"I'm fine, Aveline. Now piss off," Hawke pouted on his sofa. Fenris was lounging right next to him, watching Hawke cautiously as though he thought the assassin would drop dead at any second. Varric was wordlessly drinking his fifth whiskey glass and was still shaken after what had happened at the Viscount's Keep. Ichabod apologized and went to check on his house which had been on fire when he had last seen it. Aveline started with banning Hawke from drinking alcohol, then she decided to tuck him into bed or at least cook him soup, since Bodahn and the others hadn't returned yet from Darktown. As the skies were growing darker with every hour, Samael started thinking about going to search for them, but he was sure his friends wouldn't let him go roaming through the city at night; the city, which was still licking its wounds after the Qunari invasion.
Hawke beat himself up for several hours for allowing them to go on their own through a city which was under attack by the Qunari and every filthy thief or scoundrel that could crawl out of his hiding place to blend in that mayhem to see if there was anything worth taking to be had. Hawke let them go alone without hesitation. One old and exhausted dwarf with his a simple minded son, several frightened elven servants and a young lad who had probably no idea how to fight or take care of himself. Yes, Samael did send his war hound with them, but he was well aware of the mabari's stubbornness and unexpected moodiness. He could have probably abandoned the group despite the fact his master had ordered him to protect it. Hawke sighed and rubbed his eyelids.
The room was quiet, just droning fire illuminated their sullen faces and everybody seemed to be fully occupied with their thoughts, when the front door opened and distant voices filled the Hawke estate. Samael looked up from his intertwined fingers and hypnotized the door, too anxious about who would walk in, and even more anxious about who wouldn't.
"You look… like Death itself touched you." Anders slowly walked inside, supporting himself on his scratched staff like an old man. There were deep black circles under his swollen eyes and his blond disheveled hair and gaunt face let the assassin know what the mage had been doing in those last few days; probably without food or sleep.
"Nonsense," Hawke slowly rose from his seat, scoffing and covering his relief. His efforts to sound nonchalant were futile though, when his face twisted after his ribs reminded him of his injury. "But I won't say no to your magical hands," Samael slowly added, trying hard to hide the pain in his voice. His ribs were knitted together indeed, but, Maker, the pain was still immense.
"Enchantment?" Sandal dashed into the main hall, scratching his belly while observing the faces around him. A silver furry ball flew past the dwarven boy, knocking Hawke on the sofa again.
"Charon…" Hawke managed to whisper when the dog put his paws on Samael's both shoulders and kept nudging his huge head into him until he scratched him behind ears. "You did well, my friend. I know you did…" he kept whispering to the mabari making funny noises while being stroked. Meanwhile, servants dragged themselves past their master and they all headed for their tiny rooms, obviously wishing nothing but sleep with no Qunari in sight.
"Ehm, Hawke, who is that?" Aveline nodded towards the Hein boy who was staring at Hawke intently, leaning on a door frame like he didn't dare coming in. Bodahn briefly bowed to Hawke when he marched right into the kitchen. So many guests in the mansion and no prepared refreshments – what a disaster!
With no words that could describe Samael's relationship with this peculiar young lad, Hawke lazily raised his arm, calling the boy to come closer. He almost ran to him and landed by the sofa, looking up into Hawke's still unhealthily ashen face. The boy seemed completely oblivious to anyone else in the room. Those almond eyes reminded Hawke of what had happened ever since they left together Kirkwall outskirts and it felt like everything that had happened ever since was simply… wrong.
Suddenly Hawke realized that he wore a mask on his face again, an impenetrable calm mask which was stuck there just because to soothe his friends. He had to show them that life was going on, that he was all right and everything was just the way it was supposed to be.
But Hawke wasn't all right. The mask on his face screamed to be ripped off, shattered, and left in peace and silence. It screamed wordlessly, persistently, until Hawke wasn't able to keep listening to neither his friends, nor Bodahn's narration about their distressful journey to Darktown. He wasn't even able to be in their company. Samael stood up abruptly without knowing what he intended to do. He realized his companions fell silent on by one and they were gaping at him in disquiet.
"Oh-oh. I know this expression. Are you about to throw us out in your own charming way?" Varric cocked the head and Hawke's silence in reply told them the dwarf was completely right.
"Leave me." Samael really had no other way to put it. Their worried faces and questions if he wanted them to do anything were echoing in his mind only from a distance. He turned into a motionless statue. When he glanced around him for the second time, he was alone. Well, almost alone, since there was the pair of hazel eyes watching him in suspense and the mabari lying in front of the fireplace, pounding his tail lazily into the floor. For some reason, Hawke was glad Hein stayed, but the lad obviously expected him to send him away along with the others. They both started climbing the stairs in silence and Hein opened the bedroom door for Hawke. Without giving it much thought, the assassin strolled right to a dresser and fished out a small package, enwrapped in a dark crimson chamois. The blade that had been his dark passenger, his beloved as much as hated friend for countless years now.
Hein watched what Hawke was doing without any particular expression on his face, but a flash of recognizance ran across his face when Hawke unwrapped the package and the short knife appeared. In trance, Samael tossed away his linen under tunic as though he was alone and completely at ease. The blade was glowing dimly in the dark when he moved his hand. Without saying a word, Hein left the dark cold room and came back with fancy candelabra with eight candles emanating soft, revealing light. Hawke still stood on the same spot, blade in his hand, and he was lost in the slow thoughts.
The hand holding the knife slid down, slowly, hesitant, as the cold steel touched the pale, almost invisible scar on his hip. Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Only hand with the knife started shaking and Samael groaned in frustration when he wasn't able to calm down and cut right through the top scar. Not above it, not beneath it, precisely through it.
"Allow me." Hein whispered, once Hawke's hand dropped down and he raked the fingers through his hair in despair. The assassin twitched like it was just now when he realized he wasn't all alone. Everything that could go wrong in his life, went wrong. Another friend dead. Every rule Hawke had, broken. All that left was anguish in his mind and savage need not to feel it. Not to feel anything anymore. Ever again.
In expectation of the sweet redemption, Hawke let the boy to push him down on the bed. It was like the lad had passed a test since Samael simply handed him the knife, nodding like this needed to be done. Hein didn't wait for anything and he sat down by Hawke's body, pressing the knife on the top scar on Hawke's hip which was now prominent in the light of candles. Samael's breaths quickened in impatience and his eyes were pleading with the boy to help him. To do it quickly and do it right. Hein glanced at his master with pure torment in his hazel eyes, and he closed them when the knife cut through the skin and Hawke gasped in pain.
"The next one." Hawke rasped after a moment of silence, during which Hein wasn't looking at him. The lad simply gulped and carefully positioned the knife across the second scar. A tear appeared in the boy's eye when the second thin stream of blood started to make its sinuous way down Hawke's body, staining the white bed sheets.
Hawke's enthralling eyes forced the lad to cut through the third scar and it was only now when Hawke's mask finally slipped off his face, leaving him finally free of it and able to face his pain he felt in his mind, however it was choked now by the physical pain. The blood-stained blade fell inaudibly on the already ruined carpet as the tears made their way down the assassin's cheeks.
"What should I do now?" Hein asked quietly, clueless. Hawke's silent tears were streaming out of his darkened eyes, like the fire within them was smothered for good.
"Nothing." Hawke breathed out, feeling every pulse of pain on his skin. It was tranquilizing. "Just… do nothing."
Hein started contemplating this uncertain quiet plea. Well, at least the assassin didn't want him to leave. It meant Hawke didn't want to be alone. Hein lay down cautiously right next to Hawke who seemed oblivious to his doing now, when his desperate need was satiated. The boy unfolded the snowy white blanket which got stained with Hawke's blood already, but the boy didn't care. He tucked the blanket around the stolid Hawke and himself, curled on his bare shoulder and fell asleep right after he had closed his eyes.
oOo
A distant noise woke the boy up in the middle of night. He waited for his eyes to get accustomed to darkness and only then he realized the bed next to him was empty. He got up, shivering, although he was still fully dressed. Sneaking through the dark mansion, Hein realized the noise was coming from the basement. A dark growl by the door leading downstairs spooked the boy, but he was sure the mabari wouldn't attack him without an explicit order from his master.
The shabby steps screeched as he walked down and he could smell the moldy air and feel the spider webs waving in the slight draft. The noise he heard got louder and louder with every cautious step the boy took. The way forward was cut off because of the collapsed ceiling; no doubt the work of that little dwarf. Hein was so close he was now able to hear and see what was going on in the dim chamber on his left. Hawke smashed already everything breakable in his laboratory. Colorful potions and poisons lay in shards, mingling together on the flagstones, crushed table and broken chairs, shredded tapestry which was hung on the wall and glass complex apparatus was scattered around the whole room. Inhuman moans, wordless shouts and choked curses – all coming out of Hawke's mouth as he was whirling around the room in his devastating tango. Only one thing remained intact: a huge stone catafalque with body on it, covered with the black fluid fabric. The Arishok. His defeated weapons were lying on the steps leading to his resting place; still stained with Samael's dried blood.
The assassin was pacing around the Qunari now, smoking a fat Antivan cigar and crushing the ruins of his laboratory beneath his boots. Fawn was indeed in Samael's thoughts right now; his hypocrisy and the fact he was successfully manipulating Hawke was infuriating him beyond the bearable point. The elf didn't even hesitate to use Isabela, locate the relic with her help, then leave her behind to rot. Well, she wasn't exactly innocent either, but obviously Fawn was much more to blame than her. Hawke felt the pressure inside of him boiling, trying to get on the surface. But how to make this better? Was there a way to make it better? Did he even want to?
"I wish I could have your certainty right now." Hawke stumbled to the pedestal, leaned on it with his left arm while he let his right hand hovering above the Arishok's covered head. "It must be great to know exactly what you are supposed to do. Why or when. And you don't have to question yourself all the time. Or question the things that happened to you. On the other hand, see for yourself where your precious Qun led you, you fool." Samael kept murmuring to himself when his hand finally pulled the fabric off the Qunari's sleeping face. The silence that followed was deafening. The time seemed to stop.
"Master…?" Hein interrupted Hawke's scattered thoughts finally. The assassin jerked at the sound of this hushed half-question, half-reminder, that he wasn't alone anymore. Alone with the Qunari corpse. Hawke almost sneered when this thought crossed his mind as he threw the half-burnt cigar into the cold fireplace.
"I woke you up. I'm sorry." Samael replied after a moment. Somehow he managed to sound completely indifferent and calm; not like he just had destroyed the whole room. "And I told you not to address me with such… word," Samael added after a moment during which the lad was simply staring at him.
"How am I supposed to call you then?" The lad sauntered in front of the assassin, tilting his head up slightly, so he would be able to see Hawke's shadowed face.
"Hawke. Like anybody else." Samael shrugged and glanced around him in uneasiness. Maker, what a mess. And the worst part? He didn't even feel better.
"I don't like that name. Everybody uses it." Hein crinkled his a bit flattened nose.
"You're not allowed to like or dislike anything, little rabbit." Hawke lashed out at him.
"So, are we back at that 'Master' thingie then?" Hein threw in a catty comment. Hawke scowled and his hand slapped the top of the boy's head, rather playfully. His gaze slipped back at the Arishok's uncovered face. Maybe it was just because of the physical exhaustion and emotional strain, but Samael would swear the Arishok looked very much alive at that moment, with the soft warm light dancing on his calm face, coming from four torches hung on the weeping walls. Suddenly everything was clear for Hawke. It was like the Arishok only waited for the perfect moment to whisper into his ear and show him the way. Samael now knew what to do. What had needed to be done for a long time now.
"I have some business." The assassin turned back to the yawning boy and those firm words woke him up again perfectly. "Like right now. Care to join me?" Samael asked cautiously, his hand lingering on the lad's shoulder. He didn't look at the boy though when he spoke.
"Yes." Hein replied shortly, but he did think for a few seconds about what could be possibly so important that it needed to be done now in the middle of night. Samael just shook his head about Hein's obvious willingness to do anything and at any hour as long as it had something to do with Hawke.
"Wait for me outside." Hawke ordered and waved his hand impatiently when the cheeky lad seemed to have something else on his mind. Alone again, Samael glanced behind him at the dead Qunari once more. He was drawn involuntarily back to the Arishok and he found himself loitering around the catafalque again. He felt like saying something to him, but he knew it would be futile and silly indeed to talk to a dead person. His finger touched shyly the golden ribbon in the white hair before Samael found his voice again.
"This isn't over, Arishok. I swear," Hawke whispered almost inaudibly. "This isn't over." With one swift move Hawke covered the Qunari's face again and headed for the door.
One almond eye peering at him from behind the doorframe forced Hawke to ask himself a simple, yet stinging question. Was he really that alone as he kept telling to himself? Was he really that miserable and abandoned as he perversely liked telling to himself? The answer was no.
oOo
"You're still hurting." Hein whispered in accusatory voice an hour later. They were both squeezed into a narrow alcove, waiting for the Guards to pass without noticing them. For the prying boy it wasn't hard to guess Hawke's ribs were definitely not ready for this sudden night adventure, judging by Hawke's arduous breathing and his arms wrapped around his torso.
"Silence, little one." Samael sizzled in reply. "Or you ruin everything. Just examine the place where I'll get in, then bring the horse there, be quiet and wait for me." Hawke peered outside and nodded like they could sneak on. The Chantry garden was incredibly large and empty; drowned in an early morning autumn mist. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes," Samael scratched his head, "keep waiting." Hawke tried to pierce the darkness and he approached the boy to convince himself he had understood. The lad squeezed his arm briefly before he crept among the trees where he intended to find a hiding place for the horse and himself. Hawke's eyes then soared along the massive Chantry walls; they look invincible and somehow menacing, but it was too late to back off. Without knowing why exactly, Samael ripped one of the crimson roses off the bush and stuck the stem into his mouth since he would need his both hands right now.
"Fucking Gods above, this is so wrong…" Hawke mumbled through the rose in his mouth when he started climbing the rickety lattice meant for the growing grapes. On his way up, Samael cursed his aching body countless times, but his whole mind was fixed on one thing and one thing only. To make somebody, anybody for that matter, to pay for the Arishok's death.
oOo
Mother Petrice returned into her humble room right after the midnight service and set a simple iron candlestick with two shortening candles on a small table in the middle of the room. She was content in a way she hadn't been in her entire life. Her robes slipped off her shoulders and rustled on the cold flagstones, leaving her just in a long white night gown. She strolled towards the basin in the corner and she studied her pale face in the plain small mirror hanging above it, before she washed it thoroughly, humming a part of the Chant of Light. It seemed nothing at all could mar her good mood and satisfaction over the fantastic success of her devious plan.
"I wonder how you can even look at yourself in the mirror, Petrice." Hawke materialized from the dark corner, gazing at the woman through the mirror. "Particularly after what happened today," Samael added and crept two steps closer to her; their eyes still locked through the glass. Petrice's hand that had been brushing her short hair froze right after she spotted a tall wreathed silhouette and she gulped when the pair of fiery eyes flashed from beneath the hood.
"As strange as it is, Serah Hawke, I was wondering the same thing about yourself several times." Petrice regained her repose and straightened up. She tried to make an inconspicuous step towards the door, but Samael just snorted and appeared right behind her, dragging her back to the mirror and forcing her to look into it again. Once she was able to see her face once more, Petrice realized only now how terrified she was, because she was sure Hawke didn't come here to have just a nice talk with her. In one second Petrice decided the best defense is a good offense.
"Go ahead, mercenary!" she spluttered loudly and tried to shake off Hawke's hands clasping her shoulders roughly. "Go ahead and violate my pure body! Fall even more from the Maker's grace! You're already marked with the brand of damnation anyway and —"
"Shut up, Petrice." Samael's lazy voice interrupted her outburst as his hand found her throat and squeezed. "As much as I hate to disappoint you, my dick takes holiday every time I see you. So don't be afraid of defiling your pious and pure body." The assassin couldn't help himself and laughed when he tried to imagine the honest and virtuous Petrice; unsuccessfully.
"YOU!" Petrice's lucid eyes were glowing in outrage after this insult.
"I said shut up!" Hawke hissed into Petrice's ear and he stuffed the rose into her mouth to silence her. If she was expecting anything from Hawke, this certainly wasn't it, since her eyes were twice their size now and she moaned when she felt a tiny thorn jabbing into her lower lip. But those eyes burning in the mirror let Petrice know she had much bigger problem than the rose in her mouth. It was like Hawke wanted to confirm his growing insanity when he laughed heartily, but there was no smile on his face or his eyes whatsoever. "Let's have a silent moment of peaceful contemplation for my deceased horn-headed friend, shall we?" Samael suggested after a minute of silent struggle with Petrice in front of the mirror. "That's what you called him, am I right, Petriiiice?" Hawke purred right into her ear, not taking his blazing eyes off her mirror face.
"Humpf!" Petrice obviously didn't like this idea as she spat the rose out and she indeed intended to save herself with shouting for help.
"I said silent moment, woman." Samael growled, jammed the rose back into Mother's mouth, and put a finger across his lips. His savage eyes didn't look human anymore. Petrice did the only thing that made any sense here - she nodded and shut up. "You see, the life is taking from me my loved ones one by one." Hawke started talking again in a light conversational tone. "Oh, don't be mistaken, I blame only myself for what happened. But it is so refreshing to have somebody else to blame for once, don't you think?" Hawke stroked Petrice's hair thoughtfully and took the rose out of her mouth with mocking chivalry, since she had obviously something to say.
"This was meant to happen, Hawke! I am nothing but a tool in the Maker's hands and through me it was done what needed to be done! And you're insane if you think you could have prevented it!" she spouted in urgency, because now she was painfully aware it was her life what was at stake here. Samael didn't like what she was talking about, so he rather silenced her outburst with his rose again.
"A friend of mine is dead, Petrice. Someone has to take responsibility for this inconvenient incident, right?" Hawke sounded like he suggested they would together stomp on a bug and have a lovely dinner afterwards. What was more peculiar, he was now able to see himself briefly through the Mother's eyes and he had to admit, that… yeah, he was insane indeed. The assassin snatched the flower again, observing it in the dim light of the dying candles like he saw it for the first time. It looked black and dead. "Hum…" Samael smelled the rose in his hand. "It stinks," he grimaced and let it slip out of his hand.
"Whatever you're about to do, it won't make you feel better, Serah Hawke." Petrice seemed oddly calm now, her bright eyes piercing Hawke's mirror reflection. She obviously decided to switch the tactics into more diplomatic tone and try to talk Hawke into leaving her alone. "You have very little interest in me, isn't it correct, Serah Hawke? Nothing I've ever done was meant to hurt you directly. All I wanted is to serve the Maker and shepherd his people the best way I know. There is no need to be hasty and regret your deeds afterwards. There is still time to repent and salvage your tormented soul." Almost imperceptible sneer appeared on Petrice's face because her words seemed to have desirable affect on Hawke since he remained silent and his grasp on the Mother loosened. "And I have to insist on what I've said before, Hawke. Harming me won't make you feel better and —"
"Good, because I don't want to feel better." Samael woke up from his short lethargy and shook the once again plotting Chantry Mother. "All I want is to make somebody pay, Petrice. For Ketojan, for those long shot plans and schemes of yours, for hoodwinking all those poor Chantry sheep you've been manipulating with to do your bidding. For killing the innocent young boy right here on this allegedly sacred Chantry land. Or have you already forgotten about Saemus?" Samael leaned forward so his fiery eyes flashed in the mirror right next to Petrice's blue ones. The strident odour of leather and mouldering leaves filled Petrice's nostrils and she was unable to do anything for several seconds. And yet there was something much more in the air around her. Hawke reeked of death. It took all her strength not to fall on her knees and beg for her life.
"Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert! I don't expect you to understand that threat he represented when he decided to submit to the Qun, Serah Hawke. You're making a terrible mistake. It's not too late for you to atone and —" It seemed Mother Petrice was determined to make Hawke an Andrastian no matter what.
Samael dismissed this topic when he snorted and stuffed a handkerchief into Petrice's mouth. "Let us go for a little invigorating night stroll." Samael grinned viciously at the Mother Petrice. Her only reply was her eyes widened in fear and her mute plea that her Maker would interfere and strike down her blasphemous captor. Nothing happened though; her Maker was obviously asleep.
oOo
A small ship was ready to sail away, but Sten was still standing on a jetty, staring at the Kirkwall huge bronze statues and the massive chains hanging between them. Shreds of mist were billowing above the calm sea and nobody would guess that the small ship was full of the Qunari; those, who had escaped the Viscount's Keep right after their Arishok took his last breath.
"Shanedan." A familiar voice interrupted the Qunari's thoughts.
"Shanedan, Hawke." Sten slowly turned around to face the newcomers. "I assume you come to say goodbye and never come back." Samael blinked after this statement because he had no idea if the Qunari was serious or if that was an attempt for sarcasm.
"I need to speak with you." Hawke shot a glance behind him at the silent boy trembling in the early morning chill, at the little horse who seemed sleepy, and finally at the big dark motionless bag on the horse's back. Hein nodded like he would be vigilant and wait while Hawke was supposed to talk to the Sten. The two of them then stepped aside and Hein could only watch the ardent conversation and he wriggled several times under Sten's scrutiny when the Qunari glanced at him in suspicion.
"So? Do we have a deal?" Hawke asked a question as they both approached the lad again. Samael was fidgeting, nervous, and he really didn't know why he even bothered to do this.
"Yes, basalit-an. As long as you honor this deal. Is that her?" Sten made three steps towards the black bag straddling the horse.
"Yes. She's yours now." Samael nodded and pulled the bag with Petrice off the horse, so it thudded on the ground. "What do you intend to do with her?" he asked, curious.
"She will submit to the Qun and the Ben Hassrath. More than that I will not say." Sten grabbed the bag and dragged it across a gangway leading to a ship. He then returned with yet another bag which he dropped carelessly to Hawke's feet. "Panahedan, Hawke." Sten reached his brawny arm with the red paint residue towards the assassin. "Perhaps we'll meet again one day."
"Oh, allow me to doubt that assumption." Hawke clasped the giant's forearm and granted him an insecure grin. Sten disappeared in the ship, the Qunari pulled up an anchor and the ship moved, flying through the mist and dark waters like a ghost. Hein made a hesitant step by Hawke's side and they watched the ship dissipating on the nebulous horizon.
"Who are you? What is going on?" A choked voice asked from beneath a black fabric that coiled around Isabela's head tightly. Hein saw the annihilating gaze Hawke gave her when she drew his attention towards her and the lad was indeed grateful that fierce gaze wasn't meant for him. When it was clear Samael wouldn't touch the woman or even approach her, the boy did it and uncovered her head slowly.
"H-Hawke?" Isabela whispered in disbelief like this was the last person she wanted to see right now.
"Listen to me carefully, Bela." Samael set his jaw and started orbiting her kneeling figure. "After this night—" the assassin's hushed voice cracked. "After this night, I don't know you anymore. I don't see you anymore. I don't hear you anymore. I'm done with you." Samael himself was contemplating what he had just said and yes, that was definitely everything he wanted to say to her. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Oh, come on, Hawke. There's no need to be such dramatic. Why don't you admit you've made some mistakes too, accept my apology and then forget all about it?" Isabela tried to free her hands that were still bound behind her back. She tried really hard to sound cheerful, but she failed big time. It was like Hawke didn't hear her anyway, since he sauntered to the little horse and made a step out of his hands, so the young boy could mount the little horse without difficulties.
"Hawke?" Isabela asked in a small voice into the silence, her voice trembling. "Hawke!" she shouted, when Samael turned around, grabbed the reins and walked away, leaving her there bound and helpless in the early morning chill. "HAAAWKE!" Isabela's desperate screams pierced the misty air and echoed in Samael's ears.
"Did you hear anything, my pet?" Hawke asked casually, glancing at the boy riding the horse by his side.
"I didn't hear a thing, Master." With an innocent grin, Hein shook his head vigourously, drawing a faint smile from Hawke. Samael felt, that somehow everything was going to be all right.
Somehow.
Someday.