Amongst the vast glades covered in first hoarfrost and naked trees moaning in the gushing wind, Kirkwall looked like a gleaming jewel on that evening; the very evening before the coronation. The nobles and anyone of importance started impatiently hoarding around the Hawke estate right after the wedding ceremony and the rest of Kirkwallers; who were still in majority, split up into many little merry groups that dispersed into Lowtown alehouses and Hightown taverns – based on how quickly and how cheaply they intended to get themselves drunk on this unique occasion. The robust voices of the chosen ones to participate in the secluded celebration rose and fell above the white courtyards of Hightown and no one seemed to mind waiting outside, as long as the promise of an evening filled with unbridled debauchery was warming the nobles up.

Finally, the two-wing front door dramatically swung open without anyone to be seen actually opening them, and the company started trickling inside, exchanging pleasantries as well as quiet remarks regarding who wore too much jewelry and who wore not enough. An unbiased observer would figure out soon enough that the ugliest, elderly women with fat necks were covered with diamonds and wearing daring robes in the most flamboyant colors, while some young beautiful maidens dressed in airy white and silver gowns were most likely hidden behind those fat women, jealously chaperoned at all times. The only exception was whenever the Champion of Kirkwall was in sight; then the same young beautiful maidens were displayed like merchandise and more than one noble in the room was hoping it would be his daughter who catches the young Viscount's eye and then a convenient marriage would be in order.

Samael stood in the center of his quarters and it would seem the Champion of Kirkwall turned into a statue. Not a move, nor a breath, gave away what he felt at that moment – the chaos of his thoughts and emotions he'd been feeling for weeks. His plan worked like clockwork – there were no doubts about that. His business in Kirkwall was ultimately wrapped up with a big bow on top, he was free to sail away anytime, anywhere as he pleased, yet he found himself unable to do it when it finally came to the deed itself. The lavish mansion of his ancestors he had loathed once looked like a home suddenly. His home. Not only once he had been sneaking through vast chambers filled with old records of the Amells, antiques, and riches Hawke didn't even know he possessed until he saw them with his own eyes, and he searched there even the smallest cupboards, opening any dust-covered chest he dug up, watching Sandal scratching his initials into the balustrade and laughing when it took him a while before a big clumsy "S" was finally set into stone. Everywhere he looked, memories were staring back at him. A table in his bedroom, stained with bright orange stains as one of Merrill's alchemy experiments got out of hand, an enormous wardrobe with one of its legs almost gnawed off, as Charon kept working on it for a couple of years, so now it threatened collapsing down, ugly black dots covering ceiling in the kitchen, confirming that he shouldn't have ever allowed Sandal to enchant one of his daggers inside of the walls that seemed so precious for Hawke at this moment.

To leave all that?

Impossible!

What was the reason to leave Kirkwall in the first place?

Irrelevant now!

As much as Hawke tried to remember, he simply couldn't. Merrill would leave him shortly regardless where he went anyway. Meredith – well, that was just a matter of time before the hag dropped dead on her own. Problem solved. The Viscount's crown was waiting for him at the Keep, and the Grand Cleric would ceremonially bestow it upon his head in a couple of hours. All his enemies were vanquished. None could hurt him now. None was his equal. Yes; becoming the Viscount of Kirkwall would be an incredible burden as well as a mere sentence to remain in Kirkwall for at least next couple of years, but would it be so bad actually? He had friends here. Real friends. A roguish smile ran across his face when he remembered those closest to him, though he couldn't pretend as if the list of his friends wasn't growing thinner and thinner as the years passed by. With Fawn gone for so long and without any message from him nor his father, Samael ceased believing that Fawn actually meant his promise seriously and Hawke would have to send a search party once Meredith was gone. Ah, but what's one more claw jabbed into his already hole pierced heart, right?

Finding himself on the edge, yet so surprisingly cheerful about his current situation, Hawke finally started acknowledging loud laughter and muffled voices coming from downstairs. Good. The party Varric was once again throwing in his name had apparently started. Now, that he tentatively decided to stay in Kirkwall, it would be obviously sensible to appear at the party; even behave, and prudently attempt to meddle with Kirkwall nobility for once. Samael was sure that Sebastian would be more than happy to introduce him to those few Hawke hadn't encountered yet. The moment the prince's name popped into Hawke's thoughts, he realized, that this was the first problem he would face, should he really decided to stay in Kirkwall – his debt to the Starkhaven Prince.

"Hum," Hawke slowly strolled toward a huge mirror on talons and leaned on it with his both outstretched arms, watching himself as it unbelievably slowly occurred to him, that he would be probably obligated to dispatch at least six Templar platoons to Starkhaven after all to help Vael to reclaim his stolen throne. "Shit," Samael aptly commented on the unexpected obstacle and straightened up again.

A salvo of boisterous laughter sent him back to reality, so he rather decided to abandon this inconvenient conclusion and start paying attention to his appearance. The apparel he wore to the wedding was shrugged off in no time, awaiting some diligent dwarven hands to pick it up later, and Hawke randomly fished out another one from his closet. It was not alike to his favored black leather in the least, but it would do, Hawke thought to himself, when he slipped into comfortable, not too tight pantaloons, and shrouded himself in a white shirt with bulb sleeves richly adorned with silver embroidery. Almost unfathomable hum of pleasure escaped Hawke's lips once the silk touched his skin. It was not so bad to dress fancy from time to time after all. Dark crimson jerkin with subtle pattern then came over the shirt and Hawke's fingers reached for its clever clasps to fasten the garment snuggly around his torso. An inconspicuous belt peppered with little rubies did a nice job with emphasizing Hawke's waistline and then Hawke's hand hovered over the katana scabbard. Yes… Why to bear this thing around all the time? Was he not home? Was he not surrounded by his Kossith warriors whose loyalty to him was now a matter of legends so unyieldingly embellished by no other than Varric Tethras?

"Sleep for now, old friend." Hesitant, Hawke's fingers stroked the plain scabbard and his whisper died away. One last look into the mirror told Samael that his hair braided into thick streams for the wedding were indeed still presentable to the delicate eyes of the nobles and there was no need to pretend Hawke didn't look simply good. Realizing it, his face slowly melted into a coy smile and the eyes twinkled in suspense of a stimulating evening. When the Champion walked into the light of fully lit up chandeliers with a self-confident smirk all over his face a minute later, he didn't even notice his hand automatically snatched a pair of thin black gloves from his dresser as well as the black ring. It impatiently lit up right before it slipped around Hawke's finger where it stirred for a while, then slowly glazed over. The other ring was not far after all and its twin knew it.

oOo

"… and believe it or not, the Duchess of the Moss Peek had to wear that appalling two sizes smaller gown and no one was allowed to peep, let alone laugh! Can you imagine the horror?! Complete disaster!" Lady Daveth bended her head backwards and let out a squawking laughter while clapping her hands in joy regarding her own snobbish anecdote from the glorious life of a noble woman.

"Surely you weren't that cruel to mention it to the poor Duchess afterward, my lady!" Sebastian rewarded the boring story with a polite smile and he courtly lifted woman's hand up to his lips to which she giggled and hid her face behind a lavish fan. Apparently anything just to shut the dowager up was worth it. "Hawke, would you mind giving this charming lady a tour around your estate? She is utmost interested in how the Champion of Kirkwall came to be," he continued with a solemn smile on his face and it was a smile of a king; upright, benevolent and with only a hint of superiority. "Hawke…?" he turned to the taciturn Champion when no reply came, which was curious since the Champion seemed in a good temper throughout the whole evening. In fact; Sebastian didn't recognize the Champion at all. He was polite, winsome and led many sharp-witted conversations with whomever Sebastian had introduced him to. But regardless of where Samael went or whom he was talking to, he always felt her at his back. Always felt her eyes watching him, heard her steps following him, despairing when his pretended indifference toward her reached its peak. But as her restlessness grew with the late hour, so did his, until it was unbearable.

"Excuse me," Hawke diplomatically stated and without a single glance at his current companions he started walking toward the object of his desire. It was small, chatty, pointy-eared, and it was wearing an airy gown Hawke faintly recognized as a gift from him. "Excuse us," he used the same blunt technique once he reached the group of people that was engaging the Keeper in an apparently very interesting conversation. Merrill indeed looked up in awe when the Champion wordlessly grasped her by her wrist without ceremony and departed from the group along with her, followed by the gazes of many.

"Kids, eh?" Varric's attempt to make the awkward situation lighter succeeded as most of the nobles went back to their conversations and Lady Daveth had obviously settled for the charming Prince of Starkhaven when it was clear the Champion of Kirkwall would not rejoin them.

Merrill yanked her trapped hand out of Samael's grip as soon as the door of library shut tight behind their backs and she took a deep breath to voice her outrage. "Hawke, I do not appreciate being—" But Hawke didn't come there to talk. Embracing her fragile frame into his arms, he slammed them both into the nearest wall, so however his actions may have been understood as aggressive, Merrill knew better by now. This was on the contrary Samael at his weakest, most human moment of this evening. The rings flared up once their hands connected and their fingers intertwined.

She moaned when she felt his hot breath on her skin, subtle kisses along her jaw line, taunting her to give in to this moment they shared. Feverishly, she let her fingers roam along the neckband until they found their way beneath the soft garb and left no doubts about what she'd rather do at the moment than leading soulful conversations. But there was much to be done yet before the evening was up; at least Samael was realizing it if not his elven pet, so he rather fished her cold hands out of his clothing where he could see them before this situation spun completely out of his control. Letting out a loud moan that was right on the edge between chagrin and desire, she nestled tight against him, sniffing around the bare skin on his neck before she buried her face in the warmth of his chest.

"Satisfied now?" he murmured, barely concealing a low chuckle that was conjured by her presence.

"Never," she gave an ardent reply and looked up into his eyes. She studied them and a small wrinkle appeared between her brows as if she was disconcerted by what she had glimpsed within them.

"So beautiful," he traced the features of her lovely face with a gloved finger; his face pensive, his words distant, as if spoken only for his own ears only. "So… impatient," he smiled faintly at her earlier clumsy attempt to tear the clothing off him since it had been usually the other way around in the past.

"Then when?!" she rapped out in exasperation and let go of him as though his touch was poisonous. Her almost desperate response confused Hawke and he just got confirmed that their soon separation was taking its toll on both of them in very different ways.

"Tonight, my little pariah," he reminded her of a loving soubriquet he had used once for her. "That's a promise." He waited for any sign of assent from her and only then he reached for the door knob, but not before he briefly checked whether his apparel was neat and didn't give away what the Champion might have been doing alone in the library with his mistress. "Please stay close to me tonight." He wasn't looking at her when he said out loud the words he originally intended to keep for himself. As it turned out, they were exactly the words Merrill craved to hear the most from the man she loved. The tension in her face eased off and she gave him a demure smile when she said "I will."

oOo

"So, Hawke, don't be shy now!" Varric's grin broadened, but it was just a transparent guise he dressed his nervousness into. Six persons were sitting around a round table while silence and gloomy atmosphere pressed them down in their seats, and only small moves like scratching here or there or occasional cough let Hawke know they expected nothing good coming out of his speech. Little black envelopes with invitations were left crumpled on the table seemingly forgotten as a wordless accusation and a question at the same time regarding why the Champion insisted on secrecy of this meeting, while the party behind the shut massive door was apparently at its peek of profligacy and glamour. Only Sebastian nonchalantly held the envelope in his white hand with long elegant fingers, waving it now and then to entertain himself.

Samael felt nothing short of uneasy himself and this restlessness kept him pacing around the table with his arms folded behind his back and sorting out his thoughts about how to approach the dire situation. Finally the sounds of his pacing went quiet; not by mistake Hawke stopped right behind Merrill's chair, and she straightened up in her seat in attention. Apparently it took all her resolve not to turn her head and fix her bright doe eyes on her lover whose hands slowly circled the carved backrest of her chair in contemplation.

"You no doubt wonder why I brought you here," he started his speech; his words quiet, his eyes focused somewhere distant. "I reckon you're aware that the Viscount's crown shall be placed upon my head by tomorrow noon." This time he granted each of his companions a short inquisitive look, gathering their reactions as he made a pause after the sentence, co its content could be understood in its full extent.

"Hawke, allow me to stop you right there." Aveline slowly rose from her seat and she nervously neatened her dress as she clearly felt uncomfortable wearing it instead of her armor. "I mean, are you sure? Are you sure you really want this?" she asked the questions in a frantic, pleading manner as if she was expecting him to break down in tears and confess that the thorny crown would be forced down onto his head against his will.

Hawke took all the time he needed before he replied and he made sure he would leave absolutely no doubts about the clarity of his devious plans. "I'm perfectly sure about what I'm doing, Aveline. If you ever wanted to question me at any point of our relationship, then you've chosen the worst moment to do so." He hurt her feelings, but she didn't say a word. Samael's eyes then found Fenris, but the Champion would be surprised if he had actually heard any of what'd been said so far, because ever since the Tevinter elf sat down along with the others, he'd been leering at Merrill and sneering and Samael knew the reason why it was so; oh yes he did indeed. He knew about the silent agreement between Fenris and Anders he had witnessed in the tombs beneath the Chantry. He knew all too well what the price for Merrill's head was and what sad role the Tevinter elf was unknowingly playing here. That led Hawke's gaze to the master mind behind the whole plot – Anders.

The treacherous snake in Hawke's midst Anders; calm as he pleased throughout the whole evening, dancing, eating up plate after plate of exotic meals Hawke's money had paid for, and also exceedingly drinking which was very unusual for him – all that made Hawke almost unable to even look at the man who thought that he was smarter than Samael and knew what's what better than anyone else. The same man who was now reciprocating Hawke's glare with uncertain face would blow him up tomorrow along with the church full of people and apparently half of the city as well, having no remorse doing it whatsoever. Just thinking about it, Hawke slowly jabbed the fingers into the wood of Merrill's chair, though the gloves prevented anyone from perceiving that passively violent gesture. The pain in Hawke's crippled hand shot out into the whole arm and if nothing else, it at least reminded Hawke to control himself and the way he was looking at the mage changed immediately. The mage didn't seem mollified in the least though by that sudden change. If anything - he was now straightforward anxious, and doing a very poor job while hiding it.

"If no one has any questions, I'd like to invite you to the coronation ceremony then," the Champion even squeezed a faint smile out of his grim-self. "Tomorrow, high noon, at the Chantry." Affirmative murmurs were the reply to Hawke's heartfelt invitation, followed by his brief, yet elegant gesture toward the door, and the Champion slowly strolled toward the window overlooking the lit-up Hightown at night; his arms were once again folded behind his back in a solemn manner.

"One more thing," his stentorian voice reached them just as Anders enthusiastically grabbed the door handles to pull the massive door apart and return to the party and all its pleasures. The Champion glanced over his shoulder at his friends crowded by the door, only to go back to his peaceful gazing over the rooftops. "Many attempts have been made on my life in the past. You all know that," he almost chuckled to the irony of his words. "But recently, these attempts have been annoyingly… numerous." He heard them whispering and Aveline had apparently succeeded in calling an imminent meeting discussion about what to do with this life-threatening situation. "You can all stop fretting," Samael threw a dismissive glance over his shoulder again and only now he realized Merrill took his earlier plea word on word since she loitered practically in his arm's reach. "It was you I wanted to warn and protect, you fools," he added quietly and paused again to allow the words to sink in. "Therefore please accept my hospitality until the very hour of the coronation. I'm sure you are all more than familiar with my mansion by now and all its comforts and servants are at your disposal for the time being."

"Do you hear that, Bianca? We've been waiting for this one for years," Varric rubbed his hands as he started imagining all the exotic bottles he always wanted to open and taste while taking a hot bath in the upper bathroom that contained all luxuries of the current world. If Hawke allowed the dwarf to invite two whores into the bathroom, it would be a veritable paradise on earth indeed.

"If you insist, Hawke…" Aveline absently nodded as if she couldn't care less about where her wedding night would take place, but Hawke knew well she was still ruminating over what he had said earlier about the safety of their lives. Merrill remained silent since it was clear for both of the lovers where would they spend the night, and Merrill cared for nothing else. Fenris watched in suspicion the secretive exchange of long gazes between the lovers, saying nothing, but as soon as Hawke's eyes found him, he avoided them in panic. Something in Hawke's stance caught his attention though; something ominous and hidden behind an impenetrable wall of words they both failed to tell each other.

"I'm afraid I will have to decline your offer, however kind it is." Anders took a few hesitant steps toward the centre of library; unsure about what game was Hawke playing with them, but he was sure as hell he wouldn't participate. "Your concern about my well-being is… unexpected. And I thank you for it," he added quickly, so he would not appear ungrateful. "But I won't stay."

Samael slowly turned around to look at the mage and then he stalked to him one step at a time until they faced each other; both tall, both adamant and admirable in their own way. Not a word of reaction came from the Champion the entire time regarding Anders' defiance which was disturbing enough on its own.

"I—" Anders's mouth opened and closed a few times as he faced the scrutiny of the taciturn Champion. The mage just seemed too transfixed by the blazing eyes right in front of him, challenging him to defy – oh how they begged to get any sign of disapproval from the insolent mage!

"This was not a discussion." Samael dismissed Ander's objection with quiet simple words; but the gravity of those words was even more severe that way. He left Anders to stand where he was with his arms loose by his sides, as he was trying to comprehend how quickly one could become a prisoner at the Hawke estate. Clueless about what'd been happening, why, and what would Maurella say when he didn't show up for their final review of their plan and usual night activities, Anders looked ridiculous as much as silly. "Fenris," Hawke glanced at the Tevinter elf as he passed by him, "come with me please," he asked, but it was more of a polite order really. Nonetheless, Fenris trotted right behind him and Merrill's eyes narrowed when she caught his derisive glare he cast her way. After all, she wasn't just invited to whatever Samael had on mind now. Fenris was.

"Always full of surprises, are we?" Fenris said to no one particular as they descended to cellars beneath the Hawke estate, but he received no reply to his light conversation starter and that was enough to set his mind off. Where they were going? Where was Hawke leading him? Only now Fenris realized he had but one dagger suspended from his belt, but it was more of a fashionable accessory to his evening outfit that a real weapon. "Hawke, where are we going?" Unable to mask his tension no longer, Fenris asked in a small voice and his words fell down to the ground as heavy as boulders of all the pain in the world.

"There's someone you need to meet tonight," a simple reply came when Hawke casually attempted to push the rusty low iron door open. It resisted, then it opened a crack; then it finally yielded to the pressure and swung wide open; squealing. By now, every fiber within the elf screamed at him to turn around and run away, but he stayed against his better judgment as if an invisible puppeteer decided to animate his muscles and follow the Champion to the centre of unexpectedly large chamber with low ceiling Fenris had never visited before.

Standing there, shaking, his lyrium veins etched into his fair skin pulsating, Fenris watched his worst horrors coming true. It was as if he passively watched himself standing there motionless in the epicenter of echoing emptiness, vulnerable, miserable, awaiting his destiny with submission that was decided for him. And his destiny awaited him indeed, lurking in the gloom; shapeless, nameless evil, until it stirred and made itself obvious as it walked out of dark shadows of past.

"Danarius," Fenris breathed out and that single sound was less than a word. It was merely a moan of a tormented soul that was never fully free, but only now Fenris was able to fully realize it. "How could you?" he reached for Hawke with both his hands, wheezing the words almost inaudibly, though it was not clear whether he was about to rip his throat out or steady himself on Samael, since the elf's legs were about to betray him. "HOW COULD YOU?!" he let out an inhuman roar and shook the Champion of Kirkwall, but suddenly Fenris realized that that was all the man standing by his side was to him. He was a distant idol, a cold, unreachable mountain, terrible in its beauty, cruel in its very essence, unforgiving to whoever dared defy it. A famous man, a hero to those who didn't know better, who decided to recognize him no longer. Fenris could see it written all over Hawke's face that looked like carved of stone – a betrayal for betrayal. Somehow, however impossible it seemed, Hawke learned about the deal the elf had made with Anders. Samael warned him thrice now to leave Merrill alone, but did Fenris ever take those warnings seriously?

"Don't you dare look at me like that," Samael could remain silent no longer as he shrugged Fenris' hands off him as if they were unworthy to touch him. The look he gave to the devastated elf was unbearable to withstand. "Not when I repeatedly reminded you to get your filthy, deprived, hateful hands off her."

Fenris' mouth moved, but it took him a while to ask with incredulity "So this is about—"

"Merrill!" Hawke burst out shouting. "It's been always about Merrill!" He was now the one mauling the poor elf around, senseless. "Did you think I'd let you hurt her and let you go unpunished for that?! Seriously?! Or did you think I wouldn't ever find out about your neat little deal with that devil's spawn?" Feeling a little better, now, that it was all in the open, Hawke abruptly let go of the elf, clenching his forehead with both palms as if he was tormented by a splitting headache.

"Very touching…" Danarius' nasal voice broke the silence that was interrupted only by heavy breaths of two former friends as they were eyeing one another in hatred. Once again reminded of the fate that was apparently ready to reclaim his life, Fenris changed his tactics.

"Hawke," Fenris pleaded to the Champion who was once again silent. "We can fix this. Help me kill him and we can go back to things just as they were. Hawke. Please, reconsider," his pleas went on and on and it seemed as if they were working since Samael seemed taken aback by the passion in Fenris' voice for a while; he even peered askance several times at the Magister and his loyal lackey Hadriana who was impatiently watching the elf as if worried he'd slip out of her grasp like so many times before. But the silhouette standing in the doors, until now perfectly silent and motionless, pushed any doubts Hawke might have deep down once he noticed her presence. With genuine shock on her face, the Dalish Keeper stood there, unable to comprehend the situation in any way that would make sense.

"Now, now, my dear Champion, what's it gonna be then? Didn't I have your word to take back in peace what's been mine anyway? I held my end of the deal," he calmly reminded the Champion of their insidious treaty which was very straightforward about what was expected from both sides. "I expect you to honor our deal and do the same," he casually finished his speech and he did tried his best to hide the menace subtext of his cautious reprimand. It was as if Hawke wasn't listening to him at all though. He was watching Merrill's agitated face that was in utter contradiction to his emotionlessness and only his eyes glinted in curiosity as if he was estimating her reaction to what seemed as blatant betrayal of their friend, though no one could really say Fenris was ever Merrill's friend and mean it. Seeing now the both elves standing right in front of him, Samael realized there was never much of a choice if he was forced to choose between the two of them.

"Samael, what's happening?" Merrill let out a choked question as she started putting two and two together and she'd noticed that odd rising resolve within Hawke's eyes.

"Bewildering that it had to come to this to realize—" Samael whispered merely to himself, shaking his head in amused disbelief and leaving everyone in the room rather befuddled and questioning his sanity. "Take him!" he hurled the final verdict at the Magister over his shoulder without breaking the eye contact with the Tevinter elf who was looking at him as if he was a ghost. The words were said, the dice were cast, and Danarius' men swooped down on the unfortunate elf in two breaths, but Fenris didn't struggle. He couldn't. "If…!" Hawke quickly stopped their doing and turned to the Magister who was afraid he might have started rubbing his palms prematurely. "If our deal really stands in its full, let's say, phrasing." Samael then glanced in Hadriana's way in an utmost eloquent way and waited for the Magister to reply.

"Oh, yes, that little clever clause of yours to our deal…" Danarius beckoned in benevolence and gracefully waved his hands as though he couldn't care less. "My dear," he turned to Hadriana who just now started to smell the rotting deal her Master had made and that included her without her knowledge, "it seems our paths part here in Kirkwall. Let me introduce you to your new Master, blahblah, be a good pet to him as you ever were to me," he stated in utter indifference while the expression on Hadriana's shocked face was priceless.

"Magister… I… You… He…!" she gathered her strength for nothing but an incoherent ramble while her half-insane eyes flickered from her old Master to the new one.

"So, is she mine now?" Hawke casually demanded a confirmation as he started sauntering toward the Magister's apprentice who was still too shocked to do anything apart from standing there and looking silly.

"Yes. Pleasure doing business with you, Champion." Danarius expressed his consent and granted the Champion a deep bow that could have been easily mistaken for a genuine gesture. Nothing else was of interest to the Magister it seemed at the moment; nothing, but the fact that with his both hands he was once again clutching the restraining chain with Fenris bound to its end.

"Good," Samael quietly acknowledged the confirmation as three blades materialized at the tips of his fingers and without a second thought he plunged those blades into the body of Hadriana who seemed surprised for the first time in her life. With disgustingly squelching sounds Hawke vigorously ripped the blades out of her body and let them slip out of his fingers. They clanked and just barely Merrill managed to hold a scream of dread inside of her, yet a soft sound closed to a sob escaped her mouth anyway. It was enough for Samael to wake up; to realize there was fresh blood glistening on his glove as if it had life of its own, and to search for the source of that single strange sound. He turned around and there she was standing: the woman whom he'd done all this for, pressing her both palms on her mouth in dismay while her wide open eyes shone with tears of fear. Hadriana rattled and three dark stains started spreading on the delicate fabric of her robes, until they merged into one bizarre crimson pattern.

"My lord?" she whimpered in denial of what had happened, when she heavily collapsed to her knees and started crawling on her three limbs toward the Magister since she was clutching the mortal wounds with her fourth one. It was somehow woeful to watch once powerful witch to crawl in dust like a pitiful slug, leaving a massive blood trail behind her and grasping her former Master's vestment with all her remaining strength. Hadriana died a few heartbeats later with her eyes wide open and gazing up into the face of a man who had sold her out in the most repulsive way and got rid of her the moment it was convenient for him. Danarius himself appeared to be horror-stricken by the sudden downfall of his apprentice, but since he'd given her away willingly and without giving it much thought, it was really up to her new Master to do with her as he saw fit, wasn't it?

Apparently reaching the same conclusion, Danarius slowly came to his senses and he tore his eyes away from his apprentice lying on the cold floor in the puddle of clotting blood. The stench of the spilled guts and blood was sickening. Leaning heavily on his staff, Danarius stirred, and his eyes grey as the depths of muddy lake sharply looked at the Champion of Kirkwall whom the old Magister would never perceive the same way again after what he'd seen him doing in cold blood.

"I believe our business is concluded now." Samael turned to the Magister and coldly reciprocated his gaze, but his demeanor changed the moment his eyes found Fenris. "I would briefly speak with your slave for one last time, if you'll allow it, Magister," he turned back to Danarius, waiting for his response and he didn't even bother to pretend as if it wasn't important for him.

"Hum," Danarius contemplated the request, feeling the superiority creeping back into him again, "I'll allow it," he gave his permission with a condescending smirk and waved his hand at his men to act accordingly. They brought the slave to a distant corner when they attached his chain to a solid ring embedded into the wall.

"Fenris," Samael then hesitantly approached the elf, but stopped at reasonable distance from him when Fenris' tattoos flared and the elf actually snarled at him. "I've given you a promise once," Hawke's eyes then glanced at the Fenris' fallen enemy. "I'm honoring this promise tonight. Here lies Hadriana whom I did not know at all, yet I loathed her because of the way she treated you. What happened apart from that is of your own doing when you decided to come after a woman I love even though I warned you not to." Hawke's face was solemn and his eyes burnt with righteous fire, but the happy memories bound him to that being in front of him; a being that had no idea how to love someone and even less how to let anyone else to love him. Despite that, Samael and Fenris had spent countless hours together and the Champion would remember forever the thrill he felt when he found out their minds were alike, that perverted excitement when he realized that nothing could stand up to them once they faced it together, that myriad of nights they had spent entertaining each other in bed or in endless drinking binges that usually left puddles of blood behind them and warrants for their arrest hanging on every corner in Lowtown. All this fragile unspoken collusion came down crashing however, once a young Dalish woman stumbled between them and unknowingly wrecked it all.

"Keep your empty promises for someone stupid enough to actually believe in them!" Fenris spewed a reply at him and he yanked the chain several times like a rabid dog. "This," he jerked his head toward the corpse, "changes nothing, Hawke. Nothing, do you hear me?" he started yelling at him and Danarius just rolled his eyes since at this point he was bored by this situation that had spun a little out of his control. "You can hide, Hawke. You can crawl into whatever fancy hole you can buy with your bloodied coins, but I will find you one day." Almost fanatical zeal was mirrored in Fenris' deranged eyes. "I've escaped once, I can do it again, and then I'll find you and I'll kill you! This is my promise to you and I shall keep it with just as much diligence as you did," he kept on convincing merely himself while nodding in frenetic pace and chuckling to himself.

"Silly elf!" Samael suddenly closed the gap between them, cupping Fenris' head in both his palms; crashing it in between, as if to convince him to listen. "I'm counting on it, that you'll get away from him one day. I've done all this because I simply cannot have you parading around alone anymore, constantly watching you, despairing and guessing when you decide to go after Merrill again and worry every night that I might not be able to stop you next time!" For a breathless moment, Fenris kept silent, clearly upset about Hawke's agonizing words since his lower lip started trembling and his eyes slowly closed in defeat, only to open again and pierce the traitor with irreconcilable hatred that was once again in complete contradiction when the elf leaned forward and pressed an ardent kiss on the lips he had kissed many times before, but those lips now belonged to another one.

Once they parted, they were both breathing heavily, watching each other in an uncomfortable silence. Fenris was the one who felt like he had to have a final word though. "I'll be the one that kills you one day, Hawke. Be ready when we meet again," he tenderly whispered and his words had the gravity of a mountain.

"I would expect nothing less from you, my friend." Broken, Samael stepped back from the one whom he had called a friend for one last time. Danarius gave out a signal and his entire retinue immediately moved like a single man. Not a word was said between the Champion and the Magister of Tevinter Imperium when they bowed their farewell and Samael couldn't otherwise but notice that Danarius was looking at him differently. He would swear there was a flash of fear and respect within his eyes that wasn't there before, but Hawke couldn't care less about it anyway.

Feeling forlorn and unclean, Samael slowly turned around to face the Keeper. How he wanted to comfort her, hold her in his arms, do whatever she desired! And how he needed her to sanctify his actions as unavoidable! She must had been terrified of the Magister and Hadriana, or even of the raging Fenris, Hawke thought to himself, when he tried to conjure a faint smile on his face as he started walking toward her. The smile faded though just as quickly as it appeared, when Merrill shook her head like she was forcing herself to do something, angrily smudged a stray tear on her face, then straightened up as if she won an extensive inner fight. Only then she fled. She was running for her life, sobbing a little and smudging the fresh tears out of her eyes, so she could see where she was running. Not that she had a particular plan.

Stunned, Samael contemplated for a while this unexpected turn of events. What the hell just happened? Why did she run? Wasn't she relieved to be finally rid of Fenris? Didn't she appreciate what Hawke had done for her? That he'd sacrificed a dear friend to keep her safe? Didn't he deserved a little of respect for that?

"Shit!" he alleviated his growing confusion with a salty curse right before he set off right after her, racing to catch her before she bumped into some curious guest which would be most unfortunate. "Merrill!" his desperate shouts echoed all around the Keeper as she kept rushing down the meandering corridor, desperately jiggling every door knob she could have found on her way, just to get away from what she'd seen. "Merrill! Wait! Stop! Damn it!" His cries were now drawing nearer and they were full of panic Merrill had never heard before, but even now she refused to listen to the voice and do as it commanded.

The corridor abruptly ended with an iron gate and Merrill quite ingloriously collided with it head-on. Half-blinded from the crash, she grabbed the clammy handle and yanked it open. To her relief, it opened and she bolted right through it, but not before she shredded the sleeve of her dress and ripped her arm wide open on a sticking-out spike that served an unknown purpose there. Hissing in pain, she glanced behind her only to realize Hawke was nowhere to be seen and his voice suddenly died away in the entrails of the cellars. A few shaky steps upward the three crumbling steps led Merrill straight into the heart of Hawke's private garden where she glanced about in helplessness. The snow started falling at some point of this horrid night and Merrill's feet wearing only velvet slippers were quickly getting numb with cold as she started wading through the heaps of fresh snow. The tears were uncontrollably streaming down her cheeks by now as she pondered her possibilities. Right now, she felt incredibly silly as well as petty. She whirled around once more at the sound of a cracked frozen twig behind her back, but she spotted no one in sight, only to realize her tormentor stood right in front of her the moment she turned back. Being paralyzed by fear anew, she let go of her throbbing wound to defend herself and the droplets of fresh steaming blood sprayed the snow forthwith.

"Merrill…" Hawke quietly addressed her and reached for her and that single word sounded as if he was both dying and holding back tears at the same time. "Merrill, what's wrong? Why have you run? I don't understand!" he desperately demanded an explanation, but none came. She evaded his touch with hysteria and Samael then pulled his arm back as if it was bitten by a viper. She couldn't be that scared by one over-aged Magister and a single dead corpse, could she?

"Don't touch me!" she needlessly shrieked and staggered away from him, surprised when he indeed remained standing just where he was. Since a terrified witch is also a dangerous one, Merrill's hands started emanating dim light and only now she was able to glimpse the expression on Hawke's face partially obscured by the disheveled hair veil. Apparently it would be hard to determine which one of the two of them looked more ghastly than the other, but the reply for that manifested itself once Hawke collapsed down to his knees in front of the only one who was allowed to see him like this. It finally dawned to Hawke that Merrill wasn't running away from that room nor from the Magister; not even from Fenris who seemed to have only one thing on his mind lately – to take away her life from her. She was running away from him. She was scared of him; of what he'd done to a human being that had never wronged him before just because his henchman asked him to do it. Hawke killed in cold blood many times before, but for the first time he felt deeply ashamed for his actions. What was wrong with the world that a creature full of darkness like him would sit on the Viscount's throne tomorrow?

"What have you done, Hawke?" A plaintive question broke the silence and Merrill was scared just how loud it sounded in a deserted garden that was slowly disappearing beneath the snow. "Why Fenris?" she plucked up her courage and drew closer to him.

"He…" Samael unsuccessfully searched for the right words to explain, and then he simply lowered his head down again in silence. "He hurt you," a choked answer came from him after all.

"Many people have hurt me in my life, Hawke, and I never asked anyone to frame them or kill them just because of it!" she mercilessly chided him. His shoulders just slumped at the truculent words, but just as Merrill, Hawke was getting angry.

"Well, maybe you should have!" he finally decided to fend off her verbal attack and a distant fire burnt bright within his eyes when he jerked his head and looked at her, then slowly rose to his full height; fuming. Needless to say it took him all his stubbornness not to tend to Merrill's ever still bleeding arm since it bothered him beyond measure.

"And what's that supposed to mean?!" she lashed out at him with a miffed high-pitched mewl.

"It means that ever since I've known you, you were absolutely clueless how to take care of yourself! Don't you dare stand there and blame me for doing it instead of you then!" he blew up at her, shaking her as if some sensible solution would drop out of her. "I'm a killer, Merrill! An assassin, or murderer if you will, call it whatever you like! That's all I know, that's all I've known my entire life! I kill things and I take great pleasure while doing so! Don't act as if you picked up on that just now! I've even found someone just like me. Just as broken and twisted as I am. Then you came along and you ruined everything!" he stuck a blaming finger into her face. "Everything!" he ardently repeated, and apparently he was nowhere near calming down. Not yet, anyway. "And yet I stand here, with you, explaining myself, while Fenris is being dragged back to Tevinter, since it turned out to be absolutely necessary to keep several countries between the two of you!"

Merrill stared at him and his frenzied raving completely transfixed. When it seemed he was done yelling, Hawke just threw his arms sideways as if he considered any other words as redundant in this dispute, so he rather raked the fingers through his hair to finish the doom of his elegant coiffure. When he turned back to Merrill with his arms akimbo, even though he had no intentions to do so, she just gasped for breath, let out a few subtle mewling sounds, and suddenly the Champion had his arms full of a Merrill. So full in fact, that they tumbled together down into the trampled snow, where they did not move, nor they spoke for long minutes.

"Samael?" she whispered somewhere into his chest.

"Hm?" he hummed a reply and neither of them noticed one nosy dwarf with golden chain around his neck who gawked at them for a while from an opened door, then he rolled up his eyes and went back inside to party somewhere where were no heaps of snow and less guilt flying through the air.

"Down there," she tunneled her way out of Hawke's embrace to see his face and reaction to her question, "you said you loved me…?" she cautiously brought forward the sensitive topic. Just as she predicted, Hawke shifted and started fidgeting around, but then he stopped and looked down straight into her eager face with lots of uncertainty within his eyes.

"Yes," he quietly confirmed what they both knew already. "I suppose I did." His lips then curled into a restrained smile that vanished once his eyes found the gaping wound on Merrill's soft skin. "I believe this needs my immediate attention," he pronounced in a way that would not suffer any kind of disobedience.

"Samael—" she breathed out in alarm.

"Let me explain the meaning of a word immediate then," he easily brought them both up with a resigned sigh.

"Samael, you don't understand!" she pleaded with him to listen; her voice was right above a whisper. "Someone is watching us!"