The upper bedroom at Hawke estate was drowning in early morning shadows when Hawke sat down in his favorite armchair, ruminating over and over the unbelievable situation he was in right now. It was one of those elusive moments when a man questions himself and all his choices he had ever made, which unerringly led him to this very point in his life. Samael always knew there was a red line, some untouchable boundary, which should have never been overstepped; yet he danced back and forth across it as he pleased out of spite. He knew for sure he had crossed this imaginary line countless times and now was the time to pay the price for all of his ill deeds – all those pompous soirées, all those reeking bodies piling up along his way, his dissolute behavior as he had been buying in anything he liked only to toss it away the moment he got bored of it and many other things were just waiting to bite him in the ass. But just like any other mortal, Samael simply thought, hoped in fact, that he would be spared of final reckoning, but Meredith proved to him how awfully wrong his assumption was and how futile his hopes were.
Hawke stirred when the first beams of sunlight started breaking over Hightown roofs, chasing away the shadows obscuring the bedroom, but not the shadows plaguing Hawke's mind. He sighed, glancing around the place he had been calling home for years. He wanted to think about Meredith, about his father, about Merrill, but his mind refused to do so, commanding him to stand up and get dressed instead. He realized he was still wearing elven linen clothing dyed into greenish shades, adorned with silver buckles and light leather thongs. Well, he didn't want to face destiny dressed like a pointy-eared nancy elf, now did he? He took a long bath, tracing all scars he could find on his body in deep contemplation, not really thinking about anything, when he stood in front of his closet and eyed his armor sets and endless rows of various garments. Bah, he had wore just a tenth of what was inside and liked even less than that!
He didn't know why, but Hawke pulled out a very elegant ensemble, one which he had never wore before for it had been a gift from his mother. It absolutely didn't suit him and his taste, but neither did this impossible situation after all. Once dressed, Hawke stared at himself in the looking glass for a while before realizing he was completely unarmed, but he considered it unnecessary. He wasn't about to fight Meredith; more like appease her every whim. Also Hawke was convinced he would have stabbed her the moment he got near her, so not having a sword, a dagger, throwing knives, any weapon, was nothing but a nice little safeguard. Of course, there was always the enticing option to strangle the bitch to death, but his crippled hand wouldn't cooperate with that deed either. Perversely satisfied with this aftermath, Samael put on a pair of delicate brown leather gloves which matched his outfit and covered the almost translucent left hand. He didn't think twice before he scribbled a short note to whomever would read it first to take care of Occela. Oddly enough, Samael didn't care about what would happen to his estate, to all of his belongings, the ship, or his lyrium business for none of these things mattered to him any longer.
Hair neatly combed and braided, his apparel spotless, feeling naked without a weapon; Hawke took one last stroll through his silent estate, before he walked outside into the morning sun. His face remained colorless when he realized there was a double row of Templars patiently waiting for him, to escort him to whatever fate Meredith had concocted for him.
"Serah Hawke," Cullen stepped forward, bowing his head in suspiciously polite gesture.
"What a delight," Hawke returned the bow with much less courtesy, "the bright sun above my head, perfume of posh courtesans in my picky nose, and a bunch of morons stuffed in shiny armor in my sight." Hawke had no idea why, but he simply felt like making inappropriate jests right now, although Cullen didn't seem to appreciate it as he showed Hawke his way through the Templar corridor.
"So, which is it gonna be, Cullen?" Hawke threw in a derisive question when he started striding to the Gallows with the nervous Cullen by his side and a Templar squadron breathing on his neck. "Am I under arrest? Perhaps a nice and quiet execution? Public lynching? Hanging me by the rib at the city gates?"
"What in the Maker's name are you talking about?" the taciturn Templar-Lieutenant blurted out, mistrustfully glancing at the young ruffian by his side.
"Oh, so you were ordered not to spill the beans then," Samael grumbled and even quickened his pace as though he couldn't wait to see for himself what was about to happen. "Such cruelty toward the poor condemned man," he shook his head with brief chuckle.
"Look, I don't know what is the matter between you and Meredith, I mean the Knight-Commander, Serah Hawke," Cullen frowned at Hawke who was openly glaring at him now. "The order was to accompany you to the Gallows and when I say 'accompany you'; I mean we were supposed to be at your disposal and guard you." The young Templar finished speaking and realized Hawke was by his side no longer. Samael had stopped abruptly, both surprised and disconcerted; and the Templars glowing in sun collided behind his back with loud clangour and a few hushed curses. Hawke wordlessly stared at Cullen for a while, but there was no lie within his confused face, so he started walking again, scornfully whistling at the Templars as though they were his mongrels.
"Well, here we are, Serah Hawke," Cullen beckoned at the assassin who had been sneering like a brat who had done something wrong and knew that there would be no punishment.
"Is there a way I could wriggle out of this?" Hawke leaned closer to the Knight-Lieutenant who blushed at once. Of course Samael noticed the handsome young Templar as much as the Templar noticed him.
"No," was Cullen's prompt, if not firm reply.
"Where's bathroom?" Hawke kept nudging the nervous Templar. "Can I at least take a piss?"
"No!" Cullen almost sizzled at that insufferable person who just seemed to possess an odd ability to get under people's skin. Expecting some other maneuvers to avoid meeting with Meredith, Cullen grasped the door knob of Knight-Commander's office, but Hawke's sudden silence left him wondering. He searched the assassin's face and the change on it was overwhelming, since it turned pale, his forehead glistened in sweat, while Hawke's lower lip quivered until he set his jaw into a crooked grimace. Confused, Cullen followed Hawke's hateful gaze to see for himself what caused the fearless Champion of Kirkwall to shake like a fledgling which was about to be devoured by a predator.
"Maker watch over you, Cullen," a cold nasal voice uttered into stony silence. Azure blue eyes of a sinner, pale lanky hands of a priest. A lizard slithering behind Hawke, a demon haunting his dreams ever since their encounter at the banks of Bone Pit lakes.
"Maker watch over us all," Cullen replied slowly, hesitant, as though he was trying to figure out what was going on. Ser Alrik smiled with a broad toothy grin and Hawke's left hand twitched as though it was reliving the pain that man had inflicted, seeking a sword, a poisoned blade, a stone, anything it could use to wipe that snide smirk off Alrik's face with. Cullen was at a loss here. What had happened between the two of them? Of course he knew Alrik was the one who delivered the message to the Champion, but that was pretty much it. The whole situation got even more absurd when Hawke desperately jiggled the door knob of Meredith's door, indicating that he considered Meredith a lesser evil than Ser Alrik.
"Welcome, Champion," Meredith's brusque greetings left no space for Hawke to calm down. "I can see you decided to listen to voice of reason after all," she settled in her impressive armchair, steepling her long fingers in front of her. Kicking the door shut behind his back, Samael sauntered towards her table unbelievably slowly, not taking his widened eyes burning with implacable flames off her face. Meredith's figure tensed when Hawke's hand disappeared in his vestment and he could see she wasn't far from drawing her ceremonial sword; just in case Hawke decided to skip talking part and move straight to action part.
A rumpled parchment landed on Meredith's monumental table as a silent witness of her foul game how to get Hawke's ass into her office. Samael supported himself on the table with his arms stretched; breathing heavily as though he was struggling with himself. Meredith fixed her inquiring eyes on the young man's haggard face, his gloved fingers clenching brinks of her desk as though his life depended on it, his feral eyes peering at her from beyond the black hair veil, wordlessly accusing her. She almost shuddered at that mute reproof about what she had intended to do to people; innocent people who were guilty just of being around the Champion.
"I want them back," Hawke rasped into deafening silence, nodding towards the parchment. "All of them," his narrowed eyes pierced Meredith through.
"No." Meredith clearly decided to push the Champion off the cliff of his self-discipline.
"Beg you a pardon…?" Hawke barked at her, seething.
"You heard me, Champion," Meredith dryly answered his unspoken threat. Hawke thought he had heard wrong, but he vaguely realized what was at stake here. Practically everything! His life and lives of anybody else written on that damned piece of parchment. "Let me talk for a while," Meredith rose from her seat, acting as if she had won this war already. Hawke slowly straightened up when she started orbiting around him, rubbing her chin in contemplation about how to approach this.
Hawke jerked when he felt her hand exploring his back, lingering on his shoulder, following the strand of his long hair, only to roughly push him towards the windows a second later. They walked over there, side by side, gazing over dark waters at the city of Kirkwall. It seemed so distant and yet so imminent at the same time.
"Kirkwall," Meredith stated as though she considered necessary to say out loud the name of their home. "Uncut diamond of the Free Marches with crucial position and open market," she continued as if Hawke hadn't heard about the city before. "They say the luck of Free Marches rises and falls with the tides," she laughed and Hawke was suddenly able to glimpse somebody else beneath Meredith's mask of the Knight-Commander, of a strong woman whose mind operated with words such as duty, courage and mercilessness.
"I live here too, you know," Hawke muttered and leaned on the window ledge. He had to admit the view was astonishing.
"Silence!" Meredith shouted at him to be quiet. "You still don't get it, do you?" she snapped at him, realizing in satisfaction Hawke remained silent, however peeved he seemed to be. "Kirkwall is crumbling under my hands, screaming for help, but not yet realizing no one will answer!" she exclaimed in rapture, swiveling her head to face Hawke.
"It's crumbling because there's no Viscount and you and that ridiculous elf across the hall can't sit in one room and talk through this whole damned stalemate! Or fuck through it, I really don't care!" Samael glanced at her, scowling, but his eyes were drawn back to the peaceful city gleaming in morning sun.
"Mind your tongue!" Meredith fiercely slapped him, but somehow Hawke knew he had hit a sensitive spot here.
"Cut the bullshit, Meredith," Hawke yawned at her, letting her know he wasn't about to share her philosophy and pat her shoulder for protecting the citizens with such a vigour the blood was splashing all around.
"All right!" she hissed at him, pointing at Kirkwall through the window. "Cutting the bullshit, for this city's sake, looking at it from every possible angle, this city simply needs a capable ruler. And since there's nobody but me willing to assume power and capable of dealing with Kirkwall's problems, I need to step up and start cleaning this mess!" Judging by fanatic glow in Meredith's eyes and her stiff pose, she didn't only say what she said; she also believed it with all her heart. "And you are going to help me," she turned to Hawke, looking at him as though he was a triumph hidden up her sleeve.
"Am I now…?" Hawke growled at her, folding his arms on chest. "How exactly do you plan to fool the nobles who are blocking your request of merging the Viscount's office with your own position? You grease every each one of them? Or you don't dawdle over this little inconvenient fact and you plan on killing them all? And how exactly am I fitting in into your schemes?"
A wicked smile tweaked Meredith's thin lips and Hawke's heart skipped a beat. She indeed had a plan for him and he wasn't going to like it, of course.
"I want my people back," he repeated himself, just to fill that uncomfortable silence.
"I agree," she surprised him with this terse statement. "But that rabid elf will be decapitated for the lives he has taken within the Templar order and your father dearest remains in my custody until I'm satisfied with your —" Meredith's sly eyes looked him up and down, "— performance," she finished her sentence with an odd lascivious undertone and once again Hawke shuddered in suppressed aversion.
"Well, that rabid elf, as you call him, belongs to me. You set him free before I'll do that for you," Hawke inhaled deeply and his nostrils flared in wrath, "and I want the head of your precious Ser Alrik. Let's consider it as your kind gesture sealing the start of our cooperation." Samael went all in, impatiently waiting for her reaction. Meredith's eyebrows arched at that most unexpected demand for she didn't know nor did she care about what had occurred at the lakes.
"Ser Alrik is valuable asset to Kirkwall Templar order and he is a treasured and reliable leader among my men," she slowly replied, binding herself time and clearly contemplating Hawke's strange request. "And if you want the elf, you have to give up one other person from the list," she almost cackled at Hawke's dumbfounded face. "As a guarantee of your good will sealing the start of our cooperation," she added a mocking remark after a moment during which Samael remained frozen on the spot. In trance, Hawke fumbled for a parchment still lying on the table, reading through it in silence for several long minutes. Meredith watched him with broadening creepy smile on her face. She still couldn't believe she had Hawke on her side right now, however reluctant he seemed to be.
"An —" Hawke's hoarse voice cracked. "Anders. Take Anders," he mumbled, tossing the parchment away in disgust.
"Very well then. Keep your knife-ear pet. But I better not hear about him again," she waved her hand in benevolent gesture, drawing a faint nod from Hawke. "I hope you do know I am no enemy of yours, Champion," she continued, intently watching Hawke's colorless face. "I do only what's necessary. What must be done at any cost. I hope you'll see very soon the benefits of working together, however you don't think so right now. Serve me well and I'll make it worth your while."
"Right," Hawke interrupted her bragging, raking the fingers through his hair. "Anything you need me to do right away?" he asked, hoping he could flee these bleak walls reeking of oppression and despair.
"Oh yes," Meredith's eyes widened and Hawke involuntarily staggered a step back. This simply couldn't be good. "There's a little drama we both need to attend to in a few minutes. A necessary evil, if you ask me. You just stand there, smile and nod. You are free to go afterwards and so are your friends. Expect a letter with further orders later. Understood?" Meredith clasped Hawke's shoulder, searching his once again wan face.
"Yes," Samael popped out a reply while his every sense, every fibre within his body screamed to run away.
"Carefully consider your behavior, Champion. Our whole deal stands and falls on this crucial moment. Don't make me sign a mass execution order, including your own," she whispered into his ear, realizing his feverish breathing and tremor.
"Ready whenever you are," Samael tried to reply, but it was nothing but a tormenting moan coming out of his mouth. He was well aware that he was about to break. He opened the door for Meredith; gesturing with his hand he would follow her wherever she needed him. She walked pass him, giving him an eminent glance. Hawke bowed deep his head, but it was no courtesy to his new Mistress. He was too afraid it was written in his eyes, all over his face, on the way he was holding the heavy door for the Knight-Commander. That his whole being was screaming for one thing and one thing only right now.
Samael would kill Meredith.
Not now, not tomorrow. But he would do it, even if it would be the last thing he would do in his whole forsaken life. Not because of her attitude towards the mages. Not for nourishing the civil war within the city walls. Not for imprisoning his people, nor even for taking his father away from him. He would do it because she thought she could command him and everybody else and make them her own little private slaves. Because she considered herself untouchable. Because she was convinced she could break people around her and be unbreakable herself.
Hawke served no one and he bowed to no one. Anyone claiming otherwise was bound to smell the violets from underneath. And thus he had to avoid eye contact with Meredith, because he knew all too well there was but one scarlet word branded on his face at that moment: death.
oOo
Everything that had happened afterwards seemed like one endless waking nightmare for Hawke. Meredith with him at her heels walked through the silent espaliers of the faceless guardians standing tall and proud in their Templar armor and only now Hawke realized the Gallows courtyard was buzzing with excited voices debating, shouting, laughing over one another. Samael couldn't know the worst part was yet to come. Meredith, her pace dignified and somehow triumphal, mounted the broad marble staircase, gazing over the heads of people thronging beneath her feet. If Samael hoped she would forget about him since she would be busy with polishing her own self in front of the citizens and nobles, his hopes were marred when she made him step forward as well, so the two of them stood on a hanging pedestal fenced with low elaborate iron railing.
"Good people of Kirkwall!" Meredith made an elegant gesture with her one hand reaching for her thralls who were yet to learn about this role she gave them in her haughtiness, while she squeezed Hawke's arm to stop fidgeting with her other hand. "Dark time lie ahead of us and there will be many moments when we must choose between what is easy and what is right," her voice rose in the air and filled the ominous silence.
Samael winced when he realized who had been standing right in front of him, held in the foremost of the audience by the Templars. Forcing his face to remain indifferent, he searched the faces looking at him, accusing him, condemning him. The faces of people who got into this mess because of him. People he wanted to save by sacrificing himself on the altar of Meredith's vanity.
Varric and his bulldog expression were more than eloquent and Hawke had no doubt the dwarf dearly regretted he hadn't broken up with him sooner.
Fenris, surrounded by the Templars, kept shaking the gloved hands off him, glaring up at Hawke while crushing some Tevinter curses between his teeth.
Aveline had her own men enveloping her and she watched Hawke's expressionless face in deep contemplation, rubbing her chin and turning away from him when their eyes met.
Hawke's hands clenched into fists when he had spotted Hein with both dwarves cowering by his side. The boy looked sick, his face bruised and his upper lip slashed and swollen as though he had received some goodbye ass-kicking from the Templars just a minute ago. Their eyes briefly met, but it was enough for Hawke to notice Hein was just as much pissed off as he was and that he would remain at his side no matter what. The dwarves kept staring at their feet and Samael's stomach knotted when he saw them this way – intimidated, frightened, broken.
Charlie Bowbitter's son was the only one granting Hawke a warm smile as though nothing had happened. Which was kind of bewildering since Corff's left eye was closed, encircled by almost black nasty bruise and Hawke saw a missing tooth in that carefree grin.
A sudden movement further back in the jam caught his attention though and he was able to identify that person shrouded in a torn mantle for he had glimpsed that odd blue flash coming from beneath the hood. Anders had obviously crawled out of whatever shithole he had been hiding in, to see for himself what was going on in the city. Seeing Hawke standing side by side with his arch enemy must have been like a punch below the belt for him, but there was nothing Hawke could do for him. Not anymore. Not when he had marked him as a person no longer protected by the Champion of Kirkwall.
"The old systems must be reviewed, the progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged and we must steel ourselves and use drastic measures to once more achieve peace and balance in our city!" Meredith's voice kept resonating in the Gallows courtyard and Samael caught himself not paying attention whatsoever for there was one more person he had recognized in the crowd. He would have recognized her lovely face everywhere and anytime. Merrill didn't bother to remain incognito right in the midst of Templars which sent shivers down Hawke's spine. A pure consternation mirrored on her face, only to turn into raw rage regarding Hawke's betrayal when he was clearly in cahoots with Meredith and somehow failed to mention it to her.
"Let us fight what must be fought!" Meredith shadowed Hawke when she spread her long arms; a vision of zealous desire to command, to rule, to smite. Samael's overloaded mind escaped this realm, playing hide and seek with himself and his resolve to protect his people. Oddly enough, his face bore no sign of this merciless inner fight which had been building up inside of him for months, if not years.
"Let us preserve what must be preserved and root out dark elements staining our beautiful city!" Well, it wasn't hard to guess of which 'dark elements' she spoke of. More like which magical dark elements, Hawke thought to himself.
"As a living proof of this wind of change, as a pledge of my commitment and devotion to this city, I give you now your new Viscount!" Meredith cried out, pushing her dummy forward. Hawke's soul let out an ungodly shriek and for a moment Hawke wasn't sure if it was audible or not. So this was Meredith's crazy intention with him! This was her detour, her devious plan of how to bypass the nobles, Seneschal Bran, First Enchanter Orsino and Elthina! She would rule through her Viscount puppet, because the Viscount's title itself was out of her reach! And Hawke would be nothing but a pawn in this whole dangerous game, doing her bidding, fulfilling her every whim. But wait… Wait… Hawke almost smirked.
People would never, never ever, allow to such a lowlife to rule them, right? Right. They knew he had been inserted in every foul affair in Kirkwall. They knew him as a mercenary. They knew him as a merciless businessman who left anyone silly enough to cross him bleed out in a gutter. No way would they accept a man with this history as their leader! So where the hell did that cheers coming from the whole damned courtyard come from?
The crowd roared in surprise, squeaked in astonishment, heckled in rapture. Meredith's eyes roved in satisfaction through the hailing crowd, not paying attention to those who left the Gallows courtyard in outrage. Oh, she knew well what she was doing, as always. She knew nobody would be strong enough to oppose her and her newest stunt she had invented to seize the power. Nodding at her Templars, they started maneuvering the boisterous crowd out of the Gallows, to spread the word throughout the city that there would be a new Viscount and new order would come with him.
Giving him one last glare, Varric marched away along with other people, dragging Bodahn and Sandal with him. Aveline dared the Templars touch her or force her to do anything, but she left the courtyard nonetheless, granting Hawke one last pensive gaze. Hein managed to slip through the Templars, sneaking towards his Master, but a cogent armored hand grasped him by his neck and tossed him out as well.
When Hawke woke up from his little private hell, there was nothing but quiet, deserted courtyard around him. He reeled before he collapsed to his knees, shaking his head in one last attempt to comprehend, to grasp what had happened to him and why. He shivered when a pair of soothing hands materialized out of nowhere, gently clasping him by his shoulders, not letting him fall completely down.
Hawke turned his horror-stricken face towards his saviour, slowly discerning Cullen's worried face; delicate fan of premature wrinkles around his eyes gleaming in genuine interest. Clutching the offered forearm, Samael pulled himself up, nursing his head spinning in a splitting headache.
"I need to get out of here," he breathed out, informing merely himself about his need to leave this place. Cullen didn't say a word about what had happened, simply gesturing towards the huge iron gateway yawning at them. Hawke was too afraid to look into Cullen's kind eyes for he knew what he would see within them. The only sentence loved by prigs and hated by libertines.
I told you so.
oOo
Do you hear me, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem?
This simply couldn't be happening to him. Hawke kicked the barrel standing in his way, making a merchant jump up in alarm. The dwarf held his curses just to himself though, when he saw the crazy man mumbling something to himself, teetering through the Hightown square.
I'm a falling, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem, today.
Yeah, falling sounded good enough. Through his own arrogance and irresponsibility he was marooned in Meredith's elaborate net right now.
I'm a maiden, Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem.
Well, those words certainly didn't match Meredith, now did they? Hawke cackled, pushing the invisible demons out of his way. People avoided him, gaping at his elegant, now slovenly apparel, whispering remarks behind his back.
But I'm dying Ser Wilhem, Ser Wilhem, in pain.
Hum, dying. A feeling Hawke was painfully familiar with. Just like the silly children rhyme which had been resounding in his ears ever since he had fled the Gallows. No. It was Meredith's turn now. She would pay for this. Sooner than she would have preferred. Pay for the impossible position she had put Hawke in. Pay in blood and pain, just like the silly rhyme said. Hawke didn't realize where his legs were carrying him, until he stood in the middle of the Chantry hall. An enormous golden statue built to please the Maker, whoever that was. High smooth walls domed with magnificent cupola adorned with vivid murals. Stench of asceticism and hypocrisy.
"What have I ever done to you that you hate me such?" Hawke's desperate wailing echoed within the Maker's house. The priestesses scuttled to hide from a man desperate enough to enter and question the Maker's will.
"Repent for your sins, blasphemous beast!" an old crone limped to Hawke, pointing at him with her mummy-like finger, gleeing about his heart-rending despair.
"That's enough, Sister Claudine!" a serene voice intervened, forcing the old woman to hobble away with hushed mumbles of the Chant of Light.
Elthina slowly descended the staircase, glancing around, but there was nobody but the young man staring at her with feral eyes devoid of humanity. "How can I help you, Champion?" she asked, intentionally overlooking his devastated look and shaking hands.
"Nobody can help me," he retorted, turning away from her. He was gone before the Grand Cleric could have done anything. The eternal flame flickered as Hawke razed the door to get out, and went out.
oOo
A creak of gate, muffled steps hasty enough to reveal that the person creeping through Kirkwall cemetery was nervous. Aveline snorted as she passed by the Dumar family sepulcher. She was sure Marlowe Dumar would flip in his grave if only he knew who was about to replace him at the Viscount's office. Just as she suspected, the door leading to Amell & Hawke tomb was slightly ajar; not a sound beyond them though.
"Hawke?" she pushed the door wide open, startled how worried her own voice sounded. Her narrowed eyes flew over the silent stone catafalques and she shuddered, feeling like an interloper.
"Hawke!" she repeated his name, her voice stronger this time. Anything, but that disturbing silence. Then she saw him; huddled between his parents' graves, curled into himself like only a lost, scared child could be.
"Hawke…" she sighed, slowly approaching him. She had no idea what to say, now, when she had finally found him. She crammed herself right next to him, swearing since her armor was no good for her intentions.
"What are you doing here?" he droned, not willing to get out of his shell any time soon. "If you came to preach, you shouldn't have bothered."
"Not that it wouldn't do you any good, but no. I'm not here to act some smart-ass. I came to apologize." Aveline couldn't have chosen more unexpected words, it seemed.
"Whaaat?" Hawke mocked her, confirming Aveline's theory about him being a stubborn brat.
"You don't think I've orchestrated this whole thing? That I secretly longed to be the Viscount for years, right after being a scum and lyrium smuggler?"
"I should have seen this coming, Hawke. Don't forget I deal with that bitch on daily basis," she sighed, brushing her forehead, poking him to finally look at her. "So, she has Malcolm, huh…" her quiet voice trailed off and she heard something suspiciously similar to a sob. "Crying won't help, you know," she remarked, but her hand gently stroked Hawke's head.
"I'm not crying," a dark growl made her pull her hand back before she lost it. "I'm pissed off!" Hawke's head slowly rose from the tangle of his arms, legs and body.
"Good!" Aveline almost laughed. "You should be," her face darkened again. "Now what do we do about her?"
"So… You are like… With me?" he asked her cautiously.
"Whether you believe it or not, I've been always at your side, Samael," she uttered and her voice sounded nostalgic. "And no, I won't abandon you until we are all free of that hag," she sizzled and Hawke realized only now Aveline had been dealing with Meredith for years with no one to back her up, to support her. "What do you propose we do about her then?" she asked, rubbing her hands as though she was ready to do it right away.
Hawke took his time before replying, his blazing eyes sinking into hers, his hand crashing with hers in conspirator gesture. Only then he pronounced the words sealing off Meredith's fate.
"We kill her."
oOo
"Stop pacing, damn it!" Aveline snapped at the assassin striding around the chamber like a caged animal.
"You said they'd come. So where are they? You told me they'd be here, but I've seen only you so far and to be honest I don't think —"
"Shut up, you sprog! I told you I've talked to them, trying to make them understand. It's their choice whether they come or not, although that goofy lad of yours seemed rather impatient to get here." Aveline couldn't bear his disquiet any longer, so she jump up and started pacing, too. The voices suddenly burst into the front room, leaving the two of them hypnotizing the door.
Varric, Anders, Fenris, both Feddics, even Corff supported by Hawke's business partner, servants, all of them literally flooding the main hall, making a racket, fixing themselves drinks, scurrying through the estate, anything but talk, or even steal a glance at Hawke.
The room quietened down, whole scene shifted. Everyone seemed to have nothing to do but stare at Hawke with various expressions on their faces.
"So…" Varric broke the silence, enjoying drama and tension in the chamber. "Why don't you tell us how you ended up being Meredith's bitch?" he asked; his voice nonchalant.
"Charming holiday in the Gallows jail? You shouldn't have," Fenris sneered at Hawke who returned that grin, if only a bit shyly.
"If I may present my opinion," Bodahn emerged from the kitchen; trays filled with meals in both his hands. How he was able to conjure this late dinner in such record-breaking time, Hawke would never know. "I have to admit I'm pretty much pissed off and I want that old human hag gone!" he ended up shouting his opinion, leaving everyone very much stunned by his passionate speech. Bodahn left no doubts about how exactly gonehe wanted Meredith to be.
"Thank you."
Whole room fell silent after Hawke's unexpected voiced gratitude that they didn't turn their backs at him, although Samael had difficulties to look Anders in his eyes, knowing he had more or less betrayed him.
"Fenris, you stay here, since your mansion's been seized and I don't think I can get it back any time soon." Hawke clearly woke up from the lethargy. "Aveline, you pay attention and watch your back within your ranks for they were successfully infiltrated," he continued. "We'll talk about this later," he reacted at her alarmed face. "Anders, please, take a look at their injuries," Hawke's eyes lingered at Hein's bruised face, noticing his eager expression, before they slid to Corff who had been smiling and sipping wine ever since he came. "Varric, if I may borrow you for a minute," Samael turned to the dwarf, gesturing towards the library.
Once alone, they remained silent for a while, neither of them willing to start the conversation.
"So…" Varric coughed and scratched his chest hair. "Are we good?" he summed up this whole situation with brilliance of his own.
"I thought… Well… You seemed… You said…" Hawke had hard times searching for the correct words.
"I've had a lot on my plate back then, Hawke. It may have been truth, those words I said to you, but I'm not proud of what I've said and even less proud that I left you there like that. I apologize. I still am your friend, whether you want it or not." They looked into each other's eyes, their mouths slowly tweaking into cautious grins.
"Shrimpy Merchants' Guild boot licker…!" Hawke murmured to remind him good old times.
"Meredith's tits sucking fuckball…!" Varric countered with properly venomous reply.
They were playfully goading each other and honoring each other with colorful names as they returned back to the main hall, laughing. But the joyful atmosphere didn't last for they all knew what they were facing right now.
"So, what do we do now?" Hawke asked rhetorically, searching the resolved faces around him one by one.
"We'll take the bitch out. What else?" Anders jumped up on his feet, glowing in pure delight. Hawke knew he would need him; his healing abilities, his determination to fight Meredith to his last breath, although his reasons were completely different from Samael's. Hawke knew well he would have to deal with the blond mage sooner or later, but he wasn't keen on being around Anders the moment he learned the truth that Hawke had sold him out.
"Agreed!" Hawke replied after the storm of thoughts, sitting down into his armchair. Nobody noticed he wasn't able to look straight at the enthusiastic Anders.
"Where is Charon?" Hein asked suddenly with innocence only such young boy possesses, traveling on all four to his Master. Samael jerked, glancing at the rug Charon used to lie on. One round tear fought its way down Hawke's cheek and he let it be. They didn't talk until Samael brushed away a stray hair strand off Hein's grim face, standing up and reaching for a snifter of brandy. He had completely forgotten about his wounded hand for a while, but he remembered as soon as the glass broke upon the flagstone, spilling brandy all around.
"Such a waste…" Fenris guzzled his own jug of wine, smirking as red fluid stained his breast plate.
"Hawke! Are you all right?" Aveline asked, concerned, when she noticed Hawke grasped his left gloved hand in an odd manner.
"I am not," he shook his head, able just to whisper his reply. "Aveline, if you'd accompany me to my quarters now…" he asked her, his whole silhouette emanating exhaustion. Once alone, Hawke reached for a blank parchment and a quill, hypnotizing the ceiling for a while.
"What did you mean that you're not all right?" Aveline's insistent voice wouldn't let him think.
"Shhh," he rebuked her, writing a few words, only to cross them a moment later. Aveline fell silent for a few minutes, her leg nervously tapping the carpet.
"Samael, I really think we should —"
"Silence, woman!" Hawke hissed at her, focusing on writing, the tip of his tongue protruding out of his mouth. When he was done, he glanced at his friend and exhaled, massaging his temples.
"Tell them to make themselves comfortable and tell them I'm working on a plan," he ordered her, handing her over the parchment. "I believe you're in contact with the port authorities?" he asked her a seemingly unrelated question.
"Yes, I am. But I don't understand…" Aveline's voice trailed off as she read through the parchment.
"I want you to find at least twelve merchants heading for Fereldan and give them this and tell them to nail it onto every tavern door, every city board, every damned Chantry board they would stumble over during their travels." Hawke stalked to the vault and pulled out several pouches of silver coins, hurling them at the Guards-Captain one by one.
"Hawke, is this… A poem?" Aveline hid the pouches in her pockets, looking at the parchment and Hawke in frantic turns, bewildered.
"Come on, Aveline. Don't snoop, just do it. Please," he pleaded with her, trying to take the parchment from her, but she wouldn't let him, reading the words written on it out loud.
A little proud hawk
Sailing the skies
Spotted a fawn
A second later
The fawn was gone
Lovely fawn, guilty fawn
You're sorely missed
Hawk's wailing cries
Of solitude and lies
Vanished in the mist
Only then, after that last word ceremonially pronounced, Aveline burst out guffawing until she sprawled over the table, pounding it, and brushing away the hysteric tears of joy. Hawke murdered her with one annihilating gaze, ripping the poem out of her hand, coldly waiting for her to calm down.
"Enjoying yourself?" he sizzled at her, observing his fingernails in cold demeanor. Another salve of laughter was her reply.
"I always knew you have many talents, Samael, but you're no bard. Or at least I thought so until now," she chortled relentlessly. Her laughter died away as soon as she realized what that parchment represented.
It was no poem.
It was desperate call for help.
Samael was trying to find Fawn and lure him back to Kirkwall. The poem kind of described the whole relationship between the Champion of Kirkwall and the Hero of Fereldan.
Realizing what Hawke needed of her and why, Aveline nodded, cautiously taking the parchment from him again and folding it with respect.
"Some other smart comments I should expect from you?" he sardonically asked, collapsing into the bed.
"Get some rest, my dear," Aveline whispered and blew off the candles, tucking blanket around Hawke's body in sisterly gesture. "I'll take care of it."
"Hum," Samael mumbled in reply, half-asleep already.
Aveline watched over him for a while, shaking her head several times about the events of that day.
"Little proud hawk, sailing the skies, spotted a fawn, a second later, the fawn was gone," she quietly recited the simple rhymes. "What will you surprise me with tomorrow, little Hawke?" she whispered before she left.