Chapter 39: Kings and Queens

Evelyn ducked into the dimly lit cell where the turncoat was chained to the floor. The atmosphere of despair inside the small space was pervasive and it pushed down heavily on the Inquisitor's shoulders. Beyond even what one would expect to find in a dungeon, the weight was magnified by the song of the red lyrium she could hear inside Raleigh Samson.

The familiar melodic hum she always associated with Templars, the quiet strength of a calm sea, was not what she heard in him. His chords were sharp and dissonant, a chaos of waves crashing against jagged rocks.

He sat in the dirt looking composed despite the furor of tainted lyrium running through him. He came to Skyhold of his own accord so there should be no reason for him to fight against his bindings. Still though, it was odd that he was so unperturbed when he had little control over his fate, be it from Leliana and Cullen or from the red lyrium.

Evelyn was reminded of her own introduction to the Inquisition, bound and subject to forces beyond her control, but Samson didn't look at all as terrified as she had been. He seemed indifferent.

"I'm surprised he let you come in here by yourself, 'Your Worship'.

Evelyn couldn't help quirking a smile at the mocking tone. If he thought to get under her skin, he would be sorely disappointed. This was no more or less than she endured from Hawke on a daily basis.

Forcing away the smile, she readied herself for some verbal sparring. Cullen and Leliana's first efforts at extracting the motivation behind Samson's unprecedented defection had not yielded anything but a reiteration of the information he came prepared to offer them - that Bann Trevelyan had concocted a plot to assassinate not only Empress Celene but the Ferelden ruling family during a state visit to Denerim, leaving southern Thedas leaderless and even more divided than it already was.

The birth of the prince was a convenient occasion to host foreign dignitaries, but what was not widely known was that the Inquisition was working with the King and the Empress to convene peace talks between her and the Grand Duke on neutral ground during the celebrations. If it was true that the enemy knew of the peace talks, then the Game just became that much more complicated, and that much more deadly.

As if it had ever been anything but.

Evelyn was not willing to let Leliana resort to torture to prove Samson trustworthy, nor was she willing to let Cullen expose himself to his former Templar brother for any length of time. If the song of the red lyrium upset Evelyn's psyche, the effect would be tenfold for Cullen no matter how long ago his last draught of the blue stuff was. Additionally, violence as the outcome of the Commander's interrogation seemed just as likely as it did for Leliana's.

So, Evelyn volunteered to try her own hand at more communication. Cullen objected loudly and refused to leave, stubbornly planting himself right outside the door. Leliana offered only a 'good luck, Inquisitor' before she left the dungeons, but her 'good luck' sounded more like 'fetch me when you fail.'

But at least they trusted her enough to let her try.

"If the 'he' you're referring to is the Commander, Ser Samson, he trusts me."

A bitter laugh at that. "Doesn't sound like the high and mighty Knight-Captain I remember."

"He would probably say he wished no one remember him as such, but I respect everything about him, his past included."

The bitter laugh turned into a bitter sneer. "And what would you know of his past? Did he soften up the telling of it for you to make it easier to swallow? Did he say he was just being a good little Knight all those years in Kirkwall?" Samson spit on the floor, his eyes now averted from Evelyn's. "He trusted no one, let alone a mage. And if he found out one had lied to him? He would have taken a brand to their forehead, not taken them to his bed."

Evelyn didn't flinch even a fraction. Crude comments about her romantic relationship was another thing that Hawke had desensitized her to. She and Cullen were not hiding what they were to one another. If it was common knowledge among the enemy, then so be it. It was simply one more triumph against them.

Evelyn shrugged. "People grow. They become better versions of themselves. I'm not here to speak of Cullen, but he has grown as a person after becoming part of the Inquisition, as have I." She took a chance to move their discussion forward. "Is that what you're trying to do too, by coming to us, Ser Samson?

"Stop calling me that. I'm no fucking Templar any more. And there is no 'better version' of myself." His objection was quiet, as if he was too tired to continue to believe otherwise.

"Then why are you here?"

"You know very well what I told your people, little girl, I'm not repeating myself."

It seemed they'd done away with honorifics.

"The information you gave them is why you're not already with the Maker. I'd like to know what will keep them from sending you to Him anyway."

Samson was silent. He closed his eyes and she saw his mind drift away. His breathing was steady and he stayed sitting upright, as much as he could chained to the floor, but he swayed ever so slightly from side to side, as if he was riding on the tumultuous waves of lyrium inside him. Was he hearing it? If she spoke, would her voice bring him back to the here and now? Deciding to let him return on his own, she sat down across from him and waited.

Eyes still closed, he answered her. "If I've learned anything, Inquisitor, it's that there is no Maker. I couldn't give a shite what your Spymaster does to me and I care even less about Cullen."

"So what do you care about then? If you really cared about nothing you could have left my father's army and walked into the sea. Instead you came to us. Why?"

"Maybe I just wanted to make one last rebel yell." He laughed again but then he paused to concentrate on continuing to speak through the noise in his head. Evelyn knew what that was like too. Demon whispers weren't so different from lyrium's call.

He echoed her thoughts with his next words. "We're all the fucking same. This world order, the old one, the new one, it's all the fucking same and all of our places in it are the same. Maybe I'm just realizing it now, or maybe I'm just willing to admit it now. And maybe I just wanted to give the whole damn thing a big fuck you before I went out. So here I am. Your father's new world order can kiss my arse. It's the same as the last one, just singing a different song."

Sadly, she could refute nothing Samson had said thus far.

"I don't disagree with you, Ser. If this war has taught me anything, it is that people like my father need no other reason to be destructive than their own hubris. Whatever path favors that belief of superiority, regardless of ideology, is the path they feel they must follow. That being said, I feel as though I would be worse off if I abandoned my ideology over the actions of others, my father included, so I do my best to keep the faith."

Evelyn's breath caught in her chest at her own statement. For weeks she'd been vacillating on what her feelings truly were on the matter of her father. She knew she would have to come to some kind of inner peace on the subject lest old wounds fester and pollute her future. But that comment, made unexpectedly to a stranger, was more succinct an answer than she'd yet been able to give herself. Standing before this man she didn't know, whose own motivations she was supposed to be extracting, she saw reflected her own feelings of disillusionment. In his tired eyes she saw her questioning faith. In his slumped shoulders she saw her secret doubts. But in his set jaw, she saw her own stubborn will to continue on, even in the darkest hours before the dawn. And she saw that perhaps this man might be looking for forgiveness too, as she was. Not only forgiveness for herself but forgiveness for all of those who had leveled tresspasses aginst her.

And so, despite the resentful complaints of the soured Templar before her, she knew he was here for more than just a final act of defiance against a world that had betrayed and battered him. She believed there was a vein of sincerity in Samson and perhaps something selfless in his surrender.

Now she just had to make Leliana and Cullen believe it as well.

"The information you've brought us could save many important lives, does that mean nothing to you?"

"Do you think I'm here to save 'important' lives? You aren't very bright are you, Inquisitor? You might have learned better in a Circle. It isn't those lives worth saving. Everyone looks out for the 'important' ones. No one looks out for the little ones. The pawns and foot soldiers. The nobodies just trying to make it through without getting pissed on. Keep your kings and queens. And your Divines and Knight-Vigilants. And your Inquisitors and Commanders. I won't order one more good man or woman to fight or die for any of them. So just fucking do what we both know you'll do and order your own men and women to act on what I've told you. At least then all this bloody sacrificing might end sooner and spare more of the little people."

Evelyn wondered where she'd heard similar ill-tempered and cynical opinions from a jaded former-Templar before...

She smiled. Cullen.

These were definitely sentiments she could use to convince him.

xxxx

The cold rain drove down hard.

All the better, Cullen thought as he drove down his sword into a practice dummy. Despite the rain striking like icy needles on his bare back and shoulders, he was stifling hot and sweating. The only thing he could think to do to improve his temper, however, was hit something, so here he was.

It was rare for him, these days, to seek solace from his own foul moods anywhere but in Evelyn's arms but after her impassioned plea to take Samson under the protection of the Inquisition, she specifically asked him to take some time alone to think on the matter.

She knew very well what was going to happen during his 'alone time'. Cullen hit the dummy again. It splintered in two. He hurled his practice sword at the stone wall of the keep, then sat down in the mud like a petulant child. What she knew would happen was happening. He would silently rage for a while. He would brood. He would see that she was right, and then he would relent. It didn't help that Leliana had already agreed to Evelyn's request.

Damn women.

Cullen turned when he heard splashing footsteps approach. Blinking away the torrents of rain he saw Rylen.

His second-in-command offered a curt 'Commander' and a quick nod as a greeting, then proceeded to strip off his shirt as well. At the touch of the cold water and biting wind, the former Knight-Captain turned his face up to the sky with a relieved expression.

Not really wanting 'alone time' in the first place, but not yet ready to concede to feminine wiles, Cullen struck up a conversation.

"So why are you out here? My sister's nagging finally get too loud?"

Rylen shook his head. "Nope. But your sister is still why I'm out here. She ordered me to get some air. You?"

"Same." Cullen grumbled.

Rylen fetched Cullen's discarded practice sword from the ground and pick up another for himself. "Spar?" He asked as he held out one of the weapons.

Cullen nodded and the two men began to exchange blows. At first half-hearted, they picked up in severity until both of them were huffing and puffing.

"The rest of the Templars aren't happy about Samson, you know." Rylen stated.

"Do you think I'm happy about it?" Cullen bit back and swung out with his sword.

Rylen ducked and parried. "Clearly not."

"The man deliberately led some of our own down a foul path and then he actively fought against those of us here. He could have chosen differently. He could have joined me after Kirkwall, but he didn't. I allowed him back into the Order once already, after I knew he was bad blood, and now I'm being forced to offer him sanctuary again. He doesn't deserve it."

Cullen let out a flurry of attacks, punctuating each one with an accusation. "When I think of the men and women we could have saved...the lives he showed blatant disregard for...the innocents he allowed to be corrupted…"

Rylen deflected each emotion filled strike and then blitzed back. After several more volleys, the two men had exhausted their muscles if not their anger. Both of them collapsed down onto the saturated ground, not even feeling the rain anymore.

"Don't think I don't agree, Commander, but I have to admit, I see his side."

Cullen glowered, but let Rylen continue.

"Now that I've stopped the lyrium I'm…" He searched for words. Or perhaps he searched for sufficiently grave words to express what he felt without lyrium. Cullen understood all too well.

"Now that I've stopped, I'm angry. I never felt 'used' by the Order or the Chantry. I made a choice to pursue this life with my eyes wide open. But now that I have some distance and some perspective, I'm just angry. Even if I knew why I was a Templar and why I wanted to be one, I'm pissed as the Maker-damned void that my faith and my strength were exploited. For all the things we did that I knew were right and made sense, we had to do just as much bullshit that was just that. Bullshit."

The rain started to die down, along with Rylen's ire. When he spoke again, it was softer. "We were soldiers. We wanted to follow something, someone. But what do you follow when you've lost faith? We were lucky. When the Circles fell, every Templar had to make a choice for himself. I'm not going to judge a man, or those that followed him, when I know I could have easily made the same mistake."

Stubborn to the last, Cullen attempted retort. "But you didn't. You came with me and Seeker Cassandra."

Rylen shrugged. "You're not exactly easy to work for, you know. Maybe I did make a mistake."

Letting some of his tension go at Rylen's levity, Cullen slumped to lay flat on his back. A muddy puddle served as a pillow for his reeling head. "Maybe I'm just not ready to forgive yet." It was a difficult admission, but it was a start.

"You'll get there, Commander. We all will. It's the only way to move forward. We have to help where we can, when we can. It's never too late. Just like kicking the lyrium. And anyway, the women won't let us fail, remember?"

Damn women.

xxxx

"Maker's Breath, you're filthy!" Evelyn watched a half-naked Cullen track a river of dirty water into their bedroom. "I thought maybe you'd get a drink, not roll around in the mud!"

He marched over to her and swept her up into a hug and kiss, deliberately getting her just as filthy as he was. She fought back at first, but then gave in. He tasted like Rylen's whiskey, so apparently he did get a drink in addition to getting muddy.

"So you're not angry with me any longer?" She asked, hopeful, but she also wasn't going to give in on her decision to help Samson.

Cullen set her down and finished peeling off his remaining clothes. Now that she was dirty too, she did the same.

"I'm still angry, but not at you. And Rylen made a good case for not being angry with Samson either. I'm not entirely sold, but I'm willing to give it time."

His answer was reason enough for her to wholeheartedly return his sweeping hug and kiss with her own. She sighed in both relief and accomplishment. There would be much to do in the morning. Plans and strategy. Hard work and hard decisions. But until then, kiss led on to kiss and sigh led on to sigh.

They tumbled into their bed, not caring about the muck they brought with them. The world was a messy dirty place, but that didn't mean they couldn't find their moments of happiness in it whenever they were able.

Cullen smothered her with his heavy bulk and his heated skin. "You've turned into a dangerous and manipulative minx, you know that?" He nipped at her ear and she cocked her head to offer him more of her neck.

"If you recall, I tried to tell you I was trouble when we first met." The last word devolved into a purr when he trailed his lips down the angle of her jaw.

"Are you sassing me?" He murmured against her throat, daring her to admit it.

She giggled a little and squirmed beneath him, egging him on. "And if I am?"

"Then I'll have to teach you a lesson, mage." Cullen hardened his expression and gripped her thighs. Breathless, she went limp as he slowly slipped inside her, his eyes locked onto hers, watching with satisfaction the shameless and silent pleasure appear on her face. Then he lowered himself and crushed her into an embrace, burying his head into her shoulder. It was a slow and deliberate march to their climax, each thrust of his hips and each arch of her back cried out with proud acceptance of who they both were, now defined by themselves and not by others. When it was done, their bodies still thrumming with contentment, Evelyn hugged him close. Arms and legs clinging to her Templar, she whispered in his ear,

"Thank you, Ser Cullen."