"Am I bound to find you half-dead in some abomination's bed every time I let you out of my sight for a couple of hours?"
Samael stirred and it took him a minute before he was able to squint around. Everything was blurred and he felt languid and sleepy despite the fact he had slept for the whole day thanks to Anders' potion. His gaze landed on something familiar and he focused until the picture in front of him was clear and sharp.
"I don't need babysitting, Fenris. Feel free to tend to your own business and leave me alone. I had wonderful sex with that abomination last night and I think I need some sleep." Samael flipped on his other side, showing his back to the elf. He gritted the teeth when his ribs creaked in protest of this simple movement. To his annoyance, Charon's keen muzzle was there and he licked his Master's cheek, obviously glad he still had a Master.
"You look like you had sex with bunch of dragons, Hawke, no offense." Fenris tried to smile, but he knew he should have known better than to let him go just with Varric and Sebastian last night. "I came to apologize and explain, wh—"
"You don't need to explain anything to me. You said everything when you left me yesterday." These words sounded even to Samael ridiculously pouty and childish, but he was really mad at the elf and their little dispute hit him deeper than he thought it would. Unfortunately Fenris wasn't the person who would love to play little words game, so he just lowered his head in guilt and turned around to leave. Hawke obviously didn't want to see him or hear him out, so...
Fenris' arm was caught gently and the elf's lyrium burns flared for a second before he turned to Samael again.
"Fenris… just… don't go." Fenris arched his eyebrow and stared into those veiled amber eyes that had attracted him so much, but Anders came near them and interrupted that fragile contact.
The mage watched them with a jealous flash in his eyes when Fenris lay the assassin's hand back on the bed and evaporated into Darktown with a dark mumble, "Get better, Samael."
"Sooo… how are your ribs, Hawke?" Anders' gaze followed the leaving elf, then he turned to panting rogue who was sitting up, groping his still hurting torso.
"Never… felt… better… FUCK MY ASS THAT HURTS!" Samael hissed through his clenched teeth. "I thought you healed me!" He pierced the mage with an accusatory glare.
Anders just shook his head and half-smiled, helping him to stand up. "Of course I did, but I guess the freshly knitted ribs tend to hurt, you know?" Samael swayed but managed to remain standing.
"Well… thank you. I think I'm going to stumble home now to let Bodahn fussing around me." Samael tried to grin but only pain twisted his lips.
"Samael… wait. I want to ask you a favor and… something else as well." Anders looked disturbed like he didn't know how to say that. The assassin thought he knew what that was about.
"You've been patching me up for ages and… well… everybody I know… so I agree some reward is in order. So what is it?" Samael pulled his half-burnt jerkin on, watching the mage.
"I need some rare ingredients for a potion that would allow me to…" Anders started to explain.
"Is that all? Just some herbs, stones and shit like that?" Samael tittered. "I thought this would be a bag of sovereigns to fuel mages' revolution or something."
"Let me finish, you insufferable assassin!" Anders shrieked. "This is important!" He breathed out, after he calmed down.
"All right, I'm listening," Samael bowed, sheathing his blades, having a hard time to stick them into the sheaths on the back.
"I'm going to try to get Justice… out of me. And I need your help to do so. I realize I've made a huge mistake to let the spirit inside of me and I want to try to… fix this. Maybe you would like to… help me out?" Anders' pleading eyes locked with Samael's. The rogue folded his arms on chest, searching the fidgeting mage's face and he didn't obviously believe him.
"What exactly are you going to try, hm, Anders?" Samael's voice was quite, but it sounded more like 'I don't trust you, mage'.
"You know…just a few magical rituals, several ingredients of various levels of disgust and PUFF! I'm a free man." A hesitant smile sprawled on the mage's face.
"Puff, huh," Samael murmured. "Fine. Just write it down what is it you need and I'll see what I can do." Samael tried to catch Anders' gaze, but the mage averted his eyes, made the bed, and scratched his belly while whistling.
"Thank you, that's unexpected, Samael. Really. But there's another matter I wanted to discuss with you." Now Anders looked positively upset, not knowing where to look. "Fawn brought you here last night and I healed everything he mentioned with such perfection." Samael did notice a bitter undertone in Anders' voice when he talked about the Hero of Fereldan.
"But I found… on your body… I…" After this Anders' ramble, Samael's face turned scarlet and he gulped.
Shit and double shit. Samael knew exactly what Anders spoke of – his scars, hidden until now if he didn't count Merrill. He had no idea Varric figured out Samael's little secret a long time ago. They both fell silent as Samael had no idea if he was supposed to say something and Anders didn't want to dig deeper into the uncomfortable topic.
"You know what? Eeer, could we talk later? I guess you've received an invitation for that stupid masquerade, so I thought… well… Will you be there?" Samael squirmed, hoping he didn't sound eager. Much.
"Well, I had no idea you really meant that invitation, Samael," Anders' eyes widened as he took a hesitant step towards him.
"As long as you are not planning on screaming 'Every mage should be free!' from top of your lungs," the assassin scoffed, already on his way out of the clinic.
"I'll see you there tomorrow then," the mage whispered, still confused that Samael wouldn't let him finish his question.
Anders… He doesn't believe us. We better be careful around him. He could easily mar our plan and our cause could be threatened…
"He will kill me, Justice. Once he finds out I used him for this, I'm a dead man."
It doesn't matter, Anders, as long as we would reach our goal! Justice needs to be done and every mage needs to feel the sunlight on the skin and free breeze in the hair again. It's worth living or dying for and you know that!
"Yes. Yes, you are right." Anders collapsed on the empty bed, hiding his head in palms.
oOo
Samael didn't go straight home; he took a long detour with Charon, wondering around the city. Every breath he took hurt, so he needed a rest several times. They reached the docks and sat down on the same steps he had sit on before. Charon curled around him and they both stared at the pale moon and a few ships swaying on the sea. Samael's return to Fereldan hadn't ever looked more appealing than now and he let himself believe he would return there soon. Charon woke him from his musing when he nudged him with the muzzle. The message was clear – it was cold, they were both hungry and it was late. Samael stood up, patted the mabari on the head and headed for home. He hoped they would be all asleep and he would be able to sneak into former mother's quarters and at first he thought his wish would come true. But when he entered the quiet main chamber, it was more crowded than he would have expected at this late hour.
Merrill ran to him, but his pitiless glance daring her to touch him stopped her. Their eyes met for a half of minute, but no word could capture her relieve and his anxiety when he looked around the room. Fawn reading by the fire, Varric with Isabela were occupying a sofa, Aveline with Donnic were arguing about their chess game in the corner and Bodahn with Sandal peered at him from the kitchen.
"What are you all doing here?" All right, he could have figured out something funnier than that to say. Merrill pulled his damaged cloak off him and when he felt her cold hand on his arm he shuddered. Hopefully she didn't notice those goose bumps.
"What are we doing here? You've got to be kidding me, Hawke! After your impressive dance with that fireball your bones rattled inside of you, you were burnt, blood all over you. Sorry that we were curious if you're alive. That … elf… claimed to get you to Anders, but Daisy wanted to… be… sure…" Varric's voice trailed off when he observed the fidgeting Merrill, frowning Fawn and anxious Samael.
"Well, still kicking and breathing, as you can see. Thank you for your concern and I bid you good night." During his speech Samael was strolling towards his new room, but Varric had other plans.
"Wait! Just like that? No bragging about your damned immortality? No swearing, no drinking? And I need to talk to you about that shindig! I managed to make all needed arrangements, but…"
"Varric, please, tomorrow, have mercy on me now," Samael scowled and they all noticed his hands were clenching the ribs. Varric bowed in agreement, but his expression was clear that Samael wouldn't slip out of his grasp tomorrow; it was a party on his behalf, damn it!
"Fawn…? If I may have a word with you?" Fawn looked up at Samael's voice and since he was addressed in such a polite way he stood up and they both headed up the stairs. Samael made sure the rest of them wouldn't hear them when he turned to cold and proud elf.
"Uhm…" Suddenly Samael had hard time to find proper words. "Thank you…?" He popped out, looking at the ornate door leading to bedroom.
"For?" Unconcerned, Fawn raised his eyebrow.
"I suppose you could have dropped me in a gutter in Darktown, but you dragged me to Anders instead. From what I'm able to remember, you had to carry me by the end of our journey. So, thank you."
Fawn observed in awe Samael's shy and penitent face and just like Varric at the Gallows, he saw a young and vulnerable human in front of him, not a merciless warrior and ruthless leader. Samael received a deep graceful bow along with whispered "Good night."
oOo
Samael woke up in the middle of night, ripped out of a nightmare full of fire, ships leaving for Fereldan without him and chains. His ribs hurt like they were cracked again. He couldn't help himself and let out a choked scream, gritting his torso and musing about what could possibly liberate him from this unbearable pain. Maybe if he got high enough on that Isabela's weed… Or alcohol. Yes, definitely ten whiskey shots. Samael didn't notice the door screeched and somebody came in, until he felt a small hand on his shoulder.
"What the…!" He twitched, fumbling under the pillow. Bloody hell, he would swear there was a dagger somewhere a few hours ago.
A soothing voice in darkness made him stop his search. "Shhh. It's me, Samael. You were screaming. Are you… hurting?" Merrill could feel sweat on his forehead when she briefly brushed it with her palm and his feverish body writhing in pain. Samael was able to see just her silhouette kneeling by the bed right next to him and he nodded at her question, then realized she couldn't see his gesture, so he just breathed out, "Yes." If there was a time to play hero this certainly wasn't it.
Merrill didn't reply; she just slowly pulled down a blanket covering him, revealing his bare bruised torso. Samael snatched her hands just as he had wished for a thousand times in those last few days. She let him have them since the same thought was haunting her since Fade. After a quiet minute, Samael loosened his grasp and Merrill brushed her palms along his body, stroking it with soft long moves. Samael didn't know nor care if she just wanted to touch him or if she was learning where the pain was the worst.
"Relax," she whispered and she let her hands floating above his body. She waved her long fingers in concentration and the hands started emanating a soft greenish light reflecting in her widened bright eyes. The assassin stared in rapture at the light that was growing stronger, but a brief, unexpected pain took him. He arched the back in agony, clenching the eyelids and gripping the blanket. Then he felt a tranquilizing wave washing the pain away and he groaned, feeling his body went limp. The greenish strings of light were snaking around him and every one of them sent a pulse of peace and oblivion into his body. He fought that feeling but his eyelids were falling.
"Merrill…?" He whispered.
"You shouldn't talk, Samael. Sleep." Merrill's tender voice echoed in his ears only a little.
"Merrill… I… Don't…" Samael's voice died away and he fell asleep.
Merrill channeled her healing abilities for a half an hour, then she kissed him briefly on his slightly open mouth, forcing herself to leave. The thought that he wouldn't be next to her in the morning, that he would be cold and hostile again, was torturing.
"Quel kaima, ma vhenan," she murmured and left the room with downcast eyes.
oOo
"YOU TRAITOR! I'll make you pay for this little ruse, Xenon!" Samael roared and wrenched his new katana off the leather back sheath.
He got it just today and the repair cost him a small fortune, but the result was more than satisfying. The katana had a new sheath and there was no need to repair anything on the blade itself; it was perfect. But the hilt was pretty much wrecked and the blacksmith was desperate about the repair, telling him he didn't know if he would find somebody capable of such a job. But apparently the clinking of sovereigns was more than persuasive so here we go – the hilt core was made of magnolia tree, the wood was covered with the skin of a black ray and pliable and soft leather band along with red silk ribbon were snaking around the hilt to provide tight grasp of the weapon.
Samael was supposed to meet Xenon in some urgent matter, but when he arrived at the Black Emporium a bunch of Coterie thugs flooded the shop and the golem blocked the only way out. But something else than a simple ambush was going on since the minions didn't attack him; they just encircled him and one man stepped forward. Samael focused on a shrouded man in front of him who was now backing out of Samael's reach, hypnotizing the katana swaying in the air. The stranger was in his late thirties, older than Samael, and had a lanky figure with oblong face and lyric dark green eyes. Greasy ginger hair was slicked backwards to his skull, reaching to his shoulders. The assassin noticed a pair of long blades by his hips and judging by his nimble spider-like fingers, he would be a tough nut to crack.
"Sheathe your weapon, reckless lad, before you pluck someone's eye out," Xenon snorted impatiently. "Raen came here to talk to you, so let him… talk. Ghrh, sssss, humpf. Then you can cut each other's balls off, I don't care."
Samael shot a glare at the coughing old man, hissing, "Let me figure out, whose balls I'm gonna cut off first, Xenon! Of course, just in case you have any left, you decaying oldster. " Then he nodded at the Raen like if he had something to say, this would be a great moment to do it; his weapon was still en garde though.
"I'll make it brief for you. I am Raen Morrell. I believe you were ambushed by Coterie two days ago and they no doubt claimed I've sent them after you." Raen stood like a statue, cold, tall and proud, but it was hard to impress someone like Samael Hawke.
"Why do I have the impression that you are about to try to persuade me that it wasn't you who put those silly minions on my tail. 'Oh… it wasn't me… it was that one-handed leader of the Coterie, not me,'" Samael mocked the silent Raen, taking a step sideway to have a better fighting position.
"Try another false explanation, Raen. This one is boring." The katana flicked through the air, ending up on Morrell's throat. To the assassin's surprise, the Coterie leader just glanced at it and set his eyes back at him like no lethally sharp weapon was nicking his Adam's apple.
"I see the rumors about you were correct, Samael Hawke. You are a skilled warrior, ruthless swashbuckler and you really have no idea when to shut up, right? Please note that we didn't attack you… yet. And I really intended to just talk to you, nothing more. To answer your question, t'was my sister in fact who sent her men to tickle you, not me." Raen continued talking, watching the repositioning assassin with his astute eyes. The gloved hand gripping the katana hilt dropped down and Samael burst into genuine laughter, bending over.
"Seriously? Your sister? Ehm, that's unexpected. Can I have her in my party?" Hopefully the day will come when Samael would really learn when to shut up. Raen frowned, trying really hard to remain calm and patient with this Fereldan boy whose tongue was both silly and relentless.
"Yes, my sister. That's why we should talk. The Coterie has split into two factions; the traditional part that I lead, and a radical one, where my sister Haydée is reigning, making mess around the whole damned Kirkwall." Raen's serious face froze Samael on the spot.
"So? Cut her down and unite your precious Coterie, Morrell. Why should I care? What do you even want from me?" Samael's eyes narrowed again in suspicion.
"Nobody… will… touch… my… sister, Fereldan!" Raen growled, his hands scrabbling for the hilts of his own weapons.
"Fascinating," Samael yawned. "So much love for a sibling. I feel my heart is melting," Samael scoffed at Raen's protectiveness. Raen took the deepest breath he had ever taken, trying not to attack that insufferable lad right there in the shop. His superior ability of restraining himself was rewarded since Samael sheathed the katana and took a few steps towards him.
"All right, we'll talk, Raen. Bring her tomorrow night into my estate. Before you go into a stupid ramble about being at my place, there is a masquerade thrown for my business partners and friends. Lots of music, lots of liquor, lots of masks and enough time and privacy to talk. I hereby guarantee you and your… sister… a safe arrival and departure." Samael's eyes narrowed as he strolled right in front of Raen, searching his green eyes. "But if this is some kind of trick, I'll cut you and your thugs down and fertilize my new garden with your remains. Am I clear?" Both men gave each other burning glares, evaluating each other's words.
Raen bowed, not disturbed by a naked menace staring at him from amber eyes. "My pleasure, Messere Hawke. I'll see you tomorrow." The Coterie leader nodded at his minions, the golem stood on his usual spot again and they all left.
Samael glanced at the snoring Xenon, his bony finger remained stuck in his right nostril. The assassin rolled his eyes, laced his new black cloak and left the Emporium.
oOo
"Bodahn? Bodahn! Where's that overaged dwarf…" Samael's yelling turned into annoyed murmuring to himself.
"I'm afraid you'll have to settle for a dwarf, but not Bodahn, Hawke." Varric came out of the kitchen, smirking about the assassin's surprised face.
"There's no escape from you, is there…" Samael grumbled with a mournful expression.
"Bodahn's not here, I sent him for a few things which would put the finishing touches to our little masquerade tomorrow. And before you'd ask me – yes, you are bound to be here tomorrow and participate, Hawke. Don't you forget that this meeting would be essential for your future business!"
Samael collapsed in the armchair, pouting.
"And get that martyr expression out of your face or I'll shoot it away for you!" Varric snarled, glaring at Hawke. He requited that glare, but then they both guffawed like mad men.
"All right, dwarf. You win," Samael sighed, "you could tell me now what am I supposed to do." Varric rubbed his palms after this docile statement.
"I've arranged everything for you since I simply love this kind of shit. You, my merciless leader, are supposed to wear some pretty clothes, charm the present noble dames, paw their more than willing daughters hiding behind their feather fans, and pour liquor to every boring being who means something in this city. And, by the Stone, Hawke, please don't kill anybody!" Samael glanced at the dwarf with raised eyebrow and an innocent smile oh his lips because of that last remark, but his witty reply was gulped down since Merrill entered the room. Samael remembered the warmth of her hands and the fading pain when she had touched him in the night. Varric didn't bother to turn around and see for himself who left Samael speechless; it was more than obvious. He still couldn't fathom why Samael had to torture his sweet Daisy. Why the humans and elves were dancing around each other when the simple act of fucking was much simpler and more effective? He would never know…
Merrill halted when she noticed Samael. She was not sure if she had interrupted some important conversation and was half-expecting Samael to banish her from the chamber. He kicked himself for staring at her, turning his calm face to the dwarf again.
"Is that all, Varric?" Samael stood up, restless now when Merrill was there. She loitered in the corner by the small mahogany table where an old huge vase with the Amell symbol was, ogling Samael.
Varric bowed like that was all and smiled at Merrill on his way out. She took three hesitant steps towards Samael, waiting for him to look at her.
"What about your ribs?" she asked when their eyes met.
"Good. I mean… thank you. I was considering the alcohol or some of Isabela's weed, but your magic solved it for me. So… yes… I should go." Samael took a few steps backwards.
"Wait! This event you have here tomorrow. I wondered if you want me there since I… no invitation… or…" Her face remained serene but her eyes were pleading with him not to push her away from him again.
"Well, you do live here, Merrill. If you like to attend this charade, consider this as a personal invitation." Samael gave her a subtle graceful bow, not breaking their eye contact. "If you prefer not to meddle in this, I'll arrange a place for you to stay until this farce is over." Samael's face and words were clear considering his attitude to these kinds of events.
This was the longest speech Merrill got from him since her stunt in the Fade and her bright eyes shone in happiness. Samael saw the reply written on her face when she scuttled to her bedroom to find proper dress for tomorrow evening.
Samael's lips curled into a melancholic smile and he glanced at the mabari standing by his side.
"I really am doomed, aren't I, Charon…"