walking stick, her posture hunched over, exhausted. Maybe in agreeing to this, she would continue the same routine she had and work until she reached her death bed. However, if that was ever going to change, potions could purchase her more time to change her mind.
"I promise."
"Hi Elegant. I need your help."
"What for?" Elegant asked, and she looked worried, "Are you alright?"
"I just need food," Samson brushed the worry away, "Faith had another stroke last night. What's one of those tranquilizing potions cost again?"
"Gracious Maker, no," Elegant looked horrified, "Is there anything else you need? As I told you before, I'll give you discounts."
"Um, and the one for overdoses which I just ran out of. I don't care how much it costs anymore. I'm not going to watch while she ruins her life."
"Cinders Draught is 25 silver," Elegant said, pushing forth a strongbox, "That's the overdose one, and a tranquilizing potion is cheaper, 15 silver. They're both discounted."
Samson threw down coin for the potions immediately. They might not have money for food if it was a consistent cost, but he didn't care anymore.
"If either of you are having trouble, you are welcome to visit my husband and I's house," Elegant said.
"Faith told me she doesn't like it because she doesn't want to drag you down with her," Samson said, "and honestly I don't want that either. So long as you can keep your head above water, with us pulling on your legs, I'll tell her."
Elegant looked startled. "There's no leg pulling, and if there was I would tell you. Goodness, and I wouldn't want you to not be around because of it. I used to worry about that too when I didn't have any money. You feel like a drain on other people." Her expression fell. "I thought Faith knew that."
"Maybe she did," Samson admitted. "I don't know, but I don't think she's right with her thinking."
"If she thinks I earn more money now, she's wrong," Elegant said, "Mercenary work pays at least double what I earn now. Running this business has plenty of maintenance costs which makes it not earn as much as it appears to on paper. I just like this job more, and I'm happier for it. That's the only difference. I get the impression Faith earns more than I do, but I know that the lyrium takes much of that away. My husband, well, and his family, are the rich ones so I have a nice house. My family aren't in Kirkwall but they can give me coin if I am low on funds."
"See, neither of us have family who can do that," Samson said. "Both my parents were poor, and because they were stressed, they were horrible with spending their money and argued about money a lot. That's why they sent me to the Circle in the first place. They knew they were shit parents, and I guess maybe that makes them a bit better than most shit parents. It doesn't make me want to be around them though."
"I suppose…. Yes, I do understand that," Elegant said, "That's why I want to help. It makes me get wrinkles if I worry." She laughed, "If nothing else, tell Faith I need her to come for tea so I don't get any more wrinkles. She'll understand that. It was a little joke of ours."
"Okay. Thank you for the offer," Samson said with a small smile, "I do appreciate your kindness. I will let you know if we need any more help. Did you manage alright from the fires yesterday?"
"We lost the garden," Elegant admitted, looking sad, "which was so distressing because I was growing some herbs there. Though I'm grateful I have a garden at all, because I used to grow everything with indoor plants. So I'm going to be a bit slow with orders in the coming weeks."
"I understand, and I'm sorry," Samson said, "We missed the worst of it in Darktown. Lucky, since Faith's house would have fizzled up like a twig."
Before he returned home, he wrote a second letter to Zoe in the Hanged Man, because the Rose had suspended him for a few weeks. Faith's insistence that his attack was a standalone incident, and that it had directly followed the Qunari attacks was the only reason why he had not been banned permanently. Samson had no energy to feel annoyed anymore, and reluctantly trudged to the warm tavern that would remind him of the past.
Hi Zoe,
You are such a lovely person, and I also want to tell you… context.
What was happening when I wrote my reply? Kirkwall was invaded by Qunari and the city was under attack. Everyone was bloody terrified. I even checked in with your brother, Jed. He seems okay. Not sure where your parents are though. You'll probably hear from him soon. I tried, Zoe. I really did try to make a difference.
Faith isn't just 'sick'. She had a stroke last night. She's had a history of getting 'em, see, and I deeply fear for her life. Tragedy of health makes you think about death, you know. Any day, someone could die just like that for no good reason. She went to work. I told her not to because she can hardly talk or move. She's stubborn like that, a bit like me. We had a big row about it and I was beyond caring about everything, even you. That's frightening, actually.
He returned to the draft he had written last night. Like before, it didn't feel genuine to remove all the terrible parts. In the original letter, he roughly inked out all the swear words.
I didn't drink anything that time, though I had taken a lot of lyrium. I wanted to think better, but it kind of… made my thoughts a blur… too fast, or too slow, I dunno. I know my letter makes me look like a nutter. You don't need to tell me. I can see it. I can't think sometimes. I feel this growing anger, like a wild fire, growing faster than I know how to stop it. It is like a disease, infecting every part of me, and the maggots are crawling inside to eat it and shit it back out. Then flies get in and it's disgusting.
I need help, and let the letter be a testament to how rotten my mind has become. I'll try to make it a bit nicer for you. It doesn't feel right to change it, because I know there's this desperation too, this sadness and emptiness feeding on me, that never goes away.
I'm sorry that I can't figure out how to fix it. I really want to be 'better', though how can I when everyone points their rich, spoilt fingers to the Chantry ? That place will only make me angrier. And I keep thinking that any 'help' might not properly help anyway, so what's the point? It will only waste energy what remains of my mind that I could spend doing something else.
I suppose you are an important person to me, Zoe, and I don't like people being important to me, because then I can hurt them, and that hurts me, which makes me want to hurt others even more. It creates this never ending vortex of pain.
I'm sorry if my original letter hurts you. I don't know how to do better right now.
Sincerely,
Samson
That was more reasonable, he decided, and he gathered some coin to send both to Orlais. Once he placed the two papers in his satchel again, he rested to gather his energy. Samson gazed at the hearth nearby and could recognize the very table Zoe and himself had sat at two years ago over the patrons. It was so easy to imagine.
Not much time that had passed, though with Zoe in a new country she might look different, just like he looked different again than he had a week ago. She probably wore more colourful dresses, ate dishes he wouldn't be able to recognize and perhaps she had learned the local Orlais slang and mannerisms. With her job as a Seeker, maybe she had a few more bruises on her legs or cuts on her face. Her eyes may have a hint of that solemn darkness to them, the hollow, dispassionate gaze that he had seen in the guards earlier, not the sparkle he adored.
"You can't leave," he tried to recall what he had said, "the Gallows needs you! It can't have everyone in there being nutters."
"Maker's tits, Samson, it's not like the Gallows will crumble into a heap without me," Zoe replied, looking solemn. She was wearing that olive green dress and had a portion of her hair in the usual braid.
Samson felt his heart pound into his head. Even in his imagination, it was nerve racking to say the next few words. "What if I crumble into a heap without you?"
Zoe chuckled, waiting in the silence, and then frowned. "Wait…You're not pulling my leg?"
The man shrugged. "No." He paused, recalling her sparkling green eyes. Here they were filled with concern, the reaction he was used to.
The choir sang to him, yet it went along with the music in the tavern: Ein Meer voller Seelen, Doch so allein bleibt der Mensch in sich verschlossen (An ocean of souls, Yet man is locked in lonely solitude)
"I don't know how to describe how I feel about you," Samson said, carefully, staring at the table, "I know that I like being around you and I want to see you a lot more than I currently am. The night before I was kicked out was like some sweet eye of a storm, where everything was calm, yet there was chaos going on around us. I hate that you're going away because it's like you're throwing away our…" He hesitated. "friendship?"
"I'm not throwing that away," Zoe urged him, "I'd like you to write to me."
"Because I'm your friend…" Samson clarified, "…or because you feel pity for me?"
And still the choir sang to him: Er redet viel zu viel, Doch sagt er nichts - nichts gibt er preis - nichts nimmt er auf (He talks much too much, Saying nothing - giving nothing - taking nothing in )
Zoe's image blurred as Samson wasn't sure how she would respond. The flash of her face was angry. "Because I want you to! Do I need to have a reason?"
"I don't know. Most people have reasons for doing things!" Samson retorted. "Especially girls."
Zoe looked disgruntled. "Because I'm a girl?"
"You tell me," Samson said, "Do you feel anything for me besides pity these days?"
Wie ein Traum, Ein tiefes Sehnen (Like a dream, a deep yearning )
Zoe crossed her arms and stared at him incredulously. "Seriously?"
A familiar anger rose from inside him, yet it wasn't the rage he had felt earlier today. It was an exhausted, cynical resentment, the same turmoil he had felt the night he had been drunk after talking to Cullen. How strange it was to recognize his inner demon's resting place.
"That's just so bloody like you, isn't it Zoe?" Samson said.
"What?" Zoe demanded, getting defensive.
"Hey, don't get mad at me. After I left the Gallows I thought you had changed. You even said you'd seen the error of your ways. Suddenly you were making an effort to talk to me and have full conversations, when you'd never done that before. I am sorry to say I think I made a mistake. You're still the same girl as before."
"The same, wonderful girl who could do no wrong?" Zoe inquired, with a patronizing air.
"No," Samson snapped, "You're still just as vain and selfish."
"That's a first from you," Zoe replied, as if amazed by his daring.
"Hear me out, Zoe. Really listen." He was speaking faster now, with more certainty. "For the year and a bit in the Gallows I knew you, I tried to get you to talk directly to me but you ignored me. You kept playing these twisted games, making me want to follow you around and grab your attention. And you giggled, you smiled, your eyes lit up, I saw, and you kept trying to avoid talking to me, treating me like I'm stupid and get me try again, try again, try again. 'Eww, it's a boy, it's Samson, he's so weird'… guess what, beautiful? I'm not that weird and you would have seen that by how I talked to Phillipa and Cullen, people who were right next to you. It's not like me making an idiot out of myself was the only part of me you saw."
The choir continued to sing for him, and he listened how they wished: Nichts bleibt bestehen, Nichts hält mich auf (Nothing remains, Nothing keeps me here)
"What's your point?" Zoe demanded, speaking more like Faith each time she opened her mouth.
"I don't understand you one bit," Samson answered, "Everything about how you acted around me made sense up until you had sex with me. I know from talk around the Gallows you're not some hussy who would open your legs for any pretty sod. If that's all I was to you, some nice looking bloke to have one good time, then I don't understand why you didn't approach me about it earlier… we could have had way more sex, for one… I don't know why you waited until the last second. If that's all I am, then it's not new, and you're being a bitch by continuing to ignore the subject of how I think I feel about you."
"I may be a lot of things, but I'm not a bitch," Zoe half shouted, nearly spilling her drink.
"Really? To me, you're immature and shallow," Samson said, leaning forward in his chair, "All it is with you is dancing around feelings and what you really think. You will write about any other terrible thing in your life except me."
"You don't even know how you feel!" Zoe shouted.
"So what? I've basically told you what I feel in way more words than you ever have, and I used to be hardly able to talk to you!"
Zoe screwed up her face, though Samson wasn't done yelling at her yet.
"I'll make it simple. I'll make it very clear for your self-absorbed brain," he said, getting a headache, "I have only realized it recently, but I think you've known the whole time what I think about you and that you're not just something to fuck. You've known since the start, for years, and you deliberately leave me with nothing because you like fucking with my head and playing mind games with me. Nothing's changed, it's just like the Gallows but on parchment. You just like the attention, the fact someone out there wants you and watching me suffer."
"Shut up!" Zoe shouted, her expression looking more like Faith's than her own.
"You made the right decision leaving," Samson snarled. "Orlais's the perfect place for a selfish bitch like you. There you can play mind games to your heart's content. They praise you for it, and your ego can get even bigger. I bet that's why you stay with the Chantry. It's a way to hurt people and feel righteous about it."
Irritated, he wiped some tears from his eyes, the ultimate betrayal. He didn't care about Zoe. "And you know what I hate more than anything?"
Zoe rolled her eyes. "Do you think I care?"
"If I had known that you were going to continue being this way, that I was going to get so confused thinking about what that time in your bed meant, I'd rather you never told me you wanted to sleep with me. Or I wish I'd told you 'No, I'm not going to do it', because I'm sick of putting in so much effort only for you to play a game. I used to overlook it because, honest, I was acting stupid, and you seemed above me, but... I don't truly believe I'm stupid, you're only above me in rank, which means piss all, and I don't think i deserve this. I've now had more than my share of sex that means nothing and I'm tired of it."
He recalled the flash of rage of Zoe's eyes, and the sting of his face when she slapped him. Only this time in his mind he couldn't conjure the warm feeling of her hand colliding with his skin. He only felt the sting of her deep seated hatred in his heart. Unlike before, it took much longer for her look of anger to turn into guilt. Instead, it turned to worry. That was all he could remember. Worry and anger, feelings that didn't have much to do with each other, just like the two of them.
They decreed the truth. They sang of righteousness. Diese Welt ist fern von mir - und ich gehöre nicht zu ihr (This world is strange for me - and I am not part of it)
"Trust me, I didn't mean to do that," Zoe said seriously. One of her eyes was blue, and half of the skin tone on her face had a weave of dark vessels underneath. "Could you forgive me?"
Samson stood from the chair and abandoned the table as he did in real time, trying to wipe the memory of Zoe slapping him from memory. He still wasn't sure what that had meant or why she had slapped him. Part of him wanted the reason to be kept a secret, if it was going to be horrible. He'd had enough implied rejection from her without making it worse.
I don't know, he replied, sadly to the Zoe in his head, as he looked at a painting of the Hanged Man on the wall.
Faith had hurt herself again, though not as dangerously as usual. She stumbled into bed, pushed herself closer to him without clothes on, and covered herself with blankets, hair damp and water droplets still on her skin. Her body was ice cold. She'd deliberately bathed in water that was freezing for a very long time. The night chill was creeping from outside past the curtains and only the lantern illuminated them from on the bedside table.
Samson was too tired now to bother washing himself. He would just stink until tomorrow morning.
"Why did you do that?" he asked, "Beating yourself up earlier today was enough."
Faith shook her head.
"I disagree."
Faith held him tighter and eventually replied, "You wouldn't understand."
Then it started again. He asked her what was wrong, and she avoided answering twice before saying. "Do you know how it feels to be nothing?"
"Yes," he responded, "and, sorry, but if you haven't realized that yet it's naïve of you."
Faith started to cry. Samson felt no empathy or sadness. He was so run down it was like all the empathy had been sucked out of him. Still, that didn't mean he had to be cruel. He held onto her hands and squeezed them.
"I hate having strokes," Faith said, "I hate that it makes me unable to do anything, and the smallest task becomes difficult to impossible. If I can't do anything, then what value do I have? Why do I keep trying? Why am I alive?"
Samson was stunned by the depths of Faith's despair. He had to be strong for her. "There's more to you than what you can do. There's what you think, say, and feel, who you are, and that's important as well. It's important to me, anyway."
He didn't attempt to justify that the rest of the world cared, because honestly, they probably didn't. The masses didn't care about people. They only cared about what people could do for them.
Faith wiped her tears on his bare shoulders. "I feel useless."
"You're not," Samson said.
"You don't understand," Faith said, "For instance, if I went along with what you said, if I was without work for the rest of my life, I would try to kill myself."
Samson rolled over and held onto her hands. She was very serious. He still couldn't belief it. The waters of her sadness were so cold she was willingly to drown in them. The more real it seemed, the greater despair he felt.
"I'm sorry I said that," Samson said, "I was just thinking if you rested you wouldn't get worse."
"What difference does it make?" Faith struggled to say. "I'm probably fucked. What's going to happen if you're right, and I take longer to recover from my stroke?"
"Then we'll get through it like we did last time," Samson said. To be honest, he didn't want to think about it. He gently ran a hand down the shoulder she had bitten, missing the wound. He suppressed a smile. "If you want, you can get fucked by me, not just the world or your illness."
Faith thankfully realized he was joking and gave a lopsided smile through her tears. "That nearly sounds pleasant."
They held each other though couldn't push from their minds what might be waiting for them in the days to come.
Denial about Faith's unremitting desire to die slowly ebbed away and powerlessness took its place. Elegant's potions should lessen her melancholy, and he would soon learn the cost.
The horror of how he had treated his ally, his Mistress, his lover, his friend, that afternoon became a heavier weight as time passed, the more distance stretched between this memory and Kirkwall itself. His most courteous, heartfelt apology came to mind when she was no longer within reach. His memory became gradually more unreliable, yet he remembered her quite clearly.
Time liked to play games, time nearly always won, and the cards he had left to deal were discarded.
This chapter had entirely new material so thanks for waiting. It is also the end of Part 3! Bring on Part 4, the last section of the story.
Thank you to Schattenriss for the beta and for the song recommendation which I used as the lyrium's song "Fassade 2 Satz" by Lacrimosa