The sky had the color of the eyes of a fourteen day old floater and the sun hung above the horizon like bloody spittle. Despite the freezing breeze coming from the sea waving his disheveled hair, Samael was sitting on docks steps with salty drops of water splashing on his boots.
He felt so miserable that even the cynic inside of him crawled in a hole and fell silent. He had spent the last two days in Fenris' mansion drinking his brain out and his eyes now looked like two pieces of ice right before melting in a glass of whiskey. He couldn't have chosen a better hiding place since Fenris didn't question him, ever; he kept his glass full of alcohol and didn't let anyone get near him.
Samael had noticed Aveline, Anders and Varric had come to visit separately, but Fenris deflected them all using his usual charming way of conversation: shouting various alterations of "piss off." Samael had to smile against his will as he reminded himself yesterday evening. He and Fenris were sitting on the dilapidated sofa, intertwined together, speaking only occasionally and sipping red wine.
Fenris let out an undignified belch, accompanied by Samael's dry laughing. Well… you know these brute assassins and their unrefined elven friends with glowing asses.
"I did Isabela three days ago. She's… good." Fenris grinned, watching his pal. Samael snuggled on the warm, softly heaving bare chest, tittering about the elf's expression; he looked like he wasn't sure if Samael would approve of Fenris having sex with somebody else.
"Yep, amen to that, brother. I've been there." Fenris roared in laughter about the snippy reply, feeding Samael grapes.
"Listen, Fenris…" Samael raised his head, observing the elf's profile, waiting for him to look at him. "You… don't happen to know… Merrill..." Samael regretted this already, considering Fenris' reaction. His face turned scarlet and his jaw set in anger.
"Aveline told me, she's at the Circle of Magi in isolation. For reasons unknown to me, Aveline brought her there like a common stray mage, hiding her blood magic. She wanted me to tell you that she won't make the same mistake like with that Quentin pig. She will wait for you to decide that whore's fate," Fenris sputtered out in one breath, his voice full of disdain and hatred.
Samael really had no clue how he felt after this statement. The alcohol couldn't put off the fire Merrill had started forever. He needed to think so he went wondering through Lowtown only to end up in the docks, staring at the sombre Gallows across the bay.
The chilly air woke him up at least and his mind was clear again. His thoughts whirled involuntarily around Merrill. Ever since they had met three years ago, they belonged together. Even Samael couldn't deny that now. He had her at his back wherever he turned and of course, he had stalked her like a predator its wounded prey. The fight they had, the kiss that followed... That night in Lowtown she was ready to give up her life to save him right on the spot. Then the Gallows episode, when Merrill didn't hesitate to turn on her former clan even if that could have meant a death from the hands of her former brethren. And honestly, only a few could beaten down Aveline like she did. Samael couldn't omit those last two months when they had lived together, he hadn't been happier in his entire life than during those two damned months.
The green ring stone blinked at the assassin and he resisted the urge to toss it into the billowing waves. He did turn the tiny stone into his palm so he would be spared having to look at it.
After all this, Samael had been stabbed in the back–both physically and figuratively–by the only person he hadn't hesitated to turn his back to. He had considered his back as protected knowing she was there. But not anymore. Everything was wrong. If this would have happened somewhere outside of Fade, Samael would be dead now with a little hole opening him from the opposite side than where a warrior usually died from. But what if he had deserved it? The demon might have just loosened Merrill's desire to kill him, the desire lurking deep in her heart… Yes, that would make sense too.
Restless, Samael jumped up, snuggling into the thick black cloak. This needed to be resolved or he wouldn't ever find peace.
oOo
"Do you need me to remind you that she killed you? I saw her, Hawke! She pulled out the knife and jabbed it right into you, you fool! No hesitation. No regrets."
Samael stood in front of the yelling Guards-Captain, receiving her scolding with an unexpected submission.
"Aveline, I…" he tried to explain, but his voice cracked.
"You nothing, Hawke! Let me sign this order and let the Templars do their job. I've told you she couldn't be trusted! And now we have it here! Just for once, please listen to me and…"
"You must be very pleased, right Aveline? Everything is as you predicted!" Samael lost his ostensibly passive repose, throwing his arms sideways. Then he stalked to the armchair and collapsed into it, tracing with a finger the knife carvings he made there recently, but Aveline wouldn't leave him be. She was wallowing in pleasure and self-importance every time she had an opportunity to lecture somebody.
"So what now? Do you want to pretend nothing bad happened? Live happily ever after, with that blade stuck in your back?" Aveline searched his tormented, yet defiant face and it was crystal clear what would he do if she handed Merrill over to the Templars for an execution.
"You would break into her room at night and take her if I don't let you near her now, wouldn't you…" Aveline sighed, leaning on her desk.
A hesitant grin sprawled on Samael's face. "If you say so, Guards-Captain. Thank you for an idea, anyway."
"Like I said, I'll let you do whatever you wish to do with her. But Samael, consider this a warning. If she does something like that again, I'll personally drag her to the Meredith's office and let her carry out the coup de grâce and nothing you would say or do will stop me." Samael saw Aveline was deadly serious and he still wasn't sure what he would do with Merrill once he saw her again.
"Understood," Samael bowed and almost ran away to the Gallows. Guardsman Donnic, who was supposed to be his escort, was panting right behind him and wondering more about Aveline's full red lips than the task that was given to him by her.
oOo
Samael was stopped right before the Gallows gate. An elven prince, glistening in the winter sun like silver, ignoring people around staring at him and whispering, rushed to him and stood in silence in the assassin's way.
"A friend of yours, Messere Hawke?" Donnic peeped a bit effeminately. Both men, burning amber eyes clashing with the narrowed shark eyes, turned at the Guardsman, who was gaping into the bottomless blackness of Fawn's eyes in rapture.
Fawn glanced into a near alcove and both men marched there without words, leaving Donnic guarding the entrance.
"Anything on your mind, Fawnie?" Samael gave him a sardonic smile, mangling the elf's name on purpose.
"I don't remember allowing you to use my name, you human rascal." Fawn's hand was loosely clasped around the sword hilt, not even the tiniest muscle moved on his face. But somehow Samael knew the raw wrath was smoldering within the elf and he grinned back. That move resulted in the human being pinned against the wall. Finally! Finally he managed to knock the proud elf off balance.
"I demand you share with me your intentions with Merrill. I know she's here and she has done nothing to deserve such a treatment!" Fawn was fuming now, gripping Samael's shoulders with vise-like hands.
"Hmm, you do smell good, Fawnie. Is it my citrus soap?" Samael inhaled the scent of the elf, mocking him even more and trying, how much it took to push the self-confident elf out of his precious control. Not much, judging by the snarling 'ar'vanima' and a cold blade caressing his throat at once. At that moment, Samael grew bored of this game and after a silent struggle, the elf was now the one pinned on the wall. Donnic just gulped, refusing even glance behind his broad back.
"You know, Fawn, maybe you should be careful, since the winter hunting season has started and I might be bored enough to take down some deer. I don't usually kill baby animals, like wolf cubs or fawns, but I might suffer this one exception, just because I… like… you so much."
Fawn had no answer for that since he was contemplating about the most painful death he could grant that insufferable human. Samael calmed down, stepping back from the elf, dusting his beautiful elven armor. "Good as new," he smirked and Fawn stormed off, hitting Samael's shoulder and shoving Donnic out of his way.
"What is wrong with him?" Donnic squeaked when Samael helped him up on his feet.
"Nothing. He just… needs to get laid." Samael laughed and murmured much less cheerfully to himself, "Like me."
oOo
Samael's relatively good mood died at once, as they marched through the familiar darkened corridors of the Gallows, passing along the countless doors leading to the small private cells for mages. Donnic had an official document from Aveline entitling them to pass the Templar posts and visit one apostate.
The oppressive atmosphere was whispering around them and Samael for the first time in his life thought about the right to lock the mages up here just because they were born with magic abilities. His silent musing was interrupted by Donnic who stopped and gestured towards the door with a number 207. Hesitating, Samael laid his hand on the clammy doorknob, glancing at the Guardsman.
"Ave… I mean the Guards-Captain told me not to interfere in whatever should happen inside." Donnic pushed his boots together, and Samael simply nodded in reply, taking a deep breath.
The assassin slipped in, closing the door inaudibly behind him. The room was just like other cells: small and fusty, a tiny window, a table with chair and a dresser with small mirror hanging above it. Merrill's pale skin glowed in the darkness; she lay motionless on the bed, cuddled into herself.
Maker… I didn't want this. How could I let Aveline lock her up here? Here, where I've already allowed her to be locked up once on purpose to find Quentin. She's been here for three days now while I was marinating my guts in Tevinter wine…
"I hope you are satisfied," Merrill whispered. So, she was awake. Was that better or worse than being asleep? Samael didn't know, but although it was completely without any reproach or venom, her remark cut right through him. How she managed to recognize him without looking at him was a mystery.
Merrill felt the thin mattress rock as Samael sat down next to her, silent, only to jump up a second later, pacing around the confined cell.
"Why?" was his only question, burning in his mind since the Fade events. "What could it possibly promise to you that you would… you would…" His hoarse voice faded; unable to finish the stabbing him in his back part.
Merrill stood up, strolling to him, intending to touch him, to explain, but he dodged her pale hand and this mute gesture of contempt was much worse than any berating or yelling.
"I don't know, Samael. I swear I don't know. It was like I was looking at myself from above, not being myself, and that awful whispering in my head… loathsome whispering… and my staff… and… I…" Samael cut off her incoherent rambling, pushing her backwards until she hit the wall and gasped in pain.
"I… do… not… trust… you!" He hissed, piercing her through with his gleaming eyes.
"Nothing new, I see!" Merrill shrieked, pounding on his chest with her butterfly fists. She really should have thought twice about this venomous reply, because it annihilated those two months of happiness they had shared. Well… happy… if they omitted those clashes over dirty socks under the bed, Merrill's potions spilled everywhere and petty things like this. On the other hand, though, those fights usually ended up with amazing angry sex.
In fact, only now Samael realized the full extent of what she had done to him. In a blind rage, feeling the blade piercing his flesh on the back again, he clenched his fist, ready to strike her down, to let out the anguish he felt after her betrayal. An eye for an eye, a pain for a pain, he thought no doubt. But yet another vivid memory intruded into his anger: the sewers and the death of his mother. He swore to himself back then, he would never hit her again and this oath made him thrust the fist into the slimy stone wall instead of the elf who was now covering her head in a helpless gesture, waiting for the impact. Suddenly Samael felt like the monster here, deserving what had happened to him. He staggered backwards and collapsed on the bed, his face hidden in his palms.
When he felt a petite hand on his shoulder, he shook it off twice, only to let it stay there for the third time, wondering how he could live on with the thought the person he cared for the most had betrayed him in such a way. But first he had to get out of here; the place was so dismal he felt he couldn't even take a full breath or think straight there.
"Take your things. We're leaving." He whispered, holding his injured hand with the other one. If Merrill was expecting anything from him, this certainly wasn't that, but she didn't dare question him.
Samael was stomping home with Merrill scuttling a few steps behind him, not a word spoken between them. To tell the truth, Samael had no idea how he felt or what should he do with her. Locking her in the mansion? Talk to her? Not talk to her? Punish her? If so, how? So many questions and no answers… what could be worse?
oOo
Late in the night, Samael was lounging in the armchair in front of the huge fireplace in the main hall, watching the flames licking the logs and not really thinking about anything. After their arrival, Merrill immediately fell asleep in the bedroom; Bodahn and Sandal were sleeping now as well and the newest guest wasn't home. Charon snored by the armchair, twitching his paws like running in the air.
Samael hadn't noticed Fawn until the elf standing right behind the armchair spoke. "Where is she?"
Samael shuddered at that voice full of hostility, but he was in no mood for games or arguing. His voice sounded deaf and bland as he finally put together a short answer, "I brought her back from the Circle. She's asleep upstairs, if you want to see her."
Fawn slowly entered the crescent of dancing light from the fire, searching the assassin's face for any signs he was joking or insulting him again. Nothing. He didn't even glance at him and Fawn could swear there were dried tears on the human's face. How demeaning to be seen like that, according to the elf's philosophy! So why he hadn't taken advantage of that, mocking the weak human, maybe throwing in some scorching comment?
Samael interrupted his musing when he jumped up, raking his fingers through the black hair veil and hissing when the injured joints on the right hand hurt. Wordlessly, Fawn pulled out grey cotton strip, snatched the hand and tightened the fabric around the palm like it was the most natural thing to do at that moment.
"Thank… you…?" Samael whispered and shrouded himself in the winter cloak, pulling the hood over the head. One last glance upstairs, where Merrill slept and he headed for the front door.
"You won't sleep here?" Even Fawn was surprised why he bothered to ask questions.
"No. Good night, Fawn." The door creaked and the assassin was gone.
oOo
"I don't want to talk about it, Fawn. Please leave it be." Merrill was pleading with him. Despite the long hours of sleep she had, dark circles remained under her swollen eyes.
"You do not understand, Merrill! Blood magic is a gift! You are wielding an amazing power now and you are getting stronger and stronger. Every pure elf should be proud of you and your abilities. In you, an ancient power of our people has returned!" Fawn's eyes sparkled fanatically as he shook gently her shoulders, like wanting her to wake up and see the truth.
"No. Wrong. Everything is wrong. I almost killed him. If we weren't in the Fade, he would be dead. Because of the blood magic. I… and that new staff…"
"So what? A small mistake like that will make you weep about what might have happened? Wake up, Merrill, he's nothing but a human. He's not like us! Don't you forget who you are and what…"
"Don't let me interrupt you," Samael said and gave them a brief bow. He had been creeping silently up the stairs and now stumbled into his mother's former room. It was midday and the elves were able to see his crumpled clothes, half-closed eyes and swaying pace. It wasn't hard to guess where and with whom Samael had spent the night since the unmistakable odour of Tevinter wine and a whorehouse was crawling behind him. Bodahn had a heap of messages for his master, but instead of reading them to him out loud as he was supposed to, he sent Sandal preparing the hot bath and slipped into the kitchen to conjure a usual hangover tray with greasy meal, hot cocoa and Anders' special potion. Oh yes, Bodahn was knowledgeable regarding Samael's needs. Merrill gulped down the tears and fled from the mansion.
oOo
In the evening, Samael went through the messages, frowning about this or that, crumpling a few of them and tossing them on the floor. Fawn, who was just passing through the hall, was close to something like a smile when he observed the grumpy mabari who carefully picked up every paper ball and carried it into the fireplace to burn it.
"Unbelievable!" Samael snorted, reading a summoning order to the Viscount's office tomorrow evening. "Bodahn!" The dwarf peered out of the kitchen and Samael reconsidered his angry attitude. What could he say? He had grown fond of the old dwarf. "Please send a word to Varric, Fenris and Sebastian. My place, tomorrow evening. Bows, crossbows and greatswords needed. Thank you."
Bodahn just nodded and went to write the messages, intending to send reliable urchins to deliver them immediately. Suddenly he stopped, addressing his master thoughtfully.
"Messere, Hawke. I went through the boxes in the basement like you've ordered me to and I think I might have found something interesting. Take a look when you have time to spare. I stashed it all in your… laboratory." Bodahn ended his statement in whispering and a conspiratorial smile which was returned along with a sardonic bow of recognition.
Samael scratched Charon's head, stood up and stretched, deciding whether going into the basement or not. "Care to keep me company, mabari?" Samael muttered to him and the dog waggled his tail in response, refusing to stand up. Samael laughed shortly and headed for the trapdoor into the spacious basement alone.
To his surprise, he found Merrill in the room he had established as his laboratory. She obviously didn't hear him coming, thoughtlessly fingering the vials stuck in the wooden rack. She hadn't been in there before and when she found the door open, she just couldn't resist taking a look what was in there; the intricate glass apparatus for the poison-making, the colorful vials, the bags stuck with both common and rare ingredients, an appealing scent coming from the gurgling copper pot hung above the fire.
"What are you doing here?" Samael's question slit the musty air, making Merrill gasp and the vial slipped out of her hand, breaking on the stone beneath her bare feet. To make the scene complete she managed to stomp on the shards, cutting her left sole. When she looked up again, Samael was right in front of her, scowling about her unbelievable clumsiness. He snaked his arms around her waist and sat her up on the table.
"Just… don't touch anything, all right?" he said. Merrill calmed down slowly, observing his dreary face. There was no grudge in his quiet voice, which was comforting. Samael wrapped her injured foot in his white handkerchief and a small blood-stain spread immediately through it.
"Samael?" Merrill whispered.
"Yes?" Samael tightened the knot.
"Could we talk?" Merrill tried really hard to hide her eagerness.
"No." Samael kicked the shards under the table, turning around and intending to leave without looking for those boxes he had come here for.
"So let me leave, Samael," was Merrill's response. She had wagered her whole fate on this little dicey stunt and, to her endless surprise, it worked since Samael whirled around and stalked back to her.
"NO! Absolutely not! You're staying here!" Only after his unwise outburst he realized how large a mistake he had just made in letting her know how deeply he still cared for her. He tried to remedy that, but they both knew the truth now. "I mean, where would you go? I wouldn't send even an enemy back into that rat-hole in Lowtown. So if you have other decent place to stay, feel free to leave, but if you don't, I mean… yes… I should look for those boxes now. If you'll excuse me…" Samael gestured towards the door; Merrill jumped off the table obediently and left the basement, musing about her unexpected little victory.
Samael burrowed himself in the pile of boxes; most of them contained the Amell heritage, but an elongated package caught Samael's attention.
He pulled off the mauled dark green velvet the package was wrapped in and weighed the wooden case; tiny tufts of grey mould were eking out an existence in the wooden cracks. When he opened the case, he found a sword hilt ended in a round hand protection. When Samael brought the hilt near the candles he saw it was coiled with ragged black leather which could be easily replaced and the hand-shield was made of entwined naked human figures twisted in agonizing poses. Amazing work of some ancient blacksmith master, no doubt.
When he strolled back to the wooden case, he pulled out the long, perfectly balanced blade. It looked like somebody deposited it here just yesterday because it was so lustrous, sharp and elegant. With one swift dexterous move Samael thrust the hilt into the proper thorn of the blade, watching the now complete weapon in awe. One would not think this self-locking connection would hold together for long, but a very resilient tool and an immense patience would be needed to dismantle it once it was locked together. The blacksmiths of old certainly knew what they were doing.
From what Samael knew about the katanas, he realized this was an exquisite piece of art, forgotten down here for Maker knows how long. His father had taught him a little about runes, just enough so Samael could recognize old Qunari writing adorning the svelte blade.
Forgetting about his sorrow over a lost lover, Fawn's confusing behavior, and the forthcoming meeting with the Viscount Dumar, Samael stripped his under tunic, swayed the blade through the air and practiced until he was utterly spent. Then he washed himself thoroughly in the already cold bath, dragged his limp body to the mother's room and slept for hours and hours, finally without any disturbing dreams.