"Keeper?" A slender elven woman approached Merrill, who was roaming up the camp and watching as the morning sun started to color the horizon. She jumped when her bleak thoughts were interrupted and the woman's fixed look told Merrill that this title really belonged to her now.
"Yes?" Merrill turned to her fellow elf, trying her best to sound calm.
"The pyre is ready, Keeper." The woman averted her gaze, but Merrill had noticed her set jaw and glassy eyes, that were no doubt full of tears for Marethari.
"G-good," Merrill stammered. She indeed prayed for some guidance here; something, someone, who would tell her what to do now. "Please spread the word Marethari's pyre will take place today at twilight." Merrill turned her back at the elf like this conversation was over. Suddenly, Marethari's staff strapped on Merrill's back became an unbelievable heavy burden for her, but the ancient law of the Elvhenan people dictated that the Keeper's staff was inheritable and now it was Merrill's turn to bear it.
"How did this happen?" Merrill kept whispering to herself; all alone again. "I didn't want this, I swear, please, I really didn't want this…" she pleaded with her invisible ancestors, her face turned up into the skies. As always, her eyes then fell down to stare at the cold black ring on her finger. The fiery ring stone was blinking at her faintly and the fire burning inside of it seemed to be choking and somehow dying. Merrill wiped a lone tear off her face and headed back to the Dalish camp. Her camp.
oOo
Samael stood by the window with arms folded on his bare chest, watching the same horizon as Merrill. The sun rose above it and lighted up the Hightown roofs. He glanced behind him several times, like he couldn't believe there really was a skinny body in his bed, still in a sound sleep, curled on one side and tightly hugging a huge ball made of pillows and blankets. Hein's naked scraggy back was turned to Hawke now as he realized the boy must have taken off his borrowed under tunic during night and rolled it under his head instead of a pillow, for some unknown reason.
Hawke approached the motionless body cautiously when the first sun beams reached the bedroom and chased the night shadows away. A perfect opportunity to take a good look at those burns without making the boy uncomfortable. Samael scowled involuntarily when he counted thirteen perfectly round cigar burns and two bigger burns which looked like they were caused by hot wax or something similar. The burns had different coloring and at least two of them were quite fresh. They must have been bothering the lad, who obviously had no idea how to treat wounds like these.
Samael brushed his forehead with his palm like he was deciding what to do, before he strolled to a dresser and started poking around an upper drawer that still contained Merrill's potions and salves. He ignored the voice inside him that was telling him to stay away from Merrill's stuff, until he fished out a potent healing potion and Anders' salve for skin scratches and burns; both perfect for this situation since Hein's health seemed to be more than weakened.
Samael had a time-tested medicine for his sorrow, mostly caused by his abandonment. He reached into his closet and pulled out his breakfast; a bottle of fine Antivan whiskey. While he was sauntering back to bed with a salve and a potion in his one hand, a bottle in his other one, he pulled out the bottle cork with his teeth, and spat it across the room. He took a long, desperate swig of oblivion. He grimaced when the strong alcohol burned his throat.
The mattress rocked wildly when Hawke fell into bed again, not realizing Hein had been watching him ever since he went searching for a salve. Another gulp of whiskey and Samael's life seemed to be bearable again.
"Good morning, Master." Quiet words stopped the hand holding the bottle, which was on its way to deliver yet another sip of comfort. Samael decided to play along, although Fenris had taught him to hate slaver-masters and pity their victims.
"Good morning, pet." He sneered at the boy, then went back to staring at ceiling again and drinking his own 'healing potion'. Hein arched an eyebrow when Hawke tossed at him a big vial of light purple liquid and nodded, like the boy was supposed to drink it right away. "Still listening to my orders without an objection, I see…" the assassin grumbled in discontent when the lad drank the vial obediently, licking his lips as a warm tingling sensation started spreading throughout his body. "Lie on your stomach," Hawke whispered after a moment of silence and concentrated boozing.
"Why?" The boy gulped, his voice suddenly hoarse and timid. Something in his voice made Hawke put his bottle away, support himself on an elbow and look at him with his amber eyes narrowed, as he was tried to figure out what was wrong.
He was smiling at me a second ago, ready to drink whatever poison I could have given him… Now he's staring at me like I have three heads and I'm about to devour children for breakfast. What the hell…? Why this mood swing? Unless…
Hawke began to think he understood why he had glimpsed pure fear, yet also utter submission in the boy's eyes. Like he was resolved to do anything what Hawke demanded of him.
Does he think I want to… have my way with him? Fucking Gods above, do I make the impression I have a soft spot for young boys or something?
Hawke couldn't find proper words to describe his confusion over Hein's odd reaction, so he just raised a hand holding a healing salve to show him he had no sordid intentions whatsoever - like fucking his young ass. He just intended to help him and make the pain go away, nothing else.
"A salve." Hawke glanced at his own hand to convince himself that there was definitively a salve as Hein kept staring at Hawke's hand and face in turns. "For your burns," the assassin explained when the boy stayed silent and motionless.
"I don't need… Nothing… I mean… Please… I don't need it—" the boy rambled and hid his torso beneath a blanket.
"All right." Hawke replied in pretended indifference. He put the small box with the salve between them and went back to his whiskey and thoughts. It was like Hawke wasn't aware of the boy gaping at him, his gaunt fingers clenching the blanket so tightly, that his hand knuckles were white and prominent. When Hein saw Hawke wasn't about to do anything with him or to him, he relaxed. Still oblivious to the fidgeting lad, Hawke started examining his fingernails, smiling almost imperceptibly when the boy hesitantly took the salve box into his hand, while he scratched mindlessly at one of the throbbing burns on his lower back. He opened the box and sniffed its content; a yellowy goo that reeked of rotten eggs. He turned his mute face to Hawke and waited.
"Yes?" Samael decided to make it easier for the lad when it was clear he wouldn't ask Hawke to rub the salve on the burns. Still silent, Hein returned the salve box to Hawke and lay on his stomach with a blanket still coiled around him firmly. Samael rolled his eyes from this strange game full of unspoken words and undisclosed signs. He tugged at the blanket gently until it slipped down, revealing the burns on the pale skin of Hein's back. The boy gasped and twitched when Hawke's finger, coated in salve, touched his skin. But he calmed down when Samael kept rubbing in silence, clearly focusing on just the injuries.
"Let it dry by itself," the assassin whispered when he was done, but his words were futile since he realized the boy had fallen asleep again. Hawke just shook his head. He had to admit the boy was a great distraction indeed, since he had forgotten completely about Merrill.
oOo
"Everything is prepared, Messere." Bodahn nodded at his master and led him to the back door which lead to the garden. "I think you'll be satisfied with the horse. He's little, I know, but he looks really strong and resilient. I put some food into the bag on the left, your bedroll is stuffed in the right and-" Bodahn went on and on, and Hawke couldn't help but be genuinely annoyed by his over-protectiveness.
"Maker, relax, Bodahn. I just need a few days to myself. Stop fussing over me like I'm doing this for the first time. Because I'm not, in case you haven't noticed." Samael put his hand on the dwarf's shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "I leave Charon here to guard you and the estate, so—"
"Where are you going?" A quiet voice from upstairs entered the conversation, rudely interrupting the assassin. Hawke turned around. His eyes found the boy leaning on a balustrade, and he saw pure panic on his face although the lad tried to hide it.
"Taking a vacation for a few days." Samael sneered at the boy. Actually he had no idea why he even bothered to reply. As soon as he realized this, he turned back to the dwarf.
"Take me with you." Hein appeared right behind Hawke and plucked shyly his heavy travelling coat. Hawke intended to ignore this demand, but the boy seemed too cheeky to accept his silence. He marched right in the middle of the dwarf and the assassin, looking up into Hawke's face. "I can hunt, I can cook. I can keep you… entertained." The lad started listing in vigor all of his skills, but Hawke silenced him with his raised palm.
"Leave us." Samael glanced at Bodahn, who looked like he would love to grab the boy by his neckline and toss him out of the mansion. He granted his master a subtle bow and stomped into the kitchen to show the boy how to fulfill an order.
Once they were alone, Samael had no clue what should he say. He just needed a few days off, desperately. Just a few days without people around him. It was selfish indeed, but also necessary.
"Let me get this straight, little rabbit." Hawke forced the boy to step backwards until his back hit the wall and Samael had him right on the spot he liked; vulnerable and cornered. "You probably faked your impressive faintness and you took advantage of my kind, soft heart and foolish nature when I accepted you in my mansion. You repaid me with your pathetic attempt to steal from me. Here comes my bewildering good-natured character again, since I allowed you to sleep here and I tended to your injuries. And now you dare to demand something from me?" Samael's hushed voice was more frightening than if he was shouting.
"I did not plan on stealing from you!" The boy stuck his chin forward boldly to underline his reply.
"Yeah, whatever." Hawke waved his hand like he wouldn't argue with wind, but Hein caught his hand and made a step forward.
"Why are you punishing yourself? Why do you have to go all alone? What are you running away from? Or maybe whom?" The boy realized too late that his words set those amber eyes in front of him on fire. Samael's short temper blew when he pushed the boy roughly away from him.
"What… How… Why did you say that? You know next to shit about me and my life!" he hissed into the boy's face, as he imprisoned him in the corner again, with his arms leaning on the wall.
"Please, take me with you." Hein repeated his plea, only now his voice sounded spooked as his eyes were sliding along Hawke's muscular arms. After this stubborn demand, Samael just threw his arms in the air, like he gave up. He started pacing around the main hall in disquiet after he had thrown his small bag into an armchair. He wasn't about to take a complete stranger with him, was he? It would be against everything his father had taught him to keep him alive and safe, damn it! Do not trust strangers, son. Damn it! Do not trust anybody, son! But what if the lad was right? Why should he go just by himself, not even with the mabari? Yes, Merrill left him, but it didn't mean Hawke should cut himself off from the rest of the world and suffer silently in the woods. What if he decided to break the rules? He had done that last night anyway, when he took the boy in. Hawke whirled around to face the boy again and their eyes met in silence.
"No talking. Only when I allow you to. No questioning my decisions and definitely no defiance. If you wield any weapon, this would be a great moment to mention it. Questions?" Samael arched an eyebrow when Hein shook his head keenly. "Good." Samael's eyes lingered at the smiling lad, but he regretted this decision already.
oOo
"Archibald."
"You must be joking. He doesn't look like Archibald."
"Kessan then. Look! Look, he likes the name!" Hein patted the snorting little horse and turned his laughing face back to Hawke.
"Archibald, Kessan, I really don't care." Hawke grimaced at both of them. "But I'll gut him and roast him on the first fire if he breaks any of my whiskey bottles." Hawke's coarse joke was rewarded with an apple Hein had thrown at him with all his might; guffawing, Hawke caught it just a second before it hit his head. "Delicious," Hawke scoffed before he sunk his teeth into the red fruit and once again he found himself staring at the giggling boy. He wore one of Hawke's old armor sets, high black boots and a worn brown coat, but it all looked great on him, although even the armor couldn't hide that unhealthy thinness and pale skin. Samael's birthday bow was sheathed on his back, since Hawke intended to train with it.
It came to the assassin he would have probably been crawling in silence through these Kirkwall outskirts, brooding, lost in somber thoughts, if he left Kirkwall alone like he intended. Instead of that, he was jesting, breathing in the fresh breeze happily and turning his face to catch the last sun rays before the early sunset with a smile on his lips. The horse seemed to carry his burden patiently and without any difficulties; he had nothing but two bedrolls, some food, whiskey, and weapons on his back after all. Hawke realized only now there was a lyre too, peering at him from the right bag.
"Where are we going?" Hein waited for Hawke and braved asking the question, since Hawke looked at ease and in good mood.
"Actually, I… don't know." Samael started laughing, took the reins from the lad and kept walking down the path.
oOo
"You drink too much." Hein dared stating the obvious.
"You talk too much." Samael countered with a venomous reply, reminding the boy about his non-talking rule. Hawke had hunted down a young doe and their dinner tasted delicious, especially along with Bodahn's boiled potatoes, fruit and pie. "Eat, you skinny frog." Samael belched and gestured at the fresh meat roast. Hein's eyes followed the half-empty whiskey bottle Hawke was drinking, but he got up obediently and had another piece of meat, although he felt surfeited already. When they finished eating, they simply seated themselves around a fire in silence, watching the dancing flames and listening to sounds of evening in the woods.
"So? You claimed to keep me entertained. Bring it up, then." Hawke finished his bottle and smashed it against the tree trunk. Hein was very quiet like he still expected any minute Hawke would swoop upon him and kill him, or worse. But he just seemed to be as he always was – calm, uncaring and with an arrogant mask on his face.
"I've spent a few years among the pirates, Serah Hawke. Maybe you would like to hear a few stories about the pirates?" Hein smiled at his master, but it was an insecure smile full of distant pain.
"Pirates? Huh, you don't say." Hawke's eyes flashed as they reflected the fire. "You don't seem like that type, you know?" he kept nagging the boy with a teasing smile. Hein looked peeved that Hawke clearly considered him a virtuous innocent lad who just got lost in Kirkwall and kept the wrong company.
"Me'n'th' crew seen a great grand sea beastie, th' mother of all whales, aye!" Hein exclaimed merrily, pulled a cork out of yet another whiskey bottle, spat it at the assassin and took a generous gulp. Hawke watched in disbelief at lad choking on the strong whiskey, before he burst out in roaring laughter until he fell down from his dead tree trunk seat.
"Not without a talent, I see…" Samael kept guffawing and smeared the tears of joy on his face. Hein stood up to make a curtsy while smiling at Hawke's drunk reaction.
They kept joking and laughing until the fire was just flickering and they were too lazy to go for more wood. They both crawled into their bedrolls and kept staring into the skies above them in silence.
"Serah Hawke…" the lad whispered and glanced at his master to see for himself if he had fallen asleep.
"Hm?" Samael droned, the stars reflecting in his widened eyes, his face serious. It wasn't hard to guess of whom Hawke was thinking.
"I'm afraid we have to think of a new name for our horsie." Hein whispered and turned in his bedroll to face Hawke.
"Why?" Hawke raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes from the sky.
"Because he's probably… a lady." Hein tittered and glanced at the little horse.
"That certainly changes everything." Samael yawned and smiled for himself. "Sleep, little rabbit."
oOo
Day after day was passing in the woods and Hein had to teach himself to react properly to Hawke's countless mood swings. When the assassin fell silent or suddenly stood up and left the boy without a word, it wasn't wise to disturb him or - Maker forbid - talk to him. When Hawke patted the little horse or he started a conversation, it was good time to ask questions or try to cheer him up a little. And then there were moments when nobody dared approaching the assassin; not even the flies it seemed, usually when his eyes were shooting fire in all four directions, he kept crushing curses between his teeth and grabbing at his katana or his daggers, before going off to practice.
After one of these lonesome workouts, Hawke returned utterly spent and deadened, while water dripped from him, since obviously he had jumped into a pool right after his practice to get clean again. He hadn't said a word to the lad that day, but Hein seemed completely at ease as he lounged around, singing to the fire and poking a stick into it. He watched Hawke when he tossed his drenched jerkin on a branch to dry there, then he coiled his coat around his body to warm himself up. Still without a glance at the boy, Samael strolled to the fire and seated himself on a rock; his eyes hypnotizing the flames. A pewter bowl with hot meat and blackberries on the side appeared in front of Hawke, who jerked when he realized the boy probably had been watching him the whole time.
"Thank you." Hawke muttered and took a bowl from the boy. The old habits died hard though, so Samael sniffed his dinner cautiously when Hein turned away and started rummaging through a bag. When he returned to Samael, there was a lyre in his hand. Hein sat down by Hawke's knees, squirmed on the fallen leaves, while he was thinking how to scratch that silent mask off Hawke's face. He remembered Samael's smile when he talked about the pirates and he figured this would be the right way to do it. The lad's fingers stroked the lyre thoughtfully as Hein gazed up into his master's face, only to realize Hawke was watching him in suspense, his fingers toying with a blackberry. Hein smiled faintly when distant words of an old song reached his mind and he realized in awe he still remembered those words his father had been singing to him during those long sleepless nights on the raging sea.
Oh, better far to live and die
Under the cursed black flag I fly,
Than play a sanctimonious part,
With a pirate head and a pirate heart.
Away to the cheating world go you,
Where pirates all are well-to-do;
But I'll be true to the song I sing,
And live and die a Pirate King.
Yo, ho, he, ho
There are men whose hearts are as black as coal
And they sail their ship across the ocean blue.
A Blood thirsty captain and a cut throat crew.
It's a darker tale as was ever told
Of a lust for treasure and a love of gold.
The air was still trembling with the sound of lyre's strings as the boy sang the last words quietly and then his voice died away. Lost in his thoughts, Hein couldn't see that Hawke was listening to him intently and he had stopped eating, since something in the lad's voice caught his attention.
"I'm heading home tomorrow." Samael's hesitant voice ripped the silence apart.
"So soon…" Hein breathed out, not looking up, his fingers still clenching the slender throat of lyre. Samael had been thinking about the peculiar boy every damned day, but he saw only one solution here.
"Our paths will go their separate ways from tomorrow." Hawke felt awkward when Hein turned his widened almond eyes at him, but a simple nod told Hawke the lad had understood. Restless, Samael grasped his katana and started cleaning it, while his back was turned from the boy. Only an almost inaudible rustle of a blanketed and choked sob told him Hein decided to turn in and he desired to be left alone.
oOo
Samael woke up in the middle of night and it took him a while to realize Hein was kneeling by him and shaking him mildly. Hawke shot a warning glance at the boy's hand lingering on his chest and Hein jerked and pulled it back.
"Messere Hawke—" Hein stammered and looked wildly around him like somebody was about to attack them.
"What is it?" The assassin whispered in reply, suddenly very much awake. He wondered just for a second how he could sleep so blissfully, that apparently something so important had escaped his attention. Their camp was on a small glade and was drowned in milky white shreds of mist; yet there was something disturbing about it. Only now Hawke noticed the mist was… reddish.
"Kirkwall, Messere Hawke." The boy sat down heavily, not taking his terrified eyes off Hawke's face. "Kirkwall is burning." He coughed in uneasiness, when he got no reaction from the proud assassin; only a brief shadow of realization running across his brooding face. Samael slowly rose from his bedroll, unwrapping the blanket loosely around his body while he made a few steps forward, so that he had a better view of the hill which was blocking the view of the city. The horizon was enveloped in ominous ruddy shadows and there was no doubt something was going on in Kirkwall.
"Huh… Sooner than I thought. It wasn't wise to do this before, nor is it wise now, Arishok." Samael murmured to himself, shaking his head as he glanced up at veiled stars above him like he was asking them what would happen next.
"You… knew?" Hein shot the prodding question at Hawke and the assassin narrowed his eyes when he caught an accusatory undertone in the lad's voice. "That's why you left? Because you knew the Qunari would attack the city? You… You—" Judging by Hein's widened eyes and pure outrage in his face; he wasn't far from tearing Hawke apart. Samael wasn't curious about the preaching coming from a young petty thief though, so – just to be sure – he jumped at him first.
"Me what, little rabbit? Why don't you finish your chain of thought?" Samael appeared behind Hein's back, one of his arms snaking around him while the other one found his throat and squeezed mercilessly. "It's quite bewildering how quickly you got used to being around me, talking to me and preaching to me about good old manners, huh?" The assassin was now whispering into the boy's ear, but his eyes were still set at the crimson horizon. He had to admit he had grown quite fond of the young rogue too, but he wouldn't say it out loud of course. Hawke's vicious attack was about to be punished since the struggling lad went limp in his arms and Samael thought for a second he had squeezed the slender throat too much. He loosened his grasp on the boy and turned him around gently, searching his darkened face.
Not wishing to talk to the peculiar boy anymore, Hawke brought him back to his bedroll, tucked him in like a child and made sure the blanket was properly protecting him from the early morning chill. The boy's eyebrows were knitted together as he watched Hawke in silence, wondering how he could remain so cold and calm when his estate could be on fire right now.
"Will you do… nothing?" Hein squeaked and stopped Hawke before he could straighten up and walk away.
"Sleep, rabbit. There's nothing we can do right now." Hawke heard himself replying and he was genuinely astounded that his voice sounded so casual and steady, although he felt nothing but consuming disquiet in his mind. The lad nodded and forced himself to close his eyes. Lost in his whirling thoughts, Samael started sauntering around the glade. Even the sighs of the breeze were louder than his steps.
oOo
"Why do they ignore us? Why don't they fight us?" Hein couldn't bear the silence anymore and burst out. They were sneaking through Kirkwall and this was a third karataam which just glanced at Hawke and let them pass in silence. This time Hein was able to catch an almost imperceptible bow that one Qunari gave Hawke and he demanded the assassin would tell him what was going on.
Samael shook his head when they were walking by the burning house of Ichabod Bane in Lowtown; pure mayhem and panic around them.
"We need to hurry." Samael growled in reply finally, dismissing the topic.
"Why don't the Qunari attack us?" Hein insisted on his question with puckered lips as he snatched Hawke's arm in vigor.
"Because they were ordered not to, damn it!" Samael almost shouted at the boy as a group of spongers, looting an abandoned shop, turned in their way. Hawke just snorted and bore his teeth at them, while he unsheathed his katana with a slow fluid move, like he would happily oblige and cut their heads of if they were stupid enough to approach him.
They continued in their hasted journey to the Hawke estate, dragging the poor tired little horse behind them. Samael felt his heart pounding faster and faster as he pictured in his mind his half-burnt mansion, Bodahn lamenting over his dead son's body, the servants killed, treasure stolen… Hawke shook his head to chase away the gruesome images and he almost ran those few last steps to his estate.
Hawke opened the front door inaudibly and gulped when he heard choked screams coming from upstairs, then loud thuds and sounds of a fight.
"Stay here with Archibald or whatever name you gave him. I mean her." Hawke whispered to the lad, but his eyes were burning with murder and they were stuck at the stairs leading to his bedroom.
"But—" Hein intended to come with him, but one scorching gaze from the assassin convinced him to shut up instead. He watched Hawke creeping upstairs, then he disappeared. Samael kicked the bedroom door wide open and a peculiar scene opened up to him. How he was able to joke even now, he would never know.
"Knock, knock!" Hawke sneered at three scoundrels attacking Bodahn who had just a short sword and was injured badly. "Now you're supposed to say 'who's there?' morons." Hawke pointed the katana in their direction; the looters still speechless. "And I would say 'naughty, naughty boys, mamma's home!'" Hawke yelled those last words and launched forward to deal with them. Their blood started coloring the expensive carpet when Hawke caught Bodahn's exhausted body, collapsing down.
"You're back, Messere. Thank the Paragons, you're back." Bodahn sighed in relief and Samael realized there were just skin cuts on Bodahn's body; nothing serious.
"I'm so sorry. So sorry, Bodahn…" Hawke shook his head, whispering his desperate apologies for not protecting his most faithful servant. "Where are the others?" he asked frantically, afraid of the answer.
"You won't believe this, Messere, but your mabari led Sandal and the servants to safety and my son blew up a part of the basement so these scum wouldn't follow them." A proud smile sprawled out on the old dwarf's face.
"Clever boy," Hawke smiled and helped Bodahn to stand up again. "But why didn't you go with them, Bodahn?"
"Well, I decided to stay of course and defend your property, Messere." The old dwarf looked genuinely puzzled why Hawke had even asked the question. Wasn't his loyalty to Hawke crystal clear by now?
"War conference, my brother. Will you attend?" A familiar husky voice made Samael twitch and whirl around. He stalked to the elf, observing his blood-stained armor, sweaty forehead and the hand clenching a wound on his torso.
"You look… awful." Samael remarked and put his hand on Fenris' shoulder.
"And you're late." The elf sneered in reply, but he did mirror him with his brief tender gesture.
"That's all very touching, mes chou-chou-amis, like the Orlesians would say, but we're a little busy right now. Don't you think?" Varric peered into the bedroom, a bloody pansement wrapped around his forehead.
"What's the situation, Varric?" Samael let go of his elf and turned to the dwarf who was dusting his coat.
"Well, to confirm the obvious, our huge horn-headed friends lost patience and attacked the city. They keep dragging nobles into the Keep, they're terrorizing the whole city, the Viscount is holed up in his office, ever since his son Saemus was murdered last night at the Chantry and—"
"WHAAAT…?" Samael interrupted the dwarf, shouting in disbelief.
"I bet now you regret that you weren't here and missed the fun, our mighty hero." Varric smirked, observing his fingernails.
"Who did it?" Samael asked, a rage boiling the blood in his veins.
"Well, take your pick." Varric bowed sardonically. "Mother Petrice. A suspect in many run-ins with the Qunari. A grey eminence lurking in shadows, striking from behind and stirring otherwise calm waters of Kirkwall."
"Enough, you half-tall buffoon." Hawke murmured and raised a palm to stop Varric's garrulous outburst. "I need to think." The assassin rubbed his forehead, realizing they were all waiting for him to say something, order them to do something. "Where are the others?" Hawke finally spoke again, still rubbing his face.
"Darktown is flooded with wounded people, so Anders won't help unless he heals everybody there. So he's off the hook." Surprisingly, they were Fenris' words.
"Isabela is still nowhere to be found." Now it was Varric's turn to look exhausted and worried. "Sebastian is guarding the Grand Cleric and his precious Chantry," he continued, "and Aveline—" the dwarf fell silent, shaking his head.
"What happened to her?" Samael's fiery eyes widened in fear.
"I told her not to meddle. But she offered herself to the Qunari in exchange for her men, so they could help people on the streets." Varric shook his head again like Aveline was surely dead by now.
"Silly, prissy, righteous, over-protective idiotic - argh!" Hawke punched the wall. Fenris and the two dwarves just watched this extreme reaction in awe. "This was not supposed to happen. Damn it. This wasn't the deal here, fuck!" Samael kept droning to himself, pounding his head softly on the wall.
"You knew about this, Hawke?" Varric asked cautiously when he put two and two together. "The Arishok told you this would happen?"
"Yes." Hawke had just this terse honest reply for his staring friends. "But not like this. Now I have to go and remind him of our deal which included all my friends and their homes. Damn! Ichabod's mansion is already burning, by the way," he whispered and leaned on the wall with his both arms.
"I know." A deep voice remarked, making them all turn around. Ichabod Bane walked in along with the boy, who had obviously heard everything which had been said. "So, what's the plan?" Bane asked nobody particular.
"I'm heading to the Viscount's Keep now," Hawke droned and his eyes flashed with implacable flames. "Varric, Fenris, Ichabod with me," he continued, although Bane's name seemed be very hard to say out loud. He had no choice though; the way to the Keep would be strenuous no doubt and he needed all capable companions with him. Ichabod had proven his qualities when he saved Hawke in Lowtown, although he didn't admit it. Hawke was contemplating his plan, when Hein's ardent voice entered the silence.
"I can fight!"
"NO!" Hawke replied quickly and he realized too late he sounded like he cared for the lad so much, that he wouldn't put him in danger. "I need you to take Bodahn and the others to Darktown to Anders' clinic. He'll take care of the injuries and you all will be safe there." Hawke tried to explain his reluctance to take the boy with him. To his relief, Hein just lowered his head in submission and nodded.
"Everyone ready?" Hawke cleaned his crimson blade with a handkerchief. "Because this will be quite a stunt." Hawke grinned at his friends and sheathed his weapon, ignoring the black ring burning on his finger.