[For those who are interested in this story: As a self-taught traditional artist I draw a picture for every chapter, usually some crucial or interesting moment of it, so take a look if you want to. You can find them on deviantART under the nickname LadyDragonka, but make sure the mature content filter is off, since almost every drawing is marked with M because of the blood or nudity or, you know, because it looks insane. Enjoy the chapter!]
Two silhouettes were standing twenty feet away of each other, silent and motionless. The sun was only rising, the first sunlight gliding over the treetops of pine trees. There were large beads of dew dampening their feet and fluffy shreds of mist wallowing on the glade.
The two ghosts stalked at the same time closer to each other, circling, their eyes locked as they were challenging the other one to strike first. When the elf couldn't bear it anymore, the weapon sliced the thick air, attempting to punch the opponent into the stomach. He just dodged, guffawing, then he struck, pushing the elf backwards with a fierce attack. They were whirling around the meadow until their figures looked like they were floating above the ground. The elf staggered and gasped when a vicious punch straight into the torso came along with an unexpected move that kicked the weapon out of the elf's grasp. The elf just managed to blink in pain and the cold steel was lovingly touching the slender throat a second later.
"Not bad," whispered a husky voice into Merrill's ear. She shuddered when she felt warm lips brushing her neck where the cold blade had been a second ago. The witch clenched her teeth, but instead of returning the kiss she whirled around and attacked her assailant with a knife she used usually for blood magic. Her counterattack was unexpected as she slashed his arm and heard almost inaudible hiss of pain. She used that second of distraction to pick up her staff again, swing it above her head and attack, but the assassin was escaping her hits without difficulty, whispering "You elves really suck at this, don't you..."
The fuming Merrill cried out, pushing him backwards with her staff that was slicing the air in an insane pace. But once she was knocked out of balance by his mocking, Samael had an easy job disarming her again. Merrill wasn't willing to let him win so easily so she managed to catch him off guard and kick him beneath the knee which sent him down, but he took her with him. They continued the silent combat in the grass, but soon the assassin had her pinned on the ground and all her attempts to free herself were futile. When she realized it, she just sizzled, "Let go of me!" and her palms started to glow, warning him what would happen if he continued. Samael saw it wasn't just a practice for her anymore and that her wrath was real, so he rolled on his back next to her, silent for several minutes.
A whole two weeks had passed since he saw her drinking his blood and there were many moments when they were alone and she could have told him about it, but she just didn't. He asked her several times if there was anything bothering her or something she would want to talk about with him, but again, nothing. It all escalated when they were making love last night and Merrill was so disconnected, Samael just couldn't go on and stopped. But at his arched eyebrow and quiet question about where the hell Merrill was since her mind definitely wasn't with him, she just turned her back at him, pushing herself far away from him in the bed. It was that moment when Samael decided to provoke her until she would talk about it - otherwise he would go crazy and it would probably cost him their relationship. So here they were after he had woken her up early that morning and dragged her out of Kirkwall.
"You can't let anybody distract you so easily from your concentration, my little pariah. Just a few words and you started making mistakes and it was pretty much easy to get you down afterwards." Samael watched her puckered lips, smiling involuntarily when she finally turned her pouting face to him.
"Tell me, Merrill, what would you do if, let's say, Isabela attacked you? It would be a fight to the death, you or her. How would you react, hm?" Samael continued a lesson.
"I would... I would be sad and I would fight back," Merrill breathed out, frightened as she vividly imagined what that would be like, being attacked by a friend.
"Now imagine that Fenris killed me. What would you think? What would you feel? What would you do then?" His quiet questions interrupted the silence again, leaving her eyes widened in shock, staring at him.
"Answer, Merrill." Samael touched her face, demanding a reply.
"I would be... furious," Merrill's face darkened, "and I would kill him for that," she finished her statement, her eyes narrowed and burning with a vengeance. Samael jumped up, pacing around her.
"Wrong and wrong! You would remain calm in the first place. Then you would kill Isabela because she would try to kill you, then you would go after Fenris, because he killed me. And you would be able to win, because you are able to control yourself. Steel your mind, Merrill, and dominate your fears and desires. That's the key!" Samael rounded up his explanation and stalked ten feet away from her, showing his back to her. Merrill stared in rapture at his silhouette, tall, proud, calm and beautiful. He seemed invincible at that moment, but Merrill knew better than anyone else what was beneath that raw façade he wore.
"Again!" A brusque command ripped her out of her musing. Merrill jumped up at her feet, grasping her staff again. As they faced off, she noticed his eyes were different now; just like during any other fight – merciless, vicious and on fire. She wondered just for a second how many people saw these eyes before they had died by his hand. Samael was the one who attacked first, then he pulled back, taunting her again, only to pressure her even more with a fierce counterattack. He whirled around her and a sudden fear devoured her mind, knowing he could probably finish her off whenever he would like to. Once again disconnected of what was happening, Merrill felt two dagger hilts jabbing into her back and she gasped, stumbling around and away from her tormentor. She groped the two sore spots, half-expecting the blood would flow out of deep stab wounds, but of course there was none. When she glanced at her lover again in disbelief, a cruel grin was twisting his face as he crept closer to her.
"Come one, witch! I can smell your fear. You're like a wounded animal, leaving a blood trail for me. What are you waiting for? Strike back!" The last words Samael roared, lunching forward. Merrill deflected his attack, feeling her heart was racing. But no matter what she did, a staff thudded in the grass and she felt the coldness of steel on her throat once more.
"That was the best you can do? Tss, I'm losing my time here then!" Merrill felt his hot breath in her ear and noticed a pure disdain in his dark voice.
"No! I... just..." She peeped, her chest heaving with a shallow quickened breathing.
"You what? What's wrong? Or am I standing too close to you right now? That's what makes you nervous? Hm?" the assassin growled into her ear again, letting his other hand slid lower across her belly, satisfied when she gasped and tensed.
"Ah, maybe you want me to continue?" Samael nipped her ear with his teeth, his hand creeping between her thighs.
"Yes!" Merrill almost wasn't able to recognize her own hoarse voice, colored with lust, insecurity and a persistent feeling that she was about to die.
Samael only waited for this confirmation that she still desired his body as much as he desired hers and he shoved her away, stepping ten feet away again, his back turned to her once more. Merrill just stood there, panting, watching his motionless figure in horror. Finally she began to understand, unbelievably slowly, that this wasn't just a fighting lesson, but something much deeper and ominous.
"It's not just a practice, Samael, is it?" Merrill breathed out, hugging herself when she realized she was quivering.
"No," was his terse reply. "No, it's not," he chuckled mirthlessly from deep of his throat, not bothering turning and facing her.
A whispered "Again" reached her ears and she bristled about his stubbornness to keep fighting and she marched to him. Her staff almost connected with his back this time, but Samael ducked and whirled around her, dodging her attacks for some time before he struck back. She did much better this round, but Samael knew she could beat him if she really wanted to and if she believed she could. He had one more bombshell in the sleeve and he really didn't know why he brought that up. To tease her? To test her again? To punish her for not talking to him? To prove her... something?
"Come on, Merrill! Why don't you end this? You can take me down if you'd want to!" Merrill whirled on right at his voice, but he was already elsewhere. She just snorted in reply, parrying his wild attack. Samael laughed about her efforts, fainting left, then striking from right. He didn't expect he would break through her defense that easily and his dagger cut through her armor and slashed the skin at her side. Merrill cried out in pain, reeling, but there was no apology or mercy in Samael's blazing eyes as he was creeping towards her, step by step, like a predator which was about to finish off its prey. Merrill blinked when he disappeared, but she felt him at the same time right behind her - she just had no strength to react.
"Clumsy elf! Are you going to heal that or do you intend to bleed to death?" Merrill shuddered when his whispering tickled near her ear. She moved her hand to place it on the wound, but Samael caught it; his patience just reached the peek.
"I'll tell you what, my love. A secret for a secret. You will tell me why the hell would you drink my blood and I will tell you how many times I have slept with Fenris." A deafening silence followed after this statement. If you'd ask Samael why in the Maker's name he would say something like that, he would shrug, not knowing the answer to that question either. Maybe he was just a drama-lover.
Merrill's eyes flashed in crimson flames as she whirled around, slapping him with all her might. Her staff thudded in the grass and darkened immediately as Merrill ripped her knife out of its belt sheath again and pierced her palm with it. Samael only waited for that and he lunged himself forward, knocking them both into the crushed grass again. Merrill unleashed two purple arcs of electricity out of her hands. They were supposed to keep him away from her, so she could proceed with her blood magic, but Samael just howled in pain, grasping her even tighter.
"How... What..." Merrill just gasped, having no clue why her spell wasn't working properly.
"Ah, now you want to talk?" Samael loosened his grip suddenly, shoving her away from him. They both glared at each other, groping the sore spots on their bodies.
"I saw you, Merrill. I saw what you did and I was a fool when I hoped you would say something about the blood, damn it!" Samael started losing control again.
"What was I supposed to say, Samael?" Merrill shrieked, raking through her hair. "How could I have told you something like that? I knew exactly what your reaction would be and I see I was right!"
"I don't know! Maker, you could have tried something like 'Fuck me again, Samael, and, by the way, I drink the blood now!'" Samael threw his arms sideways, then jumping onto his feet, pacing around her. He opened his mouth several times, but then set his jaw again, shaking his head. Finally he halted in front of her.
"I thought... well, we promised to each other we would talk... about stuff! And you broke the deal now!" Merrill shrank back at his yelling, realizing it had hurt him much deeper than she thought it would. But then she jumped up as well, recalling she wasn't the only one here with a painful secret.
"You don't speak about secrets, you, you, you unfaithful human! Don't you dare shouting about deals or secrets!" she flailed her sharp fingernails in front of his face.
"I'm not shouting!" Samael shouted.
Merrill just snorted in return, watching him and she calmed down a bit since the print of her bony hand was prominent on his cheek. Samael fell silent when there was nobody who would argue with him and he sank into the grass, his head in palms. He was genuinely surprised when Merrill instead of simply walking away collapsed down next to him, so they sat there back-to-back, silent and motionless.
"When?" she whispered almost inaudibly. Samael was tempted to play dumb, not knowing what that simple question was referring to, but he decided to act like an adult for once.
"Does it matter? I did it. And I don't regret it." His merciless words cut right through her, but she clenched her teeth, trying to remain reasonable.
"I asked when, Hawke," her cold demand chilled his very core and her changing his name into his family name didn't help either.
"After the Fade. Then again after I brought you back home from the Circle," his words were heavy, hoarse, like it was too painful to remember.
"All right," Merrill spoke after a long silence.
"All right? Just like that? I mean, you don't mind?" Samael shifted to face her, a pure disbelief and surprise frozen on his face.
"Of course I mind, but we weren't together back then! I knew something like that would happen from the moment the ring stone darkened, telling me you had renounced me for my deed." Merrill shook her head, driving the tormenting memory away, and fell silent again, staring in the grass. When she looked up again she realized Samael had been watching her, waiting for an explanation regarding the blood. Merrill had no idea how to put it though.
"Samael, I drank that blood, because... because..." Merrill sighed, scratching her head.
"Well, try harder, Merrill. Because I still don't have any clue why would you do that," Samael shook his head, watching her.
"I wanted to be... stronger. It told me to drink the blood so we would be more powerful." Merrill lowered her head and she almost whispered now.
"It told you? By the Maker's ass, Merrill, please don't say there's some demon inside of you!" Samael snatched her shoulders, shaking her desperately.
"No. No demon, I've learned my lesson with the demons, ma vhenan. I meant - that." Merrill's eyes wandered to her staff lying in the grass not far from them and now she really was whispering as if the staff was able to hear her.
"So? Get rid of it, Merrill! If it's evil, destroy it and-"
"NO!" Merrill interrupted him, terrified. "It's mine! You gave it to me and it's mine now!" Her eyes were pleading with him.
"I wasn't about to take it from you," Samael watched her outburst with his eyes narrowed in suspicion, "it was a gift and it's yours." He fell silent after this hesitant statement, Merrill calmed down and there was just a long reverent silence between them. But Samael's mind was far from calm.
"Merrill, you need to tell me what you want or what are you thinking about. Because I'm lost here. I have no idea what I'm supposed to say or do so you wouldn't... leave me." Samael averted his gaze, ashamed about what he just had said. Merrill looked up, astonished by his words, because it was the most intimate confession of his love for her she had ever gotten from him. When she searched his face she realized his mask was gone, his eyes were reaching to her, emptying her, begging her not to leave, not to talk, not to be silent.
Merrill pulled him slowly down and they lay there in the carpet of grass and dew for long time in silence, not touching each other, but staring into each other's eyes. When Merrill had glimpsed a mute question in his eyes, she just whispered, "It's all right, Samael. It's forgiven, but not forgotten." He nodded in reply, intertwining their fingers together.
"I forgave you the night you challenged me at the Fenris' mansion. I was so silly. So... blind. Yet you never gave up on me. Just... no more secrets," he whispered, pulling her closer.
"No more secrets," Merrill breathed out, closing her eyes in the morning sun.
They weren't as alone as they thought, but neither of them could see a shadow of a tall and proud deer watching them from behind a pine tree trunk.
oOo
The lovers had spent a day off in the woods, perfectly content with their solitude and finally being able to have a few moments just for themselves without any snooping eyes or business to attend to. As they walked hand in hand slowly through the darkened Hightown in the late evening, they thought nothing could mar their peace and happiness.
Merrill glanced around and dragged Hawke into the nearest alcove drowned in the shadows with impish giggles. "Are you thinking about what I'm thinking about?" she breathed into his ear, standing on her tiptoes and pawing him shamelessly.
"Hm, I think our bedroom is still damned far away," Samael growled in reply, playing her game. He whirled her around and pressed her onto the wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Soon enough her giggles turned to soft moans, but an unfamiliar sound of slowly clapping hands broke mercilessly their interlude.
"Bravo, Hawke. Oh my… what do we have here? My sincere apologies for interrupting this, whatever this charade was." The lovers whirled around at that quiet venomous voice and Merrill started groping her clothing, nervously glancing at the silent Samael. His first urge was to cut off the head of whoever dared approaching them in such manner, but when he recognized the face, he had to admit he was simply drawn to this exceptional woman, however he tried to hide it or fight it.
"Good evening, Haydée," Samael spoke finally, watching their intruder intently. It was hard to tell which one of them was more surprised with this quiet and polite greeting. Samael noticed her lips twisted into a rather desperate grin, her attempt to fry him with her eyes and the fact she was ogling his bare chest beneath the unbuttoned jerkin and his unlaced breeches. He would have rather chopped his hands off than cover himself back up properly – it would only let her know how uncomfortable he felt under her scorching scrutiny. There was an uncomfortable silence while Samael's eyes clashed with Haydée's. Merrill was fidgeting by her lover's side, and then the tall woman broke the silence with her derisive voice.
"You must think how clever you are, Hawke, but I'm warning you. My brother pulled a very nasty trick on me, but that doesn't mean it's over. I might be in check right now, but I always find a way to achieve whatever I want," Morrell's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to them.
"Oh, I do not doubt that, Miss Morrell," Samael sneered in return, regaining his usual self. "But I must admit I had no idea until now you were such a cock-blocking bitch," Samael knew well he should have stayed serene, but he just couldn't have missed a chance to make an acrid comment. While he was contemplating about how Raen managed to tame this wild hoyden, Haydée twitched at his mocking, taking another step towards him. She raised her hand, intending to stroke Hawke's cheek and press her body on his to remind him what he could have had if only he handed her over the Carta lyrium contract, but her arm was stricken away with such a momentum that her shoulder creaked in protest. Merrill was suddenly standing right between them, fuming, staring up into the dark green eyes of the tall panting woman.
"You should keep your pet on a short leash, Hawke. It seems to be rabid," Haydée hissed in the assassin's direction, not taking her eyes off the elf's face though. Merrill just inhaled sharply at this insult, but remained silent and motionless. Samael realized in astonishment Merrill might have learned something from their morning lesson at last. He watched in rapture as Haydée's self-assured expression turned into timid, then fearful and she staggered backwards from the elf, watching her in disbelief.
"What do you think you're doing?" she shrieked finally, clenching her fiery hair, her eyes widened in shock. "STOP IT!" Haydée hit the wall with her back, her eyes still locked with Merrill's. Samael squeezed Merrill's shoulder gently and she broke the eye contact with her rival, setting her eyes at him in a mute question. Her expression shifted in one second from a cruel grin into a tender smile. When they glanced back into the street, they were alone.
"What have you done to her, Merrill?" Hawke asked, watching her in disquiet.
"Nothing," Merrill shrugged, fidgeting.
"Well, that 'nothing' of yours scared the hell out of her," Hawke searched her face in urgency.
"I… just, I tried to look into her mind and tell her to leave us alone. I wasn't going to hurt her, I swear…" Merrill's voice trailed off and she started buttoning her lover's jerkin again.
"Merrill, your hand was creeping for your blood magic knife," his words were hesitant but solid. "And what the hell that looking into her mind thing is supposed to mean? Tell me honestly, can you control it? Your blood magic I mean," Samael wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer, since Merrill was watching him with her eyebrows knitting, silent.
"I can…?" Merrill peeped after a moment.
"Well, that was very reassuring answer," Samael scowled in reply and finished dressing up on his own. He rubbed his temples and wrapped his arm around the elf. "Let's go home, shall we?" he whispered and they vanished into the night shadows.
oOo
"Few people are worthy of an invitation, you know? They seeearch the seweeeers for the Emporium and accost poor urchin…" Xenon's wheezing trailed off into snoring.
"Hey, grandpa, wake up!" Samael unsheathed the katana and poked the greybeard with its hilt.
"Agh! And I tell urchin to say 'No! You are not worthy! Starve in the sewers!' Except urchin… never… speaks." Xenon's eyes slowly closed again.
"Xenon I came here to speak about the staff you sold me," Samael poked him again, losing patience.
"Of course you came," Xenon sighed. "With what are you not content this time, young master Hawke?" Just for a second Samael had an impression the Emporium proprietor knew exactly what was going on, judging by his mischievous grin.
"Merrill says it's… evil. She says it makes her… do stuff," Samael blurted out, knowing he could have done better than this ramble.
"You wanted a powerful staff, young master Hawke, and powerful staff indeed I sold you. It's not my problem your little mage can't handle it-t-t-t…" Xenon started coughing, fidgeting in his armchair. Now Samael knew something was off here, since Xenon was everything but nervous like that.
"So is there anything I should know about the staff, Xenon?" Samael played like he was interested only a little, strolling around the shop, touching this or that.
"The staff fuels blood magic, young Hawke. Of course it's evil, it's corrupted, it's rotten and perverted and treacherous!" Xenon's voice was getting excited until he was yelling in ecstasy, like those attributes of the staff he just described were the best he could imagine. "And please – don't fondle Andraste!" he said in an unconcerned low voice.
"Oh! I'm sorry." Samael pulled back the guilty hand that had been pawing the statue of Andraste thoughtlessly.
"Let me now ask questions, young master Hawke. I already have the items you've requested and I need you to answer me. What are you going to do with them? Don't get me wrong, I'm game for every fun you're going to have with that. If you happen to blow up all of Kirkwall, it's still fine by me, but the Kirkwall ruins would no doubt crash right into my emporium and that's the crucial moment when I'm starting to care." Xenon fell silent when Hawke was staring at him with his mouth slightly open, having no clue of what the old man spoke.
"Drake stone, sela petrae, frog skin, halla's horn, blahblah, I have it all, lad. Very potent substances, very dangerous indeed when not in the right hands. But I'm afraid I can't give them to you unless you share your intentions." Xenon's voice was insecure like he was apologizing for his curiosity, but also solid, because he needed to know.
"That… son of a bitch," Samael growled, his eyes distant and burning with an irreconcilable fire. "Keep the goods for now, Xenon, I really need to speak with one lying bastard." Xenon shuddered when he glimpsed Hawke's expression, but luckily his wrath wasn't channeled in his way. He watched as the young rogue rushed away and when the door was slammed close he loudly exhaled, calling the urchin.
"That was close, Thaddeus," the old man rasped, patting the boys head. They both glanced into an alcove where the huge pile of something was covered with a black thick fabric. A pale arm was protruding from under the cover, a brawny grey arm with red paint on it.
oOo
"Do you know hundreds of those like you are being slaughtered every year just because once upon a time one crazy Chantry monk said you're creatures of darkness and servants of those who fell away from the Maker's grace?"
"Meow?"
"Of course you don't know. You're just an innocent tiny creature, not aware of the cruelty of this world we all live in."
"Meow."
"Here. You need to eat, little tiger." Anders set the black kitten carefully on his table and pushed it gently towards the shallow bowl with milk.
He sighed and collapsed on a single chair by the table, rubbing his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again, stretching his tired legs, his gaze slipped at the pouch of gold - again. Every time he recalled how Hawke dropped it to his feet by the Gallows gate with that derisive expression on his face and mocking grin on his lips Anders wanted to scream in anger and pain. He was mad with himself too since he wasn't able to let that silly gold lie there, waiting for some lucky finder. Hawke's lesson about not questioning his decisions burnt Anders' very core; that meant it burnt Justice as well and the spirit was hissing about teaching a lesson that insufferable assassin for hours now. Finally Anders wasn't able to stay silent.
"Oh, shut up, Justice! You're driving me crazy! There was nothing I could do for that poor mage!"
Not that you would actually try to do anything for her!
"Maker, I tried! But I couldn't do more unless I would fall out with Hawke for good! And you know we cannot afford it since he's the one who keeps the Templars away!"
But he mocked us with that pouch of gold! There's blood of all mages locked in the Gallows on it! And your staring at it with a vulture expression doesn't help either!
"What would you have me do then? Should I have left the pouch there on the ground? Should I drag Samael in here and try for the tenth time to convince him the mages need help?" Anders' strident voice became desperate and the kitten looked up from its food, milk dripping off its tiny chin.
"There's no need to drag anyone anywhere, mage." Anders whirled around, knocking over the chair he was sitting on.
"Andraste's flaming pants, Hawke! Learn to knock on the damned door at least!" Anders lashed out at the assassin, trying to figure out how much Hawke had heard from his conversation with Justice, but Samael's expression was impenetrable.
"Why are you here?" Anders folded his arms on chest and stuck out his chin in a hostile gesture. He glanced around his clinic, restless, when no answer came. Silent, Hawke strolled to a table, where the kitten finished its meal, licking a paw. When Samael came close enough the kitten started climbing up his armor from unknown reasons, mewling when it almost fell down. A warm hand caught it and held it on the spot while the kitten started licking its paw again ferociously.
"Tell me, Anders, do you like your life?" A simple question slit the uncomfortable silence and Anders skin reacted with goose bumps at that quiet yet menacing voice. His throat constricted when Samael sauntered right in front of him, fondling the soft fur in his hand. It came to Anders that he didn't like his life, hated it in fact, but if he happened to say it out loud, the assassin might just kill him, since Anders didn't consider him as a sane person.
"Yes. Yes, I like my life," was his terse, tremulous answer.
Anders gasped a second later when the assassin dropped down the kitten and pushed the mage backwards until he hit the wall, his chest heaving like after a long run. "So why do you want me to end it for you?" A hissed question into the mage's left ear.
"I… don't… what are you talking about?" Anders set his hand gently on the Samael's shoulder, pushing him away a bit, so he could see his face. Samael glanced at the hand touching him, then set his blazing eyes back at the mage's face.
"Tell me more about this peculiar potion of yours, Anders. The one which is supposed to separate you from that demon." Samael marked Justice as a demon on purpose and his words were rewarded since Anders' eyes flashed in blue flames and his skin cracked into tortuous clefts emanating blue dazzling light and black smoke. The grasp on the Samael's shoulder tightened, but Samael was able to see Anders was fighting the spirit for control over the body.
"Let him out, Anders. I wanted to talk to him for ages anyway," Hawke sneered and watched in rapture as the spirit took a full control.
"I am Justice. Anders has told you about me." Samael shuddered involuntarily at that unfamiliar, deep and sinister voice coming out of Anders' mouth.
"Anders told me next to nothing about you, demon!" Samael regained his repose.
"I am no demon, you petty human! You should bow to me for I am the pure force of justice and pea —"
"Shut up and listen, spirit!" Samael cut the ardent spirit's speech. "What do you intend to do with those ingredients? Spare me that happy tale about separation you from Anders this time, all right?" They both observed each other, estimating what the other one knew and how. The kitten was glaring at Hawke with an expression asking him what was wrong with him.
"He knows," Justice breathed out finally, the blue light darkening.
"Indeed I know, spirit. I know you have no intentions to separate you two from each other and I know what are you about to do with those powerful ingredients you demanded from me." The assassin's voice was quiet and oddly calm.
"I won't tell you!" Justice shook the rogue, his eyes shooting blue lightning.
"Oh, I don't want to know which building or person or whatever you intend to blow up, you fool!" It was Samael's turn to shake the mage, accompanied with a disdainful grin.
"You… don't?" Justice lowered his head and when he straightened it three seconds afterwards, Samael realized it was Anders again, staring at him in awe.
"I want nothing to do with it, do you hear me? Whatever you're plotting against the Templars, Gallows, or Viscount Dumar, I don't want to know. I… do… not… care. Understood? You won't get those substances from me. You can buy them at the Black Emporium, you've got enough gold now," Samael grimaced, glancing at the fat pouch of gold with a reward for the Dalish apostate. "Or don't buy them, I really don't care. As far as it won't influence me, Merrill, my friends, my tailor, my blacksmith, whomever or whatever I care for or need. The moment you would turn on me I will kill you, Anders. Got it?" Samael grasped the mage's robes at the neckline, pulling him closer to underline his words.
An unbelieving and liberating smile sprawled out on the Anders' face when he realized Hawke was serious and that he wouldn't turn him in, punish him or simply kill him.
"Wipe that smile away, you fool." Samael growled and let go of him. "I am no ally of yours. You're on your own." With those words Samael turned around, strolling out of the clinic.
"I was always on my own, Hawke," a sad, hesitant voice echoed in the room when Samael reached the clinic door. He didn't turn back to face the mage when he whispered "Aren't we all?" and vanished into Darktown.