The opulent dinner had gone by just as Hawke needed to – it was loud, profligate and long enough to allow him to put himself together after that emotional trial by fire he had deservedly undergone. Merrill timidly refused to attend to the extravagant event and Hawke left her only very much grudgingly in her cabin, but he did need to discuss with Fawn and his father their plans on where would be the best to disembark once they had Fereldan in sight. Malcolm seemed to be content with any plan as long as he was to remain by his son's side and Fawn didn't bother to hide that he had no plans whatsoever regarding his next travels which rendered Hawke to outline their next direction practically on his own while his two companions sipped their brandy and occasionally offered an opinion. It was past midnight when Malcolm yawned and half-asleep swayed to his cabin with murmured good night. The spacious dining room was all but deserted at this hour and Hawke heaped all his maps and vellums into one disarranged pile, still lost deep in thought of what would tomorrow bring for them. The plan had been agreed upon, destination was set and he was tired, Maker, tired like a… child. Once Hawke's mind went back to children and stuff, his face turned grim again. He was going to become a father. He, for whom it took years to learn how to care for anyone else apart from himself. He, who was capable to take down a full-grown man in two heartbeats, but who was next to clueless when it came to those obnoxious miniature people. Why everyone seemed so fascinated by them anyway? If they don't sleep, babies scream, they poop, they eat, then they poop again. If he was going to take on such a responsibility, then his wild and glorious days were over for good. He was done for.
Lost in these joyless thoughts, Hawke didn't realize at first that Fawn had been watching him in silence the entire time from his seat by the lingering fire he didn't bother to revive. "Do you want to tell me something, by any chance?" the elf asked an uppity question when their eyes met. Only now the Champion realized there was an apology expected from him.
"Dear Fawn," Hawke started, but his jovial tone and mask vanished as quickly as he had put it on. "I'm sorry for what I've said earlier. I shouldn't have… You know…" he faltered and scratched his head, looking about for his katana. He found it lying on the table across the chamber, half-drawn from its scabbard, as he considered necessary to keep it within his reach at all times while he was a guest on this ship. What could he say – he didn't trust those stunted rascals and lyrium smugglers any more than he had trusted his lyrium business partners in Kirkwall. Moreover; he had no illusions about the Carta as he found their smiles fake and their complaisance temporary to say the least.
"Has anyone ever told you that you really suck at this?" Fawn smirked, then searched Hawke's anxious face and obviously decided that the Champion was punished enough. Above all that, Fawn did understand to what Hawke had been going through ever since he fled from the city that was bending its knee before him and his might at one second, then chasing him around a second later like the worst criminal, howling for his blood like ravenous rats. It was the feeling comparable to what Fawn had felt when he was leaving the burning Amaranthine behind, leaving his lover in arrears to take all the blame for Fawn's treachery and theft. Once the Crow's face came unbidden to Fawn's mind again, his face darkened and he reminded himself that there was at least one loose end Hawke wasn't aware of. "Hawke, we need to talk," he whispered and his face gained an undecipherable expression. Before Samael could reply; his face already warped by suspicion, another and not entirely unfamiliar voice entered the conversation.
"You don't want to discuss me, I trust? Since you haven't revealed me so far to our fallen Champion of Kirkwall, one would wonder just how much exactly you wish me to succeed in my endeavor, my dear Warden." With his entrée dramatic, his presence most unexpected since both Samael and Fawn jumped up from their seats, looking at him as if a ghost had just walked in on them. The Crow seemed satisfied with the impression he had made upon his arrival.
"Zevran…!" was all the Hero of Fereldan was able to breathe out as he stumbled backwards from the Crow. Until this very moment he had been nurturing tiny hope that they had lost the Crow somewhere in Kirkwall, and if not in the city, then they surely managed to outsmart him when they embarked on the Carta ship no one expected in these waters.
"Did you know about this?!" Hawke lashed out at the poor Fawn in shock and stepped away from him, sizing him up with widened amber eyes that turned fiery as if the Hero was no one but a disguised enemy the whole time. Fawn started realizing only now that his hesitation to tell Hawke they probably had a Crow on their tail might just cost both him and Hawke the highest price.
"Oh, I assure you, our foxy Warden indeed knew about me, my dear Champion," Zevran rudely replied instead of Fawn who just seemed unable to utter a sound. "Though I reckon he didn't expect me here, per se," he laughed a wicked quiet laughter that seemed to corrupt the air. Only now Samael realized the Crow had been cunningly moving to position himself precisely between him and his katana still innocently lying on the table where it was as useful to him as a pouch of pebbles.
"Hawke, I can explain!" Fawn intervened in despair and made a few steps forward, so the three of them were now standing in a loose triangle.
"The time for words is long gone, my dear Warden," Zevran quietly remarked and threw the katana sheathed in scabbard to Hawke who caught it in surprise. "What?" the Crow laughed once again his terrible laughter. "I may have come to kill you, Hawke, but I shall do so with all dignity and respect I have for you. I certainly don't intend to slay you like cattle." Oddly enough, this bragging and Crow's blatant self-confidence had rather tranquilizing effect on Hawke for that was his first obvious advantage over Zevran Arainai.
"Zevran, it doesn't have to be this way!" Fawn stepped in between the two rivals the moment Hawke unsheathed his katana with chilling serenity and threw the scabbard away without a single word.
"Oh, this is where you're wrong, mon amour. This is precisely how it must be." With a resigned sigh of irony, Zevran gracefully unsheathed his twin blades and then carefully examined the single long blade in Hawke's hand, wondering where Champion's rapier was, or at least a dagger for his other hand that remained empty. Hearing legends of Champion's superior dual weapon skills and ambidextrous abilities to master any blade ever made, this detail left him perplexed indeed. On the other hand, one incautious step of the Crow would render him headless and Zevran in no way underestimated his opponent. "Either way," Zevran glanced at his former lover, "please be patient, my Warden. You're next." The Crow granted Fawn such a strange smile full of agony that Hawke was now the one wondering who this man really was and what was it between him and the Hero of Fereldan.
"I'm ready." Samael felt obligated to point out since the elves seemed to be too busy with staring at each other. "Though I would argue the point that this shall be a fair fight as you claimed it would be. Seeing that I bear no armor and you are fully dressed for the battle," Hawke once again pointed out and waited for reaction with an insidious smile on his face. No one was more surprised than the Champion when Zevran immediately and without any hesitation started unbuckling his cuirass until it thudded on the wooden floor along with his gauntlets, leaving the Crow in nothing but a war skirt, boots, and plain open-necked white shirt. Fawn had been watching all his doing with the eyes of a condemned person because Zevran's intentions were becoming clearer and clearer now. He had come here to die; and die in front of Fawn no less, though it wouldn't be Fawn's hand that would take his life. Seeing that the fight was inevitable at this point, Mahariel stepped back and he was sure no longer whether he favored Zevran or Hawke in this fight.
Samael felt as the fatigue he had been feeling moments ago was replaced by adrenaline rushing throughout his veins and he never felt more alive in past day as he was now. After all, he had two compelling reasons to win this ultimate combat; to tie up this last loose end and thus leave his old life behind him forever. Hawke made a few cautious steps sideways while Zevran mirrored him, then he stepped back, watching as Zevran was copying his every move, clearly contemplating the tactics. It seemed that hours had passed, though Fawn figured it could be only minutes, when Zevran finally made a feint and broke that circumspect initial procedure of estimating the opponent. Samael did not move in the slightest since he recognized the feint for what it was – a mere distraction to draw his response. Well, if this was the best the Crows were teaching their assassins, then he could remain calm. But calm he was not. His life together with Merrill in Fereldan was finally within his arm's reach and this Crow could mar this plan in a blink of one's eye. Seeing that his feint wasn't met with desired reaction, Zevran changed tactics.
Once again they started circling around one another for so long that it would have been absurd if this was not a fight to death. Obviously neither of the rivals was willing to make the next move because to do so was a weakness unless that first blow would be also the last one, causing such a critical injury that the fight would be over. Fawn remained motionless in the corner he had retired into and he had plenty of time to make up his mind there. He did not doubt Hawke would be the one standing victorious at the end and the coward slumbering deep within the Hero of Fereldan when it came to Zevran was perversely glad that the Champion would strike that ghost of his past back into the grave it crept from in the first place.
Suddenly the blades were cleaving the air, too fast to see. They rang out in a brassy melody of doom as they connected and Hawke shifted his balance just a second before Zevran attempted to duck and thrust one of his needle-like blades into his guts. Blocking this vicious lunge, Samael gave a gargantuan kick with all his might that sent Zevran flying backward from his superior position where he could fully utilize his two short blades against Hawke's long one that behaved rather clumsily at such short contact.
Amazingly enough, the shove didn't seem to cost the Crow any loss of balance or injury as he landed in a perfect crouched pose with his blades crossed in front of him en garde. Only his cat-like eyes sparkling with fury and heaving chest gave out his agitation that his master move was not met with success. This was Hawke's second clue and second advantage over the Crow – the Champion considered the assassin as merely one of the many who had ever attempted for his life and he intended to get rid of him as he had gotten rid of everyone else – with precision and prudence. The Crow on the contrary took this fight clearly personally and that was as bad as if he had lost already.
Hawke now fully focused on his opponent and despite Zev's graceful movement and unrelenting posture, something had obviously changed. The more Samael watched and analyzed the Crow, the more he was sure that his rival did not emerge unscathed from that kick he had sustained straight into his torso. Maybe a few cracked ribs? Moreover, Samael didn't notice before, but there were dark circles beneath Crow's eyes and his face and body divulged the emotional torment he had been experiencing for over a year now. All these details were crucial to Hawke's next steps and he decided to go offensive at this point. Yes; there was a gap between the rivals now and whoever would dare closing that gap first would be automatically vulnerable, but it was a risk Hawke was willing to take.
Making up his mind after all that evaluating, planning, considering and rejecting tactics, Samael danced forward, only to fall back again. Even though he tried again and again, he failed to draw Zevran out of his safe zone. He continued his dance, forward and back, forward and back, faster and faster, taunting the opponent, accelerating until he seemed in both places at once, then continued forward, letting the katana to flash out, but the Crow was no longer there, though his blade left a long slash on Hawke's forearm he had managed to shield himself with after he realized this was an obvious trap and he had foolishly fallen victim to it. So, the Crow was quite a poser after all. The first blood had been drawn, but Samael seemed tranquilized by it – which left Zevran wondering again. Loitering just out of the reach of Crow's blades, his head lolling as if he was asleep, Hawke seemed completely indifferent to his bleeding wound. Despite appearances, he realized only all too well that his dancing activity had cost him. But the kick Zevran failed to dodge had cost him dearly as well, since it was clear now that the elf was injured. Catching this detail, Samael smiled. And it was an ominous and horrible smile Fawn hoped to never be directed in his way.
But to the death this combat was, so it continued, though so far the rivals seemed to be equal in both skills and wit. Zevran was no fool. He felt very well that at least two ribs had been cracked and this fight would end up for him not the way he wanted the world to remember him. But there would be no surrender. Since there was no point in putting much effort into defense anymore, he decided to focus on dealing as much damage as he could before he fell.
Dying. Zevran had never given much thought into it. He just hoped like any other Crow that he would go down fighting and left a beautiful young corpse behind. And that was about to happen soon no doubt, so really – there was no need to worry.
One last deadly combination of feints, lunges, leaps and thrusts remained to be used by the Crow; the combination he very rarely used for it was utterly draining, yet that was unimportant since every time he used it the opponent ended up rattling in a pool of his own blood while Zevran stood victorious. He calmed himself, pushing away the pain that was pulsing within him with every breath he took, and he called upon all his training, all the vaunted fighting techniques the Crows were so proud about, all the Gods he had spurned so many, many years ago.
Samael was able to see that the Crow was preparing for one last push and oddly enough the elf didn't seem concerned that it might not end well for him. Their eyes locked into one long gaze, but Zevran's eyes then wandered almost against his will to the dark corner where Fawn had been absently standing, watching, and despairing that this clash would end up the way Zevran intended and he would be able to nothing but watch and let it happen. As if confirming that Fawn had indeed nothing to say about what was about to happen, the Crow lunged forward without any further hesitation. The intensity of his attack was overwhelming. There was a moment when Hawke wavered and doubted he would survive this combat and Zevran as if capable to read his mind pushed even harder, frustrated that Hawke was not even still standing without his guts spilling on the floor, but he vigorously parried all his best figures, saw right through his most devious feints while the katana in his hand was swinging in long deadly arcs that could have easily cut the elf in halves or at least tear him a new one. When the frustration reached its peak, Zevran leapt. He was flying through the air with his sun-kissed hair flowing past him, he even seemed to hover for a fleeting moment, only then he dropped down directly at Hawke with his merciless blades aimed and eyes blazing in suicidal frenzy. Maybe it was a sudden movement within the shadows; maybe it was an almost imperceptible sound of fright that convinced Hawke not to clip Crow's wings right in the air with his katana that very much thirsted blood at this point of combat. Instead, Samael stepped aside and finished Zevran's ultimate leap when he slammed him hard to the ground, knocking both blades out of his hands and crushing his neck under his boot. He deftly swung the katana through the air, grasping it with both his hands as he positioned it directly above Crow's heart, ready to perform that one last remaining move to end this fight.
Even though he was clearly suffocating, the defeated Crow managed to rasp, "Do it. Finish it. You'll be only setting me free." And the Champion indeed intended to oblige such a direct request and grant him a quick death for cruel he was not. Just as he was about to lean on the katana and claim his assassin's life, the heart-rending scream came.
"No!"
Throughout the whole combat Fawn had been fighting his own inner battle and finally the lover within him triumphed over the Hero of Fereldan. He no longer cared about the decorum nor did he care about his pride. There lay a man whom he deemed worthy of his love and protection, staring up at him with a boot crashing his throat and a blade about to pierce his heart and that man cried. He had never seen Zevran crying. Not once.
Hastily crossing the room and kneeling down by the Antivan assassin who still struggled for air, Fawn grasped Hawke's boot and attempted to remove it off Crow's neck. If anything; Samael just pressed the boot down even more vigorously, not believing his eyes.
"Hawke, please!" Fawn looked up in despair while Zevran's body kept writhing in agony. After such forlorn plea, it would appear that Hawke was indeed the villain and aggressor there. Despite his better judgment, he removed his boot off Zevran's neck. Zevran started retching and gasping for air as well as vehemently trying to keep the other elf away from him. At this point, Hawke was simply befuddled. He was not even sure whether he wanted to know what exactly had been going on. Fawn's ashen face failed to reveal any emotion other than deep turmoil as he patiently deflected all Crow's attempts to drive him away, then pressed his flailing arms to his sides until the Crow lay in his arms, panting, limp, too exhausted to struggle anymore, and too weak-willed to push his stubborn savior away. Cradling Zevran's body within his arms and clearly considering the words on how to put the awkward situation for the Champion, Fawn looked up into Hawke's face. If he was afraid he would find nothing but contempt there, then he was right, since Samael was convinced this farce had its master-plotter and Fawn had already proven himself in this area of expertise more than once.
"Hawke, just let me explain," Fawn shook his head, clinging to the body within his arms with despair Hawke hadn't seen in him ever before. Samael now positively felt as if he was the guilty one here; a bad man who was about to kill an innocent from the look on Fawn's face. "I know what this must look like to your eyes, but—"
"Look, Fawn," Samael interrupted him and took a deep breath, keeping his katana deliberately lingering right above Zevran's heaving chest. "I do not know nor do I care what the fuck is going on here right now. But I do know that the men who are foolish enough to make an attempt on my life wind up dead or wishing they were dead. This Crow will fare according to my philosophy. More than that I will not say. Now step aside and let me finish this!" He tried to ask nicely, but it came out like a harsh command instead. Fawn was sure that Hawke would not ask him twice; he would finish the Crow off right where he was no matter what Mahariel did now.
No matter what he did now.
Fawn was enlightened by a sudden idea as he carefully released Zevran from his embrace and rose to his full height, deliberately stepping between the Champion and his assassin and this way Hawke could have his katana pointed either at the Hero of Fereldan or not pointed at all. He chose not at all even though his patience was strained by now and his fury was rising.
"Anything you want." Fawn ensnared Hawke into the bottomless depths of his black eyes, though Samael didn't understand a word of what the elf was saying. "Anything you want; anything you would require of me as a payment for your deed, you shall have," the elf continued. "Those are your exact words, Hawke, after I saved your father and returned him into your life. A life for a life. I implore you to give me this man's life. Do that and I shall consider your debt paid in full."
"Cruel to the very end, my dear Warden…" Zevran managed to wheeze as he languidly brought himself to kneel and not lie there like a corpse. That was just insulting. "You should hurry if you want to take my life yourself. There will be nothing left to take soon," he spluttered in spite and his face twisted in hatred as much as in pain. His blood sprayed the floor as a terrible cough took over his body.
"Keep quiet…!" Fawn hissed over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off Hawke's infuriated face.
"Damn it, Fawn!" As expected, Hawke burst out shouting once he realized the full extent of what was Mahariel asking of him. But the arcane warrior remained motionless, adamant about his reward for Malcolm's life and his eyes kept flickering from the lowered katana to Hawke's face and back again. He started timidly believing that his plan might have worked when Samael tossed the katana down to his feet in frustration and started pacing around both elves, casting vengeful glances in their way. The Hero of Fereldan had won indeed. The Champion turned his back at them several times, his fingers twitching, only to stalk back to them and kicking his splendid weapon out of his way. He reminded of a predator whose prey was stuck in an iron cage he couldn't get through.
"Well?" Fawn impatiently required a definite answer. At this push, Samael rushed him and his face was inches away from Fawn's; his voice was so low Fawn could hardly make out the words, when Hawke slowly said with a deadly menace,
"Keep him away from me!" Then he picked up his katana and thrust it back into sheathe in such vigor that it wasn't hard to guess whom he would be rather thrusting the blade into. "I warn you, Fawn. If I catch him with even a fork pointed my way, or if he defies me in any way while we're on this ship – perhaps not in deed, only in demeanor – I'll waste him, Fawn. I'll waste him and I'll force you to watch. Do we understand each other?"
His eyes pure ice, his jaws set, Fawn was contemplating the right answer. He was not spoken to like this for a very long time, yet he forced himself to see this situation with Hawke's eyes. An assassin followed him from Kirkwall, boarded in secrecy the ship, then tried to kill him. Under these circumstances Mahariel really couldn't blame Hawke for lack of willingness to let the Crow live.
"We do understand each other," Fawn quietly confirmed as meekly as he could manage.
"All right then," Samael calmed down a bit, seeing that Mahariel was genuinely grateful for Hawke's mercy. "Do you need, you know, any help with him?" Samael quietly asked since Zevran's breathing turned into shallow rasping sounds as if his lungs were torn to shreds and tiny bubbles of bright red blood were appearing in the corner of his mouth since the cracked bone or its splinter must have pierced the lung after all.
"Go back to Merrill, Hawke. She needs you. And," Fawn glanced at his ever still kneeling protégé, "thank you," he whispered and gracefully bowed his head deep in gratitude. When he straightened up again, he and the man whose life now belonged to him were alone.
oOo
"Am I to be ignored for the rest of the night?" Fawn finally broke down that wall of silence that became unbearable for him. They both had been quiet the entire time when Fawn was settling the wounded Crow down in his own cabin, leaving him in nothing but small clothes on the bed to examine his body and mend the cracked ribs as they appeared to be the utmost pressing matter.
Zevran, lethargically staring into the ceiling the whole time, turned his head away from his caretaker who humiliated him in the worst possible way – he saved his life.
"Obviously yes," Fawn replied to his own question and nudged the Crow, so he would sit up in the bed, and he did so rather brutally, since even though accustomed to pain, Zevran winced and bit his lip enough to draw blood to black out the pain in his chest. A tiny bit mollified by that voiceless expression of suffering, Fawn's hands softened their touch on Crow's tanned skin as he started bandaging his torso with clean strips of white linen to keep the freshly mended ribs protected.
"Why, Fawn?" His face turned away from him still, now obscured by disheveled blonde hair, Zevran's voice sounded as if he had been shouting himself hoarse, asking the same question over and over again for hours. He rarely called Mahariel with his first name and the fact he did so now was alarming on its own. Fawn's hands stopped working, then they slowly finished bandaging and tightened the knots rather loosely, so the bandages wouldn't pressure the ribs much. There was no direct answer to Crow's direct question. Why indeed. Why was not Fawn able to watch him dying? Perhaps for the same reason why was Zevran unable to stay away from him when Fawn was near his death after his stampede from North back to Kirkwall.
"Because I have faith," Fawn whispered and carefully helped the Crow to lie down again, neatening the bandages. His white hand then lingered on a Dalish pendant depicting the Dread Wolf he had given the Crow what seemed like eons ago. It was astonishing that even after everything that had happened between the two of them Zevran would wear it just as Fawn remembered it – hung around his neck on short leather string that turned black with constant usage.
"Faith in what?" Zevran asked when Fawn didn't seem prone to clarify.
"I… Faith in… We… I must go now." So unlike to him, Fawn faltered and fled in the middle of their conversation.
"Warden!" Zevran wearily called out to him, trying to prompt himself on elbows, however painful that was. "Faith in what?" he ardently demanded a reply, but only the door quietly clicking as the Hero left the small cabin was his reply. He collapsed back into the bed and slowly pulled the thick blanket over his head.