Hawke tiptoed around the bag Merrill had given him for a week as though he knew once he would peek inside, he would have to run to Kirkwall and rip Meredith's heart out. Samael's next stop would be no doubt at Ser Alrik's cell at the Gallows. However impossible it seemed to not know about what had become of his friends and his father, Hawke managed to fool himself for days as he childishly refused to face reality. He soothed himself with a thought that he would open that blasted bag tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, surely the day after tomorrow.

But the elves were growing weary of the shemlen, although he kept just to himself and spent the days mostly outside of their camp. Perhaps it wasn't the presence of an interloper what concerned them the most. Actually, they seemed much more disturbed about the way their Keeper treated that insignificant human worm. She brought him there more dead than alive, yet he walked around like nothing had happened, and the way she was looking at him whenever he mysteriously appeared at the camp, only to disappear a few minutes later…

"What foul magic did she have to call upon to bring him back from the Beyond?" they kept whispering, shooting suspicious glances at Hawke.

"What odd power that shemlen has over her?" they kept muttering behind the Keeper's back. As much as Merrill wanted to confirm their dark theories out of spite, she tossed the bowl away with evening meal and marched right into her tent. Everybody knew Hawke was in there although not a sound came from inside ever since he came back from his lonesome practice. It was a public secret the shemlen trained day by day with daggers, then he stopped by mabari's grave which they considered rather amusing and only then he returned to the Dalish camp to survive yet another sleepless night.

Merrill hadn't seen Hawke for the whole damned day and he managed to elude her even after his arrival, which angered her beyond the point of caring about what her brethren would think about her excessive care for the human.

"How's your hand?" she glanced around the shadowy tent, her fingers nervously playing with the black ring. Merrill realized only now Hawke wasn't able to look into the bag so far and she knew him well enough to know, why.

"Same," was his snippy reply as he turned around to face her. It was written all over his face how uncomfortable he felt in her company. "Just a piece of meat I consider feeding stray dogs with," he grunted as though it was her fault. He did notice how she shrank back after this misplaced reproof and inwardly slapped himself for it. Samael poked the bag with his boot before he stalked over to her, painfully aware of the fact the elves outside fell silent as they tried to figure out what was happening inside of the Keeper's tent.

"Merrill…" he whispered the name he had been whispering for years now. A sweet name, a bitter name, a name that meant world to him. She looked up at him, confused by this sudden change. He stood there just a second ago, glaring at her in cold demeanor, then he made her quiver in both hope and lust just by approaching her and looking into her eyes.

"Ehm… I… Actually…I came only to remove the bandage," was Merrill's diaphanous pretext for entering the tent. So why did she stagger a step away from him?

"Right," Hawke sneered and Merrill experienced a sudden desire to slap that smug off his face. "You can take what's left inside of the bandage as well. It appears I'll make my contribution to this cruel world under the nickname Samael the Lefty, a crowned bastard of Fereldan," he chuckled bitterly at her outraged face.

"The ring…?" Merrill ruined his pretended abandon when she noticed the black ring hanging on a delicate silver chain around Samael's neck. "I didn't know you still have it," she whispered in disbelief more to herself than to him. Hawke fidgeted and covered the ring with his clothing.

Realizing she wouldn't hear a word about the ring from Hawke, Merrill reached for his bandaged arm, simpering about this unexpected discovery. "Let's see then," she sighed and her smile faded as she started working.

Hawke's eyes were growing wider with every strip of bandage removed off his skin. The arm seemed fine from shoulder to elbow, the bronzed skin intact and weaved with thick blue veins, but then it dramatically turned bluish and pale on Samael's forearm and the veins turned into prominent black curves, showing that there was something awfully wrong with Hawke's left hand.

"What the —" Hawke breathed out in dismay, waving his pallid fingers. With a vulture-like expression, he grasped an empty mug with them, watching as the muscles and ligaments within the hand struggled for a while, then gave up and the mug fell down and chipped upon the ground. Samael winced, but other than that he remained oddly passive. As though he had accepted the fact he was clapped-out and this realization indeed sent shivers down Merrill's spine. It was nothing but pure woe to see Hawke this way, beaten down, unresponsive, when he was supposed to be furious and plotting revenge for whoever dared do this to him.

Samael couldn't bear the pity Merrill had in her eyes, so he snatched the bag and emptied it on a cot with one fierce movement. Hawke's healthy hand started hesitantly fingering various items scattered on the blanket. His twin blades he had at a lake bank. Some tattered book Merrill had taken from Ichabod's shack no doubt. A black leather scabbard adorned with delicate silver net. Hawke looked up at Merrill in surprise when he recognized the hilt of his katana, the very same weapon that ended Arishok's life and which had been broken into two pieces afterwards. Samael never wondered about what had happened to his weapon for he didn't want it back.

"Varric retrieved it," Merrill felt obligated to explain when Hawke kept staring at it in silence. "Ichabod came here a few weeks ago, asking if he could use the cabin by the lakes which was usually used by my hunters. He also brought this," she shyly touched the scabbard, "asking if Master Ilen had tools and skills to repair it."

"And you…" Samael's hoarse voice cracked.

"Yes. It's repaired now," she replied quietly. "Hawke… About your hand… It's not like you can't fight, ma vhenan. I've seen you doing things single-handedly! Amazing things! Things I've never seen before! You just need to —"

"Shut up," Hawke whispered, closing his eyes in painful grimace.

"— to learn how to conceal it, Samael. Nobody knows except for the two of us and —"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Hawke's temper blew up. He heard well those alarmed voices outside of the tent, but he couldn't care less right now. Was that insufferable elf trying to say nothing had happened? Nothing at all? That he had no lifeless stump instead of his left arm? That he was supposed to simply forgive and forget everything what had happened?

"I don't want it," he clasped the katana scabbard again and hurled it at Merrill.

"B-but… But it's from Ichabod," Merrill's eyebrows knitted as though Hawke was obligated to take it.

"And?" Hawke mocked her. "How do you even know he wanted me to have it back?" he snapped back at her, chuckling with a horrid sneer on his face.

"He told me so," she replied quietly, making a few steps towards him.

"He… What… He told you that… What?" Hawke gathered the strength just to ramble. Maker, did she know? Did she know Ichabod was his resurrected father? Aveline, Anders and Varric swore to keep this secret for themselves and Hawke was pretty sure Ichabod would remain silent, too.

"He meant you to have it, Hawke." Merrill's serious eyes ensnared Samael and he slowly took back the katana, giving her an abstracted nod. His gaze roamed around the tent for a while before he noticed yet another item from the bag; a parchment envelope stained with dried blood. Hawke's blood. Samael shredded it, unfolding the vellum slowly. Right after the first read words, he stumbled a step back, sitting heavily on the cot as he was reading through the message. Alarmed, Merrill wanted to ask what was going on, but Hawke simply banished her from her own tent, giving her such a glare that she didn't dare disobey.

Malcolm Hawke – presenting himself as Ichabod Bane, captured and imprisoned

Aveline Vallen – Guards Captain, momentarily untouchable, her ranks infiltrated, waiting for orders

Anders of Anderfels – a Warden refugee, dangerous apostate running a free clinic in Darktown, his current position: unknown, thorough search in progress

Merrill – Dalish Keeper, mistress, her clan located at Sundermount, unprotected during day, two patrols during night, waiting for the order to burn the camp down

Varric Tethras – a dwarf, businessman connected to any possible illegal activity brewing in Kirkwall, a friend, imprisoned

Fenris – an elf, mercenary, close friend squatting in Hightown mansion which was raided and seized, casualties: 12 Templars; imprisoned and punishment required

Alejandro Herrera – young boy, protégé, his role unclear so far, imprisoned

Bodahn Feddic, Sandal Feddic – dwarves in Hawke estate for years, loyal, imprisoned

Corff Bowbitter – a friend and owner of the Hanged Man, bonds to Undercity, harboring mages and outlaws, imprisoned

Isabela of Rivain – a close friend, her current location: unknown

.
.

The list went on and on, but Samael simply had no strength to read other names; the names of people whose lives were in Hawke's hands right now. Right hand clasping the vellum dropped down in defeat. Meredith was thorough and merciless. Yet another short note written on the other side of vellum caught his attention though.

Champion of Kirkwall,
Knight-Commander Meredith awaits your arrival in the morning of the seventh day from our lovely encounter at the Bone Pit lakes. I strongly suggest carefully considering your words and deeds upon this crucial meeting.

Sincerely and forever yours,

Ser Alrik, Knight-Captain of the Templar order of Kirkwall

"Sincerely and forever yours," Hawke read out loud, shaking his head in hysterical laughter. "Sincerely and forever yours!" he bellowed a second later, raging around the tent. He was realizing vaguely the meeting was supposed to take place tomorrow. Hawke was about to bolt out of the tent when he turned back and grasped the katana in haste.

"Where is he?" he shouted in all four directions when he got out. The elves hurried to get out of the crazy shemlen's way, some of them even fumbling for their weapons. "Occelaaaa!" Samael cried out once more, whirling around to locate his long-legged friend. Only now he realized he had been neglecting him for days. It wouldn't surprise him if the horse refused to come, considering his devious character and general moodiness.

"We haven't seen him in days, shem…" a young Dalish hunter took pity on Hawke's despair and spoke up. As a reply to this statement, wind brought to them a distant, barely audible neigh.

"Hawke!" Merrill tried to catch the sleeve of Hawke's borrowed elven clothing.

"I have to go," he started striding forward while attaching the katana scabbard on his belt, rather clumsily.

"What? Why? You aren't well enough to travel and I certainly —" Merrill kept scuttling by his side, desperately trying to make heads and tails of Hawke's unexpected departure.
Quickly and imperceptibly like night wind in withering grass, the magnificent stallion halted in a skid in front of his master, jerking his head in pure joy of a good run. His disheveled mane looked like fluid silver in gloom and Samael mounted the horse before the Keeper could have stopped him.

"What did that note say? Why are you leaving? I don't understand!" Merrill yowled up at the assassin who was about to heel the horse. He shuddered at the sight of her helpless face, but the best thing he could do right there right now was to leave this place without telling her anything that could have endangered her or her people.

"I know," his fingers briefly brushed her lovely face. He didn't care that the elves were watching them in awe and neither did she. "Do… Not… Follow me," he ordered her as he leaned down to her, searching for any sign she had understood the importance of this indirect behest. Other words seemed needless for their faces were more than eloquent at this very moment. Not able to prolong the pain from their parting, Samael buried the boots in Occela's flanks and evaporated into twilight shadows.

oOo

People were jumping out of the way of the man mad enough to ride the horse at a gallop through the streets of Kirkwall. Those, who weren't fast enough to dodge the horseman whose loose black hair were streaming behind him in thick strands, were simply thrown away like rag dolls and their curses followed Hawke during his frenzied stampede through the dim city.

It was just like the letter said. To the last punctilious tiny detail. Mansions raided. Shutters closed, doors barred. Their owners gone, imprisoned.

Occela's black hooves were striking sparks on the courtyard flagstones and the beast let out a long feral howl when Hawke brutally pulled in the reins. Heavy door of Hawke estate swung open as he dashed inside, leaving the exhausted stallion whose fur glistened with sweat outside; forgotten for now.

"Bodahn?" Hawke mounted the stairs with three long jumps, shouting the name of his butler from the top of his lungs.

"Sandal!" he jumped over the balustrade, landing on the main floor again and burst into the kitchen.

"Heeeein!" he lost control over himself as he stormed into his bedroom, looking for the boy. Until now there yet remained an infinitesimal chance this whole situation was nothing but a really bad, bad joke. But not anymore. His friends, his servants, his business-partners, his father, all of them gone. He reeled outside of his estate as though in trance and only now he realized there was yet one being standing at his side. Occela's long elegant legs were shaking beneath the weight of his taut body; legacy of their insane race to Kirkwall no doubt.

"Come with me, my friend," Hawke murmured when he approached the stallion. Occela jerked his head and dodged Hawke's soothing hand, only to let it stay on his neck a second later. "I'm sorry, my friend. I'm so sorry. Let me take care of you now. Everything's fine. We're fine…" his hoarse voice kept whispering into Occela's ear and the stallion calmed down, whinnying and nudging Hawke with his muzzle.

Samael took his time with drying and grooming the horse, whilst Occela guzzled water and munched on a large haystack. Even if there were any servants left at Hawke estate, Samael would have done this by himself, feeling guilty for almost killing this marvelous creature and he also needed to do something, anything right now. Something he could focus on while his mind was frantically working on the single task – how to wriggle out of this impossible situation. Whom he could call on to help? The usual suspects were in the clear; there was no Fenris and no Varric to help him this time. Isabela was Maker knew where and Anders was probably running around the sewers, battling the Templars. Justice must have loved this. Merrill had her own people to deal with and he definitely wasn't about to drag her down along with himself. Charon was dead. Aveline was being watched closely and Meredith was lurking in the shadows to strike the Captain down at the first possible moment.

Fawn.

Yes. If Samael needed somebody right now, it would be Fawn and his scheming abilities trained into perfection. But where was the end of the Hero of Fereldan? Hawke didn't know and he doubted anyone would. No. Samael was just by himself right now if he didn't count that inarticulate beast resting in the stable.

Samael dragged himself into his bedroom; the deafening silence at his own estate was unbearable. He lit up a single iron candelabra and read through the list from Ser Alrik again; his face calm and cold this time. After two hours spent with thorough consideration of this whole situation, it was suddenly crystal clear for Hawke. He was doomed.

oOo

Merrill was restless after Hawke's sudden departure. The condemning glares of her brethren followed her wherever she went, but she didn't mind. Those few days spent with him seemed to have awakened something dormant in Merrill. Something Merrill thought was replaced with her elvhenan brothers and sisters, but it was nothing but her wishful thinking. Hawke needed her right now, she was positively sure of that. Something was going on and he was determined not to let her interfere, to protect her when it was him who needed protection right now.

Merrill glanced around her wildly as though she was utterly confused why she was lingering here when her place was by his side. Always had been, always would be. Merrill had become the Keeper through a murder, a murder she was forced to commit for something she didn't want. The clan couldn't remain Keeper-less. Merrill craved to pass the Keeper's staff to whoever seemed fit for this task. And there was but one person able to lead the Dalish.

"We need to talk," Merrill barged into Veryan's tent, breathless. He looked up at her upset face from the book he was reading. Then he nodded.

oOo

"Don't do this," Veryan pleaded with the Keeper an hour later. He would have dropped to his knees if he thought that would prevent her from carrying out her insane plan. But Merrill was already resolved; he could see it in her eyes. As much as he disagreed with her, he admired her courage and will to do whatever it took to regain what she had lost. "Once you do this, there's no way back, Keeper."

"I know," Merrill stood up and Veryan noticed her eyes shone in… Happiness? Fool's hope? Insanity? "But this is my choice," she continued, her face proud and determined. She studied Veryan's worried face for a while, then she smiled and turned around to leave.

"Don't…!" Veryan caught her thin arm in panic.

"Do we have a deal or not?" Merrill asked the only thing that mattered to her right now, gently squeezing the hand preventing her from leaving.

"Yes. Yes, we have a deal," was his quiet, but decisive reply. Merrill exhaled in relief, nodding her thanks, before she slipped out of her First's tent and glanced up at the night skies dotted with blinking stars. Yes. Tonight was the night. A perfect night for starting a new life.

oOo

Merrill gravely regretted that she had no staff the minute she arrived at Hightown square, realizing the door to Hawke estate were yawning open at her and the mansion seemed deserted as she walked through darkened rooms. Where were servants? Where were Bodahn and his son? Where was everyone? And the most importantly – where was Hawke?
Only when she climbed up the stairs, her bare soles inaudibly toddling on cold stone, she realized the bedroom door were slightly ajar; beams of flickering warm light from behind those door chasing away the shadows. She wanted to call his name, but her voice froze in her throat. Slowly, centimeter after centimeter, she pushed the door wide open and strolled inside only to realized there was no one in there.

"Where are you…" she sighed and stopped in the middle of chamber, looking for some clues about what was going on in this ghostly mansion. The door creaked as they moved on its own and Merrill whirled around, fumbling for a non-existent staff. "Samael…!" she breathed out a second later when she had spotted a dark silhouette leaning on the wall in nonchalant pose.

"I can't see where I went wrong with as simple statement as 'do not follow me' was, Merrill," he pushed himself off the wall with his arms folded on chest. Only now she realized his hands and forearms were covered with gauntlets made of soft tanned leather, intentionally covering his wounded arm.

"You couldn't expect me to just let you leave like this," she made a hesitant step towards him, "I mean, you're not well and everything and… Where's everybody anyway? What's going on here?" her voice died away.

"And since when do you care so much, hm, Keeper?" he scoffed and it was clear he still had problems to accept her being the Keeper since he had been bringing it up again and again.

"Oh, did I look like I don't care when I've saved you?" she scowled at him. "Again?" she added a venomous remark when he remained silent.

"You tell me, Keeper," he retorted and made a single step towards her as well. They glared at each other in silence for a while.

"I shouldn't have come here," she mumbled finally, realizing Hawke was now standing between the door and herself.

"So why don't you leave then?" he asked while his soul was screaming for her to stay. Merrill's face darkened after this pungent question and she stumbled for the door. She reached for it to make a crack big enough to slip through it, but the door was slammed close in front of her face when Hawke fiercely leaned on it with his arm.

"You didn't come here to talk." It wasn't a question; merely stating the obvious as Hawke trapped her between his arms.

"No," she shook her head faintly. "No, I didn't," she confirmed and looked up at him. Her eyes then slid along the muscular arms, filling her nostrils with acrid odour of leather and scent of his skin.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Hawke snorted when Merrill simply started pressing kisses all along his healthy arm with rising intensity. He knew he should have pulled back, he should have shoved her away, but he grabbed the all too willing elf instead and maneuvered them both towards the bed. Their clothes were discarded as they got in the way while their hands and lips sought to give selfless pleasure. With an impatient moan, Merrill tossed away a gauntlet covering Hawke's right arm, but he caught her hands when she tried to do the same with the left one.

His amber eyes flared with moisture when he shook his head to let her know he didn't desire to see his lifeless arm. Ensnaring him with her pellucid eyes, Merrill disobeyed him when she gently unlaced the gauntlet and the pale skin on Hawke's arm glowed in gloom. The black veins looked as though they were drawn on white skin. Merrill curled her whole being around the arm, realizing it was freezing cold, and it was just her magic which kept it more or less alive. She smiled when those ghostlike fingers brushed her face tenderly.

Samael lost tracked of for how long they had been simply enjoying the closeness of each other. All he knew was that starting with tomorrow Merrill was supposed to be forbidden fruit for him if he wanted to protect her from Meredith. But there was yet one last night during which he could call Merrill his. And he intended to enjoy every second of that night.

He picked her up, laying her down on the bed then laying himself down besides her, not breaking their eye contact. He started playing her body like only he was able to for he was the only one allowed to touch it. Merrill's fingers tangled in the black hair veil which tickled her on her heated skin. The world spun around her as she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed with Samael kneeling in front of her. He looked her up and down; her heaving chest, widened eyes where he could see himself, her lovely cheeks with vermilion on them, her slightly parted lips inviting him to claim her. Cocking his head with a wicked smile on his face, he thrust his hips forward, finally connecting their bodies. Merrill's fingernails started wandering down Hawke's back, tracing the bulging muscles as he started building up their pleasure. She let out a wordless moan, her arms forcing him to go even faster, and only now he stopped, holding her squirming body on the spot, enjoying her frustrated face and quickened breathing.

He could feel her inner muscles caressing him, pulling him even deeper, tempting him to enter the very center of her being, yet he remained motionless, calmly sitting within her, watching her, watching her reaction, content with what he saw.

Merrill blinked, a demure smile settling on her face, then it turned into impish giggles when she freed herself out of Hawke's arms and started crawling backwards from him, opening quite a view for his hungry eyes.

With one fluid jump Samael landed on the bed, grasped the elf by her ankles and yanked her back to him, penetrating her with one violent move again, throwing his head back and groaning; an endless sound of desire so intense it bordered with agony. They wrestled for a while, moving together, punishing and pleasuring each other at the same time, until Hawke flipped her over, clearly weary of this power game. He towered above her, making his way into her again. Once her inner muscles clenched against him again, he shuddered, jerking his head savagely in pure animal lust. He looked like a rampant stallion that discovered just now what were his legs for, and couldn't stop running ever since even if he wanted to.

Merrill hooked her leg around his shoulder, allowing him to penetrate even deeper and she rewarded him with long scratches across his back to let him know the geyser of lust was about to explode within her. Again and again he slammed his whole length into her until she screamed – to stop, to go on, to do whatever he desired to do with her. Only then he joined her in that scream. Merrill was nothing but an ambiguous feeling, losing her mind, her body, her whole self to this man. Samael collapsed onto his hands, panting, his eyes closed tight, then the wounded arm yielded and he landed on his side, too spent, too limp to curse the arm which once again betrayed him.

Hawke loved many things which united within his little fragile elf, but if he should pick just one of them at this very moment, it would be definitely Merrill's ability to remain silent after sex. She would wait for Samael to stir, to awake from that little death which men experience post coitum, only then she would poke him as long until he would gather her into arms, either talking to her or preserving that sacred silence. Once nestled in his tight embrace, Merrill couldn't hold her curiosity in check any longer, considering the timing as good as possible.

"Care to finally tell me what's going on here, ma vhenan?" she murmured into his chest and regretted her question right away, since Hawke's hand drawing tiny circles on her back stopped. This single question hurled him back into reality. Charon dead, his friends imprisoned, his father taken away from him, everything. He rose from the bed, sauntering around the room for a while before he halted by the windows, gazing over Hightown. It seemed quiet and peaceful, but Hawke knew better by now than to believe that spurious coating of glamorous life at this gilding place.

"I can't tell you," his hushed answer came when Merrill thought he wouldn't reply at all.

"You mean, you won't tell me," she jumped out of the bed, too, making her way towards him.

"Damn straight I won't tell you!" he snapped at her, grasping her shoulders. If only she knew…

"You won't tell me because you think you protect me…?" Merrill half-asked, half-stated.

"Merrill," he sighed heavily, trying to touch her, but she dodged his hand. "Something has gone wrong," he started quietly, hesitant. "I brought this on myself and I'm going to suffer the consequences for my deeds. It's a burden I intend to share with nobody for nobody can help me."

"But —" she tried to interrupt him, but he wouldn't let her.

"And when I say nobody, I mean nobody," he brushed her lips with a thumb. "Not even you," he turned away from her, stomping to the bed where he sat down with his head in palms. Merrill watched him for a while, worrying her lower lip.

"You probably want me to leave," she uttered finally, her eyes searching for her clothing.

"Stay," he looked up at her before she could reach for her robes. "Stay with me tonight," he pleaded with her. Pleaded. Merrill had never seen him begging for something before. Until now. He didn't know nor did he care about what was about to happen in the morning; what were Meredith's plans with him. All he knew was that he would indulge her every demand or order if it meant his friends and father would walk free. Even if it was his head on spike she craved.

Merrill's eyes filled with tears when she saw Hawke so broken, so vulnerable, with so many questions obscuring him, and she needed all her strength to pop out the answer. "No," she shook her head mildly, watching him as he closed the eyes in torment for a moment, nodding as though he understood her need to punish him. "Tell me and I'll stay, Samael," she tried to force him to talk to her one last time.

"No," he refused to even consider bringing her into dark game Meredith had been so successfully playing with him. Tears broke free, rolling down Merrill's cheeks, but she swept them away promptly before she dressed up hastily and headed for the door.

"There are many people who yearn to know their last day and hour," his thoughtful voice stopped her from opening the door. "Fools," Samael chuckled bitterly as he stood up and strolled to her. Merrill's confused face told him she had no idea what he spoke of. "Now I can call myself a fool as well because my life is about to end in a few hours."

"Samael, please, tell me what's go —"

"Take care of yourself, my little pariah. And of your people, of course. Do not linger in Kirkwall. Go straight back to them." Hawke placed a long peck on her forehead before he pushed her out of the door, slamming it closed behind her back. This was for the best, he kept convincing himself. This was the only way how to protect her. He would go down. She would be fine. Right. And the pigs might fly, the cats might bark.