Dragon Age Inquisition: Faith

Samson and Maddox

Lowtown, 9:32 Dragon

One of the strangest things about lyrium withdrawal was the way it made terms like hot or cold seem meaningless. During an attack—like the one he had just come through—Samson could veer between feeling as if his skin had turned to ice and feeling as if his blood might actually boil inside him from the heat. Now that the attack had subsided, the Kirkwall air felt temperate against his skin, but what did he know anymore? He took a sip of water from his wineskin—he wasn’t about to spend coin on alcohol when it might go to lyrium—and tried to still the shaking in his limbs.

Footsteps approached his corner in Lowtown. Samson briefly hoped that it might be someone with a job—one that would pay this time—but instead, it was the Ferelden mercenary from the day before, the one looking for Vincento’s son. Hawke. That was her name.

“Ah. You again. Any luck finding the boy?” he asked, not out of any real interest.

“Indeed. I found Feynriel and sent him—well, to some friends.” The mercenary’s voice was friendly, even charming, but Samson could feel an edge in it. “So I thought I’d come by and let you know. I knew an upstanding, caring man like yourself would wish to know that he was well.”

He’d have known that for sarcasm even without the biting tone. As if I don’t know what I am. “Spit it out, woman,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

Hawke gave him a cool, appraising look. “Very well. Did you know that the people you sent him to were slavers?”

Samson’s last dose of lyrium had been days ago, too long for comfort—but not so long that he had lost his abilities. His skin prickled and he could see the coils of magic rising off this woman as she gathered her power close, ready for a fight. Apostate. A powerful one at that, unless he missed his guess.

“Of course not,” he said scornfully, steeling himself to shatter her magic if she tried anything. “Although the boy should have been more suspicious of anyone offering to take him out of Kirkwall for free.”

Hawke’s hand lashed out and grabbed the front of his tunic. Samson hadn’t been expecting a physical attack from a mage and he stumbled, startled.

“You should have been more suspicious,” she hissed. “Feynriel’s just a child. He’s not experienced enough to know that the world isn’t out to do him any favors. You, on the other hand, are. I think you knew damn well what your Captain was—you just chose not to ask the questions that might confirm it, didn’t you?” She gave him a hard shake and then shoved him back. “And then you sent Feynriel straight into his grasp.”

“Well, you saved the boy. So what’s the issue?” Samson grumbled, adjusting his clothes.

“Feynriel’s alive, but the girl you sent to them is dead,” Hawke said coldly. “So I’m here to give you fair warning. The next time you put desperate people in a slaver’s hands, I’m coming back for you.” She smiled unpleasantly. “And it won’t be with an invitation to a party.”

“Why not just kill me now?” Samson called as she walked away.

She glanced back at him, amused contempt written on every line of her face. “You’re too pathetic to kill at the moment. It would be like stepping on a lyrium-addicted rat. Not really worth the mess.”

Samson glowered at the mercenary as she disappeared into the Lowtown night. I can’t help people leave the city for free—I’d never get paid again. Wasn’t my fault the only people willing to take the boy out of Kirkwall were slavers. I had no reason to think the Captain was working for Tevinter.