Fion Samson Loved a Templar
Rating: PG (curse words) Characters: Original characters Pairings: None Word Count: 1.6k Summary: A story told by Fion Samson about how he met Deidre Barnett, and the birth of his son, Raleigh.
Fion Samson starts the story the same way every time he's in his cups. This time it's with the lads around his kitchen table for a game of Wicked Grace.
He looks up from the cards in his hands, “I ever tell you how I met Raleigh’s mum? Ever tell you how I met my Deidre?”
They laugh because of course they'd heard it. Everyone in their tiny hamlet near Kirkwall has heard it. They’ve heard it a hundred, thousand times. His thick Starkhaven brogue roughed up by whiskey, blue eyes darting between the faces surrounding him at the table.
“I must’ve been, oh...” he rubs his work-worn hand over the grey stubble on his chin, “twenty-five or so? I was out tilling the field nearest the barn, right next to the road, getting it ready for beans.
“All of a sudden, a group of Templars race by me along the road! Three Templars in shining armor on great shining horses, sounding like a bunch of metal spoons being shook in a box. We only had one Templar come by our little wooden Chantry maybe twice a month, so I took notice of three of them riding past like they were Maferath and the Maker was right behind ‘em.
“They stop not one farm over in a huge cloud of dust-”
“And the most beautiful woman there ever was emerged from the dust looking like Andraste herself!” interrupts his ruddy-cheeked friend across the table.
“Ach! Let me tell it, you knob,” Fion makes to throw his cards at him before sitting back in his chair. “Maker, she was a beauty,” he continues. “Dark wavy hair set around her face. But it wasn’t just that. I could see a kindness in her eyes.”
He leans over to his neighbor, “My Raleigh was blessed with those eyes. He got my nose, though,” he taps at the side of his. “The Maker gives every Samson this nose, but He gave him her eyes.”
Fion nods to himself, checking his cards again before tossing one into the center of the table. “Turns out they found a little mageling in a barn. He’d run off in the night looking for his auntie. He screeched once she walked him near the horses, so she sent her horse on ahead with her mates.” He looks up to catch the eye of another player, “I watched her walk that mageling from that barn all the way down the road until they disappeared around the bend.”
The other players toss in their cards and bets.
“I thought I’d never see that lass again,” he shrugs, “but the Maker had other plans.”
Fion looks up over his cards, “Oh, I’d catch her riding by the farm from time to time, so I’d call out to her. The first two times she just nodded and rode on, but I wasn’t about to give up. The third time I called out, she slowed her horse and trotted over to me. We chatted, I finally learned her name: Deidre.” A wry smile spreads across his face.
“Sometimes I managed to steal a little bit more time by waving Mum’s fresh pies under their noses. You’d think the Chantry never fed their Templars, watching them wolf the pies down. She’d ride off, brushing crumbs off of her armor, with a wee smile and nod.”
Fion leans to his over to his other side and loudly reminds his neighbor, “You remember my mum’s pies, aye? Her fish and egg pie? Best thing we brought with us from Starkhaven.” He laughs and slaps them on the shoulder.
“Well, next thing I know she starts stopping by after patrols, too. She'd send her mates on ahead, tell them she’d meet them later. She’d set on her horse, I’d set on my fence and we’d have a chat until the sun started to set.
“It wasn’t long before I started asking when she was going to let me marry her. The first few times she blushed and laughed, and told me it that wasn’t something to joke about. I told her I wasn’t joking. A few days later she rides up to me and just said ‘yes’.” Fion thows his hands up in the air, the cards in his hands fanning out, “’but you didn’t even let me ask!’ I said. She laughed. ‘Ask, then.’ so I did and got my proper ‘yes’.”
“She said she’d prayed about it, and the Maker gave her a sign. I’d wished I’d known she was praying so I could have sent mine in to the Maker, too.”
The lads around the table chuckle.
“But I got my yes. Yes! To me! A lad with more dirt on my face than scruff, working a farm his da won in a game of diamondback. I wasn’t a farmer any more than she was a baker. To this day,” Fion bangs his empty cup on the table, “I can't believe she said yes, but there we were! Married a month later in the Chantry in Kirkwall.”
“She was able to stay with Mum and me on the farm some days. She'd get leave; a day here, two days there, a week if she'd come back from finding a Mage that’d run off.
“We made the most of it. Mum loved her, treated my Deidre like she was her own. Mum made her feel welcome in the house. It'd be Deidre’s house someday.
“It was only a few months until she came to me smiling and told me she was with child,” Fion rocks back in his chair, his hand pressed to his forehead in mock surprise. “They let her work the Gallows instead of patrols after that, and it meant she could come stay with us most nights.
“Once she got too round, Guylain let her take a fair amount of leave. She was here on the farm, night and day, until Raleigh was four or so. Little bug used to watch her train off the back porch, set in his cradle. She had him reciting pieces of the Chant as soon as he started babbling and learning how to swing a sword as soon as he could hold one.”
He nods to himself, looking down at his cards like the memory of those early days were printed on their faces.
“She named him, you know.” He picks his head up to address the table. “Said it was her da’s name. From what she told me of him, he sounded like a fine person to be named after.
He sighs, “Ah, but my Deidre couldn't stay away from her work. They called her back, but she'd get home every weekend. It was mostly me, my mum, and little Raleigh, who wasn’t so little after a while.
“My Raleigh. He was the light of his Gram’s life. He was there when she passed, thank the Maker. I think Raleigh was twelve or so, that would have put Mum around sixty?” Fion shakes his head in disbelief.
“Work kept Deidre away, but it was good work. The Maker’s work. He kept her safe, she'd always come home.”
Fion heaves a great sigh and lays his cards down, “Until the Maker called my Deidre to his side.
“Raleigh must have been fourteen or so,” Fion tries to clear his throat. “I watched him run outside to the sound of hoofbeats thinking it was his mum home early for supper, only to see Guylain carrying her sword and shield and a solemn look on his face.
His voice breaks under the weight of his tears, “My Deidre. She always told me how dangerous her work was, but she said it had to be done. Someone had to be their shield, the mages. It wasn’t their fault they were touched by magic. Someone had to keep them safe from themselves, safe from people who'd want to hurt them, and where they couldn't hurt any of us. They were still the Maker’s children, and she'd watch over them.
“That was my Deidre. Watched over those mages right onto her funeral pyre.
“He said she died bravely, as if my Deidre could ever be anything else. He said a test that a Mage takes when they come of age had gone wrong. The lad had taken a deal with a demon and come back an abomination. It attacked, she'd taken a blow meant for her partner. She'd sent him off for reinforcements, but when they all got back, they were both dead.
“Raleigh’d lost his mum, and I’d lost my Deidre.”
One of his lads reaches over to place a hand on his arm. Fion pats it.
“What could we do? The Maker needed her by his side.”
"The Maker called her home,” another of his friends murmurs.
He sighs and wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. “I never took up with anyone else. No one could compare to my Deidre, no one.”
“She gave me a thousand good memories, but you know what she gave me that beats them all? She gave me my Raleigh.
“The Maker called him to serve a few years after his mum passed and he answered.” He points a gnarled finger through his kitchen and towards Kirkwall, “He’s up there at the Gallows right now with his own sword and shield, protecting those mages just like his mum did. He’s doing me proud, doing his mum proud, doing the Maker proud.”
“That he is, Fi. That he is,” says another lad.
A wave of “aye”s rolls around the table.
Fion takes a deep breath, exhales, and smiles, “So, who’s dealing the next hand?”
Edit: art-by-g drew Raleigh and his mum, Deidre and Raleigh as a kid!
Other Notes:
Fion Samson sold parcels of his land to refugees fleeing the Blight from Ferelden. He lived off some of the money but donated most to the Chantry.
Fion Samson tithed most of his earnings. He was a skinflint with the money he kept but was quite generous with his time. The Samsons lived very simply.
Farming was never something Fion wanted to do with his life. It was the only place he and his mother had to go after his father gambled away everything else they owned and ran off.
Fion Samson died in 9:34 Dragon from pneumonia at the age of sixty-three. Raleigh Samson sold what little remained of the farm to pay for a funeral, pay off his own debts, and secure a month of lyrium dust.
Raleigh Samson’s personal supply of lyrium allowed him to work as a mercenary for half a year, until shit went sideways on a job and he was back on the street shuffling mages for coin.
Fion Samson never knew his son had been removed from the Order. Raleigh visited less and less as his time on the street stretched on. He relied on writing letters when he could.
Deidre Barnett’s father, Raleigh Barnett was a knight-captain and close friend of Knight-Commander Guylain in the Gallows.
Raleigh Samson chose to go by “Templar Samson” rather than “Templar Raleigh” to make it less confusing while working in Kirkwall. A few of his maternal grandfather’s colleagues still worked at the Gallows.
Deidre Barnett practiced birth control after the birth of her son. The pregnancy was very difficult for her, and she decided against having other children. She was unsure what affect her lyrium usage would have on her children. (It increased Raleigh’s tolerance to lyrium and required him to take more than most templars his age.)
[Image Source]
Seeds of this story were planted during a discussion between janearts and I when Samson’s first name was revealed. What if he went by his last name because his first name was too important? What if Raleigh couldn’t go home after being kicked out of the Order for fear of disappointing his parents?