I can't sleep… I can't sleep… He's here…Elgar'Nan… I can't sleep…
Merrill was roving around the Dalish camp, clutching her head in despair. It was as though the whole of Sundermount decided to mirror her tension that night. The restless wind howled through the forked mountainside, billowing the canvases of tents, and the peaceful rivulet streaming through the camp was swollen after several summer squalls scourged Kirkwall and its environs recently. The Keeper winced when the gust of salty wind ruffled her dark hair, bringing a distant neigh to her ears. This single, barely audible sound was enough to push Merrill past her self-control and her hands erupted into flames.
One particular evening had stolen Merrill's sleep two months ago. The evening when Hawke came to explain his involvement with the Templars and she refused to even see him; let alone listen to him. She had him banished from her camp and all he could do was to helplessly watch as Veryan wrapped his filthy arm around Merrill's petite shoulders and led her out of his sight while all hunters gathered around him, challenging the shemlen to be unwise enough to pick a fight with a mob of skilled and unrelenting Elvhenan warriors.
Well, Hawke considered himself foolish enough to attack them, but that wouldn't help with explaining how he had ended up standing on the Gallows courtyard with Meredith who announced that Hawke was the new Viscount-to-be in a few weeks. After his forced departure from Sundermount, Samael wrote dozens of letters for Merrill. Malevolent letters, accusatory letters, plaintive letters; the letters he knew she would never read because his pride wouldn't let him sent them to her. Merrill was obviously more than willing to believe Hawke chose to freely cooperate with Meredith in exchange for the Viscount's title, so why bother?
"Is it… him? Again?" a quiet question startled the Keeper when Veryan wrapped his own shroud around her slender figure, oblivious to her hands wielding the fire right now. Veryan's question was answered a second later when a silhouette of the rearing stallion materialized on a horizon; the rider's long hair were streaming in wind and catching the moonlight.
"It's always him, isn't it?" was her bitter reply when she turned to her First whose silver hair shone in dark. Maybe it was Veryan's serenity what forced Merrill to clench her hands into small fists and the fire within then fizzed and went out.
"Merrill —" Veryan reached for her but her eyes narrowed in disagreement with such intimacy and she dodged his touch.
"Keeper," Veryan coughed in uneasiness and pulled the guilty hand back. "You've never told me what happened the night you went to Kirkwall," he asked. "It looked like we wouldn't even see you ever again, yet you returned a day later in very bad shape, I daresay." Veryan's inquiry was silenced with Merrill's raised palm and she obviously wasn't able to talk about it. All Veryan knew was that a strong woman, a woman full of hope and courage left the Dalish clan that night, but a broken woman returned instead of her. Veryan knew Merrill's whole relationship with Hawke was reaching a breaking point and he was sure the Keeper would be the one paying the ultimate price for her inability to shred the bond with that shemlen. This simply had to end. Hawke… needed to disappear. And Merrill's silence regarding that obnoxious shemlen was driving her First mad.
"I won't stand idle while you deliberately let him destroy you. Destroy us, in fact!" Veryan grabbed her and refused to let go this time. "Can't you see? He's going to doom the whole clan! Shall I tell the hunters to… take actions against him?" Veryan forced her to look at him and understand that unspoken part; to kill Hawke. "I mean, I'm quite sure they could do it without n —"
A fierce slap staggered Veryan, stealing his next words from him. It was bewildering how such strength could dwell in such a body as tiny as Merrill's. Yet there she was, standing tall and proud, her hands once again enveloped with ominous crimson flames, just like her eyes.
"I shall pretend I haven't heard what you just said, Veryan!" Merrill jabbed her bony index finger deep into his chest. He searched her outraged face and remained silent. "We have an appointment to keep," she coldly ended their conversation, stomping away from him to prepare. A little cold hand slipped beneath the layers of fabric of her robes, feeling the warm black annulet writhing in agony. Veryan had a point there. This had to end.
oOo
"C'mon, Aveline. Smack my face with some spicy details. Throw aside that mystical veil of virtue and duty in that grim sanctum of yours. Give me something I can work with! Has that pretty simpleton of yours ravished you in your office?" Varric kept badgering the poor Guards Captain through the whole evening.
"Varric…!" Aveline granted him an exasperated glance; again.
"A table then! You two must have tried it on your table, right?" Varric coated the tip of his quill in ink, watching Aveline in suspense of gossip. Or a punch for that matter.
"Write what you will." Aveline surprised everybody when she actually laughed and poured herself yet another glass of wine. "I'm content," she added when the storyteller kept staring at her with a dumb expression on his broad face.
"Well, that certainly takes all the fun out of it!" Varric burst out, tossing his quill away. "Contentment in the barracks? Who'll pay to hear that shit?"
"Then I should have thought of it years ago," Aveline stretched like a cat. A very content cat.
"Where's Hawke, huh?" Anders changed topic, peering at everybody from behind a fan of cards.
"More like where he's been for last two months?" Fenris snarled and folded his own cards.
"Well, we know what he said when this whole shitstorm around Meredith hit, but don't you think Hawke is kind of enjoying it right now?" Anders asked cautiously and he shrank back when they all glared at him, but then their expressions shifted. Their thoughtful faces were more than eloquent.
"No way!" Aveline was the first one awake from this disturbing silence and the only one defending Hawke.
"Well, we barely see him. He no longer includes us into his business. Hell, I haven't seen him fighting for months! That's simply the truth," Varric scratched his head and used this moment when everybody seemed lost deep in thoughts to pull out an ace out of his sleeve; literally. "Do you want to know what the word on streets is?" he asked rhetorically and continued right away. "The whole city is scared shitless and completely overrun by dark rumors about Hawke's brand new Kossith death squad. When they appear, blood's flowing down the road and Darktown is suddenly crammed with shallow graves. I mean more than usual." The dwarf underlined his narration with properly dramatic gestures. "They say Samael is Meredith's lover and she let him do pretty much as he pleases as long as the Templars' influence is growing along with her ambitions." Varric's voice dropped into conspiratorial whispers now. "Those who dare oppose them usually end up in those pretty graves I mentioned before."
"I know Hawke said we would lay low for a while, gaining trust and reputation and shit, but I have to admit I'm worried if Samael still sees it the same way." Fenris glanced around and spotted the same doubt in their eyes. "He's either that good of an actor or he simply likes how things are right now. Maybe he just doesn't know how to put it for us."
"Well, he certainly wouldn't be the first who got drunk with power," Varric elaborated even further. "And not in the good way," he shook his head and casually played his ace with a triumphant smirk on his face.
"Nonsense," Aveline snorted and jumped up from her seat. "Have you all forgotten what happened two months ago? That Meredith has his father stashed somewhere? That she has her Templars checking up on Hawke and everybody he associates with just in case we might be concocting something to save Malcolm? That her men killed Charon, damn it?" she slammed her fists into the table which disturbingly creaked. "Don't you ever wonder what happened between Samael and that creep Alrik? Hawke's genuinely terrified of him! And am I the only one noticing Hawke has suddenly been wearing gloves for two damned months despite it being summer? Open your eyes, thickheads, before you start to doubt the one who has done nothing but protecting us!" She fell silent after her emotional outburst, panting and turning her back at them.
"Aveline, I'm certainly not arguing with you, but you have to admit —" Varric's conciliatory voice entered the silence.
"Oh, shut up, Tethras! I'm not done yet!" Aveline whirled around to face him, her green eyes sparkling in outrage. "Let's look at you, Varric. You have your room back at the Hanged Man along with all questionable perks of life of debauchery and promiscuity, and I certainly haven't noticed you thank Hawke for that," she scolded him. "Or you!" she turned at the blond mage who gulped. "It was Hawke who has been keeping Templars off your back for years and I assure you there were many times I could have arrested you or let the Templars to have your ungrateful bipolar persona joining the Tranquil club at the Gallows!" Aveline was now shouting, dismissing Anders' protests with both raised palms. "And don't let me get even started about you, you…YOU!" Aveline hissed at the sneering lyrium branded elf, guzzling whiskey by jugs that night. "Loitering at this place for weeks, drinking like a leech and whoring like a baboon, and when Messere Fenris gets bored, he kicks off, rampaging around the city like his ass is on fire, trashing statues, pissing at the Chantry walls and picking fights at the worst Lowtown taprooms!"
Fenris' tattoos had been getting brighter during her speech, until he launched forward, radiating in blind rage, but Aveline was prepared for him.
"Having problems to handle the truth, are we?" she murmured when they clashed in the middle of room with an awful crack and one mighty slam sent the lanky elf flying backwards, crushing the low fretwork table with delicate porcelain beneath his falling body.
"Oh my, Aveline, you do have some unresolved issues, don't you," Varric chuckled, but held that fuming woman-shaped battering ram on the spot while Anders tried to pick up the elf who shoved him away to show his gratitude.
"Take this as me, the Guards Captain, unwilling and even unable to cover for your stunts any longer, Fenris," she spluttered out at him, shaking Varric's hands off her.
"Well, nobody has ever asked you to do that, you rusty hag! And I'll always have Hawke and his protection at my side anyway," the elf countered with a bumptious reply and for a moment it looked like Aveline would break his neck, but somehow she managed to get a hold of herself.
"Oh, I wouldn't count on that if I were you," she remarked and stormed out of the mansion before Fenris could have asked what she meant by that.
"Nice touch, Broody," Varric chided the elf for his violent approach; overlooking the fact Fenris didn't have any other.
"Well, as much as charming this evening is, I have to attend to some business of mine. So if you'll excuse me…" Anders finished his glass of wine, but he didn't look into their eyes when he said that.
"Finally," Fenris mumbled and peered askance at the leaving mage.
"All right, what is wrong with you?" Varric lashed out at the elf when they were alone. He noticed himself that Fenris was simply spinning out of control lately. Aveline just mentioned some of his sins and she didn't even know about the worst of them; like who had robbed the Chantry chapel and pooped in the middle of it, who had torched down one of the Guards posts outside of the city walls and who was responsible for fifteen dead bodies in one Lowtown hovel, including an old woman and two courtesans.
"Give me a break, dwarf," Fenris belched into his face, falling on the sofa backwards.
"— how many of them failed to report?" The front door opened and hushed voices interrupted Varric who was about to talk some sense into that crazy elf.
"Four if I do not count that midget who got himself killed in a bar fight. The lyrium has been retrieved though, so no harm done, I guess. What do I do about the traitors, Kithshok?"
A pause during which neither Fenris, nor Varric peeped a word.
"Kill them in front of their families."
Varric winced for he simply couldn't believe it was Hawke who had said something like that in such a cold demeanor. A frigid chortle which followed that one gruesome sentence was even worse since it came from Hein's young and supposedly innocent mouth.
"Hawke…?" Varric addressed him through the closed door, unable to remain silent after what he just had heard.
"Ah, hey Varric," Samael walked in along with his Kossith giant at heels. "Didn't know you'd honor me with your presence tonight," he chuckled, but avoided Varric's inquiring gaze.
"We were all here, but, well…" Varric's voice trailed off. "I won't bother you with the mundane details," he glowered at Fenris who had been dutifully boozing again. But something entirely else caught Varric's attention right now and it was Hawke's peculiar appearance. He had replaced his common comfortable black leather armor with very elegant saffron silk attire; the expensive fabric underlining his broad chest and covering his arms with bulb sleeves which were stuck in elegant thin deer leather gloves. His waist was adorned and thus accentuated with dark crimson cummerbund and Varric knew the katana swaying in a ceremonial scabbard by Hawke's hip was nothing but a nice complement. Also, Varric would swear the showy shoes Samael was wearing were the last fashion scream from Orlais and their color matched the gloves. The worst part was Hawke's cold-hearted face though; that merciless theatrical mask framed with carefully coiffured black hair with several strands groomed into thick neat braids.
"Anything else, Kithshok?" Maraas halted at the door, bowing his head in expectance while Hein strolled passed him, granting Fenris a derisory glance since he was Hawke's favorite right now; not the elf who was obviously jealous of the lad.
"Nah," Samael nonchalantly waved his hand. "Take your boys out and have fun tonight." Something bitter tweaked Hawke's lips into cynical grimace as he threw his arm around Hein who was dressed with similar éclat. "And I shall have mine…" Hawke's voice dropped to a sensual whisper as his eyes lingered at Hein's eager face. Varric thought he had heard wrong though, looking at those two young men of which at least one of them should have been wise enough to know what they've clearly done together was wrong.
"If I'm allowed to meddle and remind you of my insignificant existence," Fenris scrambled out of a sofa, striding as quickly as his drunk state allowed him towards his ex-lover.
"Not in the mood for your drama, Fenris." A single domineering glance from Hawke stopped the elf from approaching them, but unfortunately not from talking.
"All right then," Fenris cackled and dusted his wine-stained breastplate. "In that case I think I'm just going to have fun all by myself. Maybe I'll wander through the city and maybe even further than that," he lowered his head and watched Hawke's reaction at his caustic words. His plan had obviously worked since Samael turned to him, clearly estimating what was Fenris up to this time.
"What do you mean?" Samael asked since he had chastening experiences with the unstable elf and thus he knew it wasn't wise to ignore him and his devious character.
"Oh, I've heard Sundermount is lovely at this time of year," Fenris observed his gloved fingers, waving them as though he couldn't decide if he got five of those or not. "Maybe even some mages to cut down or have fun with them, as you put it." Fenris' next words were drowned in Hawke's inhuman roar as he darted forward; a blade flashed and nicked the elf's throat. Fenris had no chance to react whatsoever.
"Do… Not… Test me… Fenris," Hawke rasped; their faces almost touching. The elf tried to break free, when the most curious thing occurred – the blade simply fell out of Samael's hand. The elf escaped Hawke's grasp, staggering backwards, watching his ex-lover in suspicion.
"You don't mean that," Samael changed his tone, trying to mask the epic failure of his left hand. All he could think about right now was Merrill, the sleeping Merrill, and Fenris, creeping through the Dalish camp. A blade in darkness, moonlight in Fenris' snow-like hair, mischievous smile on his lips, and yet another life taken by the lyrium warrior, just because he could. Well, that, and his fixed idea that Merrill was the one stealing Hawke from him years ago. This persistent picture clouded Hawke's mind, so he wasn't even realizing Hein positioned himself between the two of them; shielding him with his arms wrapped around his Master's body.
"You think I don't mean that?" Fenris snorted in supremacy, noticing the pure fear smudged all over Hawke's face. "Watch me then," he hissed at Samael. Luckily, a triple knock on the front door prevented Hawke from a reaction he would have regretted later. Maraas answered the door, nodding at his Kithshok before he left the estate.
"I was afraid you've forgotten to babysit me tonight," Hawke relaxed and loosely wrapped his arms around the lad, hurling a scornful glare at the Knight-Lieutenant who cautiously walked in along with his four lackeys.
"Serah Hawke," Cullen looked around the main hall; no sign of conspiracy so far. Just one fretful dwarf, two others peeking at him from the kitchen, one insufferable elf and the landlord who seemed to get caught in rather incriminating pose with his protégé which was even more scandalous since he didn't seem to care at all.
"You did your duty, so how about you scram, Templar?" Samael mocked the diligent young man and headed for his quarters, dragging the all too willing lad with him.
"I am so… Deeply… Sorry… But I'm afraid your carnal desires will have to wait," a cold nasal uttered into silence and Hawke froze on the spot with his one leg already placed on a staircase. Hein felt the gloved hand squeezing his arm started quivering; fingers sinking deep into his skin.
It seemed only now that Samael's little private spookshow was complete. Ser Alrik had simply never missed a chance to remind him of his victory at the Bone Pit lakes. Hawke was untouchable right now as Meredith's newest pet, and vice versa Alrik would keep his life for now, because Hawke couldn't risk Meredith's fury over death of one of her most valuable men.
"The Knight-Commander sends her regards and demands your assistance," Alrik sketched a lazy bow; his hand insolently reaching for blue grapes from a pompous silver salver. Letting go of Hein's arm, Hawke bit by bit turned around to face the creep, sauntering towards him. Alrik must have seen something dreadful in Hawke's eyes since his hand reaching for fruit dropped down and none of them spoke for one long minute. Hawke knew what was at stake here. He had been building the relationship with Meredith for two arduous months and Alrik came here to do nothing but ruin it. Well, that was not going to happen. Samael would have his revenge, oh yes, of course he would. But he had to play it smart. He had to allow Alrik to believe he had won; that he had bested Hawke, leaving a permanent scar on his body and soul.
"I am at your disposal," Samael conjured a noncommittal smile on his stiff face, bowing to Ser Alrik as though he would be delighted to serve. Oblivious to everyone staring at him in awe, Hawke turned around and started graciously mounting the stairs. "Let me change my attire," he glanced back at Alrik and even the shrewd Templar was now confused by Hawke's behavior, "into something more appropriate," Samael finished his sentence and disappeared in his quarters along with the boy. Only then he collapsed down along the closed door, allowing the inaudible sobs to express his powerlessness against the man who had destroyed his hand before he stomped on his pride.
"It's all right," Hein rushed to him, gathering him into his arms. "It's all right, you can do this. I know you can," he kept murmuring endearments, brushing away Hawke's now disheveled hair off his face. "He'll pay for what he's done, my Master," Hein locked his gaze with Samael's, nodding in ardent faith. Hawke let the boy to pull him up on his feet again.
Samael looked the boy up and down, before he ran the fingers through his fluffy hair. Tilting Hein's face up, he leaned down to claim his consolation prize, letting the lad to do that last move so their lips could meet and taste each other. The kiss was not aggressive, but it was supremely confident which surprised Hawke. Samael's attire was left crumpled up on the carpet, while Hein helped him into his comfortable set of black leather armor.
"You do notice I'm telling you everything," Samael's hushed voice broke the fragile silence. Hein's hands stopped working on the spaulders.
"Yes," the boy glanced up at Hawke's shadowed face. "Yes, I do," he murmured and jiggled the shoulder protection to make sure it was attached properly.
"You'd never —" Hawke's fingers raked through his long hair in a nervous gesture, "— turn against me, right?" he asked and realized Hein wasn't looking at him when he quickly confirmed his loyalty. Perhaps too quickly. "I'm only asking because you've had that quiet episode, then you were like your old self and now you seem to be all right, then not. I'm not sure what should I think about this mood swings of yours, but —"
"I'm all right," Hein interrupted Hawke's ramble; his voice anxious as he dropped to his knees to place the greaves to protect his master's shins. He shuddered when for the briefest second he thought he had glimpsed Zevran lurking in darkness, ready to strike, ready to kill, ready to force him to finish Hawke off or do it for him. "And I'm coming with you tonight," the lad chased away the tormenting figment of his imagination and looked up with stubbornness of his own.
"Here I thought we've discussed this matter and you agreed to indulge me and not put yourself in needless danger," Hawke scowled and pulled the boy up to see his pigheaded face.
"Oh, come on, Samael!" Hein fastened himself on Hawke's torso while he finished dressing up by strapping on the vambraces and putting on the gloves. "Somebody has to watch your left side, you know," the lad coaxed, but regretted his words gravely a second later.
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," Hawke sizzled at the boy and shoved him away. To underline his statement, he wanted to hang the plain black scabbard with katana to his belt, but it was work for both hands, so the katana thudded on carpet instead. "Fuck," Hawke growled in frustration. Before he could bend down, the boy's hand picked up the weapon and reached it towards him.
"I'm sorry," Hein's soft words caressed Samael's ears while the boy placed the katana on its proper place. They stared at each other wordlessly, but their eyes were speaking for them.
"You stay close to me all the time," Hawke let out those words without thinking them through. Hein squeaked in delight, but Samael's hand shut him up. "No playing hero or other foolish stunts, little Rabbit. Do you hear me?" Hawke made sure the boy had understood before he let go of him, helping him with putting on armor and sheathing the bow on his back.
The impatient cough from the main hall reminded them of Hawke's Templar duties, so he checked on his armor one last time before he reached for door. Hein seemed once again lost in thoughts.
"How's my hair?" Samael tried to loosen the atmosphere; his hand lingering on the door knob.
"It looks like somebody glued a squirrel to your head," Hein remarked at Hawke's tousled long black hair, dodging his playful punch for such cheeky honesty. Ready for their night adventure, they smiled at each other and left the bedroom. Despite his better judgment, Hawke snatched in haste his black ring and put it on. Somehow he felt Merrill's presence that night more than usual and it was something excruciating indeed.
oOo
"Any idea why we are elbow-deep in shit in the sewers? No? Huh, why I'm not surprised," Varric kept muttering during their slow journey. For the last hour he had nothing better to do than striding by Hawke's side, nagging him.
"Nobody asked you to come along, if I recall correctly," Samael barked at him and dragged the inquisitive lad away from what appeared to be a bottomless hellhole.
"Right," Varric sneered, "I had no idea I was supposed to let those two idiots watch your back," he gestured at their other two companions; the fuddled elf cleaning his bare sole and crushing racy Tevinter curses between his teeth, since he had obviously stepped into something unpleasant, and the lad poking a slug with an arrow, giggling. "And why did you insist on taking that one with us is completely beyond me." Varric wasn't obviously about to shut up, pointing at Fenris.
"If he's with me, I know he's not on his way to Sundermount," Samael shrugged and watched the elf droning some lewd tune he had picked up from an Orlesian whore. "As simple as that," he glanced back at the dwarf, realizing he had been staring at Fenris longer than he should have. Clearing his throat in uneasiness, Samael quickened his pace to catch up with Cullen.
"Not particularly interested, but where the hell are we going?" Hawke grasped the Templar by his shoulder, demanding an explanation before they proceeded.
"Here I thought you are delighted to be of any use, my dear Champion," Alrik approached them before the Knight-Lieutenant could say anything. Samael shuddered at that chilling grin Ser Alrik seemed to have always on his pale face.
"I think it's appropriate to let you in on this mission, Champion. We are about to —" Cullen seemed prone to share, but was rudely interrupted by Ser Alrik.
"With all due respect," he bowed to Cullen, but it was more like mockery than respect, "I don't consider it necessary for the Champion to know all the crucial details," he uttered with his usual dominance and turned around, considering this conversation over.
"With all due respect," Cullen's gutsy voice stopped Ser Alrik, "last I checked I was the one in charge of this task. And I'll see it through without needless attention or bloodshed which is, as it frequently turns out, your way of handling your duties."
There was deafening silence after Cullen's outburst. Everybody; the Templars, Samael's companions, the Champion himself, seemed surprised, and when Alrik shut his pipe down, they were nothing but speechless. Cullen's conflict with Ser Alrik was obviously long-term and rooted in past, and it was only now when the Knight-Lieutenant found his balls to confront Alrik and show him who the boss here was.
"Once a prig, always a prig," Hawke murmured just for Varric's ears, chortling, when Ser Alrik hurled an annihilating gaze his way.
"Champion," Cullen turned back to Hawke, breathing heavily after he had finally found strength to have it out with that shame of his Order. "We believe we may have found the meeting place of the apostates and other lowlifes in Undercity."
"I see," Hawke thoughtfully rubbed his chin, his eyes distant. From unknown reasons he felt this rising anxiety, rushing through his veins, choking him. "And you have no doubt a squealer infiltrating their conspiracy, telling you they're meeting tonight."
"Yes, we do," Cullen replied, overlooking Alrik's outraged face.
"What should I expect then?" Hawke asked a question and started walking again.
"It should be huge," Cullen lowered his voice, glancing around in alarm. "Circle mages, maybe even Orsino, apostates, their families, nobles, and we suspect one Guardswoman of helping, too. And —" Cullen suddenly fell silent.
"And…?" Samael arched an eyebrow, watching the Knight-Lieutenant in suspense.
"Ehm," Cullen coughed, "we expect the Dalish to make an appearance as well," he whispered, awaiting a scathing response from the fierce-tempered Hawke. The ring stone on Hawke's finger flared with bright green flash and it was the only reaction Cullen got from him.
"Don't you have anything to say about this matter?" Cullen placed a hand on Hawke's forearm, forcing him to halt. His words were calm and caring and that was the only reason why Samael let that hand stay where it was.
"She spurned me," Samael breathed out the only explanation he had for his lack of interest about the Keeper and the fact she had sheltered two Circle apostates and thus inserted herself in this whole plot.
"Lieutenant," the Templar hunter entered their conversation, his voice excited and impatient. "This is it," he pointed at the trap door which was visibly well-maintained in comparison with the filthy floor, shabby walls and dust covering everything around.
"Good," Cullen nodded and the change in his voice couldn't be more overwhelming. Samael knew there was one hell of a man standing right in front of him; a faithful leader of his Order and a zealous servant of the Maker speaking with him through Meredith's mouth. Hawke could do nothing but fear Cullen would be the last one standing at the end against him, protecting Meredith to his last breath.
"Scout the surroundings, cut every escape route, lay traps, assume your position just as we've planned," Cullen kept issuing orders, "and remember – we are supposed to bring in as many conspirators as possible. Alive," his eyes glinted as they found Ser Alrik since Cullen's last word was clearly meant specifically for him.
"Dear beloved," Hawke assembled his own little squad around him, blinking at the Knight-Lieutenant whose expression was saying 'what now' regarding Hawke's eccentricity and inability to take something seriously. "We are gathered here to cut down some mages in the name of the Maker's holy arse," Samael burst out guffawing along with his men. The laughter rang as planned even among the Templars, but Cullen silenced them with one disapproving look.
"All right," Samael nodded at his three companions and they fell silent immediately. "Fenris, you heard it for yourself. No killing," Hawke granted him a nonchalant glance, but he knew all too well Fenris wasn't capable of such thing. "Varric, stick some bolts into them and cover Fenris and our precious Templar leader," Hawke continued, aware of the fact even the Templars were listening to him right now. "Hein," Samael's eyes found the lad, then he simply nodded since the lad already knew what was his purpose here.
Cullen dropped to his knee and drew his sword, jabbing it into the ground in front of him and leaning on it with his both arms stretched. Apparently it was some Templar ritual since Cullen's men mirrored their leader, bowing their heads in quiet pray. Hawke watched in rapture as Cullen tilted his head up, whispering a part of the Chant of Light. He not only devoutly pronounced each word, he also believed in what he'd said and it was something unprecedented for Samael indeed.
"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world —" Cullen's eyes found Hawke at this moment, lingering at his disconcerted face as though he knew exactly what was going on in Samael's head. As though he knew how it felt to believe in nothing, to desperately search for purpose in this world, but find none.
"— or Beyond," Samael heard himself finishing the chant, leaving everyone awestricken, including himself. "Shall we?" Hawke asked no one particular and kicked the trap door open.