Recovery wasn't easy, but he hadn't expected anything to be easy since he first took his vows in the Order. Nonetheless, recovery was painful and agonizing, and with Dagna forbidden to experiment on him during the process, it gave him more free time to wander the grounds. During that time, he learned quite a few things he hadn't expected from the Inquisition.
First and foremost, Hadiza led from the frontlines.
He found that to be odd, dangerous, and absolutely ridiculous. Hadiza was not just a figurehead of the Inquisition, no more than he had been a figurehead for Corypheus' Red Templar army. She was the brain and the fulcrum upon which the Inquisition turned. If they lost her in the field, what then?
It occurred to him how easy it would have been to crush the Inquisition had he known this. He could have directed his efforts to hunting her down specifically, could have brought her broken and bloodied back to Corypheus and put an end to the threat to the Elder One's plans. Samson was sitting in the garden, shadowed by his escort, and he thought these horrible things, and tried to imagine having to bring Hadiza back to Corypheus, who would have killed her painfully.
His stomach turned.
His escort, a taciturn Ferelden by the name of Raynis, looked uneasily at him, so Samson finally addressed the lad.
"For fuck's sake, lad, do I look equipped to run off? I plan on sitting and staying here a while," he said with a snort, "and no I won't tell that Ferelden commander with the pommel up his ass that you sat down on the job."
The younger man's cheeks turned red with embarrassment and Samson grunted. Let the lad stand on his feet for however long Samson decided he'd enjoy the garden, it was no skin off his nose. If anything, the garden was fragrant enough that his headache dulled, and he found himself relaxing, leaning his head back against the wall, and shutting his eyes. The drone of bees and voices in the background served to soothe him, and before he realized it, he was nodding off. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he was roused by murmurs and a gentle shake to his shoulders. Samson blinked, bleary-eyed and unfocused and yawned, licking his dry lips.
The sun was setting, and there she was, in the garden, kneeling over one of the many large pots used to grow essential herbs and plants. She was in that damnable midnight-blue robe again, the elfroot pattern embroidered along it. Her hair was loose, falling along her shoulders, and she looked…serene. She was checking the blood lotuses for rot, casting tiny creation spells to aid in their recovery from any parasites that might have chewed through. Samson watched her, riveted, as she stood, looking rather pleased.
Hadiza Trevelyan had something around her that calmed people, of that there was no doubt, but with him, he burned. He was burning as if he'd just swallowed a draught of red lyrium. The way she moved made him wonder if a woman like that was as graceful in bed as she was outside of it. He entertained the thought for a moment. He was willing to bet she was all passion and sensation. He'd seen the crackle of her anger; the woman was probably a scorcher in the hay. Cullen probably didn't know what to do with her, but Samson did. He knew exactly what to do with a woman like that.
"Samson," she said, making her way toward him, "didn't see you here. What are you about?" When Raynis stirred from his post, she smiled at the boy, waved him away, dismissing him.
"I'll take over the escort duties for now." She said pleasantly, "You're relieved. Carry on."
"Aye, Your Worship." Raynis saluted, and with a look of barely-concealed relief, strode off. Samson watched him go, a growl already in his throat. Without much preamble, Hadiza sat next to him.
"So," she began, "I should apologize for…your initial treatment during your incarceration. But something tells me you won't accept it." Samson frowned, then snorted.
"Of course I wouldn't accept it," he said wryly, "you're not the one who tried to kick a man when he was down." He wanted to say something about how she also wasn't the one who was willing to let it go by unchecked but he refrained. Hadiza hesitated, then chuckled.
"This is true," she conceded, "still, I feel I should apologize. It was my decree that got you put down there." She crossed her legs and the robes fell in such a way that he could make out her shape beneath them. Samson took a deep breath, mindful of the residual soreness in his healing ribs.
"Your judgment imprisoned me, but it was my own actions that led me to be judged to begin with, my lady," he didn't miss Hadiza's startled look, and he shrugged, "you think I don't know what I've done?" Her eyes went wide.
"No! No, it's not that at all. It's just…you're so forthright about it. I would have expected you to be more reticent," she drew herself up, exaggeratingly haughty, cleared her throat, and said in her best imitation of a male voice, " 'my reasons are my own.'" Samson couldn't help it, he cracked a smile; the woman was adorable.
"My reasons are my own, Inquisitor," he assured her, "but I've no cause to keep them hidden." Hadiza was quiet for a moment, and she simply watched him. Her gaze was heavy with an intelligence and intuition that unnerved him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"So you say." She said at last, her voice soft, and her expression softer, "You definitely don't fit the part of a storybook villain." She stood, stretching. Samson didn't move at first, but then the dinner bell sounded. Hadiza smiled down at him. So that's what this was about. She was inviting him to dinner. His gaze darted away from hers.
"Sure you wanna be seen with a 'traitor to the Order', Inquisitor?" He asked bitterly, "People around here gossip as bad as Orlesian courtesans."
Hadiza laughed and Samson realized that lines drawn were nothing to her depending on the circumstances. She crossed them as if they were dust beneath her feet.
"What will they say? The Inquisitor took her meal with one of the prisoners? Samson, you can eat with me, or you cannot. But I am your escort for the night and I have to get you back to your cell. Now," she drew in a breath, "on your feet." Samson didn't know why, but he stood up, and managed to look less exhausted than he felt. Hadiza smirked and led the way. He followed, his stomach flip-flopping, his heart racing, and his palms sweating.
He had to get back to his cell. He had to block out the vision of her immediately or he was going to suffer for it later, he knew.
This shit is not supposed to happen.
Samson didn't take his meal with the Inquisitor that evening, but the walk back had been pleasant. He didn't say much, but she didn't seem to mind. He was content to listen to her musings, plucking at the threads of her thoughts as she told him what was expected of him. He wouldn't be in the stables forever, and during his convalescence, she stressed that she needed him to stay physically fit. He asked her if she was planning to conscript him into the army and she laughed him off.
If it were true, that meant he'd be answering to Cullen. Samson could endure anything but that. The man was insufferable in his self-righteousness.
When they arrived at his cell, Hadiza gave the order to the guard to have a meal brought to him, and then she said her good-byes and left him on his own.
Now he was alone, wondering what to do with the hours before the lights-out bell rang. He could envision Hadiza's evening. She was likely laughing in the main hall amongst friends, enjoying the company of people who alternately worshipped and cherished her. She was probably sitting next to, or across from, Commander Cullen, sharing intimate looks, brushing fingertips against each other's hands, waiting desperately for a polite enough time to excuse themselves so they could be alone together. Samson had seen them around during his time on the grounds. He'd see her go to his tower, watch them walk the battlements, wishing he could hear what they said. Cullen never was much of a womanizer, but the women always flocked after him like flies to a corpse's stink.
He imagined in those late hours, that Hadiza would take Cullen back to her chambers, and they'd make love. And Cullen, being the straight-laced and dutiful bastard he was, probably would have been counting how many strokes in and out of her until she came. Only then would he allow himself pleasure. Samson imagined, bitter with a burgeoning envy, that Cullen spent the night in her vast bedchamber, breathing air that was not stagnate and stale, sleeping on fine Orlesian linens, and one of the most enigmatic women curled in his arms.
He growled in frustration, more at the fact that he was now imagining Cullen's life being better than his current predicament. It was easier to bear when he saw it with his own two fucking eyes; this imagination shit had to stop. He tried to force himself to think of anything else, but Hadiza's laugh, the way she tossed her head, the way her eyes looked when she was listening intently, her little tsk of annoyance. He imagined her in a veritable artist render, recalling battling her in the Arbor Wilds. She was splendid and terrible in a fight, all lightning and fire and ice, defended on all sides by her companions. Fighting her had been an experience, and in retrospect he felt as if perhaps there was something to be learned from this. She had beaten him in battle, but she neither gloated nor brought it up to continue to beat him. She took her victory and she moved on.
Cullen, on the other hand, acted as it were he who struck the blow that took him down. He turned up his nose at Samson, glaring and bright in his anger, as if he had the right to judge anyone. There were none left alive in Kirkwall who would take the ex-knight-commander to task about his own betrayal of his duties. Samson could spit he was so disgusted. Had things gone differently, perhaps he might have been approached to join the Inquisition and not Cullen. His thoughts chased themselves to new possibilities and Samson finally gave up and let them go where they willed.
The next day, Samson decided to brave the Inquisition's vast library. It was a circular chamber, with the top most floor reserved for the Spymaster's command post and the rookery, but there were books aplenty for Samson to devour. His escort didn't say much, allowing Samson time to relieve himself, wash down, and have a semi-decent breakfast before beginning his day. He was browsing one of the many shelves, looking for nothing in particular, anything to keep his mind sharp until the lyrium was given to him. He imagined Cullen was taking his time on that particular assignment on purpose. Finding something to his liking, a tome on the practical purposes of various schools of magic, he sat down to read. His eyes devoured the words, but his mind barely processed them. He was too distracted.
Thinking about her again.
"This is such bullshit," he heard a voice say on the other side of the shelf, "Dorian, give me a hand with these would you?" Samson's eyes narrowed. That wasn't Hadiza; the voice was too jagged at the edges…too raw. When he saw who rounded the corner he frowned. The woman looked well enough like Hadiza, but there were startling contrasts.
Aja Trevelyan was tall, much like her sister, with skin just as dark, and the same unnerving silver eyes. Her hair was jet, but shaved on either side, and worn in bound, well-kept locs. She had the echo of her sister's beauty, but there was a harshness to her, a weathered look, accompanied by the diagonal scar that crossed her face. She had her sister's beauty, but the savagery that underlined it made her more imposing. She wasn't wearing her armor, thank the Maker, but he could tell from her stance that she was a force in combat. He'd not gotten a chance to glimpse her back in the Arbor Wilds, but he'd heard enough stories since coming to Skyhold. She had an armful of heavy-looking tomes.
"Now, now, Lady Trevelyan," Dorian's voice was teasing, "you made the suggestion and you have to live with it. I was merely in earshot." The mage's arms were free, and Aja struggled to keep the books from sliding out of her arms.
"Fucking Tevinter," she muttered through gritted teeth, just as the top book slid off the stack and onto the table Samson was sitting at. He spied the cover, and narrowed his eyes. What was the Inquisition doing with such a rare volume.
"Careful!" Dorian said, "These tomes are worth more than your life! I went through great pains to procure them." Aja set the sat down on the table, before her silver gaze settled on Samson.
"Hey. You." She said and her voice was all noble authority with just a touch of uncouth, "You busy? Of course you aren't. Give me a hand with these? My damnable sister just got a wild hair up her ass about some new project, and you'd think this charming asshole would be of help. But he just stands there and looks pretty."
Dorian preened.
"I did my part, Lady Trevelyan," he said in mock indignation, "I procured the tomes for you so you didn't even have to go searching! But yes, most of the time it is simply enough to stand here and look dashing, don't you agree?" Aja rolled her eyes and sighed heavily.
"My name's Aja, Dorian. Lady Trevelyan makes me sound like some old dowager." She glared at Samson, "Well? Shit, you going to help or not? Grab some of these so we can go and entertain my sister's wild fucking magical ideas."
Samson didn't respond, but the thought of seeing Hadiza again was intriguing to him. It was an excuse, at least, but he'd not take lip from her sister, no matter how fucking strong she was.
"Your mother teach you to speak like that, girl?" Samson demanded, "I'm no one's fuckin' slave."
"No, you're a prisoner, and right now, you're testing my patience. Grab a stack, let's go." Aja's tone was sharp, but it lacked that whip crack of authority that he'd heard Hadiza use. Hadiza could have gotten him off his ass, but Aja just grated on his fucking nerves. He didn't budge. Aja narrowed her eyes at him and for a moment the mask of her face cracked to reveal just why she was so terrifying.
She was a fucking Reaver.
The madness that dwelled behind her sterling eyes was from the dragon blood she probably drank. The woman had the draconic madness in her body, now, and Samson knew from experience that Reavers were often unstable, their instability heightened by violence. Right now, he'd challenged a beast, and that look she was giving him was the only warning he was liable to receive before she decided to reach for him. Thinking it was better to simply do as commanded, Samson grabbed the book stack, including the tome he'd picked out, and stood. Aja's face visibly relaxed and it was almost as if she hadn't revealed that…that hunger to him at all. Dorian did nothing to hide his smug smile as they made their way out of the library.
The wild hair up Hadiza's ass showed no signs of calming down, as evident from her actions when they arrived. They were in one of the empty rooms in the keep, below ground. It had been recently cleaned and scrubbed, smelling of lye, and the stone was still damp. It was windowless, and several torch sconces lined the walls, illuminating the room in golden firelight.
"Don't step there!" She snapped as Aja's boot paused in mid-air. She stepped backwards. The entire floor was covered in a chalk circle. Samson recognized it, as it was usually the same design as a summoning center. The runes within the concentric circles were very different, however, and Hadiza was kneeling in the far side, writing with the chalk. When she finished, she stood, raised her arms and Samson tasted the magic in the air, felt it stir his aching bones as the chalk burned into the stone in a small display of power. She had etched the circle permanently into the stone and Samson dreaded its purpose.
"Alright," she turned to them, "let's get started. Dorian, how come you never suggested this to me before?" Dorian smiled.
"My dear, had I thought this had a chance in the void of being successful, I would have. But, you seem determined, so I will aid you how I can. Aside, this would have gone over quicker with a bit of blood magic."
Aja groaned in exasperation.
"Whose blood, Dorian? The book said a willing sacrifice. Who the hell is going to give up their life for a potential wild goose chase?" She demanded. Samson frowned.
"Since I've been forced here, I'd really like to know what fuckin' devilry you three are plotting as if I'm not standing in the fuckin' room." He said flatly. Silence followed and Aja snorted with laughter. Hadiza blinked, then smiled.
"What are you doing here, Samson?" She asked, genuinely curious. Samson wanted to throw the books at her.
"Ask your fuckin' sister, Inquisitor. She's the one bullying old men into doing tasks assigned to her." He replied. It was Dorian's turn to laugh. Aja whirled.
"I'm not a bully!" She protested. Dorian laughed harder. "I'm not!"
Hadiza pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing.
"Alright, well, you're here, now, so I might as well rope you in on this…fuckin' devilry, as you so eloquently put it." She said and Samson grinned at her. Despite it all, she smiled back, shaking her head.
Hadiza explained her plan in detail, and the more she spoke, the more Samson wanted to know. The woman knew her magic, for sure, and he wanted to tell her how much he knew about magic as well, and yet he remained silent. Hadiza took the heavy tomes from him, moving it to the large desk on the far wall in the corner. There were several reasons he knew her plan wouldn't work, chief among them being that someone had already attempted this in the past.
But he wasn't going to stop her, now.
"Wait a minute, if this magic can be reversed and someone can use it against you, why not just use Samson to kill the whole spell and cut off the connection before its made?" Aja wondered. Samson did not like that idea. He was lyrium-dry and he wasn't sure how strong his Templar abilities would be given the sheer scope and complexity of the magic. Hadiza tapped her lips with an index finger.
"Actually, that's not a bad idea, but why don't we ask him if he's comfortable playing Templar to my mage, hm?" She gave him a warm smile and his stomach did that fucking thing again, "How about it? Want to be my Templar guardian while I attempt the impossible?"
"If you think you're in danger of being possessed by demons, then yeah, but for this, the only danger is someone on the other end looking back. And uh…he doesn't usually look back so much as reach." Samson explained. Hadiza's brows rose.
"You've seen this done before?" She asked. Samson gave her a slow nod.
"Could this harm her in any way?" Aja demanded, her tone grave. Samson thought for a moment and wondered. He'd seen Corypheus reverse a scrying spell, but he had no idea what happened to the one doing the scrying. He wagered they likely weren't around anymore. However, it was best to err on the side of caution in this respect.
"If she's scrying for him, then just play it fuckin' safe and build up your mental barriers. Don't try and force it otherwise he'll crash through them and your mind apart." Samson was only hypothesizing at this point, but he hazarded a guess that's what would happen. He'd devoured enough magical theory to know that scrying spells were dangerous if the one being searched for was more powerful than the one doing the searching.
"Diza," Aja said, "if this can kill you…"
Hadiza shook her head.
"It's the only way at this point. Leliana's people are turning up with nothing and the hour of our victory or defeat is looming over our heads. I have to try something, Aja. Just…don't tell anyone else. Cullen would have my head if he knew."
Silence.
Samson sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples. Hadiza frowned.
"Samson, you're the only one in this room who has seen Corypheus at work. I need you to be my Templar guardian in this in case I go too far. Consider it part of your rehabilitation." She said firmly. Samson watched her a moment, and in that moment they were the only two people in the room. Dorian sighed.
"Just do it, Samson," he said, "she'll never let up if you don't."
Samson didn't want to do it because he was forced. But this would mean spending a lot of time in this small chamber with Hadiza.
"Alright, but I'm going to need that lyrium to build up enough power to dispel such powerful magic if need be." He told her, equal part anticipatory at finally getting back on the blue, and equal parts apprehensive because it meant being bound to the Inquisition for his supply. But Hadiza was not the Chantry. Hadiza was offering him a chance to reclaim something he thought he'd lost. Everything he cared about was ashes. And Hadiza, in that moment, eager to try this untested magic, and begging him to be her guardian through it all…in that moment he saw Maddox in her. It nearly broke his heart.
"Are you sure that's safe?" Aja queried, "You said yourself the damage was done…"
"I've managed to reverse some of it," Hadiza countered, "and this won't be like the Chantry. They don't provide healing support to their Templars to counter the mal-effects of lyrium. But…but I do." She met his eyes. Samson saw something flicker in them, something bright and vivid and just beyond his reach.
Hope.