Hadiza slept fitfully, but awoke more clear-headed than she had been in recent days. Samson had been right, of course, and when she'd finished her dinner, they'd talked a while longer until the last bells of the night rang. He proposed to send her off to bed, telling her to sleep, and she protested, curled in her great armchair in the scrying chamber. When she'd sufficiently dozed off, Samson chuckled and gently shook her awake, telling her to get to bed. She finally listened, and when she collapsed into bed, she slept.
Dawn was overcast, the sunlight muted and the clouds a steely gray.
Hadiza greeted the dawn with a profound sense of purpose, and accomplished her morning routine with a quiet efficiency. After a light breakfast, which considered of little more than buttered bread, grapes, and that Rivaini drink coffee, she dressed and went out to the war room for the day's events.
They were waiting for her, of course, and she strode in, her head held high, her eyes cool and unwelcoming. She would not allow what occurred last night to repeat itself this morning.
"Good morning, Inquisitor," they greeted her in turn, and Morrigan accorded her a deep nod of respect. Hadiza glanced down at the map where she marked the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
"Right," she began, "to business, then."
Samson wasn't focused on his work. He knew he wasn't focused because he kept stopping to clear his head, wipe sweat from his brow, and then continue. No, he wasn't focused on anything. He was so focused on Hadiza that his head ached. Had she eaten? Had she slept? Maker! He had turned her away when she wanted him, but he didn't want her to come to him for the wrong reasons. Cullen had said there was nothing left in the man worth saving, but Samson begged to differ. He had his honor. He had his respect for the woman who was trying to give him his life back…what little time he had left of it. Would Cullen have done the same?
Enough about that arse, Samson chided himself, jabbing his pitchfork into the hay aggressively, she left him. She left him because he underestimated her constantly. She didn't leave him for you. She left him for herself.
"Samson," it was Master Dennet, "I think you've done enough for one day. What's stuck in your craw? Aside from the usual, that is."
Samson grumbled something under his breath and Dennet laughed.
"Lady troubles, eh?" He inquired and at Samson's bewildered look, he laughed again, "Don't look so surprised. I'm old but I'm not blind. I know the look of a man who's besotted."
More grumbling.
"You know," Dennet said to him, "you're not so bad a guy, despite being a terrible decision-maker." Samson's lips twisted into a frown but Dennet was undaunted.
"Listen, gossip spreads like wildfire around here, given our small numbers," Dennet's tone was grave, "and the Commander hasn't exactly been the best mood since the incident. So, whatever sway you've got on the Inquisitor, I suggest you don't flaunt it too openly."
"What?" Samson demanded, "I think you're sorely mistaken as to who exactly has the power, here. Andraste's ass, Dennet, I'm the one imprisoned here. If she wanted to, she could have me executed without question…and no one would miss me." His voice grew softer during that last part and Dennet's frown was that of concern.
"So you are smitten with her, then." Dennet said with a knowing grin. Samson growled in warning.
"Is it because she bested you in combat? Or is it something more than that?"
Samson was about to retort with something truly uncouth when he thought about it. He never truly thought about it, did he? That was a lie. He thought about it all the time. Thought about all the reasons to love her, to be in love with her, with her giddy laugh, and her warm smile, and her stubborn nature. He thought of all the reasons every night when they left the scrying room, about how in another life, had their paths crossed under different circumstances, he would have barely been worthy of her. He surely wasn't worthy of her, now.
"I ain't a poet, Dennet," he muttered with a laugh, "but I think she could make one out of me."
At that, Dennet laughed.
"Well that's how you know, lad. Now that we've cleared that up, finish up here so we can make it before the lunch bell."
Samson found it easier to work then. He hadn't said much about how he felt, but the fact that someone understood and hadn't reprimanded him for it, well, that made it so much easier in his mind. He still thought of her, of course, but instead of becoming the forefront of his mind, she was an undercurrent of song, a rhythm to which he worked. Her laughter was in the crunch of the hay beneath his feet, her smile just out of his peripheral vision, like a light flickering in the distance, and he imagined no few times, turning to find her standing there, waiting expectantly, with that friendly smile on her face. She would laugh and say his name, and he'd smile back, ask her what she was doing here.
And then she'd go to that damnable dracolisk of hers and cuddle the thing like it didn't have a mouth full of flesh-rending teeth. Samson would smile fondly, because the fucking beast would snuggle her back, crooning and screeching happily.
But she never did show up, and he knew why. Today she had to go to her final battle, and Samson found the pitchfork heavier at the thought. He paused, remembering her words.
What if I don't come back?
With a growl and a curse, Samson finished his work. She'd bloody well come back. She'd kick Corypheus ass all over the Fade if need be, and she'd come back to him so he could stop being foolish and tell her how important she had become to him these last few months, and how much he wanted her, and how he dreamt of her.
And Maker sod it all, how much he wanted to touch her.
Samson glanced up at the battlements, hoping for a glimpse of her, but he saw nothing and turned away.
"This is the endgame," Hadiza was saying that afternoon, "we go in and we fight to the death. Corypheus is at the end of his rope, and he's desperate." She was gnawing on a pastry, and had summoned her Inner Circle to the war room along with her advisors.
"He'll have red templars of a surety, my dear," Vivienne said in her cool voice, "are we to bypass them and strike for Corypheus directly?" Hadiza narrowed her eyes momentarily, considering. They were gathered around the large war table, bearing witness to the might of the Inquisition in miniature as Hadiza traced her plan around the Temple of Sacred Ashes.
"We'll have one team to engage the red templars," Hadiza said at last, "and the rest of us will go for Corypheus. I didn't get a good look at his numbers but his forces have dwindled since our victory in the Arbor Wilds. I think…" She swallowed as the realization dawned on her.
"Shit." She swore under her breath and saw Iron Bull stir. He was reading her, she knew, but she wasn't making an effort to hide it.
"Okay," she wiped her mouth with a napkin, tossed back the remainder of her drink, and sighed, "I think I know what he plans to do."
Her companions were silent.
Well, here it goes.
"Everyone knows the story of the magisters breaching the Fade to get to the Black City, right?" She asked. There were slow nods all around.
"We've taken two means of Corypheus' ability to do that again. He's going to go for broke in this, I think. He's going for blood sacrifice. I heard him say it. Sacrifices done during the blood moon's rise tonight."
"Could be a trap, boss." Iron Bull said, "You said he caught you spying and might have been misleading you on purpose." Hadiza nodded.
"This is true, but I thought it through and I don't think he had time to mislead me before he caught me. He initially used blood sacrifice to open the Breach, remember?"
As if anyone could have forgotten. Hadiza remembered all too well, now.
"I think he means to do so again, though why return to the Temple, I can't say. The bottom line is this: we go in and we stop him. Aja, Bull, Cassandra, and Dorian; I need you all with me. We're going to fuck Corypheus' night up."
Bull's eager laugh was not shared by anyone else in the room, but Aja did smile in grim satisfaction. Hadiza pointed to the map.
"Blackwall, you take Varric, Cole, Vivienne, and Sera and destroy as many red templars as you can. Keep them from flanking us."
"Aye, Inquisitor." Blackwall affirmed. Hadiza tapped her lips with her index finger.
"Leliana, any word on when Ghost will be back?" She asked. Leliana inclined her head as she replied.
"She arrived just this morning, actually. I told her to wait in the rookery. Shall I fetch her when we're through here?" Hadiza shook her head.
"No. I'll get her. Alright, we're done for now. Everyone, make your final preparations. We leave just after sundown."
As the backbone of the Inquisition filed out of the war room, Hadiza felt…lighter. With a plan in place, she felt as if things were not completely hopeless. She caught Cullen's gaze as she made for the door, and stopped short as Cullen nearly crossed her path.
"I'm sorry—excuse me…" Cullen's words came out in a rush as he stepped back to allow Hadiza to pass. Hadiza sighed and thanked him before heading out.
"Hadi—Inquisitor," Cullen called after her and she turned, part way, brows raised, "Maker keep you safe." Hadiza smiled a little, then, and for a moment it was as if nothing had changed.
"And you, Commander."
Ariadne Trevelyan—or Ghost, as she was known—was a woman who was at once striking and hardly noticeable. She occupied the twilight region between alluring and repulsive, and she was just the sort of individual one might find in the rookery that had become Leliana's haunt. She was standing by one of the windows, overlooking the sprawling expanse of the Frostbacks, and turned as soon as Hadiza ascended the staircase. Ariadne did not smile at her elder half-sister, but there was a certain aura of smug satisfaction about her.
"Did you get it?" Hadiza asked without preamble. Ariadne's smile came slow and easy, giving her the look of a cat that ate the canary and was unapologetic about it.
"I did," she said smoothly, "and it wasn't easy, let me tell you. It's a highly coveted item, and every fence in Kirkwall was trying to hoard it away or pretend they hadn't seen it."
"Good," Hadiza said automatically, "I trust you didn't cause too much of a stir while there?" Ariadne shrugged.
"The guard don't venture to Darktown after daylight hours, so it was relatively safe for me to operate in complete stealth. I left the package in your bedchamber. You'll get my bill one of these days." Ariadne laughed. Hadiza smiled, leaning against Leliana's work table.
"How's Rylen doing?" She asked conversationally. Ariadne didn't so much as flinch or startle at the name and Hadiza silently applauded the tenacity with which the woman composed her mask. However, when she spoke, her voice was soft, gentle…fond.
"He's well," she murmured, "as well as one can be out in the Approach, anyway. Shall I send my regards or are you done attempting to raise my hackles?"
Hadiza laughed again. Well, she should have known Ariadne would catch onto her attempt to rankle her.
"Yes," she said contentedly, "I'm done messing with you. Will you stay a while before you journey back out?" Ariadne's shoulders tensed, and her eyelids flickered; it was as close to surprise as Hadiza would get her. She wagered Rylen had better luck.
"Long enough to replenish my supplies and rest my mount, Inquisitor," she said coolly, "but I hear you intend to face Corypheus this evening one last time. I suppose saying 'Maker keep you' is pointless."
Hadiza raised a brow. Ariadne hadn't been much of a devout Andrastian, though given her line of work; one could hardly blame her, could one?
"So I shall say this," Ariadne said as she cleared her throat, "may your blade strike true and the creature's death be swift." Hadiza smiled at her half-sister.
"Thank you," she murmured, "and if I do not see you again after tonight, safe travels."
And with that, Hadiza bounded off to her room for the final preparations.
Samson wasn't expecting a summons from Hadiza; not after seeing her companions file out of the war room. He knew she needed to focus, now more than ever, but it didn't curb the longing in his blood. So when she summoned him to her quarters, Samson had to keep from sprinting, and instead, made his way there quietly and unobtrusively. The sun had moved across the sky and Samson was once more in awe at the decadence and opulence of her inner sanctum.
"This where you keep all the light in this place?" He asked aloud, then stopped short when he saw her.
Maker's fucking breath.
She looked just as she had when first they crossed paths in the Arbor Wilds. He'd never really seen her at Haven, but he'd seen her in the Wilds, all bathed in green light. She wore her battlemage armor of deep, might blue, and was just pulling on one of her gloves when he reached her. She turned, and he smiled; couldn't fucking help it. The woman just did it for him. She smiled back and for once, there wasn't any need to foul up the moment with pointless words. He leaned his forehead against hers, took a deep breath to inhale her. He could smell leather oil on her, and the subtle scent of the soap she used.
He poked her in the belly, getting a surprised laugh out of her. In retaliation she lightly pinched his ribs. Her laughter matched the shaft of sunlight they stood in, and Samson was keenly aware of how quickly the sun would set now that he seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be.
Reluctantly, as the sun sank below the mountains, he pulled away from her. Hadiza bit her lip, longing racing through her body alongside the adrenaline. She would have given anything to reverse the sunset just a while longer. Samson helped her fix her armor in places, quick and efficient, with all the decades of experience of a man used to it. He tightened belts and straps, and shook his head with a smirk as he tucked that errant lock of hair behind her ear.
"Now," he told her, breaking their silence, "go and fuck Corypheus right in the ass, princess."
Her resulting laughter was the perfect ending to the day.