Dragon Age Inquisition: Faith

Interrogation

The Iron Bull caught up to Cullen as he left the audience chamber. “Hey, Commander. Need any backup when you talk to Samson? I’m available.”

Cullen could only stare at him. Why would anyone volunteer for such a thing? “To what end?”

Bull shrugged. “My Ben-Hassrath skills might as well be put to some use, right? Plus, I’m scary.” He grinned, which rather made his point.

Cullen considered this. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I would appreciate the assistance. My history with Samson might make this difficult.”

Which, he realized belatedly, was exactly why Bull had offered.

*

An hour later, Cullen had ordered a small desk brought down to the jail and was sitting behind it, staring directly into Samson’s cell. The Iron Bull stood behind him, looking impassive, intimidating.

“You brought a Qunari mercenary to protect you?” Samson snorted, leaning his arms through the cell bars. The former Templar looked a mess; lank hair, waxy skin, eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“What makes you think he’s here to protect me?” Cullen asked mildly. “Perhaps he’s here to make sure I don’t forget myself and run you through. From where I stand, an empty cell is of more use to the Inquisition than you are.”

“Ah, yes, the mighty Inquisition,” Samson said. “And its fearsome Inquisitor. Personally I think she’s a bit of a disappointment up close, but you seem to find her interesting, don’t you, Commander?”

“She is an admirable leader,” Cullen said mildly, scratching out a line on his paper to make sure the pen worked.

“Please. The way you look at her couldn’t be more obvious. Are you just panting after her like a mabari puppy? Or are you actually fucking her?”

Cullen said nothing. Samson smirked. “Probably the former. She seems too highborn to roll around with someone like you—although I bet she finds your little crush amusing. Probably laughs with the other nobles about it over tea in the afternoons.”

Slowly, Cullen set his pen down. “What are you trying to achieve, Samson?” he asked wearily. “Are you trying to make me lose my temper and tell you something about the Inquisitor that Corypheus will find useful? Do you really think this is an opportunity for counter-intelligence?”

“Nah. It’s sadder than that,” the Qunari said suddenly. “He feels like shit, so he wants you to feel like shit too. Less lonely that way.”

Samson flinched involuntarily.

“Ah,” Cullen said, picking up the pen again. “I see. Samson, please be assured that I am not enjoying this. If I’d been the one making the judgment I would have sent you back to Kirkwall with a complimentary headsman’s axe.”

Samson scowled at him. “You’re awfully high and mighty for a man who helped break the world apart. Or have you forgotten your part at Kirkwall?”

Cullen knew he should not rise to that kind of bait. But he remembered Samson’s trial, his sentencing, the pettiness of Meredith’s punishment, and felt he owed the man a reply. “I have not forgotten how badly I failed there,” he admitted. “I hope I never will. For what it’s worth I am sorry for what happened to the man you used to be. Sorry that I did not speak up for him, or Maddox, when Meredith learned about his letters.”

“Fat lot of good your ‘sorry’ does me now,” Samson snorted.

“You are not a victim, Samson,” Cullen snapped. “Your luck was bad, but your choices brought you here. Enough of this. You said you’d tell us what you know. So let’s start with Corypheus. How did he recruit you?”