Samael spent a day alone, wandering through Kirkwall outskirts aimlessly. He did that a lot lately. His faithful mabari Charon and silver stallion Occela were with him as usual, but they weren't bothering him since they weren't capable of actually talking to him which was what mattered most to Hawke in those days. Charon was the champion in staring at Hawke, following him everywhere he went, whereas Occela was the title-holder in ignoring Samael and, well, everybody else as well. Before Hawke knew it, he fell in love with that proud creature who reminded him of the Hero of Fereldan and their months spent together.
The Hawke estate was damaged heavily during the Qunari invasion, but it had been fully repaired and was even more splendid and sumptuous than before. Samael hated it. When he returned there after two weeks spent at the Hanged Man, he almost couldn't force himself to enter. The architect responsible for the reconstruction was bouncing around him in excitement, describing lengthily every single new piece of furniture or decoration and he seemed completely oblivious to Hawke's glum face and deepening wrinkle between his eyebrows. He ended up telling him to shut up, take the unbelievably heavy pouch of gold, and get out.
And thus with the coming spring Hawke found himself more and more comfortable outside and alone than at his beautiful home, surrounded by beautiful things and his companions who once again had reasons to worry about their taciturn leader. Not that they would be bored without him! Anders had to endure several Templar raids through Darktown while he continued in his desperate fight to help all mages throughout Thedas. Even Justice had to admit now that their cause was nearly lost and their doing would probably cost Anders the highest price. But the blonde mage kept going day after day: stubborn, unflagging and convinced he was doing the right thing.
Varric kept living at his new spacious room at the Hanged Man and nothing seemed to be bothering him at all, although he had many disturbing thoughts in his mind lately. Fenris seemed to be content as long as he had coin in his pocket and Hawke by his side. Aveline was flying on a pink cloud in those days because of Donnic and a vision of their life together. Nobody had heard about Isabela ever since Hawke traded her freedom for Mother Petrice, but she remained in Samael's head no matter what. As far as Hawke knew, Fawn Mahariel had successfully reached Fereldan, seeking the enigmatic old man Avernus to give him the Tome of Koslun in return for the secrets hidden in Wardens' blood and the darkspawn taint.
Merrill. The name pursuing Samael during prolonging days, haunting him during his sleepless nights. He forbade himself from even thinking about her, not alone seeing her, but anyone who once tried to do this knows that it's impossible to command the mind this way. Merrill was simply always present in Hawke's head, although he ceased wearing the black ring. Until now Samael remained outwardly oddly calm, knowing Merrill was still near him, still living among her own people at Sundermount. He nursed this single thought and he was clinging to it desperately. But what if he wouldn't find the clan there one day? What then? Oh yes, Samael was frequently visiting Sundermount, unseen, prowling the night shadows, watching, guarding, despairing. Every evening he promised himself that he would stay home and almost every evening he mounted Occela and rode through the night. Every time he cursed himself for this weakness and with each new curse, he heeled the stallion to run even faster. And as if the Maker Himself wanted to steal even this tiny piece of certainty from Hawke – a rumor emerged at the Kirkwall market that the Dalish had started making preparations to leave their camp, cross the sea and return back to Fereldan – the Blight was over after all. This innocent rumor stole the sleep from Hawke for good.
Samael woke up from his day dreaming and found himself sitting on the massive twisted roots. The old huge willow stood near the meandering dusty road, guarding it with its long dead branches waving above it. Charon was snoring right beside his master, lying snugly in the high dried grass, while Occela was nowhere to be seen, until Hawke whistled and listened carefully for a while. Finally the wind carried to his ears a distant neigh and it didn't take long until the exquisite horse made his way through the bushes on Hawke's left, jumping gracefully on the road.
"There you are…" Samael's hoarse voice trailed off as he made his way towards the beautiful beast. "Where you've been, hm? You roamer." Hawke patted the horse and realized he was a bit scared of the sound of his own voice, knowing neither Charon nor Occela would respond to him. The horse nudged Hawke and whickered.
"Yeah, I know it's Friday," Samael sighed and turned his head left, gazing through the darkening forest at distant Kirkwall. Another whicker; louder this time.
"Yeah, I know it's the Wicked Grace night back at my place," Hawke replied at Occela's reprimand. "All right, let's go," Hawke jumped up easily into the saddle, "but we have yet another visit right now, my friends." Samael loosened the reins and let the stallion to walk slowly back to Kirkwall. The silhouette of a man riding the horse and a hound scurrying around them vanished into twilight.
oOo
Kirkwall's cemetery was a rather peculiar place. Grave stones of various prices, sizes and materials organized into rows. Strait corridors that ran between the graves were becoming overgrown with spring grass and only a few twinkling candles on couple of graves let the dead know that some of them were still loved and remembered. There was a huge pompous sepulcher standing in the middle of the graveyard, made of black stone and surrounded by young willow trees. A shadow slipped by this showy well-maintained building, glancing up at the golden inscription Dumar family, then the shadow sneered and kept walking, until it reached a small tomb made of glazed sandstone and covered with dark green ivy.
Samael took a deep breath before he drew apart an ivy baldaquin and placed his hand on the old iron door knob while his other hand slowly inserted the key into the keyhole. A brief silence followed, ended by the groaning of the old lock which was unused for a long time.
The door creaked and opened. The small room beyond the door yawned at Samael with its frowsty breath, making him to stagger a step back. The mabari whined softly and sat down by the entrance while Occela simply stood in the narrow corridor, looking as bored as ever. Samael himself looked a bit like an elephant in porcelain among the tombstones. Before he entered, Samael's eyes flew over the simple black writing above the door; Amell & Hawke family. He couldn't even remember when the last time he had been there was, but he figured it would be Bethany's funeral which took place years ago.
"Good evening," Samael intended to whisper to his dead kin, but the words simply got stuck in his throat. The assassin strolled slowly to the centre of the room; his eyes roved around it. There were seven unadorned onyx catafalques with plain silver names written on each one of them; the names which seemed to be burning even through the darkness.
"Sister…" Hawke's voice rasped into the silence while his hand swept away a dead bouquet of roses placed on the top of Bethany's resting place. The dried fragile bouquet rustled and fell into dust as it hit the cold stone floor.
"Brother…" Samael's eyes then wandered towards another fading name. Carver's sword was still laid on the catafalque; just like the day Hawke had put it there, knowing his brother's coffin was empty. They couldn't delay and carry Carver's body which was ripped apart by an ogre anyway, when there was a darkspawn horde at their back. So they left him behind – just like Lothering, just like their home there. Samael was genuinely surprised that those memories hurt still the same way even after the years spent in Kirkwall.
Two catafalques were pushed together and the ivy was growing across them as it found its way in through the crack in the wall. Hawke brushed it away, so the names would be visible again, but he wished he wouldn't do that a second later. Leandra & Malcolm Hawke. Samael groaned and closed the eyes, unable to look at those he failed.
Mother, Carver and Bethany, father, some of the elder Amells Samael didn't even know. All of them whispering around him, chortling, hissing in the darkness, making Hawke to collapse slowly down along the graves of his parents.
"Samael?" a panicked voice slit the deafening silence. Nothing could have prepared Ichabod Bane for this very moment; the moment when he was forced to stand in front of his own coffin; an empty coffin his son was pressing himself at right now, motionless. Ichabod waited impatiently for Hawke to say something, anything, but he remained silent and still. "Your friends, Messere Hawke," Ichabod coughed in uneasiness. "They sent me to —"
"If I had a tumor, Ichabod, I'd name it after you." Samael interrupted the old man rudely, shooting at him a nasty grimace.
"I don't understand." Bane conceded and looked down, when he wasn't able to bear his son's scorching glare anymore.
"Oh, I think you understand all too well, Master Bane." Samael jumped up and marched to the awkwardly fidgeting older man. "You've been spying on me ever since you came to my mansion, isn't that correct?" Hawke folded his arms on chest rather then punching this strange man. "I've seen you, Bane. Watching me, creeping around, listening in and meddling into my business for weeks!"
"No." Ichabod's simple denial seemed to be infuriating Hawke even more.
"No?" Samael mocked mercilessly his own father. "I… don't… trust you." He stopped right in front of Bane who froze on the spot.
Having his only son this close and not able to tell him the truth – Ichabod thought he'd go insane any second if he wasn't already. Varric was wrong when he thought Hawke would swoop down upon Ichabod the day he moved in, that he would question him for hours, then kill him or at least throw him out. Actually, Samael was avoiding the man in panic, desperately trying to shut down that odd feeling he had in his stomach every time he saw him. Yes – Ichabod Bane was definitely another reason for Hawke to stay away from his own home, yet he couldn't force himself to kick Bane's ass out.
But Ichabod didn't seem to give up his efforts to get to Hawke. He was literally following him like a second shadow every time Hawke was home and he wished to understand him and his business. When Varric nonchalantly suggested Ichabod to find Hawke an hour ago, he went happily outside and somehow he knew perfectly where his son would be and why. Because Samael decided to do something unthinkable for him that day; something he hadn't done for years – visiting the family tomb at the cemetery. His visit wasn't unnoticed though since Ichabod dared standing right in front of Hawke, looking at him with those creepy white eyes and a mute question on his lips.
"Your friends are waiting for you, Messere Hawke." Ichabod spoke again, insisting quietly on his version. He glanced unwillingly at his own headstone one more time and then he was gone.
"Damn it!" Samael punched the cold stone wall, peered outside and considered the possibility to run after Bane and apologize. But why? And for what exactly? It was pure truth after all – Bane had been definitely stalking him ever since he moved in. And Samael avoided him most of the time. Actually, they were circling around each other, but Samael wouldn't have admitted it.
"For the Maker's sake, Occela, chew at least on another grave, you oversized yob!" Samael couldn't help himself and yelled at the stallion, who had started nibbling on the ivy overgrowing the walls of Amell & Hawke tomb. The stallion granted Hawke a haughty grin and his greedy muzzle reached for yet another load of juicy ivy while Charon kept wallowing it the freshly dug up dirt right next to a grave prepared for a funeral. Samael counted to ten rather than killing those two blasphemous beasts and turned around to leave the cemetery. He had the Wicked Grace night in front of him after all. Joy of joys…
oOo
"So, Hawke, where have you been today, hm?" Varric threw in a relaxed question and he made sure it would sound unobtrusive, like he wasn't questioning their leader about what he did that day. And the day before. And those days before, too.
"Before now I wasn't aware I owe you to explain myself and describe everything I do, dwarf." Samael didn't even look up from his hand full of cards, but his eyes flashed briefly in disapproval, because he knew well they've been talking about him behind his back – as always. If he did look up, he would easily see that Aveline was about to interrogate him, since she glanced at her cards, realized she had next to nothing there and tossed them on the mahogany table.
"Is it true, Samael?" The inquisition had begun. The Guards Captain frowned when Hawke glanced at her with innocent smile and raised eyebrows. "Have you sent a courier to Fereldan to look around for a suitable estate for you or not?" She shot a direct question at him, leaving everybody else in awe.
"Damn it, Aveline!" Hawke hissed at her and smacked his own cards on the table. "How do you know about it?" Aveline ignored his outraged face and she was now contemplating this indirect confirmation of Hawke's departure.
"Is it true?" Fenris turned to Hawke and he didn't even try to hide his shock. The same question was on Anders' lips as he stopped eating assiduously his third plate of grilled fish. Varric simply stared at Hawke and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Judging by his not-so-much-excited expression he had been anticipating this twist for some time now.
"I've started making preparations weeks ago." Defeated by their silence, Hawke finally grunted this simple statement. When he saw it would take more than that to satiate their curiosity, he took a deep breath and tried to grin, but he failed. "I always wanted to go back, my friends. You all know that. I decided to sell my lyrium contracts to the Coterie, I haven't decided yet if I keep this estate in Hightown or not, but I will return back to Fereldan in a month if things go right."
The fragile silence that followed was ripped apart when a porcelain tea cup fell off the saucer Ichabod was holding in his callous hands. He heard only a fragment of what his son had been saying, but it was enough. He finally had a chance to get back to his son, to get to know him again, then reveal him who he really was, but this…? This would ruin everything! Samael would slip away, leaving Bane behind him no doubt. Malcolm's hands started shaking uncontrollably and he opened his mouth to react, to tell Samael he wasn't allowed to leave him that way, how difficult it was so far to sneak into his life again, to watch over him, to —
"Ichabod, you old blunderbuss…" Varric jumped up off his seat frantically and almost ran to Malcolm who still stood there, dumbfounded. "Excuse us… I… Heh-heh… We're gonna… Over there." The dwarf rambled in front of the aghast companions and pushed Bane upstairs where was nothing but more bookshelves and several armchairs.
"What was that?" Anders asked no one particular and nobody had a meaningful answer for him. Aveline on the other hand kept focusing on the fidgeting Hawke who nursed a tiny hope they would consider the debate about him leaving Kirkwall as closed.
"When exactly did you want to tell us?" Aveline folded her arms on chest and her armor creaked when she clearly clenched the fingers into fists.
"Well…" Samael scratched his head.
"The way I know him, he would wave a white handkerchief at us from his ship…" Fenris gulped down his wine bitterly.
"I…" Samael raised his palms to defend himself.
"Is there any possibility it is somehow connected to the Dalish clan which is allegedly packing and intending to leave?" Aveline continued mercilessly her inquisition, but she had made a pivotal mistake here in mentioning Merrill.
"No, Aveline," Hawke's amber eyes flared as he twitched and turned to her. Those two growled words should tell her to stop talking unless it had something to do with the cards, the quality of whiskey or if there was any sand in the oysters. "For the last time it seems I need to remind you I'm over Merrill and —"
"Messere Hawke," Bodahn walked inside the library and closed the door behind him carefully, "a visitor is asking for an audition. Shall I take the guest inside or do you not want to be bothered at this late hour?" Bodahn asked and glanced meaningfully at the giant longcase clock – it was a few minutes before the midnight.
"Who is it? I think it won't hurt to talk to him for a few minutes… To see what he wants… And stuff like that…" Samael took this opportunity to flee the library and thus avoid the questioning.
"Her." Bodahn corrected politely his Master.
"What?" Samael's hand froze on the door knob.
"Talking to her, Messere Hawke. It's the Dalish Keeper waiting for you in the hall." Bodahn made sure his voice would sound normal, but he couldn't help himself and he sounded cautious instead. For Samael the time stopped and he found himself unable to decide if he wanted to see her or not.
"Yeah, now we all can see how over you really are over our lovely Keeper, Hawke." Varric hadn't come back yet, but his mocking voice coming from above them woke Samael up at least.
"What does she want?" he asked Bodahn quietly.
"She says she needs help, Messere," the dwarf replied in a low voice, waiting for a command.
"Help…" Hawke repeated just for himself and his face darkened. "Right," he rubbed his tired face with both palms. He didn't even look back at his waiting friends when he opened the door vigorously and headed for his quarters. Bodahn's turned his surprised face to the companions who just shrugged and went slowly back to their card game.
"I think it meant no, Bodahn…" Anders uttered after a moment when the dwarf remained on his spot, looking in turns at the door leading to Merrill and the door leading to his Master's bedroom.
"Yep - he's definitely over her. Like hell he is…" Varric mumbled under his nose as he strolled down the stairs, carrying four plump dusty bottles of pink wine from Orlais.
oOo
"The names are Émile De Louncet, Evelyna and Huon. I need thorough information about each one of them, Elsa. And send the Knight–Lieutenant to my office on your way out." Meredith was slowly pacing around her office while the young Tranquil woman listened to her and made notes. The Knight–Commander wanted to add something when a distant noise reached their ears. While Elsa barely looked up from her notes, Meredith froze on the spot and her hand found the sword hilt.
"You can't go in there without a proper invi… aaaah…" A Templar's passionate reprimand turned into agonizing groan. The door to Meredith's office was kicked open at the same time and Samael Hawke marched inside. There was a pure murder in his eyes, yet there was no blood on his long massive sword. Meredith sneered almost imperceptibly and waved the Tranquil woman away. She stood up obediently and tried to close the broken door as much as she could. Meredith had been trying for weeks to lure the Champion into her office, but he had been resisting – not answering her notes, not bothering to listen to the couriers she sent, nor consenting to meet her at some place outside the Gallows. Until now. Meredith nearly rubbed her hands and she was clearly unconcerned although there was a very angry assassin in her office right now.
"How dare you…!" Samael's nostrils widened as he was breathing heavily; his arm still clutching the sword.
"And how dare you, Champion?" Meredith replied with a question, sat down comfortably and gestured towards the chair opposite to her.
"I didn't come here to exchange pleasantries, Meredith!" With one aggressive move, Samael thrust the sword into the massive expensive maple table, piercing Meredith's papers through. "How dare you send your men to raid my warehouse right after the lyrium shipment had arrived! You…" Samael would like to continue and blow away some steam, but Meredith was a tough nut.
"I feel obligated to inform you the lyrium trade was prohibited by the Chantry almost forty years ago, Champion, and there's no reason to —"
"Fucking bullshit, Meredith!" Hawke roared in anger. "The lyrium trade at this stinking city was tolerated for decades. It was all happening with the silent consent of the Templars because they are the major group craving the stuff! So don't sit there and preach to me this rubbish!" Hawke finally seemed to calm down a bit and he was indeed confused by Meredith's light smile on her face, although that smile was freezing his bones.
"I figured I had to do much better than sending you a polite message to come to my office, Champion." Samael couldn't decide what bugged him more – the astringent words coming out of Meredith's mouth or the fact she insisted on using the title Samael hated.
"I thought I told you not to address me with that… with that… word." Hawke hissed when he found his voice again. The memories of Arishok flooded his mind immediately. The fact he had received that title because of his friend's death was torturing.
"Still hiding from your duties, avoiding any responsibilities, I see." Meredith's cold eyes pierced Hawke through and he had suddenly a feeling she knew everything about him. Why he couldn't sleep, why he barely ate, where he had been going every night and why. He fell into the chair wordlessly and he was unable to look into those icicle eyes for a moment.
"What do you want from me?" he asked finally; his voice hoarse, his gaze distant.
"Support, Champion," she replied immediately and steepled her long pale fingers in front of her.
"Go on." Samael rasped and watched her.
"Orsino is plotting against me and has been for years, Hawke. It's a public secret he wants me to step down and disappear from Kirkwall for good." Meredith's face darkened as she talked and Hawke raised an eyebrow at that change.
"But, of course, you have no intentions of stepping down before you two tear Kirkwall apart, am I right?" Hawke realized he was the one on the top right now, so he wanted to use this fact. "Or let the nobility to vote for a new Viscount, right? You've been happily blocking every effort to replace Dumar after all."
"All I've done was to protect Kirkwall! All I've ever done was to keep order until there's a ruler capable of succeeding where Dumar failed, Champion!" A few feverish red spots appeared on Meredith's otherwise pale face as her voice was growing stronger. "What do you suggest then, hm, Champion? Should I remain calm when there's a mage provoking an uprising?"
"Well, you're not making it better with your midnight raids, mass arrests, and herding the mages into these walls like cattle!" Hawke placed his palms on the table, leaning forward, and his eyes were burning in disapproval. To his surprise, Meredith calmed down instead of blowing up.
"You're awfully well-informed for someone who is no mage and has no living mage kin." She mocked openly Hawke's loss of his sister and father. "You must know I've been watching closely your mage-friend, that Warden in Darktown, as well as that little ridiculous elf at Sundermount who calls herself the Keeper." She leaned backwards in her armchair and her crafty sneer told Hawke to choose his next words carefully.
"I don't think there's a point in pretending I have no idea what you're talking about…" Hawke replied finally and glanced behind him nervously. "What do you propose?" he asked simply.
"An alliance, Champion. Our union would benefit us both." Meredith's eyes flashed with victory when she thought she broke Hawke so easily.
"I seriously doubt that, but do continue." Samael uttered nonchalantly.
"Work for me. I'll pass anything which is not in my Templars' jurisdiction to you, you do your job, I'll pay you, I'll overlook your many transgressions of law just like your dear Guards-Captain does, and your lyrium business will go on without any incursions. Is that good enough, Champion?" Meredith had no doubts Hawke would accept her proposal for she considered herself smart and a great negotiator. Her stubborn usage of the title Champion should only confirm her superiority over Hawke.
"Work for you…" Hawke cackled softly and shook his head. "You mean do your dirty job, don't question you and keep a low profile, right?" he grinned at her and Meredith didn't know for a moment if Hawke was pleased by this offer or if he was mocking her. "Never," he confirmed the second option a second later.
"Do think twice about it before you doom yourself and those you like." Meredith's confident sneer vanished as she slowly stood up. "Or even love." She walked behind Hawke's back and leaned down a bit. There was a pure threat in her voice right now and Samael knew it. Would she hurt his friends? His companions? Would she dare approach even the Dalish Keeper? The disturbing thoughts were whirling through his mind, but his pride woke up in the meantime. Why he should care for Anders anyway? He chose his way years ago and he must have known where this path would eventually lead him. Yes, Hawke knew by now Anders was up to something, but he didn't care as long as it wouldn't hurt him, his business or his friends. And Merrill… Merrill dared coming to him last night to beg for help. Not to see him, not to simply talk to him, not to spent time with him. Help against what? Samael didn't know. He tried to convince himself he didn't even care.
Hawke slowly rose up from his seat and turned to the waiting Meredith.
"I'm leaving Kirkwall in a month, Knight-Commander. Nothing will stop me – not even you. Do what you will, but do not drag me into your mess. I think I'm done here." Samael waited a few seconds for Meredith to say something and when she remained silent, he took his sword and headed for the door.
"Sad. I thought you're smarter than that, Champion." Meredith's strident voice slit the uncomfortable silence when Hawke's hand clenched the door knob.
"I think I could say the very same thing about yourself right now, Knight-Commander." Hawke replied quietly without turning back to her. Oh – Hawke really should have thought twice about his attitude towards the Templars and their agenda. Because if Meredith ever loved anything in the world, it was challenge. And one fresh, untamed challenge just walked away from her office.