Merrill could tell that Hawke tried to hold back at first.
At some point during their negotiations, both the Knight Commander and First Enchanter had appeared in the throne room. They were just in time to watch his fight with the Arishok. It made Merrill nervous to see their eyes hang on Hawke's every move. Orsino had seemed aware that Hawke was a free mage, but what would the Knight Commander try to do if he demonstrated his full power here?
Hawke wielded his bladed staff like a spear for a time-and he was savage with it-but the dark wood of the weapon wasn't durable enough to block a direct blow from his opponent's giant sword.
The Arishok was no easy target. It quickly became apparent that even with barriers and enhancements, the Qunari leader outclassed Hawke in stamina and strength.
To compensate, Hawke was forced into a dance of quick sprints and rolls in order to avoid a fatal strike. It used too much energy, and provided no openings. Before long, he began to break from his minimal magic approach.
The first time he Fadestepped, the whole room gasped—Merrill included.
She'd seen him do it countless times before, but the fact that he'd used the skill in front of so many unsuspecting spectators was jarring. The pressure to hide her own magical ability from the common folk was so ingrained in her, that seeing it used in public felt like a terrible sort of dream.
Hawke flashed into being by the Arishok's elbow, and tore at the Qunari's side with the sharp edge of his blade.
The cut was not a weak one, but the steel rebounded off the other warrior's body in a way that reminded Merrill of striking against a rock.
The Arishok snarled out a laugh as Hawke flitted away, frowning. The general scratched at the cut Hawke had left in his side as if it were a bite from a bug. "If you mean to kill me, Hawke," the general chided, "you will have to do much better than that."
The two clashed again and again, and Merrill watched, helpless as the battle turned further and further from Hawke's favor.
He'd gained an advantage of speed with his magic, but every time he broke apart from his target, it was clear that he was tiring. Sweat shown on his skin, and his breathing was haggard. She remembered that he'd been awake all through the night: fighting at the docks, and then carrying her.
The realization made her sick.
Even at his full strength, this fight would have been a challenge, and here Hawke was, basically running on fumes.
If Hawke himself noticed his disadvantage, he didn't show it. His expression stayed calm; his eye alight with unfaltering concentration.
His spells gained in intensity.
Where he'd hardly used any at the beginning of the battle, soon he was hurling ice and lightning with nary a care for their surroundings.
Most of the Kirkwall nobility had huddled to the farthest corners of the room. They cowered, crying and praying to whatever gods they kept that a stray blast didn't catch them in the crossfire. Disgruntled murmurings ran throughout the Qunari ranks as well. Hawke's magic even made them afraid.
Merrill could not bring herself to look at the Knight Commander. If Hawke survived this fight, there was no way the Templar Order would ever let him be. Would they try to arrest him? The fear that they might attempt to make him Tranquil simmered within her, but she forced it away. Hawke would never allow that.
The Arishok did not seem overly concerned with his opponent's spellcasting. Instead, he fought with a manic sort of ferocity, snarling and bellowing out taunts every time Hawke barely dodged a blow.
Merrill let out a yelp as the Arishok's charging horns missed impaling Hawke's torso by a fraction of a hair.
Hawke rolled away clutching at his side. She could see furious red blood seeping through his fingers, and he left crimson handprints on the tile when he made to stand.
"You have fought well, Hawke," The Arishok jeered, straightening from his lunge. "But this is as far as you go."
The Arishok lurched forward again, and Hawke whipped his staff about, casting back-to-back spells as he tried to stop the general's advance.
Force Push, Horror, Chain Lightning, Mind Blast, Winter's Grasp.
The display was nothing short of incredible. His mana reserves must have been pushed to their absolute limits, but only just did his barrage manage to halt the warrior's rampage.
The Arishok hacked at the ice locking his steps, freeing himself too quickly for the mage to even catch his breath.
"I had named you basa-lit," the Qunari said, growling in frustration, "but you are truly saarebas. I have never seen one of your skill before. I am doing Thedas a great service in seeing you culled!"
He lunged again on the last word, his massive blade moving so fast that Merrill's eyes lost sight of it. The viciousness of the swing must have surprised Hawke too, because it caught him even as he Fadestepped away. His staff went ricocheting across the room, and he flashed the opposite direction, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Arishok's steel.
His right arm was gushing blood now too. It hung limp by his side, staining the stone. The focused expression he wore when fighting was contorted in pain.
"Hawke!" Merrill cried, unable to restrain her fear. She knew that Aveline was still holding her tightly, but she couldn't feel the woman's arms. Her whole body was numb with panic.
This couldn't be happening! It couldn't end like this; Hawke couldn't lose!
...
The Arishok heard Merrill's plea and smirked.
"Your woman cries for you," he goaded. "How sad do you think she will be when your head no longer has a pair of shoulders?"
Hawke caught a glimpse of Merrill's frightened face in the crowd. He saw the fear in her eyes, and the doubt. She thought he was going to die.
Hawke gripped the deep gash on his arm, and released a long, heavy breath. His side contorted from the effort, and he remembered that he was injured there too. Was all the blood on the floor his?
Perhaps Merrill was right.
He should never have dragged this on. The Arishok was strong, but he was far from invincible. The old Qunari wore the damage well, but his skin was covered in cuts. There were burns on his chest from Hawke's elemental spells, and a glaze in his eyes from Hawke's subversive ones.
The general might have made less of a mess, but they were both eager for this fight to end.
If he cast one more spell—the right spell—victory was not impossible. He could win. …If he didn't mind making a sacrifice or two….
It can be done.
Hawke heard the voice in his head, seeming to radiate from the darkness behind his bandaged eye.
But you will have to commit.
Ignoring his wounds, the mage took another deep breath, summoning every dredge of power he possessed, and also some that was not entirely his own.
That's it.
The voice cooed.
Hawke tuned out its words, focusing on the foe in front of him. His vision started to flare white hot as rage and magic flooded him. He tightened his grip on his injured arm, causing more scarlet droplets to spill onto the floor.
"Now you are serious," the Arishok snarled, noticing the change. "Let's end this! Come at me with all you have!"
The oxman charged a final time, but Hawke was ready.
The qunari let out a howl as the blood in his veins began to boil. His footsteps faltered as his muscles rent themselves from his bones. Helpless to defend against an internal assault, his massive body crumpled and seized. When it ended, he lay gasping on the dais, unable to move as Hawke made his beleaguered approach.
"You are defeated," Hawke grunted, looking down on the wounded general's face.
"What did you do?" the Arishok gasped, blood spilling from his lips.
Hawke frowned at the question. It didn't matter what he'd done. He'd won. "Will you keep your word?"
The Arishok spat on the ground, but snarled, "My word is my honor. As promised, my soldiers will leave the woman and this dung heap in your hands."
Hawke closed his eye, relieved. "Thank you."
The Arishok trembled violently as death crept upon him. "You… you are a demon," he gulped.
The mage nodded, "I know."
"T-this is not the way it should have ended. This... this should be you."
Hawke attempted to lift his battered arm, but could not. The whole left side of his tunic was soaked from where he'd been gored. "I know," he assured the qunari, "...but I can't die yet. I have an oath to keep."
"An oath that allows you to... cheat your mortality..." he coughed. "Must be a blessing."
"No..." Hawke sighed. "It is a curse."
The Arishok's mouth twisted into a final sneer, and then his life escaped him in a shallow rasp.
The room was silent as a crypt for two long seconds, and then it erupted into a cacophony of cheers.
All of the nobles that had been hiding in the corners of the rooms leapt from the walls. They were shaking hands and singing. Shouting and patting themselves on the back.
Hawke thought it was fascinating that they were already acting as if they hadn't been pissing their breeches moments before.
Perhaps that was for the best though, he mused. If they felt like they'd saved themselves, maybe they'd forget all about him.
Gentle hands gripped his cloak, and then Merrill's bright eyes were right in front of his own. She looked frightened and happy at the same time. His vision was blurring, and it bothered him. He wanted to see her clearly.
"You did it, Hawke!" she told him. "They're leaving! Isabela's saved! We're all saved! Thanks to you!"
She meant the words in earnest, but the premise wasn't true. If they'd done what he wanted, he wouldn't have been involved. The Arishok would have warred unopposed, and Kirkwall would have been destroyed.
Deciding to stay had been her plan. She deserved the credit.
He tried to tell her so, but the room had begun to spin. He staggered forward, catching himself on the elf's slight shoulders. "Hawke?" she gasped. She struggled under his weight, but wouldn't let go of him when he tried to pull away.
"Hawke!" she repeated, louder.
He tried to look at her, to calm her, but he couldn't find her face. The room was going dark.
"He's lost too much blood!" he could hear her shouting. "Aveline, get Anders! First Enchanter, please help!"
There were more voices and yelling, but it sounded like it was underwater. Sunken and far away.
"Stay with me, Hawke," Merrill's voice pleaded through the darkness. "I can't lose you. Stay with me! Please."
She meant every word, and he wanted terribly to wipe away her tears.
As the last of his consciousness left him, he mumbled for her ears alone: "It will be okay."