"Well, shiver me timbers! Hoist the colors, Captain! If ain't it our fearless Isabela!" An old scarred pirate belched, piercing her with his eyes drowned in alcohol.
"Ahoy, you old dirtbag. How are you doing? Haven't seen you since that storm four years ago." Isabela sauntered to him, provocatively poking him with her… assets.
"So, yer doin' alright for yeaself then Izzy," he leered openly at her breasts, tongue licking over his rotted teeth. "See tha' black ship in piss stinkin' docks?" he gestured with a dirt encrusted finger, the light catching his gaudy rings. "Finest ship I never did own," he guffawed at his own humor, taking a step towards her, running a finger across the top of her impressive cleavage. "Mayhaps yer be comin' aboard, help me christen' the decks like? Sure I cun shows yer a trick or two, to please even yer demandin' appetites woman…"
"Hands off, savvy?" Isabela wiped his exploring hands off of her. "Or I'll shut yer trap afore I grab ye by the danglers and hang ye by them over the side!" She growled to underline her gesture.
"Don't be surposin' yer can help me git me a new crew together, with all yer contacts then? Or yer to busy swaggering round all yer fancy mates to help an ole cut throat like me, n' I wants sum decent sea going folks, not yer pansy assed land lovers." He stumbled backwards, collapsing on the chair again and gulping down a tub of whiskey.
"Belay that landlubber talk! Yer still the same scurvy bilge rat, ya pompous gasbag," Isabela nudged him in the ribs, glancing around, waiting for… him.
"And ye'll be always a saucy wench!" He pulled her closer to him, pawing her torso.
"Don't breathe at me, you mangy cockroach! You have the breath of a heated dead whale!" Isabela shrieked in false scandal. "His blessings be upon thee, you sea rat! I have an appointment here."
And at that moment, Isabela's 'date' walked through the shabby door; the elf didn't even glance at her and walked right up the stairs into her room. She sneaked right after him and when the door was closed behind her back, she just managed to whisper "Oh, Fawn!" before he ravished her.
oOo
Samael was pacing around the fireplace that was emanating soft light and soothing heat, but he was fuming. Sebastian and Varric were already there lounging in the armchairs and sipping brandy, but, damn it, where was Fenris? It wasn't like him to let Samael wait, usually he was the always ready one, but now… a half an hour delay. All right, that was it. Samael grabbed a cloak, shrouded himself with a poorly hidden disquiet, intending to find that unreliable elf and kick his ass if he should find him dead drunk.
Sebastian wanted to stand up as well, thinking they were finally about to leave for the meeting with the Viscount, but Varric knew better than that and knocked him back into the seat, shaking his head. "Eh-eh. Not yet, Choir Boy," he murmured.
Before the assassin reached the front door, it swung open and they all shivered at the cold air and a few snowflakes flowing from outside. Samael had his mouth already half open, ready to berate Fenris who reeled inside, but that he noticed the dried blood on the armor, a fresh dent on the greatsword and his trembling chin.
"You're late." Relieved that his elven friend was alive, Samael just managed to sneer and he led the pale elf inside, pushing a snifter of brandy into his hands. Fenris glanced into the library and both men walked away to talk. Varric jumped up, gulped down the brandy and pushed his ear on the closed door casually. Sebastian snorted and he would have started preaching about good old manners if only Merrill didn't storm into the hall, searching for Samael.
"Occupied, Daisy. Take a seat or wait in the queue," Varric grinned at her, gesturing towards the empty seat by the fireplace. He didn't approve of her blood magic stunt in the Fade, of course, but he could see she regretted her deed gravely and also Samael was currently giving her such a 'medicine' she would rather stab herself next time.
Merrill sighed and keeled over there, ignoring the staring Starkhaven prince sitting right next to her. It wasn't a secret Sebastian would have handed her over to the Templars a hundred times if Samael wouldn't scare the hell out of him. The enthusiastic mabari nestled his huge head on her lap, drooling in bliss when she rubbed his ears with faraway look in her eyes.
As if the mansion weren't already crowded enough, Fawn marched inside, shaking the snow out of his hair. As usual, he strolled to Merrill and kissed her hand in mute greeting. Now it was Varric's turn to ignore somebody, since… you know… you won't forget easily when somebody sticks a blade into your belly.
"I believe we haven't been acquainted yet. Please let me introduce myself. I am Sebastian Vael, a crown prince of Starkhaven." There was a bit of misplaced pride and conceit in Sebastian's voice, when he raised his hand to greet the Hero of Fereldan.
"Charming," Fawn muttered, overlooking the awkwardly reached hand. Tsss, like he could ever be interested in some petty human powdered prince! The raised voices snatched their attention however.
"… be reasonable! I won't allow you to go on your own, since you're gonna get yourself killed, you fool!" Samael accompanied his shouting with a noise that sounded like a whole damned library collapsed.
"… I'm glad I know where your priorities lay, Hawke! Thank you so much for your bewildering support!" A sound of quiet struggle reached their ears.
"Arrrrg, stubborn, silly elf! Like I have a choice about that meeting!"
"There's always a choice, Hawke, don't make excuses for your decisions!"
Fenris stormed out of the library and then the mansion, leaving Samael standing in the middle of the room, rubbing his temples, mumbling something about madcap elves. He crept to the gaping group.
"As you could hear, Fenris has other business to attend to right now so let's go," he nodded at the prince and dwarf. "Varric, you'll be the speaker leader since I'd just slash the Viscount's throat; Sebastian… just… don't talk to me, all right? Not in the mood for your Maker's shit right now. You're here just because the seneschal asked me to in such a captivating way." Samael pulled a nasty grimace at the prince, who scowled in return. The assassin gestured towards the front door, lacing the cloak and tightening up the leather strip with throwing knives across his chest.
"Let me go with you, Samael, please," Merrill peeped, setting her pleading eyes at him. He stopped checking on his weapons at the sound of her voice, but didn't look at her. She approached him close enough that her familiar scent filled him. He couldn't hold himself back anymore and his black leather gloved hand with joints covered with steel thorns shot out, stroking her cheek briefly in a tender gesture. He hated himself.
"No," he whispered to her when he passed by her, so nobody else could hear it. To his surprise Fawn started putting the cloak on as well, sheathing his exquisite blade by his hip again.
"I'm pretty sure we won't encounter any Archdemon tonight, mighty hero, so feel free to wallow in my bed, ogle the witch or plunder my larder." Samael used his venomous look number 3, considering Fawn's attempt to join him as banned. To his surprise, the unconcerned elf just finished dressing and walked through the front door, throwing a terse answer over his shoulder. "I could use a walk tonight."
"Great," Samael sighed, but he couldn't effort losing more time in pointless arguing, since he was late for the appointment already. He gave the fidgeting Merrill a last strange glance, which was enough to cause her pulse to race. Her widened eyes were crying inside as he walked away with his mabari at heels.
oOo
Samael observed the indigo night sky, polished by the freeze and blinking with hundreds of stars. The quiet city was sugared by the freshly fallen snow and he kept a rapid pace to the Viscount's Keep despite the weather.
Nobody talked. Samael led the group with a dolorous expression, Varric had difficulties to keep up, cursing the snow, Sebastian seemed calm and proud about being summoned as well and Fawn was marching with Charon on the tail, musing about what could the Viscount possibly want from an infamous mercenary known for his ruthless character and dubiously gained wealth.
"Stop right there!" You will go no further!" A group of hooded figures emerged around them and one of them stepped forward, making sure it was really mighty Hawke he had stopped.
Samael of course didn't appreciate being addressed in such manner; furthermore he really had no time to deal properly with those morons, whoever they were. Alas, they didn't seem they would let them walk away, so he sighed and took a good look at the leader. An awareness of power was literally dripping from him. He was a huge scoundrel with shovel-like hands, a greatsword was strapped on his back and Samael noticed he wore a Chantry symbol under his cloak, which gave the whole event a completely new dimension. He seemed like a skilled warrior and his face was scarred with old burns; there were a few spots with normal skin color though, which made him look patchy like a hyena.
The most disturbing fact was they didn't seem to stop them randomly - on the contraire. It all looked like a thoroughly prepared ambush. Twenty two people against four and the dog. Samael did the math, frowning and considering their possibilities. Fawn solved it for him when he diplomatically jabbed a blade into the nearest minion. So much for the negotiation then.
Fawn watched in involuntary amazement their leader as he threw some smoke powder to the ground and used his vengeful fury to quickly cross the battlefield to stab the distant archer right between his shoulder blades. He was moving all around the battlefield like a forgotten ghost, dispatching the enemies one by one with quick precise moves. He was everywhere, yet nowhere; untouchable and invincible. The mabari howled and started crippling the nearby enemies by shredding their legs or arms.
To Samael's disgust the Starkhaven prince hid himself behind the columns and he didn't seem he would help them. The assassin snorted, slashing some thug's throat in such a momentum the head was almost cut off entirely. Varric had noticed Sebastian's non-existent contribution as well, but he was too busy to throw in some gnawing comment.
Samael and the dwarf met in the middle of battlefield, the motionless bodies scattered around them. They both grinned, scanning the area behind each other's back. Varric would swear there was a mage somewhere, but he didn't see him. Now was Samael's turn to stare in rapture at the elven prince. He had never seen before an arcane warrior and seeing Fawn fighting with that oversized giant… He doubted he would see something that amazing ever again.
Fawn was enveloped in silver shimmering protecting shield and his sword was gashing the frosty air, pushing the retreating enemy leader into the corner. Fawn was dancing around him, mocking his attempts to behead him with powerful swings of his 60 inch long blade. He was obviously playing with him, slashing his skin here and there. When he managed to cut the giant's left ear off, they just glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. And even more when Fawn laughed and ripped the giant's belly off with his sword, granting him a slow and painful death, since he intentionally hadn't finished him off.
"If you're done glaring at him, Hawke, you are bleeding," Varric pointed out the tattered cloak sleeve, and a slowly growing dark stain beneath it.
"I ain't got time to bleed," Samael grumbled.
Varric mimicked a sardonic obeisance. "Oh, is that so… Well, you got time to duck?"
An odd urgency in the dwarf's voice made the assassin wondering for a half of second, then he ducked. Varric's dexterous hand loaded Bianca with one of those special bursting bolts he made for himself during long winter evenings and the head of reappeared mage exploded like a tomato. Its content painted a surrealistic pattern on the white stone wall behind him; it kind of looked like a beautiful blooming lily if we omit what the fleur-de-lis was made of.
Samael glanced behind him, whistling in respect. "An artist, Varric. You are… an artist."
They were still tittering when Fawn danced up to them and stood by Samael's side in a nonchalant pose, wiping his clammy weapon with a red handkerchief he stole from a corpse. The damned elf wasn't even panting!
"Hey! Chantry Boy! Stop cowering there and get your ass here!" Varric bellowed, mumbling to himself much more racy words he had for the prince. Samael's eyes narrowed, observing the serene face of the approaching aristocrat. He clenched his fingers into fists until the bones creaked and the steel thorns on the gloves flashed dimly in the moonlight.
"I beg you a pardon, master dwarf… I can't afford to get inserted into these small skirmishes, for I am the only heir of the Starkhaven throne and I should be treated with…"
Prince or not a prince, Sebastian was slammed into the wall, Samael's hand squeezing his throat. "I'll tell you what. Next time you better be fighting by my side or I personally take care of you and there won't be any heir of the Starkhaven's throne when I'm done with you. Unless they would consider crowning a headless body."
Sebastian was genuinely shocked by the way the assassin was treating him, but a naked menace in the blazing amber eyes only a few inches away from his turquoise ones convinced him to nod in agreement. Samael shook him for the last time and released the prince in disgust.
oOo
When they emerged from the Viscount's Keep, Samael was raging and swearing like even the crudest pirate would be ashamed. Maybe 'raging' was the wrong word there. When the Viscount had depleted his stock of whining and complaining, he tried to convince him to help the city by getting involved in the Qunari problem, which Samael, of course, refused in storm of scathing words and gestures. Alas, under the mewling peel, the Viscount Dumar was strong negotiator and he ended up mentioning all things he could do to turn Samael's life into hell.
"Hmm… insults and threats. Nothing like a warm, kind human word, right?" Samael kicked the heavy wooden door open and stormed off the Dumar's office. He felt worn out, the wound throbbed in pain and he felt the tiny drain of blood sneaking down his arm; the cut was obviously deeper than he thought.
To his eternal anger, yet another murderous group awaited them in the Keep courtyard.
"Shit'n'smear, not this again," Samael snarled and Fawn noticed he clenched the weeping injury. The assassin pulled out a white strip of fabric which was meant for cleaning the daggers, and tightened it with his other hand and teeth around the arm in gawky bandage.
"The Coterie..." Varric hissed and fumbled for Bianca.
"I'm warning you, Varric. If you say something like 'I told you so', I'm gonna cut you down on the spot!" Samael droned and Varric laughed.
"Spoilsport! It seems I have no other choice than to yell 'Hawke to the rescue' then." Varric continued, while the Coterie leader strolled right between the two groups and observed the scene in front of him. A dwarf with a bulldog expression, pointing his polished crossbow at his belly; some pup in armor that was whiter than the snow around and an inconspicuous bow on his back, a yawning elf dressed in some ridiculous armor full of leaves, trinkets; a beautiful blade glimmered by his hip though. Yet there was something… off… about the elf. Like a great power was lurking within him, ready to be unleashed. The leader took into his head he would take down this elf first.
Finally his gaze landed on the bristling mabari and then that scary, mighty, lyrium-contracts-stealing Samael Hawke, dirty outlander from Fereldan, standing right behind the dog. Really… what was so special about him that everybody spoke of him like he was the gray eminence of Kirkwall? He wanted to tell himself Samael was just another silly parvenu, but after he took a good look at him, he couldn't say that - to his eternal annoyance. The leader dropped his eyes, unable to confront Hawke directly for a moment.
"Messere Raen Morrell sends his regards. He asks if you wish to be buried here or in Fereldan," the thug rasped, finally able to look at Hawke again. He was satisfied when he glimpsed the bandage soaked in blood on his left arm. He who bleeds can die.
"I'm so disappointed. I hoped he would make appearance himself," Samael countered with his usual mocking voice. "Woe betide me! I guess I will have to come for him myself and pull him out of that hole he's hiding in."
"You are welcome to try, dog lord's bitch, but you'll have to go through me," the thug sizzled, swinging his short, but sharp daggers in the air.
"My pleasure," Samael had his own weapons en garde already, so had his companions. Sebastian too, to his relieve, since this would be a deadly tango for those who would dance it and for those who would sit as well.
As usual, before anybody could do anything, Samael obscured himself and his friends in the black cloud, granting them a short time to position themselves. Varric pulled back to have a full awareness of what was going on the battlefield, Sebastian ran to the columns to pick a partially hidden place for his shooting, ripping his bow from the back sheath. Fawn raised his arms, sending a pulse of white lightning across the courtyard. The ground shifted and enemies fell down like rag dolls. He slowly unsheathed his sword and his gaze followed Samael who was already on his usual lethal tour around the battlefield, dealing death, his mabari covering his back.
"Take the elf down first! Shoot him! Fucking shoot him somebody!" The leader shouted, before Fawn cut his head off, the blood splashing his silver breastplate and face. From what had happened next Samael remembered only the blood, wild parrying with the thugs, Charon's silver fur glued with Coterie remains and swooshing of arrows and bolts around him. His heart sunk when he spotted the Coterie reinforcements that arrived, mostly the archers and two mages.
Fawn watched in rapture as the Coterie preponderance shattered on Samael and the mabari like ships on a reef - he fought them wave after wave, bastard after bastard. Fawn was able to see he was bleeding heavily from an abdomen wound and was tiring. Fawn would have loved to just sneak out off the battlefield right now and light up a cigar, but he pushed Samael behind him instead, taking care of the main attack group. Samael staggered behind the columns while Varric was covering Fawn and Charon was taking care off the lying injured enemies, shredding their throats.
The assassin collapsed in the shadow of the column, right next to Sebastian who was nursing his injured leg, three dead bodies around him.
"I do hope you're enjoying yourself more than in the Chantry, Your Royal Assness," Samael smirked, pulling the cork out of the healing potion flask with his teeth, spitting the cork out and gulping down the fluid. He peered behind the column; he was able to see Fawn was in trouble before the rain of arrows made him hide again.
"Need a cover, Sebastian. Care to help me out?" This time Samael skipped the grinning part. Sebastian nodded and the assassin pulled him up on his unstable feet. Luckily the archer needs his hands more than legs, which was definitely Samael's last thought before he jumped out of the shadows.
Spinning, Sebastian appeared next to column, firing like at the shooting range, every arrow finding its target. Nice and clean job.
"I'm impressed, Your Highness! What a speed. Do you manage that with the Maker's help?" Obviously Samael wasn't wounded so badly his twisted humor would abandon him for good.
Sebastian glowered at him in reply, yelling, "Behind you, Hawke!" rather than some pungent remark.
Suddenly, a deafening silence filled the battlefield. Fawn stumbled right in the middle of scattered corpses; he wasn't wounded at all, but he looked utterly spent. Varric plodded to Sebastian, looking like a hundred year old corpse of the Paragon - his clothes tattered, Bianca scratched, hair disheveled, injured. Obviously this time he hadn't run fast enough to avoid the attackers.
Samael supported himself on the column, panting, gritting his fingers into the abdomen wound, but other than this and the arm cut, he looked well enough. Charon keeled over right next to him, licking his pierced paw, whining softly.
"I think I'll pass next night walk with you… Hawke," Fawn strolled to the group, still standing apart of them though. What happened in the next second Samael would ascribe just to his reflexes, sharpened by the hard lifelong training and the rogue abilities.
A fireball, the size of an ogre's head, hurling full speed at Fawn made Samael push the exhausted elf out of its way, but he underestimated his own weakened state and the roaring fireball hit him straight into his torso, lifting him up and slamming him into the wall where he tumbled down, motionless, wondering where's up and where's down.
The Coterie Conjurer covered in blood ended up with an arrow stuck in his forehead, a bolt peering out of his throat and the mabari tore him into twitching pieces while Fawn kneeled by the assassin, rolling him over hesitantly. He started breathing again when Samael moaned and opened one eye.
"Stupid, reckless human! Next time take care of yourself and save these suicidal acts for somebody who would appreciate them!" Fawn's harsh words were contrary to the actions of his hands, gently checking Samael's body for injuries and carefully avoiding the burns. Apparently the assassin wasn't in that bad shape since he pushed the elf away and crawled up on his feet, the stone wall helped him with it. Sebastian with Varric rushed to them.
"By the Stone, Hawke! I haven't heard a noise like that since my last and I hope only visit in Orzammar! It was the Proving tournament and drunken king Aeducan fell down on the stone stairs, taking down all of his fourteen vassals with him and they were all dressed in plate ceremonial armor!" Varric wasn't sure if he should help and support Samael or not, but the assassin looked like if he did that, the dwarf would lose an arm.
Surprisingly, Sebastian was scared again and peeped, "We should get you home, Hawke, Merrill will tend to your injuries and…"
"NO! We can't waste time with this. Varric, I need you to let Aveline know about the both fights we had, don't forget mentioning the Chantry involvement. Sebastian, you do the same about the Grand Cleric. I'll get home by myself. GO!" Samael hoped they hadn't noticed his panic about the possibility he would have to ask Merrill for help and Fawn wondered why he didn't get any order. His musing was interrupted when Samael collapsed on the snow, coughing and swearing. A few drops of blood and crimson aerosol were left in the snow.
Fawn waved them off like they should go to fulfill the orders; Varric gave him a suspicious glance before he turned the prince around and walked away. Fawn was able to hear Sebastian's whining, "Shouldn't somebody accompany me home?" and Varric's response too; he slapped him.
"You have broken ribs and pierced lung, you headlongfool," Fawn mumbled, pulling him up on his feet and steadying him. Samael was paler than the snow by now and since he didn't push Fawn's arms away again, he must have felt wretched as hell.
"Let's say… you should… thank me… for my… hospitality… and help me getting… to Darktown clinic," Samael whispered through his clenched teeth and groaned, when Fawn wrapped his arms around him and started walking. The streets were bare, the light of dawn skimming across the taller buildings. Fawn intended to remain silent, but he noticed blood snaking out of Samael's mouth and his falling eyelids. No way he would get this clumsy human to Darktown on his own if the assassin should pass out now! He wiped the blood away with his glove, trying to think of something to talk about.
"Do you like dragons, Hawke?" Fawn threw in a comment in polite conversational tone.
"What the hell… are you… talking about?" Samael coughed up.
"I liked them until one of them tried to rip me apart at the top of one nameless stronghold.
"I thought… a Warden who kills… the Archdemon… has to die, Fawn." Samael grimaced in pain but kept walking.
"Oh yes, indeed. That's why I forced Alistair to do it," Fawn sighed and again he sounded like he was talking about the interesting stone he found somewhere.
"But… you said… you killed it!" Samael glanced at him at the same time as Fawn glanced at him. They stopped and stared at each other, their noses almost touching; then continued their journey in silence for a while.
When they finally reached the clinic, Fawn seemed to be more carrying the limp rogue than supporting him. Samael's leaning on the elf with his arm snaked around his neck turned into constant smothering for the elf. Anders' and Fawn's eyes met and judging by the reactions, the mage was aware of his former Commander present in Kirkwall, but Fawn was in shock. Luckily for him, Anders averted his attention straight to the wounded assassin, helping to settle him down on the bed. Samael just squirmed, squinted at Anders and happily passed out.
"Cracked, maybe even broken ribs. Several burns. A cut on his left arm and a severe abdomen wound," Fawn listed in a perfectly colorlesstone. But Anders knew him well enough to notice the wave of fear and doubts that flooded the proud elf. He surely didn't count with the possibility the two of them would ever meet again. This observation was confirmed when Fawn left the clinic, after he fixed his eyes at Samael for the last time. Anders sighed and started healing.
oOo
As though the Maker himself couldn't wish a calm early morning to Anders, the shabby door of his clinic was kicked open a half an hour later and Merrill rushed in, looking around the clinic wildly. She was awakened in her bed by the unfamiliar burning sensation on her hand. When she groped the throbbing spot, her fingers twitched as she touched the ring emanating heat.
She jumped off the bed and ran to the window to meet the first sunlight while observing the ring. She wasn't able to take it off and the ring stone was burning with bright red fire while whispering to her. Merrill was taken by pure dismay and without any other thoughts she pulled on the first clothing she found and raced to the Darktown, not even questioning why she knew where Samael was.
When her eyes found him lying in the bed, she ran to him, passing by the cold Anders with his arms folded on chest. Merrill observed Samael's blood stained britches, his bare torso, rib cage wrapped in neat white bandage and his peaceful dreaming face. The deep cuts on his arm and belly turned into fading pink scars; Anders' great healing abilities worked there no doubt. Charon snored by the bed, his paw was bandaged.
Anders hadn't the heart to throw her out of there when he saw her tormented face, dark circles under her eyes, and clenched fists. Just like Fawn, he managed to just state Samael's condition. "Two broken ribs, four cracked, traumatized solar plexus, some skin cuts, some burns."
Merrill nodded without looking at him, touching the assassin's chest shyly. He stirred, moaned and continued sleeping. Anders took Merrill's elbow, leading her away from him.
"You know, I always liked you, Merrill. But what happened in the Fade… I mean… if you love him, you'll leave him. All this time I thought he had corrupted you with his insane ideas and insufferable character, but now I think it's the other way around. You should…"
"Look who's talking about the corruption! Ever since I have known you, I haven't judged your deeds! Even when you killed that poor mage girl in the caves under the city, I didn't say a word about you and Justice. And now you're going to lecture me? Fuck you! Yes, I messed up royally this time and I'm being punished every time he pushes me away, not talking to me, avoiding me and my touch. I'm going crazy, but I will make him forgive me even if that should be the last thing I would do in my life! Farewell, Anders." Merrill scooted out off the clinic, but not without stroking Samael's cheek and pulling the blanket over him.
Anders had no idea how literally Merrill meant her words.