Author notes: I don't own the Dragon Age setting or characters, except the OCs.

The title is based off the "Samson" bard song from Dragon Age Inquisition.

Please try not to be too intimidated by the length of this story. It is divided into 4 parts between 10-15 chapters each, with interlude chapters in between. Each part encompasses a different story arc, which for most part fit nicely into the Dragon Age 2 Acts.

Thank you to SteveGarbage's comments which have shaped re-writes of this chapter.

Please let me know what you think, so long as it isn't mindless bashing.

"Samson!" heaved a shuddering voice. "I thought I'd find you here."

"What is it?" Samson asked, raising his gaze from the floor.

He knew who it was by the voice. It wasn't just some moron jogging across the hall for fun. It was his roommate Ser Cullen Rutherford.

Guarding the doors of the Kirkwall Circle was the job Samson most dreaded, although since they rotated on a roster he wasn't exactly in a position to fuss. He preferred watching mages to the walls and had stood in a stupor like a ghost for too long, wondering if the time passing were minutes or hours.

Cullen wiped sweat off his brow, his gauntlets clunking less as he slowed. If he had been running something was ought to be wrong. His roommate never ran for anything, not even away from his charges when they did something dangerous. The closest Cullen had come to running was jumping out of bed in a panic, having forgotten he had requested the day free. The memory brought a smile to Samson's lips.

The shadows on the walls were sharper than usual as many of the lanterns had been extinguished. The usual hustle and bustle of boots and chatter had greatly dissipated, so it was a sure sign that freedom was near. It was difficult to tell the time in this blasted Circle and when shifts were ending.

"Knight Commander Meredith wishes to speak to you," Cullen said breathlessly. He looked worried. "I'd try and get there quickly if you know what's good for you. She looks as though she is ready to burn down the library."

Samson was so drained from hours of wordless standing that he barely lifted an eyebrow. "I'm close to doing that myself," he grumbled. "I bet we'll get along like clockwork."

"I've been ordered to take your place until Ser Chandler gets here," Cullen continued. "Last I heard he was taking a quick shower."

"Fine, shower some confetti around while you're at it," Samson muttered. As though he'd forgotten how to use his legs, he stepped forward awkwardly. "I'll see you back in our room for a bedtime story."

Cullen chuckled. The two roommates read pages out to each other on occasion. Maker, everyone in the Circle were basically forced to have reading as a hobby. They were not much freer than the mages in this regard and what else were they supposed to do in the Gallows anyway?

The last person Samson wanted to speak to was the icy control freak, but he also didn't fancy making her angrier than she already was.

"Hurry up, Samson," Cullen urged.

Samson hurried toward Knight Commander Meredith's office, his armour rattling horribly as he did. The noise was especially biting at this hour, and each echo added to his exhaustion. His stomach was growling loud enough to match it. When his fellow brothers and sister Templars tried to stop him to chat, he said 'Later' and kept walking. His thoughts focused on a young lady he rarely spoke to. The Templar spent so much time considering how he could attempt to catch her attention it felt as though his heart had been emptied of life.

Somewhat dazed, keeping his eyes pointed toward the floor, it was surreal to feel and hear his fist knock against her door.

"Come in, Ser Samson," Meredith said coldly.

Slowly, dreading what would face him on the other side of the door; he pushed it open, only now taking in that he was in trouble. The symbol of the Templars graced his vision first, and then the back of Meredith's big head. From behind, the Knight Commander could be mistaken for many years younger, almost attractive, but the illusion was broken by the sharpness of her tone.

"Take a seat. Don't just stand there and waste my time," she snapped.

Peering at her gauntlets to avoid meeting her gaze, Samson sat down in the chair in front of her desk. The papers and books were scattered unorganized on it tonight, possibly more than usual. Like the rest of the Gallows, all but one of the office lanterns were out, leaving them in a dim room.

Meredith Stannard was appointed her position as Knight Commander recently in the grand scheme of the Gallows history, but that didn't mean he had to like her. Respect? Definitely, but there were never warm feelings, only the nagging pull of obligation.

The shame and horror over the previous Knight Commander's hanging was still fresh in Templar's minds. Like a father, there were many of his brothers or sisters who had trouble letting memories go. While Samson was not one of them, he could not deny that his former superior had more likable qualities than Meredith.

Despite knowing Meredith had no reason to, Samson swore Meredith didn't trust him. She often radiated suspicion towards others. During her rise to power she always looked like she had a fly up her nose.

It wasn't much different here.

Having to peer up at the Knight Commander made her more threatening. As she turned around to look at him, he saw a wretched old woman trying to desperately conceal her age. The wrinkles underneath her eyes looked far more pronounced in the lantern light, and the too-upright posture radiated a sense of impending doom.

Her nostrils flared.

"What do you wish of me, Knight Commander?" Samson asked. He tried his best to be welcoming, even though he wanted to settle his empty stomach.

They locked eyes for a moment and shared the same unnerving, rigid stare. Though Samson had an inkling of why he was sent here, he prayed his superior hadn't uncovered the whole truth.

"I've noticed your wrongdoings, young recruit," Meredith said, and she sat down too, "but I suspected I ought to hear your defence before I decide on how to handle you."

This didn't ease his discomfort.

For some reason the word 'handle' disturbed Samson far more than the rest of her accusation, but he concealed surprise with ease. It helped that he was tired.

"You'll have to spell it out for me, Knight Commander."

His superior continued to glare. "You have crossed an ethical boundary, Samson. I've seen you speaking to Maddox far more times for it to be a mere coincidence. Dual relationships with mages are not recommended in the Circle. Explain yourself."

Damn, so Meredith did know. Not all of it, but enough. Samson knew exactly why he had agreed to transport letters back and forth between two of his friends, a Templar and a mage, but he did not intend to make the truth known. Not yet. Not while there was a chance of slithering out of the conversation.

"Maddox is in close contact with another Templar, Meredith," Samson effortlessly recited his planned lie. "I thought so long as I kept a tab on their letters I could make sure my colleague Ser Phillipa did not cross a line, ma'am."

"I see." Meredith crossed her arms. "At least you are honest, unlike so many of the other clods. Are you claiming you know the contents of their exchange? Is that what you're implying?"

"Yes, Meredith," the man said, praying his thinly veiled lie was enough that the Knight Commander wouldn't ask more questions.

The real answer was no. Samson had promised Maddox that he wouldn't read the letters, so he never had. He wasn't planning to anyway because the letters were likely teeming with poetry or nauseating mush.

Phillipa and Maddox were lovers of a sickeningly sweet kind, yet Samson enjoyed knowing he was contributing to their happiness, inappropriate relationship or not. Nothing ever interesting happened to him in the Gallows. The forbidden love ordeal was a reminder that good did occur to nice people in unexpected places.

Maybe one day he could find love like them.

"Your stance is admirable," Meredith admitted. For a moment Samson thought he was free. "However, I cannot accept your version of events. You still crossed a line that you should have never approached. Do you know why it is drawn so boldly, young man?"

Maker save me... Samson desperately searched his memory for the contents of his ethics textbook. It was the hideously boring one; the pages of drivel Cullen had reminded him of countless times lately, to deter Samson from getting in trouble. "If we befriend the mages then we risk experiencing impaired judgement."

The Knight Commander seemed to be permanently irritated. "It is not quite so elementary," she said harshly. "If your judgement is hindered the risk of assisting the mage in question to escape is much greater, almost inevitable."

"I don't see how this affects me, ma'am," Samson muttered; sweat wetting his palms. "I did not go against my training. The book said…"

"It does not matter what the book said!" Meredith snapped, slamming her palm on the desk. "The theory must be applied to the circumstances at hand, with a grander political context in mind. It must be interpreted carefully, and with questions. Thedas is in a crisis. You may not see it within the halls but I read it in every letter. The madness needs to end. Regardless of which edition you learned from, the basic values persist and are of paramount importance. The line between mercy and irrevocable harm cannot be danced over so recklessly like you are in a tavern trying to decide whether to indulge yourself in another drink."

Samson wanted to yell and counteract her every argument. This wasn't about harm or Kirkwall as a whole, but two individuals, his friends, who loved each other. The rules shouldn't matter when it came to that.

But he resisted arguing. Maker, it was so hard to hold back.

"I shall ask you to retrieve Ser Phillipa so I can question her as well," Meredith finished more diplomatically. "If I discover her and Maddox are having… relations with each other, you will be dealt with. All of you."

Samson gritted his teeth but tried to keep his breathing steady. He was definitely fucked now. But... he wasn't about to concede. "Of course, Knight Commander."

"Get her now. I don't care if she's asleep. This cannot go unchecked," Meredith said firmly, and she rose from her desk. "Go."

"Y-Yes," Samson stuttered, sounding unlike himself. In a hurry, he stumbled over his boots as he reached for the door, heart pounding in his ears. It was difficult to hear Meredith's final words of 'Goodnight' as he hurried toward the dining hall. He'd get the smallest amount of food on his way and hope some insight would arrive as to how to fix this.

The clunking of his silver boots sounded even worse now.

Samson knocked, and knocked again, creating a ruckus that started to irritate even him - still, he could not give up. As his knuckles grew sore, sweat appeared on his forehead and his heart beat so fast he was scared it would suddenly stop working.

Even when resting briefly to eat he hadn't thought of anything to help Phillipa. Cullen was probably asleep, and since Samson had already delayed, he couldn't waste any more time brainstorming.

Finally, the muffled voice of a woman was heard through the door. "What in the name of Andraste…"

The door swung open and Samson was faced with Phillipa's roommate, the person he considered the most beautiful out of all the Templars, and his secret, initial motivation for agreeing to help Maddox.

He was hoping Zoe wouldn't answer, not now. Thinking wasn't a talent of his with her around, and he needed that tonight. Unwillingly he became enthralled by her perfectly straight nose, her chest, and the movement of her chestnut hair.

"Samson. Good evening," she said, nonplussed. Her Marcher accent was pronounced compared to others in the Gallows. "What brings you here?"

Zoe appeared startled, yet paradoxically accepting. In the poor lighting her green eyes gleamed, and they did not break eye contact. He didn't know if his arrival was a pleasant surprise or unwelcome.

"Get the less pretty one," Samson blurted out, going pink in the face.

Zoe laughed. "Whatever you say, you naughty spruce."

It was both an unexpected and a suitable answer and he wasn't sure how that made sense, but he didn't question. He watched, the same he usually did.

Leaving the door ajar, his untouchable angel wandered off. The plain nightwear wasn't anything new as the men wore similar garb, yet he admired her muscly, smooth arms, her bruised legs and bare feet. Her broad hips and bosom were accentuated by the linen shorts and blouse. It was just as incredible as his reveries. And with the gentle pain of reality.

It saddened him to think that his plan hadn't really worked. Zoe hadn't warmed up to him in the brief times they'd spoken. Usually she made fun of him. Perhaps she saw him as stupid. Worse, maybe she didn't think anything of him at all.

This whole time maybe he should have just sent her a letter or two. It was so obvious now, yet he hadn't the nerve.

With a groan, Phillipa reached the door, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Her lengthy blonde hair was unkempt. Phillipa wasn't known for beauty. She was pretty, but the unconventional sort. In all honesty that feature wasn't too different from Maddox.

"You were knocking fervently," she mumbled, and her eyes widened. "Is everything well? Are you alright?"

"He was flirting with me again," Zoe chuckled. "So that's normal, at least."

"I can't help it when you're pretty," he said, hitting his hand against the wall in frustration. Okay, Zoe was right. He made a fool out of himself nearly every time he saw her. Still, she never seemed to reject him for some reason. "Meredith wants to talk to you. It's about the letters."

"Oh, curses," Phillipa groaned, looking alarmed now. "How much does she know?"

"Enough. I'd go. I've already lied. Just… say you were trying to get rid of him."

"But that…" His friend sighed. "I'll think of something."

"I hope so," Samson admitted, feeling more nervous than he had all night.

"Bollocks and shit," Zoe muttered. She looked shocked too.

Reticent, Meredith's apothegm of 'get Phillipa now' crossed his mind, "The quicker you get there, the better."

"I… this is too much. I really hope…" Phillipa wasn't making a good case for herself. She squeezed Samson's hand and peered in his eyes with her brown ones. In them he saw himself, his own anguish for someone he couldn't bring himself to have. "Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice."

The Chant of Light, typical. Phillipa was one of the few who actually enjoyed quoting that rubbish.

Zoe stepped forward. "Do you want me to come with you, sister?"

"No," Phillipa said. "Meredith asked for me. If I bring you, it will look suspicious, since I don't usually do that."

"Okay," Zoe said with a shuddering breath. "Would you like a hug at least?"

"I… don't know," Phillipa said, sounding worried now. "I need to go. I'll speak to the two of you later."

"Good luck," Samson and Zoe said at the same time. They glanced at each other before looking away just as quickly.

With that Phillipa's nightwear went around the corner and she was gone. Samson wasn't sure if he'd see her again in one piece. Part of him didn't want to know.

"I told her it was a bad idea, but she was getting so obsessed with Maddox it seemed sad to not let her do it," Zoe explained. Samson almost jumped as she had moved beside him. "It's helpful for good girls to let their hair out once in a while, right? That's what I told myself. How did you do it?"

She was slightly shorter than him, and even prettier up close. He didn't think they had ever stood side by side.

"I didn't think it would be that much of a problem, but I must have been stupid," Samson said, exhausted from the adrenaline rush. "I still am. I can't stop flirting with you, after all."

He wanted to explain that getting a chance to interact with Zoe was the initial reason for wanting to help Maddox. It was only a vague afterthought now, but it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. They were truly alone for the first time ever.

Roommates often stuck together like family. Zoe and Phillipa were no different. They were like sisters, and he was the weird outsider trying to catch a glimpse of her, wishing he could stop making a fool of himself. It didn't help that there was only a small handful of female Templars in the Circle. He'd been content with visiting the Blooming Rose for years, but he hadn't met someone quite so interesting before.

"Why do you, anyway?" Zoe asked, her eyes meeting his. "Do you make a habit of complimenting girls in your spare time?"

"Uh, it isn't anything," Samson lied, but then his idiocy returned. "I'd love to knock lips with a pretty girl like you, but I suppose that's for the more charming men in this prison."

"You… want to kiss me..." Zoe looked nervous, despite a tiny smile. "Oh, sorry. I'm…" She looked down and said the words no one ever wanted to hear. "Maybe we should stay friends."

"Right." Samson paused. He should have expected this answer, but it left a handful of other questions. "Are you my friend?"

"We can be," Zoe said. "I'd like to be."

The conversation was more awkward than ever but Samson couldn't shut up. "That's all I was asking," he said quickly, "I mean I just-"

"Don't." Zoe's voice was harsh, maybe even hurt. Samson noticed she was pink in the cheeks. "I mean I get that the situation is messed up right now, and you're probably feeling all woozy in the head and want to talk about what happened with Meredith. I am lost with... I just can't… wait a second."

Samson did. He hadn't ever seen her look flustered before. She looked down, ran her fingers through her hair, like to massage her scalp. After a couple of seconds she looked up.

"You're really good looking," Zoe admitted. "I, uh… if Phillipa doesn't... I mean, I wouldn't mind getting to know you better – making your toes curl, if you get my meaning."

Sleeping around in the Circle had a similar reputation to a myth. Everyone secretly knew it happened, but no one could pin point an exact instance of when it did. Now he had a chance to express his pent-up desire and longing for her. It wouldn't be a myth anymore, and her answer had... not shocked him as much as he'd thought.

As simple as that his nervousness vanished. "I would like that," Samson said. "I didn't know you wanted to make my toes curl though?"

Zoe smiled, rather sheepish, an expression he was certain he had displayed countless times. "I'm not as obvious as you are."

He had wanted more of an explanation, but that didn't seem like it was going to happen.

"I am guessing you don't mean you want to tickle my feet?" Samson checked, just to be sure he wasn't imagining things.

Zoe laughed. "No. I mean the more conventional insinuation."

"Ah." Samson smirked. "If you're wiling we can even use a bed like normal people."

"Imagine that!" Zoe joked. She briefly glanced away. "We could do bad things in my bed if you want… but I'm worried about Phillpa too."

Being a forward jerk when it came to sex was one of Samson's more dishonourable qualities. Most of the time his hormones made him want to kick bookshelves over in frustration. Harmony and disruption rang through the corridor with her, and Samson didn't know which one he was. He felt somehow connected to her. If he was the peace, what was the chaos?

"Phillipa would be happy for you, don't you think?" Samson asked.

"That probably depends," Zoe said. She looked anguished again. "I don't want to think about it."

Samson got the impression they were after a similar release, even if the two were emotionally compromised. He hoped he wasn't delusional from the stress of the evening and he could make the most of this opportunity.

He turned to touch her face, so happy he could. She was slightly warm, and far softer than he could have imagined just by looking. Concern was only a fragment of what lay in her expression.

"Good, you're no demon," he muttered.

Zoe peered at him with big eyes. "Just so we're clear: we're just friends after this."

That was her condition, so he'd follow. He would never betray her trust. But he was also impatient with need.

"Shut it, you'll wake everyone," Samson said, and he pushed her through the door, "and of course."

Zoe giggled. "Shh!"

"Yes, indeed," Samson agreed. Still in his armour, he grabbed Zoe by the shoulders and pushed her onto the bed, shutting the door behind him. "What terrible atrocity should we commit first?"

It was hard to see, but he was sure Zoe was smiling. "First, I think you should get out of that armour."

It was glorious. Maybe they were no longer classified friends if they were locked in a naked embrace, but Zoe was the release Samson had dreamed of. A lot of the emotional closeness was missing, but they shared so many desperate kisses it was forgotten.

That is, until footsteps approached from outside the door.

"We haven't been going that long, have we?" Samson asked, quickly pretending to be asleep.

Zoe sighed. "Apparently so," she said, "and we won't fool her."

The two braced themselves for unpleasantness as the door was forced open. A tear stricken, sobbing Phillipa stood in the door way, her blonde hair bouncing as she tripped over her own feet. Her eyes narrowed as she spotted her treacherous roommate and Samson together.

"Samson? I didn't expect you would still be here," she said slowly, "well, I think it is best you leave now. Meredith wants to see you in the morning, Samson. She's furious."

"What does she want?" Samson asked, raising his head from the pillow. "What happened with you?"

Phillipa's lip trembled and she covered her face in her hands. "Maddox is gone!" She wailed, her voice piercing their ears. "I… he… it's not-"

"Did Meredith torture him?" Samson demanded. "I wouldn't put it past her. She looks dirty enough."

"He's tranquil," Phillipa's voice shook with a disbelief of her own words, "you vulgar libertine!"

There was a stunned silence, uncomfortable even. In it guilt, pain and resentment found its way into Samson's lyrium infested blood. Phillipa was as pure hearted you could get for a Templar, so hearing any insult from her mouth was like the Divine saying 'fuck'.

"Ouch." Zoe started laughing, much to Samson's disquiet.

"Do you want my philanderer glory in your face, Philipa?" he demanded, only half joking. "I do need to get back in my armor to leave."

He couldn't help it, in the same way Zoe couldn't. The outcome of Maddox being made Tranquil was too shocking for them to behave sensibly. At times when Harrowings failed, if the mage had been a twat he had to hide a smile. This wasn't the time for faulty defence mechanisms.

Had Samson and Zoe disrespected Maddox's memory? If his mage friend knew their dilemma pulled Zoe and him together, Samson wondered if Maddox would find it amusing. Any chance of that reaction was long gone. Samson struggled to accept it. Maddox, his ally kept at a distance, was made into a hollow shell? It must be a sick joke.

Phillipa, frowning, hurried further inside and shut the door. "No, don't leave," she pleaded. "That's not what I meant. Please… I just feel horrible."

That wasn't even a quarter of it, judging from the pain in the young woman's eyes. Samson was in too much a state of denial to say, or even think, much else. Did Meredith feel happy taking a special person away from Phillipa? Maybe the real reason she'd risen to power is because there was enough of a sadist in her to disregard the feelings of others. Samson had never wondered this about his superior before, but in trying to deny the truth, he thought he would tell himself anything.

The beauty next to him, thankfully, had her thoughts together much neater than he did. "I'm so sorry," Zoe mumbled, and from the side of the bed she picked up her undergarments, discretely slipping them on under the covers, "I know that doesn't make it any less bloody awful, but you did all you could, Phillipa."

"I… I should have listened to you." Phillipa filled with a panic Samson had seen in the early days of passing letters to Maddox. "To myself. I shouldn't have indulged my emotions - kept a distance, as you said. I said. Maker, I'm the biggest idiot in this stupid prison."

You're not an idiot, Samson wanted to say, but he wasn't sure it would sound honest if he said it. His friend was in one of those states where the words wouldn't register even if it was something bleeding obvious.

Confidence had only failed her once - in love - and Samson was proud for helping her find where her loyalties belonged in romance, even if the answer held grave risks. They all knew severe consequence were at stake, but Samson was under the impression that if anyone could have gotten away with it, Phillipa would. He had been wrong.

"What will happen to you?" Samson questioned, "and if I had thought you were stupid I wouldn't have passed those letters. We're all to blame."

He watched with sadness as Phillipa approached his side of the bed and sat down on the ground. She picked up his underclothes, passed them over and Samson started to discretely place the cloth back on his body in a similar way Zoe had.

"Meredith is letting me stay," Phillipa said finally. "She said having to encounter Maddox in the halls should be enough a reminder not to 'be foolish'. If I do it again she'll let me go."

"B-but you were just writing letters," Samson said. "If nothing more happened…"

"Something did," Phillipa said, leaving the other two bewildered. "It was my idea and fault. Meredith got the information out of Maddox, but he lied and said he had put a hex on me." She shuddered as more tears fell from her eyes. "He didn't deserve to be made tranquil. I'd rather I was given the farewell." Phillipa hands folded together half half-heartedly, as though she knew the prayer wouldn't be heard. "Dear Maker, why couldn't I take his place?"

"Shit," Samson said.

"Andraste's tits," Zoe agreed. "I… I know this doesn't make it better but maybe if he lied for you… part of him thought it was the right thing to do. He wanted to protect you, sister."

"He couldn't though!" Phillipa retorted, "I told him. I knew. I knew - oh Maker - I still did it, but I loved him too much. Nothing can protect you from that, not here."

The blonde buried her face in her hands and sobbed. It was extremely noisy and probably would wake those in the next room. Samson tried not to think about the doom waiting for him. If Maddox had been made tranquil, what was going to be his punishment?

"During one of our meetings he said if anything ever happened to us he wouldn't want to be able to feel the heartbreak," Phillipa explained. "Yes! I agreed - but I don't want it either. What does he think, that I'm stronger than him? I'm not! I'm not. Not with Maddox. I told him that. I told him. B-but what am I ever going to do? He probably feels nothing at all for me anymore."

Now Samson was in underclothes, he slid out of the bed and put on his armour again. "I… I wish I could have prevented it."

"We all wish we could have," Zoe corrected, her voice slightly muffled by the clunking of metal.

Phillipa wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I wish he hadn't been so lovely, then I wouldn't have fallen for him."

"Oh, sweetheart," Samson cooed, and his voice was soft too, "no one plans to let their emotions overcome them, even if they are off limits."

"You won't be the last to fall for a mage," Zoe concurred, as the man secured his chest plate. "Maybe Meredith has the hots for the First Enchanter, so she's letting out all her jealousy on you."

This comment somehow, miraculously, made Phillipa smile, however morosely. "If it was true, she wouldn't apply the same punishment."

Now Samson was back in his armor it was time to go to bed. As he reached Phillipa, he rested a hand on her head. He had never expressed camaraderie in his exact way before. Phillipa was above him, as far as brains were concerned. She was clever and kind. Samson admired these qualities in Phillipa and Cullen, but it wasn't anything he had mastered. When it came to matters of the heart, the man was a foolish amateur. Zoe, on the other hand, was a middle ground of wit and sensitivity that bridged the four unlikely friends together.

"Come chat with Cullen or myself if you can't stand it," he advised. "We'll always listen."

"Thank you." Phillipa eyes glittered with gratitude as she attempted a smile, "I… I thank the Maker that I still have friends like you."

Samson was tempted to add that Maddox had a part to play in them becoming closer friends, but that would probably make her cry more. He was certain she understood on an incommunicable level.

What kind of person would he see in the morning when he met Phillipa's eyes? Samson didn't know. Having witnessed Phillipa break her own rules to find a glimpse of happiness was beautiful. Now the reality had changed.

Maddox, on the other hand, had started out a passionate risk taker. When the mage gave a letter, he was basically grinning at his own joke. After receiving four or five, Maddox's liveliness subdued into a peace and stability. Truly, they brought out the best in each other. It was a shame that Maddox had practically sacrificed his fiery personality for the girl who, when Samson had first met her, didn't seem like she had much of one.

"I… I'll see you tomorrow I suppose," he said, wishing he could come up with something inspiring to leave them with. Sadly, his mind had been repelled of most of its logic.

"Goodnight, Samson," the girls replied in unison.

Samson forced a grin, lucky to have a moment of awkward fumbling with Zoe, glad that he was able to give Maddox and Phillipa fleeting glimpses of happiness, even if it might not have been worth it. He hoped it had been. Such highs of life and freedom were always worth it, right?

He walked past Phillipa and was surprised to recall a relevant section of the Chant of Light, her favorite storybook. "Blessed are the righteous. The lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written." He paused. "I believe that we did what the Maker sees as just, even if Meredith thinks otherwise. She's just an old hag, anyhow, a crone with a head too big for her shoulders."

Phillipa added lines, "Though the lands suffer a thousand wrongs..." She paused to cry some more in between. "The M-Maker yet notices the s-smallest of deeds. Oh, it's not fair!"

Yes. That he could agree with, even if everything else was confusing.

Lastly, he turned to his favorite lady. Zoe's eyes were filled with something mixed between admiration and turbulence, but it wasn't healthy to analyse it now. Samson would let it be.

As he stumbled into his own quarters where Cullen was sleeping noisily, plagued with night terrors again, Samson wondered what Meredith's definition of freedom was.