It was a pity that fate made for a poor fortuneteller, because had Hadiza known what she truly faced, she might have lost her nerve. She did not have the steel in her spine wrought by training to face down any and every enemy, only the blind stumbling of her own fear and sheer force of will. She had faced down demons of every variety in and out of the Fade; had faced down the undead; had bested an Avvar berserker in battle; had defeated Corypheus' general in single combat; and had then proceeded to unfuck Thedas region by region.
Throughout all of this, not once had she actually fought Corypheus, and the one time she had the opportunity, he had proceeded to drop a dragon directly on top of her. The next time she saw him, she was fleeing for her life through an arcane mirror-portal. In all of her travels, nothing could prepare her for the magister's power. He had crawled into her mind during her scrying, had attempted to corrupt her resolve and control her with her own rigid terror. Had Samson not struck her down, she might have lost control.
Now, as they approached the Temple of Sacred Ashes in all of its unholy ruin, Hadiza realized that nothing would ever prepare her for this fight.
"Where's Morrigan?" Aja asked as they made their way to the Temple. Hadiza shook her head, made a gesture above her head. Aja understood. The witch would manifest when the time was right and not a moment before. She was, after all, their trump card.
In the distance, there was the distinct murmur of chanting, a discordant chorus of voices that rose and fell in an eerie melody in a tongue that could not have been Thedosian even in the Ancient times. Hadiza walked in silence, as she'd been trained, toe first, and heel last. The rubble barely shifted beneath her steps as they rounded a corner to the ruined steps leading into what was once the Temple's outer sanctum.
And happened upon a startled, wide-eyed pair of Venatori guarding the entrance.
Their mouths barely opened before Aja's sword derailed from its sheath and the two died before their cries could scarce leave their mouths. Aja was loud and nasty when she wanted to be—mostly because she wanted to be—but she could be a ruthless and quiet warrior when stealth was required. She wiped her sword on one of the Venatori's robes.
"Weapons free," Hadiza whispered to her team and steel hissed from various sheaths, and magic charged the air. The chanting grew as they approached the ruined sanctum. Corypheus towered over his legion of Venatori, but did not seem interested in the proceedings, his head lifted toward the sky. Hadiza felt her heart seize up with dread. Above, the scarred sky seemed to shudder.
"Inquisitor," Cassandra began, her voice alarmed as Hadiza's left hand began to crackle and glow.
"Shit." Hadiza swore.
Corypheus turned his eyes from the sky and looked directly at her. He smiled, but the corruption on his face gave it the appearance of a sneer.
The Temple was bathed in green light and the sound of splitting stone caroled into the night air.
He was prepared when Cullen came to him. He was more than prepared. Samson, for the first time in a long while, had finally reached a state of being that allowed him to think clearly…when the lyrium wasn't singing too loudly.
"Commander," he drawled from his easy recline on his cot as Cullen darkened the doorway, "fancy seeing you here. Come to chat again, have you? I do so love our little talks."
Cullen's frown could likely frighten a demon back into the Fade for all its intensity, but Samson merely wore his wolfish smirk, smug and superior. Cullen shut the door behind him and Samson saw that the guard had been relieved. Ah, so this was to be that kind of chat, then.
"It's not enough that you spit in the face of the Chantry, or defile the Order with your treachery, you must corrupt her as well?"
Samson tilted his head, his gaze amused and questioning.
"Her? Oh, you mean Hadi—"
"Don't speak her name!" Cullen snapped. Samson laughed, then.
"Maker's fuckin' balls, Cullen, when will you learn to cut your losses and bow out with some grace?" Samson didn't move from his easy recline, but adjusted, languidly, like a lounging jungle cat after a meal. Cullen was furious, and Samson saw the man was at war with himself and all that had transpired.
"She told you why she was leaving," Samson said, but there was no cruelty in his voice, "it has not to do with me. But if you want to tack that on to the list of things you blame me for, then by all means I won't stop you." Cullen advanced, then stopped short, balling his hand into a fist. Samson sighed, sitting up a little straighter.
"I'm gonna go ahead and make this easy for you, Cullen," he said, and his tone was deadly quiet, "I didn't fuck her, but I'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. She's gorgeous, and funny, and beneath those robes is a great body, I can tell. The only thing I've done, is be there for her. Whatever she needs."
Cullen's face was a thunderhead of fury, but it cleared up somewhat.
"You're a prisoner of the Inquisition, Samson," he snarled, "and a war criminal of the highest order. You reach beyond your station." Samson tilted his head.
"So did you." He said simply, stopping Cullen short. Samson didn't reveal to Cullen what he meant. His conversations with Hadiza were for them alone, not for some bitter ex who merely wished to find an outlet for his heartbreak.
"She chose me," Cullen said, "and you took her."
"I didn't take shit, Cullen, for fuck's sake. She's her own person. I can't take her any more than you can. That right there is why you lost her. You don't see her as an individual. You just see her as…just another mage. Fuck, it's as if we're back in Kirkwall all over again. Did you even tell her about it? All of it?"
Cullen was quiet.
"How much does she even fuckin' know about Ser Cullen? Or did you only give her the Commander and hope for the best?" Samson sneered. Cullen growled beneath the fissures of his previously calm façade.
"Did you really expect her to suffer at your side until you pulled your head out of your own ass?"
"And what do you offer her, Samson?" Cullen shot back, "You are a broken shell of the man you once were, lyrium-addled and sickly. Your death is imminent, you said so yourself." Samson did not lose his temper, and he smiled all the wider. He had accepted who and what he was. He knew he was not worthy of her. Cullen, on the other hand, had a hard time accepting defeat.
"That's what this is about, Commander?" Samson asked, "You're angry because a woman changed her mind about you…for her own well-being? I may be a broken shell of a man but at least I wasn't so selfish as to believe Hadiza Trevelyan could ever belong with me."
But that was what pissed him off, wasn't it? Samson couldn't stop grinning. It pissed him off that despite Cullen's character assassination of him in front of the Inquisition, his habit of turning a blind eye to abuse, and his dubious stance on mages despite his superior being one, Hadiza had still chosen Samson in the end. And even then, Samson was not sure she chose him, but she had definitely given him more of his pride back than he would have gotten had Cullen had his way.
"How long do you want me to suffer before your insufferable sense of honor is satisfied, Commander? Is it not enough that your men abuse me in my cell? Or is it because she sees hope for me where you see only nothing?"
Cullen turned away.
"Hadiza has always seen the good in people, even where there isn't any," he said softly, "and at times, it makes her easy to take advantage of. I won't see her suffer because she saw something in you that is no longer there."
"Oh fuck off," Samson snapped, "as if you are the shining example of every templar in the Order. Abusing recruits for information, letting Meredith brand every mage forehead in the Gallows that so much as twitched their nose, and let's not forget how much of a chickenshit you were until the very last moment. Until the Champion came to clean up the mess you and your lot made." Samson hocked up a wad of spittle, let it fly in disgust.
"As I said before: piss on it. The Chantry, the Order, all of it. You lot preach of protection, honor, duty, and sacrifice, but how many mages suffered under your watch, Cullen? How many of your fellow templars were left to rot after the Chantry had wrung them limp of all usefulness? And did you extend a hand to any of us? Did you even think of any of us at all when the Chantry slammed the door in our faces?"
Cullen shook, turned to face Samson, eyes blazing. Samson spread his arms wide.
"Go on," he laughed derisively, "have a go at me. That's generally how you solve your problems, isn't it? Hit first, ask questions later, and if anyone brings it up…pretend it never happened."
"You were a lyrium addict, Samson. You still are. Weak to the call of it, just as you were weak in Kirkwall." Cullen sneered.
"And if I heard right, it was Hadiza who helped you kick your lyrium habit, Commander," Samson countered, "but maybe you neglected to tell her just how greedy you were for your own dosage. Helped you sleep at night, if I recall."
Cullen's face went ashen momentarily, and his jaw set. Samson sat back, resuming his easy recline.
"Who's Galatea?" He asked suddenly and Cullen went pale.
"None of your concern." He muttered. Samson chuckled.
"The woman you claim to love is out there, right now, fighting to save all of us from the horrors of an ancient magister's arrogance, and you come here to what? Fight me for her? Is that what this is?"
"I do not need to fight you, Samson," Cullen said nastily, "you are already beaten, twice over." Samson nodded.
"I've acknowledged this fucking fact, Commander, but it's good of you to remind me. Builds character. So if you're not here to fight me for her, then what in Andraste's puckered asshole do you want?"
Silence answered him. Samson sighed. He was tired of it; Cullen was such an easy fucking mark, and beneath that cool exterior was the temper of an agitated lion. It was fun to fuck with him, make him face the truth, but it wasn't getting anything through that thick skull.
"Cullen," Samson's voice was guileless and free of its needling tone, "I know what I did was despicable. I know nothing I say excuses my decision to do it. At the time, I was of a mind that the Chantry and the Order had failed in their duties. And I still believe that they did. I was also starved for lyrium." Samson looked away, his gaze distant, remembering a time he was least proud to be alive.
"It tore me up inside to make the templars go through the process of ingesting the red. But I convinced myself I was doing them a favor. I thought maybe…just maybe we could reclaim some of the old prestige outta this. I didn't realize how wrong I was until I saw the way she looked at me. I could take the insults you hurled my way…but not that fucking look in her eyes."
Cullen's expression softened. He knew the look Samson spoke of. It was the last look Hadiza gave him before they…separated.
"And now?" He asked. Samson met his gaze.
"Now I'm waiting. She's fighting for us all, Commander, are you really going to begrudge her the choice she made?"
To that, Cullen could not say. His heart was shattered, of a surety, but Hadiza was right, and he knew it deep down, despite telling himself that she was perfect for him. She was kind, noble, just, shrewd, and her laughter was like sunlight. But she was also a mage, and he realized that she could never downplay that, as she said. She loved her magic as much as she loved the other aspects of herself, and it was something that made Cullen wary, and perhaps without thinking, it showed. Perhaps, without thinking, he had attempted to smother that part of her and keep the parts he liked.
Perhaps he had fallen in love with the Inquisitor and not Hadiza.
"I hope," Cullen said finally, "for your sake, that you are sincere." Samson said nothing in response, his expression unreadable. Cullen left him, then, hollow with the realization of defeat, and the realization that perhaps he was still the man he thought he'd left behind in Kirkwall.
"The fucking arrogance of this guy," Hadiza muttered to herself as she climbed to her feet, "did he really just arrange the rubble to look like…?" She didn't even bother because she knew the answer. Above their heads, the Breach swirled, open and torn anew, only this time demons weren't coming from it.
"Everyone alright?" Hadiza called. Iron Bull shook himself free of a few crumbling stones, hefting his battle-axe on his shoulder.
"All good here, boss." He replied. Dorian had shielded himself and Bull from most of the blast, while Cassandra and Aja had formed their shields together in a crouch.
Hadiza did a quick head count. They were all alive and relatively unharmed. In the center of the clearing, Corypheus stood, and he looked livid. Hadiza decided in that moment that the time for petty games had long past. She had to face this enemy or die, and she had never considered herself a coward in any sense. She motioned for her team to prepare to assault the magister. Aja and Cassandra led ahead of both Dorian and Hadiza, defending their mage charges, while Iron Bull, deceptively nimble and quick for his size, circled around. They had Corypheus surrounded and the bastard didn't have the decency to look the least bit worried.
No matter, Hadiza thought with a morbid sense of glee, we're here, now. Stand or die.
Corypheus sneered at them each in turn, raised his spindly arms, and began to cast. The first spell was a rain of red lightning, and Hadiza was silently thankful for having brought Cassandra, who dispelled an area for them to seek refuge in. The fight was going to be a long one, arduous, bloody, and one for the history books.
Hadiza steeled her courage, gripped her staff, and began a counter-spell. Analogous to her, Dorian was already conjuring the undead, now made numerous by Corypheus' sacrificing of his Venatori supporters, and so their small squad became a small battalion.
Aja and Cassandra were nimble and quick, ducking behind their shields as spells splashed against their magic-proof surfaces, then going in for speedy and precise strikes, and darting away as Corypheus made to fry them to ash, growling in frustration when his spells simply weren't hitting where the two women had been.
"Still you persist, Pretender!" Corypheus shouted as Bull descended on him, but was swatted hard. He managed to roll and climb back to his feet, and charged again.
"Still so determined to die at my hands," Corypheus continued, reaching for Aja who quickly tucked in her shield and sword, and rolled out of the way, only to be caught on the edges of a frost spell, ice forming around one of her booted feet. She brought her shield up and then shattered the ice with a cry of anguish, letting out a taunting roar, her Reaver rage fueled by her own injuries. The whites of her eyes were blood shot with madness, and she became relentless, hacking at Corypheus, dodging when he swiped, bringing her shield up when he cast, and finally working in tandem with Bull, who swept in like a cyclone.
Corypheus stumbled.
Dorian saw the opportunity and cast a life-drain spell and tore away the last of the magister's shields. It was perhaps the most short-lived victory in the battle, for almost immediately there was an ear-piercing screech from above. The blighted dragon at Corypheus' beck and call was making a swan dive toward them, and the magister smiled in triumph, all but giddy with victory. Had Hadiza not seen it with her own eyes, she might not have believed it, but a second dragon crashed into the first, all claws and leathery wings, screeching and roaring as both beasts took to higher altitudes in a battle that Hadiza knew she would never be able to describe in detail.
Corypheus' frustrated cry was short-lived as Aja and Bull flanked him, aiming to hack away the red lyrium protruding from his corrupted body. Corypheus' shields were stripped, leaving the magister vulnerable. Hadiza and Dorian stood back to back, shielded one another, and began to cast. They were fire and ice, lightning and spirit, a terribly beautiful display of everything a mage represented. They were free, they were powerful, and they were determined to beat back this creature that dared crawl from the darkness of a history they'd rather forget.
Above them, the dragons continued to battle like titans, and higher still, the Breach swirled, an open and indolent yawn of sickly green. From this height, one could see directly into the Fade, and around the edges of the sky's wound, the silhouettes of demons and horrors waiting. The entire Breach was waiting, eager, and hungry.
Hadiza caught glimpses of this, and was reminded that only she could seal the sky.
They could not afford to lose, lest the horrible future she and Dorian had briefly lived in come to pass.
His cell was closing in on him; he could feel it as he paced the small space, knifing his fingers through his hair in agitation. He was not even permitted outside to watch the sky for results—no doubt Cullen's doing. He worried about her, worried that perhaps had he asked, she might have taken him along. He still had his sword arm and his strength. He'd not wasted these last few months at Skyhold languishing.
And had she not requested him as her personal guardian?
Maker fuck it all, he needed to be in that fight. He knew her companions could protect her, but none of them had ever stood in the presence of Corypheus. None of them could gauge the magister's power, and that of the blighted dragon. He knew tactics they didn't, and he maintained his templar abilities. He could easily suppress the magister if he had enough lyrium in his system.
Samson let out an angry growl of frustration, swiping his hand in fury, knocking the pitcher of water off of his bedside table. He would give anything to see to her safety, and to see Corypheus' fucking face when his disgraced general was there to help the Inquisitor deliver the final blow. He needed her to survive so they could finish that fucking conversation he suddenly regretted putting off. He'd been so sure she could kick the magister's ass, and he never gave thought to the 'what if' scenario. Hadiza was a powerful mage, but she was not the storm that Corypheus carried within himself. She could be terrible in her might and fury, but she lacked the oppressive presence the magister had. She could not walk into a room and have people feel compelled to defer to her in the most obscene displays of worship. She was outmatched, unless she had a templar to guard her back.
Unless he guarded her back…as her champion and protector.
There was a sound of a key turning in the lock, and the door to his cell swung open. He had been expecting Cullen again, but standing there was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Hadiza, save there was something…off about her. The silver eyes were a dead giveaway, however, but he could not be certain of her name…just what kind of individual she was.
"Cullen finally deciding to collect my head?" Samson asked with a sneer. The woman lifted her chin a bit, an amused smile on her face.
"Do you think that the Commander would leave such a task to the likes of an assassin and not do the deed himself, Samson?" Her voice was pitched low and amused, a purring contralto as she leaned against the doorway, eyeing him. Samson was too impatient for games from one of Leliana's folk.
"Out with it," he growled, "have you people nothing better to do than torment me?"
The woman gave a droll shrug of her shoulders and spilled into the hallway, retrieving something. It was a heavy package, and when she carefully unrolled it Samson's eyes went wide. It was armor, of course. It was in the style of templars, without the Chantry's touches, but the style was distinctive all the same. It was polished and well kept, and clearly lovingly tended. He didn't need the woman to tell him that this armor had once been his.
Samson stared at the armor, and the carefully wrapped sword with its worn leather hilting, and the firm, round pommel. He knew without having to heft it that its weight and balance were perfect with an aching familiarity. The woman watched as he ran his fingers over the assorted pieces of equipment, then immediately decided to get dressed. The woman turned to allow him privacy, and when the last strap had been adjusted and tightened, Samson felt…he felt like he was home. The sword at his hip was perfect, familiar, uncorrupted by lyrium, red or blue.
"One last thing," the woman said, "Hadiza mentioned that you might want this back, so she sent me to Kirkwall to find it. Said something about reclaiming what others think you have lost." Samson stared hard at what the woman carried. It was a shield, but not so ordinary a shield. It was the highest mark of honor and rank a templar could carry, and it had been a gift to him in his glory days long ago from a knight-commander long since retired or dead. Instead of the flaming sword insignia of the Order, it was a blazing sun superimposed on another. It was the sun-shield, a shield infused with the holy power that all templars carried within themselves. He took it from the woman, reverent and in awe, and then he slid it on his arm and it was as if all was as it once had been.
"Now," the woman chirped, "ready to go and save your damsel in distress?"
Samson looked up sharply, and slowly he gave that wolfish grin.
Perhaps the Maker had not forsaken him after all.
They were flagging; of course they were flagging. Hadiza leaned against her staff, trying to control her breathing. They were low on lyrium potions, and Bull had been knocked out of the fight despite Dorian's efforts to revive him; the Qunari was unconscious, but not dead. Aja was surviving on the dregs of her rage, but Hadiza could see the blood leaking from the head wound she'd sustained. Even Cassandra was flagging, her shield arm holding that subtle quiver that belied an inner fatigue more profound than anything she'd likely known. The woman who had slain two dragons at once refused to meet her match in an ancient darkspawn magister, but his stamina and strength were high.
To make matters worse, Morrigan was injured as well, and her dragon—or the form of the dragon she took—inaccessible.
But Corypheus' dragon was dead as well, leaving the magister vulnerable, but still formidable in strength.
"Why do you persist?" He demanded, batting aside Dorian's spells with ease, coming for Hadiza. She stumbled, her sight half-blinded by her own sweat and blood, her staff clattering to the ground as she felt a familiar grip around her waist. Corypheus lifted her to eye level, his expression one of disdain, but the eyes—ah Maker, his fucking eyes! There was knowledge there; knowledge that was deep, ancient, and long forgotten. Forbidden knowledge…dangerous knowledge.
"Even now, your companions begin to flounder. Even now, your life begins to ebb from you. You are all dust! Dust beneath the feet of your betters." Corypheus practically spat. Hadiza could not muster the strength to do anything with her expressions, but she could speak.
"Did you learn nothing from your first attempt to enter the Fade?" She croaked out, and she saw his lip curl, reminded of a wound as yet unhealed, despite it being thousands of years old.
"You will die tonight, Herald," Corypheus' voice was cold and promising, "and your blood shall be the baptism to usher in the new era of a new god."
It was in that moment that Corypheus' grip began to tighten around her midsection. Hadiza wheezed, then felt her bones begin to give under the pressure. In a moment they would crack and she'd die from whatever internal damage he was doing.
"You should have died the night I caught you scrying," Corypheus was saying, "or the night I buried your pathetic Inquisition beneath the might of my army." He jerked her and Hadiza coughed up blood. Andraste! What damage had he done?
"And now, here, in your final hour, I will see the life torn from you myself. I will make sure there are no miracles to come to the aid of the Herald of Andraste," Corypheus spat the title like a curse, derisive and disgusted, "the audacity…to call yourself to herald of a slave."
Hadiza's mouth moved, but it was filled with the coppery taste of her own blood. Her vision was failing and her arms had gone slack at her sides. Soon she would slip into unconsciousness, and hopefully deep enough that she did not feel him kill her.
"May your blood be the first sacrament to Thedas' new god." Corypheus growled and Hadiza shut her eyes, waiting for death.
It never came.
It never came because an arrow whistled through the air and took Corypheus' strongly in the face and exploded. His resulting roar loosened his grip and he tossed Hadiza aside, whipping around to find the offending marksman. Hadiza lay curled on the rocky ground, the pain that throbbed in her nerves utterly unfathomable. Her staff lay mere feet away. Knowing it a futile effort, she reached with a trembling hand to retrieve it. Then she dropped her hand because the pain was too much.
Corypheus was being assaulted with arrows from Varric, Sera, and the one they called Ghost. All three of them kept him busy while Aja and Cassandra helped Hadiza to her feet.
No one spoke; there was no need and no time.
Corypheus turned on them, casting a spell as he did. It was too fast, and they were too exhausted. Hadiza felt death coming for them as they attempted to veer sidelong, despite her pain.
She saw only fire, and then there was brightness, a terrible brightness and she turned her head to shield her eyes from it. It was like the sun itself, but the heat from the flames never engulfed her, but the light did, and it felt so…good. It felt as if that were where she belonged. By the time it cleared, she blinked away the spots in her sun-dazzled eyes and glanced around.
"Well," Aja muttered through her death's head grin, "fuck me sideways. How good of you to show up!" Hadiza blinked, and what she saw made her heart soar in her chest, pain be damned. Samson stood in front of her, wearing what looked to be his old templar armor, only modified, and he held a shield that still glowed with…was it the sun? He held his sword in an easy grip and Corypheus hissed, partially burned by whatever power Samson had brought with him.
"You." Was all the magister managed to hiss out, reaching for his magic only to find it suppressed and weakened by both Samson's will and that of Cassandra's. Samson stood taller than Hadiza remembered, and then she realized that it was pride that straightened his back; pride and a damnable sense of honor, duty, and sacrifice that Cullen swore the man no longer had.
"Me," Samson spat, "me and many others who are sick of your shit, Corypheus. Your shit: everything people fear and hate in mages."
Corypheus shouted out an epithet, and then called out to the Breach, to Dumat, to the first of the Old Gods to be corrupted. He called out for power to slay those who would keep him from what he considered to be his destiny. When he received no answer, he stared at Hadiza in disbelief.
"I don't understand…!" He shouted, angry and confused, and it was an ancient anger and confusion, the same that may have wracked him when first he breached the Black City and found nothing there.
Hadiza wanted to smile, and so she did, through her bloodied mouth, coming to stand at Samson's side.
"Finish him, princess," Samson murmured, "for all of us."
And she did, gathering all of the power into the Anchor, growing in strength as Corypheus in his shock, diminished in his. Hadiza retrieved her staff, held it in one hand, took the orb with the other, and found the strength to speak.
"You would make the same mistake you did these thousands of years past," she advanced on him as he dropped to his knees, "the mistake mages like me have been paying for since then. You want to breach the Fade? Fine." Hadiza was angry now, angrier than she had ever been in her life, but it was not the magma-like anger that welled in her veins and made her see red. No, this anger was white-hot, like the heart of a star, and righteous. It was a clean anger because above all else it was justified.
"I am done paying for the mistakes of your kind." She told him and then lifted the orb to close the Breach. The shock of it hit her like a fist to the chest and had Samson not been there to steady her, she might not have been able to withstand the impact. He was there—a solid and stalwart anchor—and she felt confident and proud in her decision to restore his honor. Corypheus attempted to reach for her, desperate for one final grasp at victory even with his defeat so imminent. Hadiza easily redirected the Breach's energy to him, and without the orb to protect him, Corypheus suffered, writhing in agony, his dying shrieks the only time Hadiza ever took pleasure in another's pain. He had ruined so many lives in the year and a half since he first opened the Breach.
Now, she would end his as she closed the sky's wound for the final time.
The orb thrummed with an overload of energy, and Hadiza was flooded with power the likes of which she'd never felt. This was better than blood magic, so far beyond it. Mages drew their magic from tears in the Veil, shaping the raw energy of the Fade into something useful. But Hadiza was directly connected to the Fade through this orb, and the energy was great and terrible, flooding her mind with an endless array of possibilities.
She could see it: the Black City. It floated beyond her reach, but with this amount of power she could reach it. She saw the possibilities of what could happen if she took the Seat of the Maker for herself. She could fix Thedas as a goddess more than she ever could as the Inquisitor. She could rule this world, fix it, make it fair and just for all. She could end the wars, end the hypocrisy, turn the people to a common goal, a common cause.
Her goal, and her cause.
She could do it; the Inquisition could be run well enough without her and she could rule from the Black City. Corypheus had let the world become overrun with demons and blood mages. She promised she would never do such an abominable thing.
"Hadiza!" Samson's voice pulled at her, and the Black City became more and more distant from her mind's eye.
"Hadiza, finish it!" A grip tightened around her waist and suddenly she was back in the ruins of the Temple, floating beneath the steadily pulsating Breach.
With an anguished cry, she shut the Breach, and collapsed.
Samson caught her easily as she dropped the broken orb.
Samson held her.
He held her as she collapsed, because he knew as no one else on this fucking rock did, that she had almost been lost to them. Hadiza was limp and light in his arms, like a dream, or a cloud, but she was breathing and she was alive, and that was more than enough for him.
"Let her go." Cassandra said coolly, pointing her sword at him. Samson could have laughed. He came in and saved them from being friend by Corypheus and this was how they repaid him.
"Seeker," Aja said, "he just kind of saved our asses, and my sister's. I think…we can…spare him just this once."
"How fuckin' kind of you," Samson drawled, but there was none of the malice in his tone; he'd burned most of the lyrium in his system away, and now was feeling the distinctive ache of having so little of it. But all of that paled in comparison to the relief he felt when Hadiza's eyes opened slowly and she let out a pained groan that ended in a high-pitched croak.
"Samson…?" She wondered, blinking as if to clear her vision. Samson grinned down at her, feeling more and more relief but also feeling…giddy.
"That's me, princess," he murmured and could have died when she smiled at him weakly.
"We've got to…" she murmured, "fire whoever was on patrol. How'd you get out?"
Samson laughed, but didn't answer her. He could deal with that question another day. Around him, the Inner Circle of the Inquisition gathered, and he sighed. There would be time for him and Hadiza later. Right now, they had to get back to solid ground, and make for Skyhold.
That, actually proved to be a lot easier said than done. By the time the mages in their group had done all the healing they could, Hadiza was well enough to stand and walk on her own, albeit she was still sore. Dorian had mended the internal damage Corypheus had done, leaving only bruises and aching in the wake of his healing magic.
No one questioned Hadiza when she opted to walk by Samson's side. They'd seen what transpired, and if they doubted his rehabilitation before, he'd done more than enough to clear that doubt when he held the Inquisitor like a lover as she sealed the Breach and slew Corypheus.
"He likes the smell of her when she's spellcasting," Cole said in a puzzled voice, "like a thunderstorm in the spring. She reminds him of sunlight and—"
"I think," Varric said with a chuckle, "those are private thoughts, kid." Cole glanced down at the dwarf.
"But he wants to shout it from the mountaintops," the spirit protested, "he wants the whole world to know he—"
"Knock it off!" Samson growled, then narrowed his eyes at Hadiza's quiet laughter.
The journey back to Skyhold was uneventful, and given that the universal threat to Thedas was now a smoking hulk on floating ruins, it wasn't surprising. They'd procured horses for the injured, while others were content to continue the journey on foot. Samson walked by Hadiza's side the entire time, while she rode when her fatigue became too much.
They made camp sparingly, wanting to continue to push toward Skyhold in a timely fashion. During that time, most of it was spent sleeping when they could, or gathered around the cook fire as Varric recounted tales from his adventures and stories that never made it to the pages of his books. Samson kept mostly to himself during this time, watching as the Inquisition shared in laughter and smiles all around. He knew once they returned to Skyhold he'd be stripped back down to the role of prisoner once more.
On one such night, Hadiza found him. She had to; she always found him somehow.
He was leaning against a tree, overlooking the valley, and when she came to join him, he gave her a lopsided smirk.
"Princess," he greeted, reveling in her delighted smile at his name for her, "how're you holding up?"
Hadiza shrugged.
"I'm holding. Just eager to get home, I guess." She stood next to him, idly picking at a strap on one of her vambraces, "What of you? That display at the Temple could not have been easy."
"It wasn't." Samson agreed, "Felt like I was going to catch fire and burn away. It was worth it, though." He reached beside him, poking her side idly.
"I'm glad Ghost got to you, then," Hadiza laughed, "had you not been there we all might have perished." Samson's expression was puzzled, but then he made the connection.
"Ghost? Ah, the silver-eyed wench with too many fuckin' knives on her? Yeah, she got to me. Girl is wicked with a bow and arrow. I didn't think she'd make that shot from so far away." At that, Hadiza grinned.
"Yes, well, I wasn't expecting that shot either. Glad she took it." Hadiza looked away from him, her cheeks warm. Samson said nothing, but he could feel the shift in mood when it came. Hadiza turned to him, her expression guileless.
"Thank you," she said, "Samson I…when we captured you I didn't know what I'd do to help you. I just knew I didn't want you rotting in some hole beneath Skyhold. I knew you were a good man once, and that you'd always…done right by people like me. And then you accepted my offer to become my…"
"Champion?" Samson offered with a grin. Hadiza gave a shy smile, resisting the urge to cover her face because it was burning so badly. She laughed.
"Yes," she said in agreement, "my champion, my guardian, and more recently, my protector. I expected something out of you, Samson. Something good. What I got was…more than that. I guess what I'm trying to say is—" Samson put a finger to her lips. If she said it, then it would break him. There'd be no going back. He'd already come to terms with his feelings for her, but if she said it he wouldn't know what to do.
"I thought we agreed to finish this conversation at Skyhold." He told her. Hadiza smiled, slow and tantalizing and Samson swallowed hard. Then, she kissed his fingertip and wiped away any sentient thought he might have formed.
"Maker!" He snatched his hand away, wondering why such a tender gesture had made him so painfully hard. Hadiza laughed.
"We did agree." She told him, "But that doesn't mean I didn't already make a decision." Samson froze, staring at her.
"Shit." Was all he could get out and Hadiza laughed again and this time Samson couldn't control the way it made him feel. She'd made a decision, but what decision had she made? Did she feel the same for him as he did for her? Hadiza poked him playfully.
"So we'll wait, then." She whispered, and before Samson could collect his thoughts she was walking back toward camp, her hips swaying. Samson wanted to laugh. The damnable minx knew what she was about!
He took a deep breath, and exhaled for what felt like the first time in ages.
When they came upon Skyhold, the shouts from the battlements were passed along, and their arrival was heralded by celebration. Word had already reached the keep that Corypheus had been defeated and the Breach sealed. Now, they celebrated the Inquisitor's safe return. It was nightfall already, and the stars were just beginning to dot the fabric of the sky, interrupted in the distance by the sickly green scar to the south. The portcullis was raised and as Hadiza and her party passed beneath it, everything changed.
They were home.
She made her way to the steps, climbing gingerly, and realized she was alone, with her Inner Circle gathered amidst the growing crowd. Hadiza's brows furrowed and then she turned, hesitant, and found her three advisors waiting for her. There was a moment where she thought that perhaps they had some more dire news for her, but Leliana was wearing a very smug smile, and Josephine looked positively delighted. Even Cullen looked a little proud of her. Hadiza stood alone, existing at once as the Inquisitor and the lone mage whose entire stake in this had been happenstance.
Then, slowly, and with a reverence one reserved for royalty or the Divine herself, her three advisors bowed to her, low and respectful. It was a sign of respect, and an affirmation that Hadiza was beyond a shadow of a doubt, the leader of the Inquisition. She inclined her head at them, echoing their smiles of pride. Then, as one, they went into the keep, with the crowd following behind. Hadiza glanced over her shoulder once, searching and hoping. When she didn't see Samson she sighed, wondering if they'd have time to pick up the tail end of that conversation they'd wanted to have.
Until then, she was the Inquisitor.
The fête was extravagant, and Josephine had spared precious little expense on the affair. Nobles both from Orlais and Ferelden were in attendance, all vying for Hadiza's attention and time. Her comrades of the Inner Circle were all scattered about, making small talk, or in Varric's case, charming their guests. Hadiza was clad in a dress of soft, icy blue, with off-shoulder sleeves decorated with blue jay feathers. The bodice was heart shaped, emphasizing her bust and the tautness of her waist, and the skirt hugged her hips before fishtailing into a modest train. With Vivienne's help, Hadiza had managed to style her hair in a high and artfully messy coif, decorated with honeysuckle vines, the blooms dyed blue to match her dress. A necklace of silverite inlaid with sapphires adorned her throat.
Hadiza was in essence, the belle of the ball.
Still, it did nothing to ease her anxiousness to be done with this entire affair.
After speaking to a particularly eager but minor Orlesian lordling—a Jacmel de Valois—Hadiza decided to seek refuge with Iron Bull, Aja, and Blackwall. Her sister cleaned up fairly well, but had stuck to her style of trousers rather than dresses. She wore all black, with a lace bodice, but instead of a dress, the bottom half of her ensemble was a pair of wide-leg trousers made of a flowing material that emphasized her muscled legs and her height. Blackwall had mentioned that he found the strange outfit exciting, and quintessentially Aja. Bull had not bothered to dress up for the affair, nor had Blackwall.
"Enjoying yourself, boss?" He asked with a glint in his eye. Hadiza smirked, and hid her response in a pull from her goblet of wine. Bull leaned in, still smiling.
"He won't show up, you know," Bull murmured and Hadiza nearly choked, "but I may or may not have told him to linger by the door to your quarters…so you two could talk."
"Bull!" Hadiza hissed, "You didn't!"
"Boss," Bull said seriously, "everyone knows you two are making moon-eyes at each other. Don't have to be Ben-Hasserath to see that. And everyone knows you gave him a chance when everyone else wanted his head on a pike. Hell, even I wanted his head on a pike. But you pulled a re-educator move on him, boss, I'm impressed. You took a broken man and you got him on the path to being whole again."
Hadiza hesitated, the rim of her goblet hovering near her wine-reddened lips. She thought about it, wondered if everything she'd done for and with the Inquisition had been leading up to this.
"I…Bull, thank you, I'm going to…" She tried to find the words.
"Don't thank me just yet, boss," he laughed, "I'm wondering where the hell you two are even going with this." Hadiza narrowed her eyes.
"There's a pool going, isn't there?" She asked flatly. At Bull's smile she rolled her eyes, downed the remainder of her wine, and excused herself from the table.
"Rooting for you, boss." Bull laughed Hadiza made a hissing noise with her teeth at him.
Making her way through the milling crowd, she spotted him. In truth, he was hard to miss; he was the only one not dressed in finery, and instead wore his drab prisoner's garb, looking like a wolf that was trapped indoors. When he saw her, he smiled.
"I didn't think you'd come," Hadiza said softly, and Samson shrugged, "I was worried I'd have to come fetch you."
"Templars don't usually attend parties," Samson grunted, "just look at the Commander, all fuckin' pink and stammering like some nervous farm boy with his first lover." Hadiza clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from bursting into peals of laughter.
"You shouldn't tease him," she admonished, but her laughter said otherwise, "he's improved a great deal since Halamshiral. This is quite tame for him." Samson looked skeptical, but he accepted it with a grunt of assent. Hadiza's hand went for the door handle, pushing the door open.
"Let's get out of here." She told him. Samson blinked.
"You sure…? It's your party…" He gestured to the busy crowd. Hadiza chuckled.
"Exactly," she agreed, "and if I want to leave early, then I shall. You and I have unfinished business."
With that, Samson could not disagree, and he followed her, the door shutting behind them.
Hadiza's room was bathed in moonlight and starlight when they reached it and Samson felt at once out of place and thrilled to be there. The last time he'd been in her bedchamber, Cullen had tried to kill him. But now, he'd been invited.
"So," Hadiza turned in a slow circle around the room and Samson took that moment to note how lovely she looked n her dress, "I came to a decision about you, Samson. Two, actually."
"Did you, now, princess?" He retorted as she walked toward him. Hadiza smirked.
"Oh yes," she murmured, "would you like to hear them?"
"I'm waiting with baited fuckin' breath."
Hadiza tilted her head, and her expression turned serious.
"I decided that after one year has passed since I judged you, that I will commute your sentence to community service. You will be bound to the Inquisition for this time, and you will aid in the reconstruction of Ferelden and Orlais that the red templars wrought. As for how long this process will take, it remains to be seen. Until a year has passed, however, you are still technically my prisoner which brings me to my next decision."
Samson suddenly felt his stomach go into free fall. Hadiza smiled sadly.
"If we…" She bit her lip, "If we decide to take this beyond what we have now, it will affect my reputation. They will say I was corrupted, and that you sought to bring down the Inquisition from within. While you are still officially my prisoner, we can't be…public with our affections, if there are to be any. That is…if that's what you wanted with me."
Samson understood. Politically and socially, Hadiza couldn't be seen canoodling with him, no matter how little he gave a fuck about what people said. But he understood how this shit worked. She was in a position in which politicking was essential. But he wanted her more than anything, now. He needed her. He recalled their first kiss, how it burned like a brand on his soul, and how soft her lips had been. He wanted to drink down her laughter in the mornings, to know what it was like to hold her in his arms in the night's depths, and to listen to the cadence of her breathing as she slept.
"I've always wanted you, princess," he rasped, "you know that. I wouldn't have come up here otherwise." Hadiza bit her lip again, looking away shyly. Samson wouldn't have it, and so he took her chin in his fingers and turned her head to look at him.
"If you're sure, I don't mind being your secret…a year isn't as long as you think." Then, with a boldness he'd wanted to act upon, he traced the shape of her lips with the calloused pad of his thumb. Watching her lips part was…he felt the blood rush to his groin in response.
"I'm sure," she whispered, and there was an ache in her voice, "I'm sure. I'm sure."
Without warning, Samson took her arm, pulling her toward him. Her body, silk-clad as it was, collided with his and he embraced her, tightly, lowering his head to hers to kiss her. She kissed him back, yielding to the demand of his insistent tongue, her lips parted for him, and he licked into her mouth, relishing the taste of wine within. She groaned softly, and Samson nearly lost it. The silence of her bedchamber was overlain with their sharp breaths, heavy panting, and the sound of her dress whispering with each movement she made. Samson was adept at unlacing a lady's dress, and he quickly worked at the stays while she pushed his shirt up and over his head, marveling at the hot skin beneath.
Samson loosed the stays of Hadiza's gown and peeled it away, marveling that this was actually happening. How many fantasies of her had he entertained in his mind? How many ways had he dreamt of taking her? And how many times did he quell those desires with the realization that she would never want him the way he wanted her? Samson watched as the dress whispered down her body, revealing all of her skin, rich and dark and unblemished. Samson wanted to just…caress her all over. And that's exactly what he did, tugging her breast band in the process to free her breasts, making Hadiza gasp in surprise as the lush weight of them bounced free.
"Maker's fucking balls, princess," Samson growled, "you're gorgeous." Hadiza did not know why, but coming from him that made her blush and she turned her gaze from his.
"Thank you," she whispered and Samson laughed.
"I can go slower if you like," he offered, stroking and massaging her sides gently, "or I could fuck you blind right now. Your pick, princess." Hadiza swallowed. Samson had guessed right: she was a woman who loved a hard fuck, and he was good at that. He could bring her to a violent, screaming climax if he wanted. All he needed was time to familiarize himself with the sinuous curves and lines that shaped her. His hands traveled up to cup her breasts, rolling the nipples under his thumbs. He watched her with a wolf's intensity as her eyes shut and she moaned softly, arching into his hands.
"Decide, princess…" He murmured, lowering his head to kiss her exposed throat tenderly, leaving a trail of fire along the arch, lips settling on her fluttering pulse until all he could smell was that powdery perfume she was wearing, and the honeysuckle in her hair.
"Samson…" She whispered and for some reason that undid him. He wanted her right there on the fucking floor, wanted to spread her wide for him, to feel just what sort of wet heat she hide from him. Instead, he tried to tap that templar patience, gritting his teeth as he licked along her feverish skin, one hand spanning the flat of her stomach to venture beneath the band of her smalls. Her gasp echoed his growl as his fingers found the sopping wet folds easily, sliding between them to find her clit. He removed his hand; fingertips wet from her, and then guided her carefully towards her bed, urging her to sit while he knelt. Hooking his fingers in the band, he dragged her smalls down the length of her legs, tossing them away.
"I've been thinking about this moment for months," he told her, smoothing his hands up her calves, kneading them gently and grinning at her squeal of delight.
"Really?" She asked him, "I never would have gues—oh!" He interrupted her teasing, when he tickled the backs of her knees sending her into uncontrollable giggling, trying to say his name.
"Yes, princess, really." He told her as she fell backward, kicking her legs into the air. Andraste's dimpled ass cheek, she was too beautiful for words, so he decided he'd talk to her in other ways. He joined her in bed, easily draping her legs over his shoulders. He wanted to savor her, inch by delicious inch, wanted to taste all the sounds she made. He'd joked with the horsemaster about how Hadiza could make a poet out of him, and now he was eating his words. The woman had the moon in her eyes and stars coming out of her mouth every time she laughed, and her smile was the most endearing thing about her.
No, not the most. He knew he'd never be able to decide for as long as he had her.
He pulled her legs apart, holding onto one to kiss along the length of her calf, down to her ankle, and along the smooth arch of her foot. She giggled again when he kissed her toes, scrunching her nose just so. Fuckin' cute is what she was, but he knew he could get her smoldering. They had all night to stoke the fire, and so he took his time, despite how hard he was and how much he wanted to just ravish her until she was breathless and hoarse from screaming his name. He lowered her leg to the bed, leaving her spread before him. Hadiza wriggled her hips, half expectant, half adjusting, and he reached down to slide one finger along her hot slit.
She gasped and he watched her pupils swallow the silver of her eyes, grinning. She was very responsive, and he thought of all the ways he could use that to wring her limp with pleasure. He swiped again, but this time kept going in an up and down rhythm and pattern, circling her clit each time he came up, until she was slick enough to cover his fingers and her sex parted easily around his touch. She moved her hips eagerly, wanting more pressure, wanting more stimulation, biting her lip against a moan when Samson rubbed one of her sensitive folds between his fingers until she had no choice but to let it out.
"Don't get too loud, princess," he teased her, and smiled when she sucked in a sharp breath as one of his fingers vanished into her, "wouldn't want your secret getting out." In truth, Samson rather enjoyed the prospect of being the Inquisitor's secret lover. He wanted them—the ubiquitous 'them'—to wonder who so thoroughly fucked Hadiza's brains out. He wanted them to wonder who put the smile on her face, who got to kiss the skin every night. As a second finger joined the first, he reveled in the wet, erotic sound of them pumping in and out of her, grinding the heel of his palm on her clit just so.
Hadiza wailed, fisting the luxurious duvet in a white-knuckled grip as her hips moved against his hand. Samson knew he could make her come from this alone, but he didn't want her to just yet. He just wanted her so wet that she could spill all over him. He wanted her as easy as a sunrise.
When he felt the first fluttering of her lust-slick walls, he withdrew his hand, laughing when she whimpered.
"Why did you stop?" She demanded, eyes glittering, the moonlight limning her skin in silver. Samson looked her over, said nothing, and unlaced his trousers. Hadiza licked her lips, her heart racing, and before she could control her impulse, she moved, quick and languid.
"Hey!" Samson cried, but he laughed when she wrapped her long legs around him, locking her ankles at the base of his spine, and then she tugged him, her stomach muscles flexing as Samson grinned hard, wolf-like and amused.
"Patience, princess." He ordered and Hadiza frowned; she didn't want patience, she wanted him. She tugged harder and Samson, in his humor, reached forward to grab her by the waist and lift her, effortless and beautiful, carrying her as he cupped the rotund curves of her ass, squeezing as she wrapped her arms around him, dipping her head to kiss him.
"No." She whispered into his open mouth, and he chuckled darkly.
"Have it your way, princess," he whispered back, walking to press her bare skin against the cold stone wall. Hadiza kissed him fervently, interspersed with her laughter as he reached between them, freeing his cock. He lowered her just enough for the head to brush against her entrance, making her gasp softly.
"Look at you," he teased in that growling voice, "getting all soft in the middle and we haven't even started yet." He received a nip to his lower lip in retaliation, and so he dropped her the rest of the way onto his waiting shaft.
Hadiza sucked in a breath, then let out a deep-throated groan, her head falling back against the wall. Samson gritted his teeth against the feel of her. She was hot, wet velvet around him, just tight enough that he could feel he was stretching her, but Maker she could take him deep if he wanted to go. He squeezed her ass, making her grind against him, eliciting another groan from her parted lips. For a moment, Samson simply held her there, and she lifted her head, drawing herself closer to him, burying it in the crook of his neck. Samson realized she was trembling. It wasn't any matter, because if he moved now he felt he'd spend, so he simply sat inside of her, marveling at the feel of her.
"Maker's shitting breath…" He whispered reverently, and then dropped a kiss to her shoulder, then her neck, and that tender spot behind her ear. He wouldn't last like this. He began to move. Hadiza whimpered, holding onto him tighter and he felt her—Maker's balls—he felt her getting wetter as his hips drew back, his cock slick with her, and then back in. He kept it slow, and he felt the sharp bite of her nails in his shoulders, heard a muffled sound that might have been his name. He planted one hand against the wall, and rocked his hips into her, his thrusts getting steadily harder, faster, and deeper, and eventually settling into a rhythm that took her from whimper, to moan, and finally to short, staccato gasps with each clash of his hips against hers.
Samson didn't think it was possible to give up a woman like this. He didn't think—he couldn't think—of any reason a man would give all this up; Hadiza, with her infectious laughter and her soft heart, and her tight, delicious cunt. He was over the fucking moon for her, he knew, but it wasn't until he took a fireball on her behalf that he knew he loved her. And this…this was what bliss must have been like. The Maker be damned, he would take this over any paradise the Chantry preached about any day. This was real to him. He could hold onto all of this flesh and blood writhing in his arms, could kiss the miles of skin on her and know how she'd respond. He wanted to make love to her, wanted to fuck her, wanted to make her laugh, and was mad with all the possibilities to please her.
He moved for her and she moved for him, and eventually his rhythm became urgent and needful. Her lips tried to form words, but her head fell back against the wall again, and she simply wailed for him, heavy breasts heaving and bouncing with each force of his thrusts. It wasn't the Maker she called out to that night, but she called out to him, clinging to him like a lifeline. Samson was content to make her unravel around his cock, and he stroked into her harder, sending her thoughts scrambling in every direction.
"Please…" She begged, nails carving sigils into his back as he hissed, "…please, please, please…!" And Samson obliged her, leaning in close to lick at her neck, dappling it with sloppy, wet kisses. And then in a low, and surprisingly calm voice, telling her to come for him.
She did, and Maker, it was the end of him.
Her walls clenched hard around him, her body shuddering from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck, as her cries rose in pitch until she broke, and Samson could not longer maintain that self-control. He fucked her. He fucked her until her orgasm subsided and his crested, and then he spent himself within her depths with a hoarse growl, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh between her neck and shoulder as he did, marking her.
The world was a blur around them, covered in a dream-like haze, and Hadiza saw without truly seeing, her eyes glassy, her lips parted, and her skin slick with sweat. Samson breathed deep, filling his lungs with the scent of their sex, a commingling of sweat and seed, and expensive perfume. He saw the bruising mark of his bite, and soothed it with a kiss and a swipe of his tongue, grinning when Hadiza hissed and shivered from the contact.
Eventually, he carried her back to bed when he remembered how to use his legs. Somehow, in the cool night air, they wound up beneath the covers, laughing in the darkness. It was the laughter of relief, both that they were alive and that this was the start of something new for both of them.
"Do you think they heard us?" Hadiza asked as she settled into Samson's arms. The man laughed, one arm encircling her torso, his hand cupping her breast and idly kneading the nipple between his fingers, making her whimper.
"They heard you, princess," he said to her, his fingers never letting up until Hadiza pushed her bottom back against his groin suggestively. He gave it a light slap.
"Not yet," he admonished, "give a man a moment's peace, woman."
Hadiza huffed, turning in his arms to face him. The moonlight had shifted in the bedchamber, from one of her windows to the other, but there was still enough for her to make out his features, which she traced tenderly with her fingertips. Samson was still beneath her touch, allowing her to trace his brow bone, then his cheekbone, her fingernails scraping lightly at his stubble, and then settling to trace his mouth. Unable to resist, he gave the lightest kisses to her curious fingertips.
They said nothing for the rest of the night. Samson preferred it that way. They did far better talking without words, and the dawn was just beginning to color the horizon by the time they finished their conversation, the sheets damp with sweat, and Hadiza left with quivering limbs, and a love-swollen mouth. Samson settled at her side, and surprised himself when Hadiza nuzzled close. His arm went around her and he listened to her breathing grow deeper as she slept, and he stared at the ceiling, wondering and hoping.
She fit him. There was nothing else for it. She fucking fit.
He smiled, the mantra ringing in his head: she fits, she fits, she fits. He shut his eyes, and for the first time in years, fell into a peaceful slumber.