"I thought I told you to stay away from that elf, didn't I?"
Samael hit the small table with his leg at the sound of that rusty voice. He had been creeping through the Ichabod Bane's mansion in the early morning; with just a pelt around his waist and followed by the sleepy mabari. His hopes to disappear without talking to Bane were shattered when he couldn't find his clothes and Ichabod was already awake in the kitchen, preparing something sizzling in a pan. Hawke's under clothing and armor were drying around the fireplace, so he sauntered to it, clearly thinking of how he was supposed to get dressed without letting go of the pelt. Sneering as he watched his clueless son, Ichabod dumped the bacon stripes on a plate and went to pick up the dry clothing, only to toss it into an armchair and make a supercilious bow afterwards.
Samael, with his lips puckered, waited for Ichabod to turn to his pan again, then he started pulling on his tight breeches and under tunic frantically, perfectly ignoring Ichabod's scoffing about Hawke being a delicate flower. Still offended, Hawke marched right to the shabby table and sat down without an invitation. His eyes followed Ichabod to see if he had noticed his rude behavior, and when he seemed totally at ease, Samael snatched the plate full of steaming bacon and started devouring it like he hadn't eaten for a year. Actually it tasted so good, he forgot to check on Ichabod, who started chortling inaudibly about his son's bronto appetite. Oh yes, Ichabod Bane was well aware he was supposed to play his half-mad man act now, but he simply wasn't able to. Surely Hawke was used to Ichabod's sudden mood swings; the most inappropriate words said at the most delicate of times, and his crazy stunts. Although Ichabod was growing tired of this game. But how could he just stand in front of his son and tell him he hadn't been dead during all those years? How could he explain why he didn't come back to his family or at least let them know he was still alive, somewhere?
"I will need that plate again, lad…" Bane glanced at the young man, who was hungrily licking the grease off the plate. During the sleepless night, Ichabod put two and two together. And after Varric's discussion yesterday about Samael bolting out of his estate like a greased lightning, he had no doubts about what had happened last night at Sundermount.
"So?" Ichabod set his eyes at his son, until he realized Samael was gaping into them already, so he rather looked down into his own plate again. Hawke knew Ichabod wanted some kind of reaction or explanation, but he really couldn't speak about Merrill right now. Or could he? Ichabod had accepted him in his house last night after all without any futile questions. Didn't he deserve an explanation?
"Yes, you told me to stay away from an elf. Maybe you should have been more specific about which elf, you know…" Samael murmured, intending to be playful, but he couldn't. Ichabod stayed silent, but he clearly wanted Hawke to continue. "I… went to Sundermount last night." Hawke brushed his forehead and tried to swallow back the lump in his throat before he continued. "Merrill was forced to fight her former Keeper and apparently according to some ridiculous elven law, she is now the new Keeper because the old one kicked off." The assassin snatched the nearest jug and started drinking in vigour until he realized there was milk inside. He shot a disgusted glare at Bane and grimaced like he'd rather drink the worst Hanged Man swill there was.
"Indeed, she is now a Keeper if she managed to kill Marethari and thus won the fight." Ichabod rubbed his chin and realized too late Samael was watching him, and his thoughtful face, in both surprise and suspicion.
"Did you know her well?" Hawke asked after a pause.
"Whom?" Bane arched an eyebrow. "The old Keeper? Yeah, I knew her a little," he nodded, and once again Samael regretted Ichabod's empty eyes, so he wasn't able to track what he was thinking about. "So now what?" Bane broke the silence again.
"I don't know. I mean, it's not like we broke up, but…" Samael shrugged and took a sip of milk. "But she did choose those elves over me, so I guess she made her choice." Hawke rounded up his thoughts in a quiet voice. "And apparently I need to make my own now," he shrugged again and coughed in uneasiness when he realized Ichabod had stopped eating at some point, and was now listening to him with his full attention. The tense silence that followed was interrupted when Charon started choking on the bacon skin. Samael jumped to his feet, thankful that he had something to keep him occupied, if only for a moment. Without saying a word, Hawke walked to the rest of his stuff and started to dress, clearly intending to leave as soon as possible.
Ichabod felt that odd tension between them, so he wasn't about to pry some more or ask anything else. He was convinced Hawke wouldn't even say goodbye for that matter. Why was he surprised then, when he felt the assassin hovering right behind him, clearly at a loss for words?
"Ichabod…" Samael was finally able to find his voice again. "Thank… you. I suppose you could have let me drown in that storm last night," he joked, with an insecure smile on his face.
"Better to clothe you than feed you, I suppose…" Ichabod glanced at the single bacon strip left on a plate, along with bread crumbs and an empty milk pitcher. Hawke chuckled and squeezed Bane's shoulder briefly before he slipped out of the door.
"Shoo, you mangy pussycat!" Ichabod pushed the mabari outside and was rewarded with a low growl regarding the insult. Hawke bowed, clearly not intending on forgetting Bane's hospitality; Ichabod just rolled his eyes in return and slammed the door shut.
oOo
Hawke didn't see the skinny silhouette loitering around his estate because of the late summer morning mist. It came to him though that the warm days had past too quickly this year. Samael narrowed his eyes when a stranger emerged silently from the mist and stopped him on his way home. He indeed expected the cheeky lad would bother him, there was no doubt of that, but instead he just stood there in his ragged red leather jerkin. Samael saw his gaunt chest and the pale skin that was stretched over his skeletal arms, and his thin brown pantaloons that were slashed awry for reasons unknown. The tore right above the lad's bony knees and he wore holey boots which looked like they were taken from a dead person who had been chopped into pieces.
Hawke had no desire to do charity or have a hearty talk with the young tramp, however the boy's face looked resolved to address Hawke directly. Samael walked slowly past the lad, hitting his shoulder hard when the lad didn't even attempt to side step him, and let the assassin pass. Charon looked puzzled after the silent encounter and his dark round eyes were watching his master, awaiting to see if he wanted him to tear the boy apart, or at least scare him a little. After Hawke finally punched the little blighter, which was a hint to tell the lad to get lost, the boy staggered, and his scrawny body hit the wall. The boy gulped back the scream of pain and desperation, as he slowly straightened up again and watched Hawke and the mabari disappearing in the mansion without a subtlest glance behind them. The lad looked around cautiously to see if he was alone. When he had convinced himself he was all alone again, he let out a choked sob. Yes, his life just seemed to hit the bottom.
oOo
"Finally!" Bodahn came running to his master and started dusting his cloak and unbuckling the belt with the katana scabbard on it. "Finally you're home, Messere Hawke. What happened? Where were you? We were so worried about you and —" Samael silenced this incoherent enthusiastic ramble with a raised hand.
"We need to talk, Bodahn," he muttered and sat down heavily into his favorite armchair by the fireplace. The old dwarf nodded and sunk obediently into another armchair, awaiting an explanation, although Hawke had no idea how to put it. But maybe it was as simple as anything else.
"By the Paragons, Messere, just say what you have to say!" Bodahn couldn't bear the silence and squirmed on his seat like he was sitting on thorns. "Where is our Lady? Is she all right?"
"Merrill… won't be coming home, Bodahn," Samael whispered. Before the dwarf could assume the worst, he continued. "She decided to stay at Sundermount with her own people and I don't think she would reconsider her choice." Hawke covered his face with both hands, as if his own words were tormenting him. When he dared to look at Bodahn again, the old dwarf was gaping at him in shock, unable to say a word.
"Messere Hawke —" Bodahn clearly intended to soothe his heartbroken master, but the assassin wouldn't let him. And the old dwarf himself seemed to need comforting as well.
"So I wanted to ask you to pack all her stuff, store it in the basement and give it to her when she shows up," Hawke interrupted quickly. "If she shows up…" Hawke added bitterly, stretching his legs and frowning at the fireplace.
"Messere, isn't it a bit… premature?" said Bodahn daring his own opinion and instantly regretting it as Hawke's blazing eyes pierced his and he clenched his fists. Hawke tried to prevent himself from yelling at the faithful servant.
"Merrill is no longer welcome here, Bodahn. Is that clear, or shall I write it on parchment and stuff it down your throat?" Samael finally let himself release the scorching wrath that had been consuming him ever since Merrill had left. But did she really leave him? As far as Samael could tell, they had had no chance to talk about how their relationship would work after she became the Keeper, because Samael had run away like a coward. But was there anything to discuss?
When Hawke had calmed down a little, he felt ashamed about shouting at Bodahn, who was just trying to help and understand; as always. He felt like apologizing, but Bodahn's reassuring smile told him his sorrow was understandable and his outburst was forgiven.
"I need to gather my dear lackeys now and let them know what's happened." Samael strolled to his table, clearly intending to write messages, when Bodahn's voice stopped him.
"Messere, if you have a moment, I would like to speak with you about an important matter." Hawke searched the old dwarf's serious face, clearly contemplating what this was about.
"Sure, but can it wait for a minute?" Samael decided to write the messages first.
"Of course," Bodahn bowed and stomped into the kitchen. He peered at the assassin from around the corner after a moment. "I would like to remind you, Messere, that you have nobody to deliver the messages." He gave the assassin a patronizing glance. "I am too old for this and Sandal is too… scattered," he lowered his voice so his son wouldn't hear him.
"Damn it!" Hawke exclaimed, realizing the majordomos was right. He went back to writing the notes with the tip of his tongue protruding out of his mouth though, when a sudden idea crossed his mind. He rolled the messages into little scrolls and headed for the front door. Once he put a hand on the door knob, he started musing about his intention, but then he shrugged like he had no choice. After all, he didn't want to call his friends here on his own.
Samael slipped outside, closing his eyes when the morning sun reached him through the dissolving mist, and he leaned on the wall. A quick glance around told him the young wanderer wasn't any place nearby, but somehow Hawke felt he was being watched. He held the hand with the scrolls up, like he was challenging somebody to take care of them. When Hawke's arm slowly descended again, he had to admit that his silly plan had failed as nobody showed up. He made two hesitant steps into the street and when he saw nothing, he turned around whilst shaking his head, only to face the silent silhouette which seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
Hawke resisted gasping in surprise about this unexpected appearance and he searched the pale face in front of him thoroughly, still determined and speechless. A lanky arm took the scrolls from Hawke's loosened hand and the lad glanced briefly at the addresses written on each note, before he nodded like he had understood. If he intended to say anything, he wasn't able to since he turned around hastily and started coughing. Samael shuddered when he had glimpsed the prominent ribs on the lad's back through the long slash in his red jerkin; the ribs were now painfully contracting as the lad tried desperately to stop coughing, but couldn't. It indeed sounded like the boy's lungs were tearing apart and he would drop dead of exhaustion any second.
"Are you… all right?" The boy felt the hand gently squeezing his shoulder from behind. He whirled around wildly, although he was struggling for breath, and glared at the guilty hand which Hawke had pulled back. When he realized the assassin wasn't about to say anything else, the lad simply nodded at the question; his chest heaving. He watched the pouch of coins that Samael pulled from his pocket hungrily.
Samael held out his open palm, which bore five silvers, towards the lad and watching the eagerness in his eyes with poorly hidden disquiet.
"I might need you this evening as well, so be here if you're interested." Hawke threw in the casual comment, but he watched the lad's reaction carefully. "What's your name?" Hawke whispered after he had let the coins fall into the lad's soiled hand one by one.
The lad just sneered at Hawke and turned around to take care of the messages. It was like he was indeed contemplating the right answer, since he glanced over his shoulder at his new employer ten seconds later. But he wasn't smiling now; not at all, since he had reminisced once more about the night Hawke had spared his life, and everybody from his company was lying dead around him. He remembered well the last words Hawke had told him back then.
"Rabbit. My name is Rabbit." The boy made a subtle, surprisingly winsome bow, before he turned around and walked away. After several steps, the boy started running and disappeared around a corner leading to the Viscount's Keep.
oOo
"So? What's the matter, Bodahn?" Hawke walked into the kitchen, still ruminating over the peculiar boy; his savage eyes, torn clothes and hostile behavior. Yet there was something much more interesting about him, something behind those hazel eyes. Something well-hidden.
"Messere, I feel obligated to tell you me and my boy will probably leave your services in a few months." The old dwarf glanced at his master who simply sat down after the statement, staring at his feet. "I'm not getting any younger and I've started thinking about Sandals' future, poor boy. What he would do once I'm not around, I do not know," he sighed. "Don't get me wrong, Messere, we both are very honored to serve you and we've served you the best way we were able to, but—" Bodahn fell silent. "M-Messere…?" he stammered when he got no reaction from Hawke, who jut rubbed his eyelids.
"Actually I was wondering why you have stayed for so long in the first place, Bodahn," he finally spoke, his voice hushed. Their eyes met and there was nothing more to really say. "I will miss you. Both of you," Samael murmured, before he got up and went wandering around his lonesome estate.
oOo
Samael spent his afternoon holed up in his basement laboratory, mixing a new potent substance which was supposed to weaken an enemy for several days, and was supposedly resistant to all common antidotes. In the evening he couldn't ignore the voices in his estate. The idea that all his friends were upstairs, waiting for him, and waiting for an explanation, was making him sick. Hawke raised the hand holding the vial with light yellow fluid inside, shook it while he was examining it in the light of a torch, then smashed it against the flagstone since this attempt was clearly unsuccessful - just like the previous one.
Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, Samael climbed up the sturdy ladder, pushed the floor door open and prepared himself for the inevitable. Why did he felt so timid, damn it? It wasn't like he was humiliated in their eyes, dumped like an old shoe which had served its purpose and now it was time to let go. Or was he? Well, either way, Hawke would know very soon, as he entered the main hall, forcing himself to have at least a mild grin on his face. Judging by his friends' expressions, they already knew, but they also wanted to hear it from him.
"Good evening, friends," Hawke addressed them, his voice oddly calm and emotionless. There was a broad grin from Varric, an intense gaze from Fenris, an insecure smile from Anders, a calm nod from Aveline and— "Where is Isabela?" Hawke scowled about her daring ignore a direct order to get her ass here.
"We don't know, Hawke," Varric replied for all of them. "She's not in her room at the Hanged Man and I haven't seen her in about four days," he continued, sounding concerned.
"Huh…" Samael droned, contemplating this information. "So… I figured that we haven't spent much time together lately, and so we should rectify that tonight." He suggested to his audience cheerfully, avoiding the Merrill topic like a child. They all granted him a long wordless gaze, telling him he was among friends and they all knew about it anyway. "And—" Samael coughed in uneasiness, "Merrill kind of left me last night, so I could use friends right now," he finished his sentence quickly, fidgeting and looking everywhere but at their faces.
"You're better off without her!" Anders spluttered loudly, clearly pointing out Merrill's blood magic. Fenris kept watching Hawke in silence, but he smiled faintly when their eyes met.
"Oh, Daisy …" Varric just shook his head, staring at his intertwined fingers. It wasn't that long ago when he had warned Hawke about his strange relationship with the Dalish apostate.
"That ungrateful little bitch—" Aveline set her jaw and stalked to Hawke, who just stood there with his head hanging. After Aveline's hateful words, his eyes were burning with tears.
"Aveline…" Varric shot a warning glance in her way, shaking his head in vigour.
"What?" She puckered the lips, stroking Hawke's arm gently. "Too soon for trashing her?" the Captain asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Way too soon," the dwarf confirmed quietly.
"I'm fine," Samael growled and shook the soothing hand off him. He stalked to the cabinet and started pulling out the bottles of Antivan whiskey. "While we're still sober, I just wanted to let you know I won't be around for a week or two," he glanced at them, then continued pouring the golden fluid into snifters. He checked their reactions at his statement and, to his eternal relief, there was nothing but pure understanding in their eyes.
oOo
Varric had to take care of some business before midnight and Anders looked exhausted, so he left the Hawke estate along with the dwarf. Fenris simply reminded his assassin he was here for him before he headed home, with a rather satisfied grin on his face. Aveline kept shouting at Hawke, since she had found out he knew about the stolen poison gas. Samael had no strength to argue with her, so when he couldn't bear her scolding anymore, he kicked her rudely out of his mansion and listened to her swearing through the closed front door instead.
"Of course she had to find out… Of course it had to be tonight… Damn it… Everything bad just keeps haunting me and eventually biting my ass…" he kept whispering to himself, and slowly slid down on the floor along the door. Suddenly he felt very, very old, drunk and worthless. Lost. A quiet triple knock right behind his back made Hawke jerk. He realized he had sent the lad to the Arishok with yet another message earlier tonight and he was supposed to bring back an answer. Samael figured it would be best to let Bodahn deal with the enigmatic boy, but since he was cleaning spilled alcohol, washing glasses and almost inaudibly cursing the muddy boot prints of Hawke's companions, the assassin decided to receive the Arishok's message himself and send the boy away.
Hawke stood up and waited until the front room stopped spinning around him, then he opened a crack in the front door. He squinted into darkness. The boy was leaning on the door frame with his thin bare arm and the first thing Samael noticed was the goose bumps on it. The boy's blond, disheveled hair looked grey in the dark and his head was lowered, hair obscuring his face.
"Your answer, Serah Hawke." The lad handed over the same scroll where the Arishok had added his few words in reply. He managed that without looking at Samael, and one brief glance told Hawke the lad had probably not eaten, despite the fact Hawke gave him some silver earlier that day. He looked so wretched and stolid, that even the cold and arrogant assassin simply wasn't able to slam the door closed to his face. "Anything else?" The lad peered askance at Hawke, whose hair was blowing in the surprisingly strong and chilly gust of salty wind coming from the sea. As a response, Samael held out a palm with a few coppers he found in his pocket, but the coins jingled on the street flagstones.
Caught completely off guard about what just had happened, Samael flung the front door wide open to take a better look at the trembling boy, who blinked slowly a few times into the dazzling light coming from inside, before he fell on his knees and slowly tilted his head back, staring into the cloudy sky like he was making peace with the world. Hawke glanced around, considering for a second the boy might just be faking it, but he squatted down next to him anyway and shook him. The lad groaned and slumped right into Hawke's arms. Samael was so taken aback by the movement that he fell down, and found himself sitting on his own doorstep with a cold skinny body on his lap.
"Please, tell me Messere that you just haven't killed that poor child!" Bodahn skidded to a halt right next to them, bending over to examine the motionless body. The boy was barely conscious, watching Hawke in submission with half-opened eyes. He made no effort to actually do anything except lie there and wait for the death. "Shall I call your healer friend back, or maybe we should take him to the Chantry, Messere. They would take care of him… He's so young…" Bodahn's nervous voice trailed off when Hawke dragged himself up and decided instantly what to do. He bent down for the boy's body and arched an eyebrow when he realized the lad wasn't any heavier than Merrill.
Merrill… Merrill…
Her face flooded into his mind immediately as he lay the skinny boy down on the sofa, accompanied by Bodahn's desperate attempt to get him out of the estate. "So now we're picking up stray dogs out of the street or lost souls waiting for an absolution, Messere? Please, be reasonable and let me arrange a transport to the Chantry." He kept jabbering, but was silenced once Hawke shot an annihilating glare at him.
"Hot bath, hot soup, make space in that tiny room right next to the kitchen. He'll sleep there tonight." Hawke always made his orders terse and clear, but Bodahn seemed more than reluctant to fulfill them this time.
"Servants are already asleep, Messere, and I'm not going to fix the soup and bed. So bathe him yourself if you must," Bodahn's every word cut right through Hawke. His voice was so cold, but Samael knew he could well have said something a lot worse - like that Hawke was trying to fill the hole Merrill had left inside of him, or that he felt abandoned and empty, so he tried to get a new pet.
Damn it, Samael, what are you trying to do here…? You're going slightly mad. Yes, that's it. Mad.
Hawke admonished himself when he half-carried, half-dragged the boy into bathroom. He unlaced the lad's dirty, stinking jerkin and examined it while holding it just in the tips of his two fingers. His boots were easy to take off since they were far too big for him. He watched as the boy tried to force his quivering fingers to cooperate and unbutton the pantaloons. Hawke was trying his best not to stare at the lanky body in front of him; bruised, dirty, pale and every single bone visible. When the lad started pulling his trousers down, Hawke turned around, raking his fingers through his long hair and feeling clearly uncomfortable. His other hand rippled mindlessly the steaming water surface in a tub before he left bathroom, too well aware of the boy's inquiring stare at his back.
Once in the main hall again, Hawke silenced Bodahn immediately with his finger crossing his lips. Oddly enough, the old dwarf calmed down when he realized his master had his good old cunning sneer on his face, and he obviously wasn't about to trust this boy.
" Have I ever given you the impression that I am stupid, my dear Bodahn?" he whispered just for Bodahn's ears, who just shook his head in reply, although he did think about the reply briefly. "Then follow my lead," Samael purred once more, bending down to the dwarf. The next sentence he said out loud; perhaps suspiciously too loud, Bodahn would dare remark.
"What about my new vault, Bodahn?" he asked, smirking at the dwarf like he was supposed to answer with the truth. The old dwarf tapped his nose twice before he piped up with a reply.
"All set, Messere. It's finished and in your bedroom behind that huge Denerim painting on the wall. The key, though, will be delivered tomorrow by the blacksmith himself, Messere." Hawke showed thumbs up after the statement, challenging Bodahn to add something even more appealing. "And just as you've requested, Messere, I moved the contracts and gold there, so it would be all safe now." Samael resisted chuckling; he patted his old loyal servant and bowed like it was well done indeed.
"Lovely," Samael sneered in return, but his voice was perfectly casual and business-like. "Off to bed, dwarf." He chased Bodahn away, nodding at him, like he would take care of the boy from now on. Samael seated himself in his armchair with a brandy, listening to the splashing coming out of the bathroom, which, suspiciously, had started right after he was done talking to Bodahn. Oh yes, Samael might be heartbroken, sad or angry, but he always knew how to play the game.
oOo
The boy felt like he was born again after the hot bath. But as his senses started to work properly again, he was growing more and more anxious about this whole situation. His eyes were wandering around the spotless bathroom, stopping at the crystal flacons stuffed with intoxicating bath salts. He studied the simple yet elegant brass chandelier with six white candles and tall column of clean fleecy towels in the corner.
Hein's plan was quite simple; start working for Serah Hawke, gain his trust, serve him and use this opportunity to move up in the city, but this… this… this was a disaster. How he was supposed to face Serah Hawke now when he had picked him up from the street, sick, ravenous, beaten? And why he had to talk about that damned vault right behind the bathroom door? Hein dressed himself into plain linen clothing folded on the chair by the bath tub, then he cautiously opened the door and peered into the main hall. If he half-expected, half-hoped Hawke wouldn't be there, this wish was snubbed instantly as their eyes met, and Hein was aware Hawke was clearly thinking about him; thinking about what to do with him. Having no choice, the boy shuffled in front of Hawke with downcast eyes, awaiting a verdict. Samael watched him for some time, tormenting him deliberately with silence as he took his time before he spoke.
"Feeling better?" Hawke asked, watching his hand playing with an empty brandy snifter. He gestured towards the tray with meal with his other hand and the lad wasn't able to resist the steaming food, prepared by the dwarf. "The ground rules are simple enough." Samael glanced at the boy, who was in the middle of devouring his late dinner. "You rest and sleep here tonight. Tomorrow – get out. Try to pull some trick on me and you're dead. Any questions?" he asked casually, still watching the snifter, but he was aware the lad had stopped eating and his almond eyes were not set on him.
"No, Serah Hawke," Hein replied after a moment. Samael was able to catch a bitter undertone in the boy's voice, although he wasn't able to figure out why was he was upset.
"To the kitchen, the last room on your left. Good night." Hawke got up, stretched, patted the mabari who was watching the boy in suspicion. It came to him, then, that Charon shouldn't be there, as he would probably kill the boy if he happened to attempt to do something tonight. "Come on, my furry friend. I need you in the basement tonight to guard my laboratory," he whispered loud enough for Hein to hear. Once Hawke disappeared into his own quarters, Hein sauntered around the main hall for a while, touching this and that, admiring the weapons on walls shyly, and the paintings, huge vases and imposing fireplace. Then he sneaked into to the appointed room, but he kept looking over his shoulder, still asking himself how he had gotten into this impossible situation.
oOo
Samael was lying under the tangled blankets and pillows in his bedroom. One would think he messed it all up on purpose, so the bed wouldn't look so empty without his elf. Everything was prepared; the Denerim painting was slightly parted from the wall, so there was no doubt about where the vault was. Hawke lay on his back with one arm folded behind his head; the other hand was hidden beneath the blanket, holding the hilt of his dagger. How could he be so sure the lad would show up here tonight? And what would he do with him if he was stupid enough to attempt to steal anything? It was difficult to think for the assassin since the whole room was full of Merrill's stuff, which was a great reminder of his loneliness and her betrayal.
It wasn't a great revelation for Hawke when the bedroom door opened after two hours of staring at the ceiling. Samael sighed – it was both refreshing and disturbing to be right all the time. The boy practically melded into shadows when he started creeping towards the bed, but he had no idea that he was being watched and this whole late night mission was anticipated. One quick glance at the Denerim painting from the boy, before he continued in his inaudible journey towards the bed. It was at this very moment when Hawke started thinking maybe this whole thing wasn't about robbing the vault, but about killing him, since as far as he could tell, the boy was much more interested in the 'sleeping' Hawke than vault.
Hein found himself standing by the bed, frozen on the spot, when he realized what he was about to do. There was no reason not to steal from a rich stranger, then disappear and maybe buy himself a house, start a business, get a job and live happily ever after. Someplace nice, someplace warm and friendly. All he had to do was to raise his hands, take gold and go. Hawke was to blame after all, for the reason that Hein was left all alone, after his fellows were slaughtered when they attempted to rape and rob that Chantry sister! Yes, they weren't his family nor his friends, but they were his guarantee that Hein would have a bed and hot meal by the end of the day. And Hawke took this certainty from him, throwing the young boy into starvation and despair.
What's going on here? Why does he keep staring at me? Why doesn't he simply take the gold so I can cut him down?
Hawke started to doubt himself, having no clue why he felt like bringing this child into his home in the first place. But there was no other possibility than to continue with the show and wait for the lad to finish what he had come here for; whatever that was. Hawke almost blew his cover when he felt a cold bony finger brushing away a strand of hair off his face, as the lad knelt beside the bed, watching the sleeping Hawke and listening to his rhythmic breathing. Did every assassin gently touch his target before he finished him off? It was like Hein had heard Samael's restless thoughts when he pulled himself up and finally crept to the vault, pushing the painting hesitantly sideways.
Ah… so, just a petty thief. How disappointing. How… dull.
Hein hefted the pouches of gold he had found inside, then rummaged through the pile of business contracts. Finally he opened one pouch and peered inside, speechless. The gold reflected itself in the lad's widened hazel eyes as he shyly touched a sovereign. Time seemed to stop. Mammon smiled at the skinny lad as he slowly put three fat pouches with gold into his borrowed trousers, then he kept gaping into the vault, motionless. Heavy raindrops hammered on the windows, wind howled in the fireplace chimney and it was like Hein had woken just up, as he glanced wildly around him only to realize the bed was empty and Hawke was probably standing right behind him, ready to kill him as he would any other thief stupid enough to cross his path.
"Put it back, little rabbit." A lazy voice ripped the silence apart and the lad gulped. "Eh-eh," Hawke chuckled mirthlessly and jabbed the tip of his dagger into the lad's back when Hein tried to turn around and face him, probably with some heartbreaking story about his shitty life and that he had no choice but to steal. Hein put one contract and three pouches of gold back into vault and slowly closed the painting, having no idea what would happen next. He didn't try to run, since it would be pointless anyway; Hawke could kill him anytime he liked.
"So… deciding to help yourself to a small fortune? My, my, such unexpected ingratitude from such a bright boy. I almost bought that innocent face of yours." Hawke mocked the lad, squeezed his shoulder and turned him roughly around, since now he perversely craved to see his face, his set jaw, maybe tiny tears of abasement in his eyes. "Look at me," he hissed when Hein wasn't able to look into his face. The hand holding Samael's dagger started creeping up until the boy felt the chilling steel on his throat. "I said look at me!" Hawke snatched the boy's chin and forced him to do it. Maybe it was this harsh touch of Hawke's hand on his body or his acrid words what had ripped Hein out of his listless musing.
"You had no right…" Hein whispered disjointedly, shaking his head mildly.
"YOU HAD NO FUCKING RIGHT!" he threw himself at Hawke who managed to lower the weapon just in time, so the boy wouldn't stick himself on it. They wrestled in silence, Hein putting all his remaining strength into this fight, Hawke more like holding himself back from killing the lad on the spot or at least breaking any of his fragile bones to hurt him.
"No right to do what?" Samael scoffed and started systematically immobilizing the struggling lad by pinning him to the carpet.
"You should have killed me along with the others that night! You should have finished what you started!" Hein screamed right into his face. "You were supposed to kill me and end it all!" He started wriggling ferociously out of Hawke's grasp. "Not condemn me to living a life I hate!" Hein was shaking uncontrollably now, his nerves so vexed that he almost started to cry hysterically. Hawke was at a loss. Was the lad really complaining about Samael sparing his life back then? He begged for it that night, damn it! Yet he was now glaring at Hawke like he was to blame for a fucked up life of yet another insignificant lost soul who had tried to steal from him.
"Stop… fighting… me," Hawke hissed into his ear when the lad kept struggling; the assassin's arms still snaked around the slender body tightly. Oh, how many times had Samael been stealing when he was young? How many times he had gotten caught, beaten up, kicked down? And how he prayed for a person who would have told him there was another way indeed, that he had an actual choice, a free will to choose to live a life he would like? Looking at Hein in that moment was like looking at himself through a broken mirror. He saw in him the same painful loneliness, the same hunger for his life to have a meaning, the same despair of a person who had no choice but to feed on fools, steal from them and occasionally be able to have enough money for a bed and hot meal.
The crude memories devoured Samael as he finally let go of the boy, got up and sat down on the bed with his head in palms. How did this happen? Why he was haunted again by the suppressed dark memories slumbering deep in his mind? Of course, this peculiar boy was to blame here no doubt!
"Run, little rabbit." Hein crawled on all fours to the bed and sat down by Hawke's ankles cautiously. He continued when Samael shot a baffled glance at him through his fingers. "The last words you told me that night. And I ran away, just like you ordered me to."
"You should know better by now than to take orders from somebody like me." Hawke finally uncovered his face. "Now get out," he gestured towards the door and raised an eyebrow when Hein's eyes glanced at the door, but the lad stayed motionless.
"I'm done running." Hein slowly shook his head, watching Hawke with his eyes burning in both hope and fear.
"Good for you. Now get out," Hawke repeated his order, a naked menace in his voice now. "You must think I'm royally stupid!" he shouted when the lad just curled into himself on the carpet. "You tried to rob me! You can't expect me to let you stay here, you vagrant! How could I? I don't even know you!" Hawke no longer knew if he was arguing with the boy or with himself, as he jumped up and pulled the boy up with him. "Go now before I lose my patience," he whispered, but now it sounded more like a plea to leave him alone to his sorrow.
"Lose your patience then," Hein whispered back, his voice hoarse but audible. Hawke slapped him, hoping he would leave now. Hein straightened up, groping his sore cheek and smiling at the assassin. The lad's ingenuous smile infuriated Samael beyond the point of self-control, as his hand shot out once more and as if it not enough, Hawke kicked the lad straight into his torso. He was so skinny, his body flew backwards before it hit the wall and tumbled down. The borrowed linen under tunic rolled up, revealing Hein's back. The skin was clean now, still bruised though, but something else entirely caught Hawke's attention.
"What is this?" he knelt down by the lying body and drew the boy's clothing aside even more, staring at his back speckled with countless tiny round burns. Samael rolled the boy over, cursing himself that he wasn't able to keep himself from taking his anger on the poor lad. Damned women! Damned Merrill!
"Cigar burns, what else?" Hein set his jaw, crushing the virulent words between his teeth while his eyes were swimming in tears of humiliation, as Hawke had just discovered the way he had been treated by his dead thug leader. The similarities in their lives just became more and more bewildering for Hawke as he slowly gathered the emaciated boy into his arms, and carried him onto the spacious bed. No, he really didn't know what he was doing anymore, when he slipped under the cover as well, folded his arms behind his head again comfortably and ignored the boy staring at him in reverent silence.
Both damaged. Both damned. Samael was Hein's future as much as Hein was Samael's past. A week ago, Hawke seemed to have his life in a perfect order; he decided to keep this estate once he would move along with Merrill back to Fereldan. His agent was currently looking for a suitable estate in Denerim where they could live, the ship was ready to sail, the business meeting with the Carta was successful and the dwarves were willing to continue in lyrium trade.
Now – all his plans were ruined. Merrill had left him and nothing made sense anymore. Aveline was angry with him, Isabela had disappeared, Fawn was gone too. Occela had escaped the City stables, the Arishok warned Hawke about the possibility that he might try to take over the city and on the top of all this mess, he was about to sleep in one bed with a peculiar seventeen year old wanderer who was simply too much like him, that Samael couldn't let him walk away. Not that the boy would attempt to leave judging by his wide-open almond eyes peering at Hawke from beneath the blanket in silence.
Huh… If you want to make the Maker laugh, tell Him about your plans.
With this final aftermath, Hawke glanced at his new pet in the light of the dying flames in fireplace. "Stop staring at me," he whispered after a moment. The rustle of blankets, hushed giggling and the almond eyes disappeared in the darkness.