A chair slid across the floor as if someone sat down at the table near him. Samson remained half asleep with his head in his arms. He was wearing some of Lawrence's clothes although they didn't entirely fit.

"Thank you for lending me the bed," Hope whispered. "Did you find somewhere to rest?"

Samson shook his head.

"Where did you sleep?" Hope asked.

"I didn't," Samson said. "I cleaned Faith's house, hoping to find information. There wasn't anything."

"That's stressful."

"Mmhmm."

"Will you return to the Gallows today?"

Samson groaned. He probably should go back because he had his belongings and coin there. He really didn't want to make that trip, though. Not after his arms hurt from the mage smuggling boat trip yesterday. The lack of lyirum was infuriating. "Can I borrow the bed to sleep for an hour or two?"

"Yes, I am properly awake now," Hope said.

Arms twitching and thoughts hazy, Samson slumped to the bed and didn't bother to change. The sheets smelled like Faith which made him feel slightly ill. Overly exhausted, he seemed to instantly sleep.


"Samson," hissed Elegant, shaking his arm, "You have visitors."

"What?"

"Wystan came past. He gave your belongings, coin and lyrium philtre back."

"Great…" He was so drained his gratitude was not evident.

"It's in the corner. He left afterwards. Two others just came by- they're at the door, from your conspiracy group - what should I tell them?"

"Tell 'em I'll have a short meeting this evening at Faith's house. I would like a day to rest."

"Absolutely. Rest well."

Elegant left the room, he climbed out of bed to drink lyrium and then returned to under the covers.


When Samson woke, he still didn't feel prepared to endure the day. Sluggish, he wondered what time it was. He didn't know what he wanted to do. He didn't feel angry or empty. He was beyond emptiness. Numbness was all that remained, a numbness that left no hollow. Figuring out the location of the Carta was an idea, it just seemed like an effort, overwhelmingly so. Meeran might only know where Faith had gone if she had spoken to him. It seemed unlikely, although so did Faith running away in the first place.

He didn't want to eat anything, yet he did eventually, not wanting to relive times when he was starving. If it wasn't for Elegant strictly requesting that he leave the house so his sleep pattern didn't get ruined, he probably wouldn't have done so. Feeling worthless and unproductive, he wandered to Darktown to Hightown as leisurely as possible.

Paying one of the less expensive Rose girls for a surface level conversation and hugs had not eased his mind. It had been too tempting to emotionally toy with her. He didn't know why he resisted. Getting banned from this place wouldn't make him feel much worse. Honestly, he didn't know why he was still in Kirkwall.

He finished a glass of cider feeling no better or worse.

"Hi pen thrower," said Vivika. "Feeling well?"

Samson resisted looking angry. He should have expected that nickname. "I want to talk to Faith."

"Why can't you?"

"She isn't in the city anymore from what anyone can tell."

"How do you know?"

Samson shrugged. "She lied on her resignation letter."

"That's worrying, yes. You've talked to the Guard, I presume?"

"Friends did. If she doesn't show her face at the end of today we will get them to have a proper look around."

"Tut tut," Vivika said. "Would any of the girls know her whereabouts?"

"No idea… you know how she keeps to herself," Samson said.

"She wasn't like that with me for long," Vivika said, "I have the talking poison." She gestured to the bottles behind the bar.

"I don't think she ever drank often."

"No. But when she did…"

"Did she start throwing pens around?"

Vivika laughed. "No. She told me a thing or two. I don't think she remembers to be honest."

"It's good Lusine wasn't the only one looking out for her," Samson said.

"A lotta people didn't get her. Thought she was cold. I never took it personally. I always thought it was stress."

"It was."

"Of course it was. My mother was much the same."

"Do you still talk to her?"

"My mother? From time to time."

Samson hesitated. "Did Faith say anything recently that would…"

"Clue as to where she'd gone?" Vivika checked. "No. She hadn't drank any alcohol since you were around."

"Damn," he wondered if anyone else would know. Only one came to mind. Steadily he walked to Lusine again, not wanting to avoid his concerns forever.

"Long time no see," he said briskly, "Olina around?"

"She's having a quiet day," Lusine said smoothly, "Coin?"

"Uh… here."

"Go ahead to the lounge, Samson."

Once he was there, it took a few minutes until Olina exited the staff room.

"Is that Samson?" Olina stepped toward him. "It is! Long time no see."

Samson grinned. The blonde was taller since he'd seen her last, her make up was softer, and her dress was lined with frill, though she had the same patience.

Samson followed obediently.

"I heard Faith ran away," Olina said as they went up the stairs, "Has there been any news?"

"Nope!" Samson ran his knuckles against the wall, a need to remember physical sensation again.

"Have you been snorting dust again?" she inquired. "You know how long it takes to get that out of the rugs."

"What, if you snort the rug?"

Olina ignored him. She indicated a room and he entered. It was nice to be back in one of these rooms again. He thought of when he'd been here last with Olina, and fondly thought, he'd gotten accustomed to her.

As he lay down on the bed he noticed that he liked the quiet.

Then the request came, the one he had to answer, "What would you like?"

Samson observed Olina curiously. She didn't appear judgmental of him.

Like usual, he wanted Faith. He always, always wanted her. But that was impossible now.

It might be more possible to figure out what had happened to her.

"Did you speak to Faith much before she buggered off?" Samson asked.

Olina seemed open to the subject. "A little. She was warmer toward me, at least."

"Warmer, eh?" Samson patted the space next to him, "Tell me."

Slowly Olina climbed onto the bed, but lay face up next to Samson. He didn't hold her hand or try to touch her, though he did scoot close enough that their arms were in contact.

"So easy to remember," Olina mused. "She started behaving differently once you moved out of her house. The afternoon you'd left here to the Gallows I found Faith reading a book in the staff room. She gave a small wave when I headed home, and I thought how queer. She never waves. I asked how she was the next day, made an effort to make meaningful conversation."

"How did she answer?"

"Her usual 'fine.'"

"Oh."

"But I noticed the ring on her finger and asked about it." Olina added.

"Of course you did." Samson sighed.

She went quiet for a moment, and they listened to the distant muffle of music from downstairs and watched their chests expanding and falling.

"She said it was 'Nothing.' Eventually, weeks later, she started calling it a unity ring."

Samson didn't recall ever naming the piece of jewellery. "What in the Black City is that?"

Olina frowned. "Do you mean you don't know?"

"No. What did she say?"

"She said it was a matching gift to the – oh, there was an Antivan name – unity coins."

"I don't follow."

"She said it is an Antivan wedding tradition that the groom presents the bride with thirteen unity coins, which signify financial commitment."

"What?"

"When you went to the room you handed Lusine thirteen gold," Olina explained, in a tone that suggested it should have been obvious.

Samson raised an eyebrow and turned his head to observe for any deceit on Olina's face, but there was nothing. "I just gave her everything I had left. I didn't count it or anything."

Since when did Faith get all superstitious about numbers? Maybe all the crying made her weird.

"It sounded all very romantic if I'm honest. Good for you, Faith, I said."

"That's not what it was for."

Olina looked confused. "Then… what was the ring for?"

"It was a farewell gift. I did attach some deeper meaning to it… but we aren't… married."

"In any case, you were helping her with money." Olina shrugged, as though implying marriage wasn't a big deal. "It isn't much different, Samson. You get so jumpy. I thought it was nice. About time, I thought."

"'About time'?"

"Yes."

"Why you say that?"

Olina giggled and covered her mouth with a hand. She turned her head to Samson, their noses almost touching. "I'm sorry. Are you twelve?"

"Do I look twelve?" Samson inquired, "Or maybe I should say thirteen, because let's put meaning to the meaningless!"

He didn't understand why he was angry about the prospect of unity coins or whatever it was. Maybe… there had been signs Faith was going loopy and no one had noticed it.

Olina giggled again, quieter.

"Didn't you think Faith's story was a tad strange?"

"Not overly," Olina said. "You're not the kind of man that makes sweeping gestures. I simply believed that unity coins was your way of expressing your feelings."

"A… a bit," Samson admitted, going pink. "Not to the extent she said."

It was baffling. Had Faith been under the constant impression they were engaged or something or other? She hadn't made that known to him.

"Yes, she misinterpreted. What's a little mistake? I don't think it did any harm," Olina said.

"Who knows," Samson said, exhausted. "Faith isn't really the sort of person who gets carried away by fantasy. If anything, she's downright cynical and pessimistic."

At last Olina didn't add any more thoughts to the topic. Perhaps she was thinking about it. "Is there anything else you'd like me to tell you?"

Samson paused. He supposed if Faith and Olina were talking to each other, that was good. Faith wouldn't have been too lonely without him.

He thought he'd once understood loneliness too.

He didn't know pain. He wasn't sure why his emotions had been severed, but maybe that was good too. He understood, if given the opportunity to feel, he'd probably want to kill himself.

"Any clues of why she'd leave?" Samson said finally, his voice hoarse.

Olina looked like she was thinking about it.

"Did she say anything else cracked?"

As if suddenly realizing something, Olina brought one of her hands to Samson chest. "Yes, there was something interesting she said. I'll be honest; I dismissed it because I didn't understand it, but...This was a few weeks ago- I asked why she'd handed in her resignation – didn't she need the money?"

Saved up and ran, didn't she? Samson thought to himself.

"Faith shrugged and went to her lunch break, but I confronted her again before her shift was over. I asked – 'wouldn't Samson be worried? Have you told him?'"

"Good." Samson praised her.

Olina was rushing now. "She said, 'I have it under control. Samson will know. Don't worry.' I put it out of my mind, but I probably shouldn't have. And – oh, it was so strange. I don't even know…"

"Just tell me, Olina."

The prostitute tangled her fingers in Samson's shirt. "Something about a cloud. A… red storm. That's it. 'A red storm is coming,' she said. How bizarre! I stood there so long thinking of what to say that she'd already walked away."

A red storm. Samson remembered mentioning this once too, to Orsino.

"Do you know what it means? I thought - maybe, a wild guess- it was an Antivan idiom, about rage, love or passion."

"Dunno." Though he had a guess.

"Wait, wait, I remembered something else," Olina said. "She also said, 'Every hurricane has an eye.'"

Samson frowned. If the hurricane was the uprising or Red Lyrium, what was the calm within the storm?

It was impossible to figure it out. He wanted to talk to her so desperately, a desire that could never be sated.

The room was slightly clearer, but his head was not. It was flying, but he was not flying. He was breaking.

Olina saw his expression. "Sorry. I don't know if that helps anything."

"Not your fault," Samson muttered, though in all honesty, he had no idea whose fault it was this time.

This should hurt more. It should feel like his insides were splitting. Though, maybe he could alter his expression to match what he thought he should be able to feel. He peered down at Olina's hand, the one with the ring on it, and didn't blink. The surface of his eyes started to burn. Tears filled his eyes. When he did blink, tears had not formed, though maybe he looked sad enough to be convincing.

The blonde gently drew a pattern with one finger on his chest. She squinted, as though trying to spot a speck of dirt that had flown into Samson's eye. Sadness made her look ten years older.

"What happened to those silver eyes of yours?"

"They're there," Samson said, disgruntled, "You're not looking hard enough."

Though he knew because of exposure to red lyrium from yesterday that there probably weren't much of his normal eyes to see. She kept observing his eyes like an inscription.

"Has anybody told you that you have some kind of…" Olina began gently. The words were not angry, not bitter, although lonely.

Samson clenched his teeth. "Don't even start."

A problem? Yes, people did. A lot. He had been a Guard with a lyrium problem, then a starved beggar with a lyrium problem. Then he'd been a Templar with a lyrium problem. Never mind that the Chantry and Faith had the bigger lyrium problems. People just loved pointing out this bloody obvious "problem" of his.

"Nooo," Olina said with a pat of his chest, "Not that. An emotional problem..."

Samson stared, and Olina seemed immediately less threatening. Didn't Cullen used to say he had some kind of sickness not explained by lyrium?

He brought a finger to Olina's forehead, and couldn't figure out why that felt so familiar.

Had someone else told him he had an emotional problem?

"One," Samson replied.

In an instant, his head hurt. His brain shut him out of it. He wasn't allowed to think right now. The lyrium was protecting him. Thinking would serve nothing. He'd done enough thinking for one day.

"How can I help with that?" Olina whispered.

In his unease, Samson forgot about pretending to be sad. His tone conveyed it perfectly, "Fix me." And when Olina was pondering on her answer he added, "Help me." His exhaustion was preventing him from filtering, "Fuck me."

"How would you prefer I do that?" Olina said business like… the tone of a person who had repeated this phrase thousands of times.

"I don't know," Samson replied, and still, he could not think. "I really, really don't know."

"That's okay," Olivia said. She rolled onto her side and gripped his hand with the two of hers. "I didn't mean to be insensitive asking about your personal issues. It's not my business."

"Why did she leave without me?" Samson demanded, voice strained, rolling onto his side so he could hold Olina's other hand. He felt nothing. Not for her. Not for anyone, not like a normal person could. "She knew the wickedness of abandonment like a second skin. She was meant to follow me around if we ever went fucking trekking!"

The world was not moving, but he felt like it was spinning and clawing at him.

"I can pretend to be her if that is useful?"

"No," Samson groaned. She would be difficult to imitate. "Wouldn't change the fact she's gone. Thank you for the offer."

"I could just take off my clothes and lie here?" Olina suggested. "Or you could pretend you are my husband, like the first time I had you as a customer?"

The man sighed. He remembered that night, how his only focus was finding Faith's house. Even now, when Olina had implied Faith had attached some sort of romantic meaning to the ring he'd given her, he wasn't sure what he thought about matrimony.

"I've got no scrap of husband in my bones, ma'am," he said, with a formality he wasn't expecting.

"Shush, you were fine." Olina smiled, though it was clear she found the memory amusing to reminisce on. Seven years ago, by the dead Maker's boots.

Samson exhaled deeply. He supposed moping around with his broken head wasn't going to improve matters. He'd try to put himself in a role that felt completely unnatural. It was suitable. They probably didn't have much more time in here anyway.

He was good at pretending. He'd played Cullen and Meredith for total fools. This was the same, with a lot less spite.

"How's work been, my marvelous, sick little whore of a wife?"

Olina nervously chuckled. "I hope you don't talk to Faith that way."

"Let's say that if I did, it's because she asked me to."

"The both of you are unusual."

As they talked, Samson decided to copy her. He pretended something wretched had inspired him to buy her a ring and kissed her.

A kiss upon returning home… That wasn't so different to what he had gotten used to recently.

Faith and him had only given each other kisses goodbye and held hands in the past few months before she left.

Maybe that wasn't normal.

Or maybe he had his own special relationships and everybody else had it wrong.


"I would like to talk to you about something, Samson," Elegant said. He had stopped by her shop on the way home and was helping pack up.

"What is it?"

"What do you plan to do with Hope and Marie if you are not going to return to the Gallows?" Elegant asked.

"I haven't really thought about it," Samson said.

"Now is your opportunity to think about it," Elegant said. She smiled, yet it was weary. He was starting to tire her. It was obvious.

"I just knew I had to get them out of the Circle so they wouldn't get murdered."

"It was an honorable decision," Elegant said. "But now they are out. We have to decide where they go next. Templars might come knocking any day. Especially if someone notices you are all missing. It looks suspicious."

"Cullen thinks they are dead," Samson said. "I doubt he will have time to mage hunt with no First Enchanter or Meredith. And he didn't agree with the Right of Annulment so maybe he will let some missing mages stay that way."

"He might," Elegant said. "But the Guard or Seekers won't."

"Unless they are rebellious," Samson said. It was strange to classify 'saving mages' as rebellion. But he knew some people would do whatever they wanted with some vulnerable young men and ladies.

"More to the point," Elegant said, "Lawrence and I don't have room for all of you. At least not comfortably or for long term."

Samson sighed. "When do you need me to leave?"

"It's not like that. We merely need to plan ahead. I am happy to keep you until you all develop a plan, but Hope and Marie are on borrowed time. You know that."

"Do they have ideas of what to do?"

"I haven't asked yet. I wanted to check with you first."

"I can chat to them," Samson said. "If nothing else I can see if any contacts outside Kirkwall will take them.

Honestly..." He paused.

"What is it?" Elegant asked.

"I don't know if I want to stay in Kirkwall either."

Elegant's eyes seemed to water. "Where would you go?"

"I don't know." There was nothing left in the city for him. "Anywhere but here."


"How are you going, Marie?" Samson asked. She had been snoozing on the couch all day, wrapped in a blanket, and covered in bandages. The smell from the dressings was nauseating.

"Exhausted," Marie said, "but I've dealt with worse."

"You two might have noticed that the house is squishy to be in. So we need to think of a plan of where to go. Any ideas on where you might want to travel to?" Samson said.

The charges went silent for a moment.

"You said… 'we'," Hope said. "Will you come with us?"

"I am considering it," Samson said. "I would keep you in my lover Faith's house but I am going to run out of coin very soon and need to find something else to do."

"That's… I don't know whether to feel bad for you or relieved because we won't be alone."

Samson smiled. "Thank me when we have a plan."

"We knew you couldn't keep us here," Marie said. "We always understood it was temporary. Didn't we, Hope?"

"Yes." Hope frowned.

"If you could go anywhere, where would you go?"

"I want to travel to wherever there are no Templars," Hope said, looking as if Templars might sense her.

"There's Templars all over the place. But there are less of them in some areas," Samson said.

"I want to go there, then," Hope said.

"I supposedly have relatives in Nevarra," Marie said, "Although I don't have an inkling how to find them."

"Would you like to go there?"

"You say that as though you can help us."

It seemed a good a time as any to explain his old mage business. His previous charges were fascinated. They were so intrigued by his life outside of the Gallows that they discussed that until dinner, all talk of travel forgotten.

"Could you do that as a job again?" Marie asked.

"It isn't out of the question," Samson said. "The city will be in so much chaos I don't know if it's worth it."

Drawing himself away, Samson approached Maddox, who was watering some plants outside.

"Maddox," Samson said. "Enjoying yourself?"

"These plants' leaves feel smooth beneath my fingers," he said. "It is interesting."

"I made a deal with someone in Hightown before I came home. Wanna know?"

"I will listen."

"I chatted to a dwarf named Korval. He is a blacksmith. I asked if you could privately use his equipment over the next while to fix the sword. He said ok and he accepted the price I offered. I have no coin left now, though I figured it was for a good cause. What do you think?"

"I remember my smithing skills from the Circle workshop," Maddox said. "I would be pleased to help. I will have to start revising on the techniques."

"Thank you. I will send you coin when you go."

The plan had formed: get in contact with the Carta and secure lyrium, fix the sword, plan with his charges where to travel to, plan with his Templars if any of them wanted to come with him, and leave.

As tempting as his charges found it, they did not attend the meeting with the other Templars at Faith's empty house.

The meeting was not much of one. He collected contact information from members to organize future gatherings, discussed possible goals of what they could do next. One suggestion was writing to Cullen about future directions the Chantry could take and applying for the Knight Captain position. Samson encouraged them to on the condition they left his name out of it and did not expect too much from Cullen, lest they were disappointed. Still Samson recommended that the kids clean the Gallows and return there if they stood for its values. All in all, the meeting was not as terrible as it could have been.

"Still no sign of Faith, brother?" Wystan checked, once the others had left.

"None at all."

"That's disappointing. Come to my parents' house if you need space," his former roommate said, pointing to his address on the contact list.

When Wystan departed, Samson decided he couldn't delay any longer. In armour and equipped with a sword and lantern, he went to Darktown and entered the secret tunnels. He went the direction he was accustomed, although no Carta he recognized were there. It was empty. At least, until he stumbled from his usual path.

"Are you lost, youngin?"

Samson looked over. The dwarf was unfamiliar. He had the musculature of the Carta although had a silver beard and hair. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," Samson said, "I have an order of lyrium to collect sometime and I forgot the date."

"Ah, a customer, I take it?" the dwarf said.

Samson nodded.

"I can let one of my colleagues know you are looking," the dwarf said. "It might take a few days for their schedule to free. Where could they find you?"

"The Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose," Samson said, "I visit them often."

"I see. What is your name?"

"They know me as Mistress Adessi's prisoner," Samson said with a grin. This was easier. He didn't want any stranger knowing his name.

"Thank you. Good luck with your afternoon."

"You too," Samson turned to leave. "What are you doing down here, without any buddies?"

"I am here to listen for where more lyrium is hiding," the dwarf said. Samson must have looked surprised because the dwarf said, "What? You don't think the lackeys do all the digging, do you?"

"I don't know," Samson admitted. He left.


When he laid his head on the pillow of Elegant's spare bed he despaired. He ruminated over Faith, trying to find a reason why she would have departed. If the Carta wasn't somehow involved, it didn't leave many options left.

He reminisced on the first couple of times he had helped pay and collect their lyrium orders. How Faith had cut open his mouth as a way to show that she was powerful and was not to be messed with. Even now that was true, personal flaws aside.

And he recalled the time she had shown him all her coin. He remembered her counting it.

One gold piece

Two gold pieces

Three gold pieces

Four gold pieces

Before he had met her she had been taught to count money when the past haunted her.

Five gold pieces

Six gold pieces

Seven gold pieces

That pouch with her coin had been protected more than anything else in the house.

Eight gold pieces

Nine gold pieces

Ten gold pieces

'Unity coins, that was what she called them.'

Since when did she care about numbers?

Eleven gold pieces

Twelve gold pieces

Thirteen gold pieces

Her coin pouch had been hidden in her pillow case.

Please Maker.' He remembered her tears as she begged years ago 'Why can't it be real?'

It seemed obvious now. What a damned fool he was.

Their relationship was real. In some ways, he sadly wasn't.

Expecting to find nothing, still, he reached inside the pillow case under his head and felt around the seams to the corners. Amazingly, he felt a piece of parchment three quarters of the way across. Removing it, he let it unfold, clearly creased.

It looked as though the letter had been written in a hurry, as the writing was barely legible and on a slant. There was no mistaking Faith's handwriting. Dreading what it would say, Samson read. It wasn't dated.

The light of my eyes, the mirror of my soul, I've fled. I gravely apologize. I know you're wondering why I'm gone. I suspect you are agonizing over it, as strongly as I am tormented by leaving you. There are countless reasons I could offer but I don't think any will ease your mind. I'm too well known in Kirkwall, mostly with unfavourable filth. If I didn't leave, the uprising would have spelled my end. This is a calling I heeded. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to, but it wasn't meant to be. You'd try to stop or join me and that could not happen. I've done all I can for this city, but you're capable of doing more for the world. Listen to what you know to be true. When I'm safe, I'll do what I can to make contact. Thank you for all your kindness, patience and support. My house is yours. Don't look for me in case I'm dead. I'm not on my own. I will always see from your eyes, Their Glorious King – F.

He paused while the disjointed messages assimilated in his head. She'd tried to escape something. The rebellion and uprising nonsense didn't make sense, unless she was talking about the conspiracy or the Chantry exploding. Did she play a part after all?

Mages were the ones who were running. She wasn't one of them, so it was bizarre she'd leave. Then again, she wasn't a Templar either. She was simply somebody Samson wanted to have around for longer.

She knew so many in the city; she could be travelling with anyone – mages, customers from the Rose, associates from the Red Iron…

He carefully folded the note, put it on the floor and swore. Her house was a wreck, and now it belonged to him?

Nobody had ever given him such a gift. Now, it would remain a meeting place for his Templars.

It didn't feel like housing was a fair exchange for what he had lost.


A/n: Thank you Schattenriss for the beta.