He shouldn't have shouted at her.

In truth, it was his own damned fault, and he knew it. But pride had a way of clamping the mouth shut over words that could fix everything. He had pride in abundance, and so did she, and so when she tossed her head and glared at him, he had stood his ground, standing behind his words.

And now he was paying for it.

"Maker, I'm an idiot," he muttered into the empty quiet of his office. He hadn't been able to focus since their quarrel, and he knew why. Had he been in the right, he'd be unbothered, and the reports for the day wouldn't have become a growing pile on his desk as he struggled to focus on the words he scratched on the parchment. He had fought her over her magic…again. They were always fighting about her magic, these days. He felt Hadiza was frivolous with it, and she told him he didn't understand how magic worked. He recalled that when she asked about how he knew the difference between Templar abilities and a mage's innate connection to the Fade, he said he just knew it was different, just not why.

And he saw Hadiza's face when he said that.

Then, yesterday, in the garden, when she was practicing her spellcasting, and Samson—Void take that scoundrel!—had to speak up and was surprisingly knowledgeable about mage abilities. It had cut at Cullen's pride to hear him casually explain to Hadiza how her magic worked, how to spin the spells to conserve her shields while still putting out heavy damage. Hadiza's eyes had lit up in a way Cullen only ever saw when she was practicing her magic, and her smile came quick, easy, and with a familiarity that made him uncomfortable.

So when the lunch bell rang, he was all too eager to take her away from the man. He was all too eager to draw her away, back to where he could have her attention for himself. It was so odd, he never felt this way, even in Halamshiral when he was forced to wait and bear the combined and false pleasantries of half a dozen nobles vying for Hadiza's attention.

Cullen could stand it all, just not when she and Samson were seen together, with him smiling at her and her…smiling back. The emotion welled like some brutal magma in his veins and he was unaware of it until the quill snapped in his grasp. It was spindly and viperous and he saw red every time he was forced to listen to Hadiza's lovely laugh, elicited by something Samson said.

Jealousy.

The word was bitter on the tongue, scorching his throat, as he tasted it without ever having spoken it. Cullen could not recall when he'd ever felt true jealousy or envy, and he realized that so long as Samson walked freely, and Hadiza continued to take a personal interest in his well-being, that it would never go away. He had to apologize to her, let her know that she did not deserve his unworthy treatment, let her know he loved her implicitly and that his fear was rooted in something that was not her fault.

But first, to work.

Samson hadn't had a pleasant dream in a number of years. He could barely remember his dreams, but his nightmares were vivid and clear. However, after that scorched and unexpected moment in the scrying chamber, his dreams began to take on a particular shape.

Her.

She was as vivid and beautiful as she was in life, and all he remembered was her body against his, her curves as smooth as he imagined, her mouth hot and slick and hungry beneath his own. She tasted of lyrium, honey, and magic. Maker's breath he had never wanted a woman so badly as he had in that moment, all covered in frost, the melted droplets sparkling in her thick hair like tiny diamonds. Andraste's flaming sword to run his fingers through it was a dream come true. Samson dreamed of all the ways that moment could have ended, of taking her there on the cold, circumscribed floor, of bringing her to a climax the likes of which he knew she'd never felt. Whatever was between them, he knew she felt it, knew in his marrow that her leaving was not out of shame but surprise.

He wanted her mouth, wanted her body, wanted everything that comprised her. It was maddening and relentless, running parallel with the unending song of lyrium in his blood. Somehow, Hadiza had gotten under his skin, had crawled into his veins like a heady narcotic, and had ablated the iron of his heart to rust. He should have been rough with her, should have pushed her away, and should have given her a reason to hate him so that he could stop worrying about what would happen when she made a choice—that choice.

But no, he was fucking over the moon for her. He was jumping in with both eyes open knowing that it could end badly for him, and yet he didn't care. He just longed for her, and because another man held sway over her affections, he was forced to yearn in silence.

He knew it wasn't right. He knew Cullen wasn't right for her. No man could love a woman like Hadiza unless they loved everything about her without fear. Cullen couldn't get over that hurdle, and he chose to love the one mage who lived and breathed magic with consummate skill and ease. Had this been Kirkwall, Samson might have stood a chance, back in his days as a Templar of exemplary character. But here, in Skyhold, under the aegis of the Inquisition, he was a disgraced Templar, a disgraced general, and a prisoner. He had nothing to offer Hadiza but himself, and that wasn't much.

And yet, and yet…

Never in his life had Samson accepted chains, imprisonment, or silence. Never had he accepted the status quo. No, the only chains he accepted were the ones strangling his heart, the ones linked to the fingertips of the Inquisitor who had become more than her title to him. He wanted to kneel at her feet, beg her forgiveness, to kiss her fingers under the soft, hazy light of dawn, to see what it looked like when she lay next to him, her bare skin free for him to touch. He remembered her being caught up in his arms, her eyes wide, but she didn't look away, she didn't pull away.

Samson growled in frustration, confined to pining for her at a distance, watching Cullen take her for granted. The man should have been eager for her every waking moment. He should have been insane with what she inspired, should have floated directly into the fucking sky every time she smiled. Samson paced his cell, paced until he could do nothing else. She was driving him mad, and he thought bitterly of the possibility that she had likely run back to Cullen after that kiss.

He was angry, he was exhilarated, and he was frustrated.

He was also hopelessly, insanely in love with the woman.

Void take you, woman. You'll be the death of me, yet.

Just when his madness nearly drove him to scream, word came for him.

Hadiza summoned him to the scrying chamber.

She was standing by her desk when he arrived, and from her expression, whatever she was about to say likely wasn't good. The scrying diadem, lovely and severe, was in her right hand, held loosely at her side. She also wore a robe of deep purple. A variation of the Chantry's symbol was embroidered all over it in soft golden thread.

"The message sounded urgent," Samson said, "what happened?" He crossed his arms and Hadiza sighed, looking down at the sigils burned into the floor. She seemed reticent tonight and Samson was not a patient man, despite all that Templar training. If there was something that needed saying, he wanted to hear it.

"I'm going to try and find Corypheus soon, but…" She stopped herself, "…scrying requires I have an item belonging to the person in question, or something that has been saturated in their essence or humors. I…I have nothing of the sort for him." Samson narrowed his eyes, a growl in his throat. Hadiza set the diadem down on her desk.

"Except you."

Samson froze, eyes going wide. Hadiza approached him slowly, and her face was torn between regret and sadness. Samson frowned.

"Hadiza are you suggesting blood magic?" Samson demanded, "You know what could happen if you…if you used it?" Hadiza looked away again, laughing helplessly.

"What choice do I have? It is your blood Corypheus corrupted. I don't even need that much; just a few drops to make the connection. Samson, please, you have to trust me. If I don't find Corypheus, we're all dead."

"And if he finds you, you'll be dead and we'll all be dead anyway," Samson snapped, "Andraste's flaming sword, Hadiza, I thought you knew your limits!" Hadiza's eyes flashed dangerously and Samson was surprised how easy it was to reach for the lyrium in his blood by instinct alone. He never had cause to fear her, not even when he faced her in battle, but she was skirting the line of risking more than she was likely willing to give for the sake of something that might not have worked.

He wouldn't allow her to put her soul at risk, not even if the world was burning down around their heads.

"I already consulted with Dorian. He says there's no risk of corruption." Hadiza's gaze softened, and Samson relaxed when the mask of her calm was momentarily fractured by something far deeper.

"They're all dead, Samson," she told him, "they're all dead and I'm responsible."

"Who?" He asked quietly. Hadiza laughed, hysteria blanketing her voice.

"The fucking Wardens. I made a bad decision and the remaining Wardens in Southern Thedas paid for it with their lives." Samson understood then, what had driven her to this point. Hadiza turned away.

"I shouldn't have sent them to their deaths. I thought Leliana would be prudent given the small numbers. If I'd sent Cullen, maybe he might have been careful with them…" Samson watched her break down, rambling, now, pacing, agitated. She'd gotten her first real taste of the price of being responsible for so many lives and Samson was reminded that she was thrust into this role unwillingly. He wasn't good with this sort of thing—well that was a lie; how many nights did he sit up with Maddox helping him sort out his lady's troubles? But this wasn't the same thing. This was dealing with lives that were needlessly lost because she made a decision to the best of her ability.

"Hadiza…" Samson began and she stopped mid-sentence to look at him, "…calm down. You made a mistake, and nobody expects you to be perfect unless they're complete fuckin' idiots."

Hadiza was quiet, and so Samson decided to keep going. Not because of any reason other than to keep her calm, to bring her back down from the high she was climbing, the one that made Cullen fear her. Maker, he could only imagine what the man had to go through in bed if she was like this when upset.

"You made a decision and lives were lost. No amount of hurting yourself over it is going to bring them back. You push forward and you honor their sacrifice." Samson wondered, then, if he had done right by the Order by allowing them to fall to the corruption of red lyrium. Could he ever atone for it? There was no amount of atonement to recoup the losses needlessly suffered. No, it was too late for him, he thought.

But Hadiza's soul was still clean.

"What happens if there's another Blight?" She asked, "What then? Do we kneel and pray for Weißhaupt to send aid?" Samson smiled, closing the distance between them.

"We'd be kneeling and praying regardless, Hadiza. Right now, worry about Corypheus. We'll find the bastard, but we're not going to corrupt your soul to do it."

"But I—" Samson's expression was hard.

"Hadiza," he said to her, "you gave me the choice to be the Templar I once was, again. Don't fuckin' insult me by doing something that takes that choice from me unwillingly." Hadiza looked down, her cheeks burning. After a moment, Samson sighed.

"Look, I know you're impatient, and you feel cornered, but blood magic is never worth it. It's one of the only fuckin' things the Commander and I can agree on. I've never met a blood mage that wasn't crazy in one-way or another. I'm not gonna let you end up that way." At that, Hadiza smiled, and Samson counted it as a crisis averted. Maker's fucking breath how did Cullen deal with her when she was upset? Did the man run and hide and pray that Andraste calmed her down?

"Now dry your eyes, princess," he told her and she laughed despite herself, "no scrying tonight. You're…you need to get some sleep."

Hadiza glanced back once at the mask on her desk. Then, she turned, leaning up to press a quick kiss to Samson's cheek.

"You're right. Thank you."

Samson watched her leave him in the scrying room for a second time, cursing himself as he made his way back to his room.

Cullen was waiting for her when she got back to her quarters. Hadiza's brows went up when she saw him, looking surprisingly awkward, turning quickly to look at her as she ascended the steps.

"Hadiza!" He rubbed the back of his neck, "I…I came to…I came to apologize. My behavior was uncalled for, and I should not have doubted you, and I—" Hadiza held up her hand.

"Cullen," she said, "we're fine. I'm fine. It's been a long day and I have to…I have been negligent with you regarding your concerns about my magic." She crossed the room, removing her clothes as she did. She was going to draw a bath, and then she was going to rest and not think about how cool Samson's skin felt beneath her lips, or how he smelled intoxicating, or how strong his embrace had been, or how that wolfish smile thrilled her to the roots of her hair. She was going to sleep, and if need be, take her ass directly to the Fade.

"Hadiza," Cullen's voice, that soft, soothing baritone, was gentle and concerned, "are you alright? You look…" He approached her and Hadiza vanished into her bathing chamber, which she had painstakingly had renovated and modeled in the Orlesian fashion, but with dwarven plumbing. Cullen stopped in the doorway.

"I'm fine, Cullen." Hadiza said irritably, "It's just been a trying day. I need…" She didn't know what she needed, but Maker's breath did she want. She wanted something Cullen could not give her. She knew it down in her bones that even if she begged it of him, Cullen would never be anyone other than what he was. And that made her angry because he was asking without actually asking, that she be only part of herself around him.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked her as she undressed quickly and efficiently while the bath was drawn. A fire rune was already glowing on the side of the tub. Hadiza paused, looking at him. There was something he could do, she knew, but she'd have to ask it of him.

Fuck me, she thought, fuck me until I forget that man's mouth was ever on mine and how his hands promised me more pleasure than I could ever expect in a single lifetime. Cullen, for Andraste's sake just fuck me.

But she said nothing of the sort.

"You can join me, if you like," she said salaciously. Cullen smirked, and Hadiza felt something flutter in her belly. Maybe he would get the message when she was sliding her soap-slick body against his in the tub. Maybe when her fingers wrapped around his cock and she fitted the blunt tip to her slick entrance he'd understand what she needed right then. Hadiza watched him not unlike a predator watched prey, and she bit her lip as he began the process of removing his armor. When he left to place his armor on the stand, she slipped into the large tub, sighing heavily as the warm water instantly relaxed tired muscles. Cullen soon joined her and she swallowed hard at the side of his naked body.

"Andraste have mercy," she muttered, and Cullen smiled coming in behind her. She fit easily between his legs and she leaned back, shutting her eyes.

"I'm sorry about the news today," he murmured and Hadiza felt the reverberations of his voice in every part of her. Her cunt practically shivered from the sensation. His head leaned down, and he pressed a kiss to her ear.

"I know," she said wearily, "I just…I guess I forgot that there were more lives in my hands than I originally thought." She adjusted and Cullen began to massage her shoulders.

"It's not easy, but…for what it's worth, you've done a splendid job running the Inquisition. I don't think any of us could have done it better." Cullen dropped a kiss to her nape, thumbs moving in concentric circles, kneading out the built-up tension between her shoulder blades.

"Yes…" Hadiza groaned, "but if I hadn't…mmm…stay there." Cullen suppressed a laugh and continued.

"You did what you could with what you had. No one could have foreseen the outcome." His hands smoothed up her back to massage the sides of her neck. Hadiza let the sensation melt over her for a moment before she regained the energy to speak.

"What would you have done, had I given the assignment to you instead?" She asked. Cullen paused, thinking a moment as he drew her back against him, his hands settling on her ribs beneath the water, just below her breasts.

"Mmm," he mused, "given the small numbers I would have augmented them with my own men. One does not have to be a Grey Warden to kill darkspawn, I believe, just an archdemon." Hadiza craned her neck to look up at him.

"That simple?" She asked. Cullen dipped his head, kissed her neck.

"Nothing's ever that simple, love. Only on paper. I would have lost many of my men, but possibly spared the Wardens to the point where they could replenish over time." He explained but Hadiza was no longer listening, having reached down behind her to cup him in her palm. She heard his gasp and grinned.

"I suppose the talking part is concluded, Inquisitor?" He asked and Hadiza turned in his arms, carefully straddling his lap. Cullen was smiling at her with all the honesty and passion his heart had and Hadiza hated him just a little bit for it.

"No," she said, "keep talking."