"The Templaaaars sometimes come here, you knooow. The bloodstains take just weeks… to… clean up." Xenon's rusty and deliberate voice echoed in the small dark room that was filled with dusty boxes, vitrines, chests and several things Samael didn't want to know what they were.
"Just get to the point, you over-aged carcass!" Samael snorted, impatient to get out of this smelly Undercity.
"Watch your tongue, lad! Hmpf, grhc, argh! Don't you forget who took care of your growing wealth and who persuaded the Orzammar Carta to do business with you!" Xenon stirred and pointed his mummy-like index finger at Samael.
"Very creepy, old man!" Samael sneered, but bowed, like the point taken. "So do you have what I've requested?"
Xenon's dark cackling inflicted goose bumps on Samael's skin. "Indeed I have what you seek, young master Hawke." Samael didn't like the cunning glance Xenon shot at him, but waited patiently for the presentation this time.
"Thaddeus! Where's that impetuous urchin, when a greybeard needs him?…" Xenon ended his yelling with murmuring to himself. The boy came running and halted in a stiff pose in front of Xenon's impressive armchair.
"Naughty urchin! Bring that package that the golem is guarding. A very precious sylvanwood, hardened to diamond firmness. You've requested electricity, drake scales alongside the whole staff, the core is the pure lyrium you brought me, the staff head is hiding the rarest elven crystals coated in blood of a High Dragon. I intended to let the splendid crystals to be seen, but the glare was so dazzling, the urchins had to partially hide it. Now where's my gold, lad?" Xenon's voice quivered with greed and his nasty palms opened with surprising velocity.
"Not so fast, coffin-dodger! What about… that… last part we've talked about?" Samael folded his arms and arched an eyebrow. He still couldn't believe he had insisted this powerful staff would fuel the blood magic.
"Ah, young warrior. My memory serves me still well. Hmpf, grc, eergh. The last part explains why the staff is so… valuable." Xenon squirmed, avoiding the money topic with his agile tongue.
"How much?" Samael went straight to the point, not fooled by the Xenon's dodging.
"Four." Xenon coughed up.
"Four what?" Samael blinked.
"Four hundred sovereigns," Xenon mumbled, looking elsewhere, scratching his chin. He stopped that when a piece of chin stuck to his gaunt finger.
"Are you out of your mind, you imperishable grandpa? I'm not a money factory, you skinflint!" Samael shouted, throwing his arms in the air. "All right, lately, maybe I could even say that, but still… that's a lot of money, Xenon. The staff had better be worth that much coin, or I'll come back and stick it right through your desiccated ass!"
Xenon frowned and rattled something about ungrateful lads and their hollow threats. Samael interrupted him, knowing how he could please the grumpy proprietor.
"I'll send a courier tonight to deliver the gold, Xenon." The old man lit up immediately and rubbed his crunchy hands.
"You are my loyal customer and it's so rare to have company. Well, living company, at any rate. So, look around and choose something small free of charge, you eternal complainer. Then get out, if you don't wish to witness my every-day-ointment-application." Xenon finished his wheezing, peering at the urchin with a lewd expression. The urchin gulped.
"How should I know what to choose here in this mess? I can't make heads or tails of it!" Samael spread his arms out gesturing towards the disorder around.
"Humpf! There's a perfect order here, you just don't understand it, lad." Xenon snorted, and called the urchin again, whispering something to him briefly. The urchin went skittering around the room for a minute, then he brought a little dusty wooden box, handing it to Samael.
Hesitating, Samael opened the box, half-expecting Xenon's fallen-off finger or something. He was surprised when he saw two smooth black rings. Each of them had a common small grey stone. There were delicate carvings inside the ring girth, but Samael couldn't read them in the dim light.
"They are called the Lover's Doom. I guess you will find somebody to give the ring to and keep the other one for yourself. Or am I mistaken?" Again, Samael shivered under the Xenon's knowing and disquieting smile, but decided to be polite. Well… just for this once anyway.
"Thank… you, I guess," were his quiet words. "I don't expect the rings have some special… use?" Samael closed the wooden box and hid it inside of his black cloak.
"Ah, you'll see, young master Hawke. You'll see." Xenon wheezed mischievously and ordered the urchin to escort the customer out of the Black Emporium.
oOo
Samael found his woman reading by the bedroom fire, crinkling her nose about something she didn't like. They had been living together for two months now, but Samael was still experiencing pure happiness every time he realized he wasn't alone anymore.
Merrill had been using Anders' spare staff lately, not daring to ask Samael for a new one, not after he had bought her several new sets of armor and filled two large wardrobes with various clothing for her. She knew he said he would take care of her, and it was a completely new and heady experience for her indeed, but she didn't want to be just Samael's burden. She was perfectly able to make her own living, although Samael's care was very addictive and engaging.
The assassin approached her with the packaged staff and it hit him just now he had no idea what he should say or do. Merrill looked up, a tender smile running across her lips when she saw him. She intended to stand up and greet him, but he pushed her gently back into the armchair, kneeling by the fire.
Hmm… should I say something, then give it to her? Or should I just hand it over to her and talk about something else? Maybe I should hide it until I figure out how to present it to her? Damn it, why this is so hard for me? And where's that garrulous dwarf when I need him?
Merrill noticed his restlessness and leaned against him, kissing him, pulling the thick cloak off of his bare shoulders. When she broke the kiss and leaned back, the elongated package was lying across her lap. She glanced at her lover in mute questioning, shyly touching the dark red duffel the staff was wrapped in.
"Yes. I mean… that's for you. Ehm… yes." Samael stood up abruptly and stalked to the other side of the room, fidgeting as he leaned on the dresser. Merrill was puzzled by his sudden withdrawal, but decided to look at that package first. The cloth revealed a darkest red polished wood pole and onyx drake scales flashed in the flame's glow. She threw the cloth away, staring in awe at the beautifully crafted ribbed staff head, a mesmerizing white and light purple light sparkling through the gaps. She felt a tremendous power emanating from the staff and when she grasped it, the power flew immediately into her body, making her gasp with pleasure. There were four sharp, yet inconspicuous, blades on the bottom of the staff, and wooden thorns around the staff head, making it lethal even for the melee combat. And above all, the staff really was an exquisite weapon, worthy of only an extremely talented mage.
The silent Samael was still facing the dresser, playing with two cold rings in his pocket, when he felt a small hand on his back. Tensing, he turned around, afraid to see Merrill's reaction, but her intense kiss told him everything he needed to know.
"Thank you. It's… marvelous. I… I…" Merrill peeped, searching for the proper words, hugging him tightly. Samael couldn't breathe a word, but he grinned and encircled her in his arms. Judging by her reaction, it was the first gift she had ever gotten.
"I'm glad you like it then. I have something… else. But I'm sure it's just a trinket, so… you can… sell it… or toss it away… or… you know." Samael's unusual rambling made her laugh and a black ring fell into her palm. Merrill examined the peculiar spider-like carvings, reading them out loud,
I am that which binds
And cannot be undone
Before you don me,
Make sure of your one
They were both musing about the strange words as Merrill placed the ring on her middle finger, pressing her hand on her heart as if there was somebody in the room intending to take it from her. Samael handed over the other ring so she could read the carvings there as well, to see if they were the same. Merrill walked the few steps to the fire, turning Samael's ring in her fingers.
This stone shall tell
What you would have hidden
Come what may
And come unbidden
Now these words were disturbing for Samael; it was oddly accurate, considering his tenacious struggle against his feelings for Merrill. But Samael was pleased by her gesture of devotion and gratitude and after a moment of hesitation he took the ring back and put it on as well. To his surprise, when he observed the cold annulet on his ring finger, the ring stone was mossy green, twinkling and changing to all the colors of green when he moved the hand. Samael pulled Merrill's hand closer and observed her ring stone in amazement. It was dark amber, like the fire was burning within. Samael shook his head, remembering Xenon's crafty sneer. The old charlatan was certainly aware the ring stone color would change into the eye color of the lover.
"Samael? I remember… the night when you wanted to leave Kirkwall. You told me something in elvish, I heard you." Merrill interrupted his thoughts and Samael looked knocked off balance, remembering what he had told her that night, thinking she couldn't hear him anyway.
"Ehm… you did… you heard me? How?" Merrill saw Samael blushing for the first time and she thought it was cute, but she was also aware if she told him that, he might just cut her down or worse – take the ring back!
"I just did. You've told me…" Merrill's quite voice was interrupted by his desperate attempt to avoid the topic.
"I know what I said, Merrill, could we just talk about something else? I… What do you think about the new garden?" Samael tried to turn around, but Merrill caught his jerkin.
"I was just curious, where you've learned the tongue of my people, ma vhenan, that's all."
"I had an elven teacher back in Lothering. Lornalin. I could tell you her story, but not… now. Please." Samael's voice was trembling, like the memory was too painful to relive and she understood, although something in his voice let her know how special this woman was for him.
Merrill stroked his cheek and her new ring flashed in a crimson flare as she touched him. He let their foreheads lean on each other, wondering, for how long his happiness would last this time.
oOo
Aveline, Fenris and Varric invaded the Hawke estate that evening, hooting in laughter about something, waking the whole sleepy mansion up at once.
"Really! This is what really happened to those elven twins. Cross my heart, hope to die!" Varric rushed through the hall to the fire to warm up his cold numb hands.
"You're just making things up, dwarf! City elves aren't like that… are they?" Fenris scratched his head, glancing at Aveline with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't look at me, I ceased listening to Varric's dirty stories three years ago," Aveline sizzled. The distant indignant voices made them shut up and pay attention.
"… I swear, Samael, if I find other socks under the bed, I'll make a soup of them and force you to eat it!"
"You are welcome to try to force me to do anything, witch!" Samael's mocking voice was interrupted by a low thud. "Besides your cooking is inedible even without my socks!" After this statement a choked whoosh reached their ears and the bright orange light came through the keyhole, followed by Samael's almost pirate swearing.
"Elgar'Nan, last time I found a sock there I thought there was a squirrel under our bed, you insufferable assassin! It was so dirty and fuzzy I expected it to start moving on its own! Why couldn't you… don't you DARE walk away right now, Samael Hawke!"
Samael opened the bedroom door, peering at his companions; his tunic sleeve was smoldering and he patted it to prevent a fire.
"Ah, here you are my loyal underlings. As you can see or hear, I'm in the middle of something, but make yourselves comfortable and we will hit the road as soon…"
A long thin arm dragged the rogue inside again, slamming the door closed. They all jumped, their mouths hanging open.
Bodahn trotted in to them and sighed when they all turned to him with mute questions.
"Ah… you know… they are a young couple, adjusting to living with each other…" A loud bang interrupted Bodahn's speech, catching their attention again.
"They have good days," a sound of breaking glass cut in, "and then there are bad days." Bodahn rounded his explanation up, accompanied by a woman's squealing and periodical quiet thuds, indicating…
"Dinner's ready, Messeres!" Bodahn tried to save the day, pushing them all to the dining room.
"Unbelievable!" Aveline snorted and marched out of mansion.
"Venhedis," Fenris growled, ogling the closed door.
Varric strolled to Samael's working table, ripped off a small piece of vellum parchment and wrote, syllabifying during the process, "Trouble… in… paradise." Then he smirked and walked away as well, dragging the pouty elf with him.
oOo
An elf ripped his curved blade out of the man's skull and scanned the clearing. The bodies of a merchant's wife, his three sons and two servants were scattered around and the elf had glimpsed yet another young servant hiding in the caravan under the pelts. He grabbed him by the ankle, dragged him out, and let him tumble right next to his dead master. The poor elven servant whimpered and covered his eyes, so he couldn't see the proud warrior standing nonchalantly above him.
When the wind pulled his light silver cloak apart, the armor beneath it looked like it came from the long lost glorious days of the elven Arlathan Kingdom. The silver breastplate and pauldrons shone in the sun, the drake scales crimson sleeves were menacing and well-protecting. The armor was completed with a fine buckskin jerkin beneath the breastplate, and buckskin trousers, both dyed in silverish tones. The feet were protected with brown leather boots reaching to his knees; they were tracker's boots – nimble and comfortable. The most conspicuous item was embedded into the jerkin; it was a large gleaming emerald.
The warrior's sword was an exquisite piece of work, looking like it was taken from some long forgotten ancient elven tomb deep in the Brecilian forest. The silver hilt was adorned with elaborate twining flowers and thin long straws snaking around it. The steel blade was non-tempered except for the edge, where tempered steel was welded because that way the sword was both flexible and sharp. Not mention it was almost unshatterable.
Absolutely unconcerned, the standing warrior waited patiently for the wallowing servant to look up at him and when he did so, he spoke. His voice was surprisingly melodious and gentle. "Do you possess magic, elf?" The warrior was standing like a statue now, cold, motionless, focused at the answer. The servant was no mage and even if he was, he would have denied that, of course, since it wasn't healthy to be a mage outside of the Circle.
"N-no, Messere… I'm n-not a… a… m-mage," he blurted out, considering that answer as a good choice.
"Too bad," the warrior slit his throat and started cleaning his blood-stained sword and knife with the servant's tunic. When the slow and meticulous work was done, the warrior strolled to the caravan and peered inside. Satisfied with the result, he sat on the caravan step and lit up a cigar.
"Too bad," he whispered to himself, searching the cloudless sky, hedonistically blowing the smoke. He looted the caravan and the bodies, and decided he was in a mood for one more raid today. He left the clearing and wandered on the Wounded Coast for an hour until he found a suitable choked place, excellent for an ambush. A path, leading through the rocks on right, the steep cliff on left. He was about to light another cigar when the chilling salt breeze brought distant voices to his trained and sensitive ears. He climbed up high on the rocks and hid himself with a dexterity that told that he had done this countless times before.
"… Come on, Hawke, all I'm saying – just look after yourself. The Coterie is plotting something again and of all people, you know best you are a constant pain in their asses since you've stolen the Carta lyrium contract for Kirkwall."
"You keep telling me about this new Coterie leader Raen, Varric, but I haven't even seen him yet. Is he that ugly or that lazy? Fenris will just cut his head off if he starts bothering me and…"
A woman's mewling interrupted their conversation. "Samael! Samael, I think I stepped in something!" The hidden elf considered their reaction insulting, since the three men started guffawing as the addressed shemlen wrapped his arm around the woman in a possessive and placatory gesture.
The lurking elf saw the shemlen stop the whole group abruptly with his raised fist, probing the area with narrowed eyes. They all fell silent and the shemlen pushed the woman behind him.
Ar'vanima! How could he feel me? He's nothing but a shemlen worm, yet there might be some abilities within him… surprisingly.
The elf was now able to see one shemlen, the legs of the hidden woman, one dwarf balancing a huge crossbow in his hands and one strange elven warrior, who breathed out, "What is it, Samael?"
"I'm not… sure. There's something out there." The shemlen made a few hesitant steps, holding both hands near the sheathed blades. But the assailant was confident in his own abilities. Yes, he had lost the advantage of surprise, but it didn't matter. First, he would have to take down that dwarf, that crossbow could easily mar the ambush. Then he planned on slitting the elf warrior's throat and considered tossing the shemlen off the cliff, but rejected the idea since he would lose the possibility of looting the body. And the woman, well, he could always use some fun, right?
Not waiting to be discovered, the elf threw the knife into the dwarf's belly. Varric looked down in amazement and collapsed, clenching the wound with both hands. The goal was achieved since the crossbow was laying on the ground now. But the elf had underestimated the shemlen, who reacted with unexpected swiftness and only elf's invincible senses let him dodge the thrown blade aimed at his heart. The maneuver cost the elf his balance and he crashed down onto the path, only to land in a perfectly crouched pose, a sword already in his hand.
Samael shoved Merrill backwards, nodding towards Varric. Merrill nodded back and kneeled beside the hurt dwarf. Samael leapt forward, challenging the attacker and their blades met, striking sparks as the attack speeded up until they both fought at an insane pace. The glowing Fenris roared right behind Samael, discontent that there was space just for one man on the path. Samael realized that as well and used backstab to make space for his elven brother, who grinned at that courtesy and begun wielding his splendid weapon.
It was only now that the elf realized he had chosen the worst possible targets, but he still could win, oh yes he could. Without hesitation, he dodged the fierce attacks from behind, grabbed Fenris by his breast plate, turned him around and pushed him off the path. The lyrium warrior was now balancing on the edge of the cliff, facing the chasm beneath his trembling feet. The warrior held him with one hand by his neck part of the jerkin, challenging the shemlen to attack again and send his friend flying onto the sharp rocks and foaming water at the bottom. Samael scowled, holding his throwing blades at ready, his thoughts whirling around Fenris and his helpless expression.
Samael had the chance to explore his attacker's face now. It was chiseled into appealing curves with prominent cheek bones and thin lips twisted into disdainful smile. The hazel hair that fell to his shoulders was well-groomed and two strands were entwined into an elaborate and neat braid. A delicate goldish tattoo net curled on his forehead and a carefully trimmed hazel goatee. But Samael stared right into those reptile eyes, dead black eyes with darkened scleras and no visible pupil. Yet the face had the odd pale beauty of the old elven gods, which was considered lost forever.
Despite the situation, Fenris growled, "Cut him down, Samael, he's a mage, I can smell the magic within him. Kill him. Do it!"
"Shut the fuck up, Fenris!" Samael snapped at him, focusing fully on the attacker, calculating his next move. He would love to throw his knife right between those lifeless eyes but the attacker would have dropped Fenris into the gulf.
Nobody moved, nobody spoke, until Merrill took a good look at their attacker for the first time and breathed out, "F… Fawn?"
The elf twitched at that name and turned his blank face to Merrill. They stared at each other for a long minute. Fawn then pulled Fenris up to his feet and pushed him roughly towards the assassin, who was still holding the blades en garde. Fenris stumbled and he would have fallen, but Samael sheathed his blades in a quick fluid movement and caught him, steadying him and sweeping his white hair gently off his sweaty forehead.
Fawn nonchalantly sheathed his sword and strolled to the mute Dalish elf, kissing her hand in a courtly gesture. Her hand was still coated in Varric's blood. Samael blinked at this unexpected twist, frowning about the intimacy with which the attacker was touching his woman, and Merrill's blush confirmed his intention to dispatch this elf as soon as possible. Well… when Merrill wasn't looking.
"A most pleasant encounter, Merrill. May I know which Creator has wafted you here, to these forsaken lands?" Fawn's quiet, smooth voice, the odd old-fashioned courtesy with which he treated his woman and his complete indifference towards others made Samael step in right between them. Fawn granted him a cold glance, daring him to further interrupt their talking, continuing the conversation with his fellow elf. "If this shemlen bothers you, I could send him smelling the grass roots for you. Just say the word, Merrill." Fawn smiled at her like he was talking about the weather and a blossoming meadow.
Merrill caught Samael's hands fumbling for his sheathed daggers and smiled back at Fawn, shaking her head.
"Fawn, meet my… uhm… amin vhen'edhellen, Samael Hawke."
"Samael, ma vhenan, this is Fawn Mahariel."