"Imposed curfews, the midnight raids on the mages' families, dark conspiracies brewing throughout whole Kirkwall, and Templars lurking everywhere we turn — that's the new reality of our time! Everyone claiming otherwise is just another of Meredith's minions! I will repeat it, a thousand times if necessary, that the Chantry veered to controlling the minds of the population and anything else is just a subsidiary effect of their reign. But," Anders bitterly chuckled, towering above the crowd he was speaking to, "how do they do that? What is it what gives them the right to rule? How did they convince us we should blindly obey them, not asking questions nor having our own thoughts, just do their bidding? They created sin, of course! They named our natural behavior a sin and convinced us, that we are but insignificant sinful worms, slithering to seek shelter within the holy Chantry walls, to find those elusive virtuous selves which we've lost the day the Maker abandoned us. I fear we'd —"
"That's blasphemy!" an old gangly man pointed his quavering finger at the young blond mage.
"Is it now?" Anders mirthlessly laughed into his face, silencing the starting debate with a fierce gesture. "Isn't it blasphemy that Andraste preached freedom and ended slavery, yet the mages are being locked up, if not worse, and kept as slaves with no rights whatsoever? Isn't it blasphemy to stand idle and watch our brethren being treated like criminals and slaughtered, while those who should lead us bow to the Templar jailors instead?!" Anders' passionate words echoed in the vast crumbling chamber while his eyes shortly flashed with blue flames. "The people fear what we can do, but to use that fear to bludgeon us into submission is wrong! And they do it with our blessing!" he threw his arms up, completely losing himself in this dispute.
The crowd burst out cheering. Waves of exalting hails washed over and over again the young mage who accepted them with demure smile on his face. It had only been recently that Anders came to the understanding that he had been born to do this, that he was the chosen one, and the only one able to lead the revolution and succeed where others had failed and would fail again. The Circle, the Wardens, the free clinic; that all meant next to nothing to him right now.
"Nice speech, but nothing than hollow words if you ask me," a Dalish woman with long raven hair stepped forward, taking a long hard look at Anders.
"Hollow words no longer, sister," Anders reached an arm towards her, to help her up onto his improvised podium. "This is the hour we rise. The hour we pick up what's left of our pride and fight back. Brothers and sisters, I am delighted to announce that we do not stand alone," Anders glanced around him and he couldn't hide a superior smirk on his face. "We have a very powerful ally," he elaborated and the whole crowd spontaneously fell silent, waiting in suspense for Anders' next words. "He is currently working his way to the highest evil and he'll strike herdown the moment he would be able to," Anders' voice lowered and nobody had doubt about what evil he spoke of. "I believe we can proceed now with more detailed actions for our cause, but I have one last thing to ask of you." He took a wide stance, searching the faces around him; the faces hell-bent on fighting the war they couldn't possibly win.
"Blights, politics, wars and even nights have a specific way of tearing men apart, have a way of beating them down, stripping them of their rights, of their family, of their belongings, and finally of their bare souls. But only at this darkest hour we finally realize, that we stand tall and proud of what we are! Together we can show them how world could look like with everyone living in peace, in respect of one another." Anders' voice was growing louder and excited with every new word and everybody were looking up to him, hungrily absorbing his words. "So, who's with me?" he cried out the ultimate appeal. The crowd's response was overwhelming. Earsplitting cheers, replaced with passionate promises and ardent support.
"And who stands against me?" Anders merrily exclaimed the half-question, half-joke.
"I do."
The people were falling silent one by one, turning around in confusion and searching for the one who had said that.
"Show yourself!" Anders lost his repose when he couldn't find the man brave or foolish enough to say such a thing in the middle of mage rebellion headquarters. The crowd stepped away from a tall hooded person as though he was a leper. Having no reasons to conceal himself anymore, Samael threw the hood back over his head, crossing his arms on chest afterwards. His eyes catching the flames of torches looked like the fire was burning within them.
"H-Hawke?" the mage stammered and his face darkened when Samael granted him a long, wordless gloomy gaze. By now, Hawke was sick about this whole trip to Undercity. He expected Anders to be here, of course, but what he had found here was a raw disaster and it exceeded his worst expectations. Three Guardsmen, including Donnic, countless apostates of various degree of despair, six mages dressed in the official Circle robes led by a little sly man who was Orsino's right hand, the elves, a Carta agent, the Coterie, the nobles more interested in taking down Meredith than freedom for the mages and the list went on and on. Bracing himself for the worst possible outcome of this evening and painfully aware that Cullen with Alrik were both intently watching him, Hawke forced himself to play the role he was given.
"Through the authority given to me by the city council and as a new Viscount-to-be, I hereby declare you all under arrest for conspiracy," he uttered into absolute silence and loosened the katana within its sheathe which was more than eloquent gesture. No, this was not going to end well. If he knew where the Templars were leading him, Samael would have taken a different weapon; a weapon that could threaten, injure, and subjugate. Certainly not the bloodthirsty katana which hissed about slashing, chopping and disembodying.
Anders stared at his friend for a moment, at the very ally he had mentioned a few moments ago, unable at first to credit Hawke's jaunty humor, because that was what Anders was thinking about this whole impossible situation. He half-thought, half-prayed in fact, that it was nothing but a really bad prank from Hawke. Torches were ablaze throughout the quiet chamber, casting a deceptively warm red-gold glow over the crumbling walls, motionless figures, and elongating the shadows of the stone columns. The Templars emerged from those shadows, leaving no doubts about what side of a barricade Hawke was standing at right now.
"You… Traitor…" Anders managed to whisper in disbelief. "You fucking traitor!" he yelled right before Justice within him broke free. For a brief moment, Samael saw nothing but dazzling blue blaze mingled with black smoke, only then Justice launched forward, swinging the staff over his head in one perfect arc. All hell broke loose around Samael. He didn't know nor did he care about what the Templars were doing. What his own men were doing. What was he doing at that moment. What was the brilliant plan here anyway? Slaughter everyone in this place? How could have Cullen possibly hoped to persuade the conspirators to be peacefully clapped in irons and march to their deaths, singing?
"Don't you dare raise your staff against me," Samael growled and dodged the hit. Justice just murmured something indecipherable before he attacked again. Having no other choice, Hawke reached for his impatient katana, twirling it in his right hand before he cut the mage's staff in two. Justice gaped in awe at what was left of his staff and that bought some time for Hawke.
Hawke pulled the mage towards him and sizzled a wise suggestion into his ear, "Run, you idiot."
But there was no Anders to reply this time; only a warped Fade spirit trying to choke him to death with his bare hands. Samael tried to summon his mage ex-friend with well-aimed right hook, shaking his sore hand afterwards, but it didn't seem to work. Justice landed on his back, moaning.
"And we meet again," a woman walked past a lying Templar, sneering about his helpless gurgling as she jumped over the wallowing Anders. "I was looking forward for this," she sauntered closer; her eyes clearly estimating just how far the katana would reach.
"Maker, haven't I dragged you to the Circle once already?" Hawke retorted and let the katana playfully swinging through the air. Oh, he remembered her well; the Dalish woman with hypnotizing eyes, agile tongue and beautiful long black hair just like his at the Wounded Coast.
"My name is Maurella," she wrenched a Templar sword out of some mage's corpse and smiled sweetly at Hawke. "But you can call me Ella," her smile faded as she danced forward, taunting Hawke. Coming to a hilarious conclusion that she was resolved to fight with him, Samael mercilessly swooped upon her, entertaining himself by watching her at first turgid scoff, which was inevitably transforming into an insecure mask, until she looked genuinely terrified. Samael was about to perform a coup de grace, but then something else entirely caught his attention.
Fenris.
Fenris, skittering around with his usual clamorous style. Fenris, with an enormous great sword in his merciless hands. He wasn't fighting the mages nor did he was pacifying them, as Hawke realized in dismay. Fenris was executing them. It was cold, calculated and vicious. Their eyes met and Samael's hand holding the katana dropped down as he lost his concentration, shaking his head in mute plea to stop that carnage. Fenris sketched a snide bow before he cut yet another poor begging mage in half.
Maurella followed Hawke's gaze, panting, and a spiteful smile curled her lips as she crept behind his back, fumbling for a short blade hidden in her robes. "Who's your momma now, huh?" she rose up onto her toes to whisper it right into the tall human's ear, pressing the blade across his throat.
"Step away from him!" Hein's voice was unnaturally high-pitched and Samael noticed the bow with a nocked arrow was quivering in his otherwise steady hands.
"Hum…" Maurella genuinely laughed at the ruffled lad. "Aren't you delicious," she smacked her lips and Hawke felt the blade traveling down his throat. Judging by the fingers tightening their grip on the blade and Maurella's other hand tilting his head up, she was about to finish him off.
"Step away from him or I'll fuck you up!" Hein nothing but caterwauled his demand, leaving just a second for Maurella to let go of his Master before he sent the arrow with her name on it flying through the air. Hawke closed his eyes, only to open them a second later, frantically checking on his body. He half-expected an arrow stuck in his body, but he surprisingly got away with but a shallow nick on his throat caused by the blade.
"You shot me!" Maurella shrieked in panic, her hands hovering around the arrow protruding out of her shoulder. "You fucking shot me, you lepricon!" she collapsed down along the wall, her widened eyes watching Hawke and the lad in frantic turns.
"Thank you… Lepricon," Samael smirked at the stiff boy who was clearly unable to move or talk. Hawke's smile disappeared as soon as he had glimpsed Merrill battling two Templars at the opposite side of a chamber. She drove them away and escaped into another room, tottering and leaving a blood smear on the wall as she leaned on it.
Hawke was not the only one noticing her presence at this very moment though. Fenris' narrowed eyes were following her like a second shadow before they found Hawke. During one breathless moment they stared at each other, then they bolted forward at the same time, though it was crystal clear who would get to the Keeper first; Fenris. For Hawke it felt like he was living right now in a nightmare he had been experiencing over and over again in his worst dreams – to watch Merrill being killed and inability to save her. In slow motion, Samael could nothing but watch as Veryan was stunned by the hilt of Fenris' great sword, as were the Templars thrown like rag dolls out of Fenris' way and then nothing stood between him and Merrill anymore, while Hawke was still desperately far away from them.
"Noooooo!" Hawke's desperate shout resonated all around as he hacked his way through the worst turmoil. Templars, mages, Guardsmen, nobles, it didn't matter. He couldn't make it in time, yet he was bound to try. Fenris glanced at him once more to make sure Samael would see who the one was that was ending Merrill's life. Then he scythed her in cold blood with all his lyrium fueled might. Samael would remember that vengeful mask on his ex-lover's face forever and next sound Hawke let out was a wordless wail of defeat.
I must… I must… It doesn't have to end this way. I forbid it to end this way…
Hawke stormed into the room, preparing himself to face his gravest fears while his mind kept frantically generating image after image; every each one of them worse than the previous. What he saw in there left him awestricken indeed.
Merrill, crouching in the filth, placing her staff in front of her to defend herself, her eyes begging Fenris not to do this. She cried out when Fenris' great sword connected with the staff; the very same staff Hawke had given her what seemed like eons ago. Hawke thought the staff would crack, if not completely fall apart after that devastating blow, but it was Merrill's arm what broke first and the staff remained oddly intact, vibrating. Next thing Samael knew was that his hair started flowing in unfathomable gusts of wind, which slammed him against the wall as they were growing stronger. One long scream of pain escaped Fenris' lips when he dropped his weapon and an invisible force lifted him above the ground. There was nothing he could do nor there was any way to fight Merrill's blood magic.
Varric halted in a skid at the door and it was obvious he had witnessed this whole silent combat between that love triangle and he figured what was Fenris about to do to his lovely Daisy. "Hawke…?" the dwarf peeped when he noticed their leader, standing there pressed against the wall with his arms loosely hanging as though he had given up. "Hawke!" he shook him and he had to shout this time so Hawke would hear him in the howling wind which was gaining strength by seconds.
"It's too late…" Samael whispered; his eyes still set at the crimson cloud inside of which Merrill's petite silhouette was barely visible along with Fenris hanging in the air in front of her.
Hawke moved, struggling against the wind, but Merrill stopped him with one intense look.
"Stay out of this, Hawke," she ordered him while slowly orbiting the elf still trapped in her blood magic vortex. "For too long you've been hounding me," she hissed at Fenris and all he could do was to watch her and wait for the inevitable. "For too long you've been poisoning his mind," Merrill glanced at Hawke who returned that gaze with horror on his face. "Turning him against me, whispering malevolent lies into his ears, until you finally decided to get rid of me for good," she finished her round, staring up at Fenris' pale face. "I allowed all that, because for some reason, he liked you," she dryly laughed at his terrified face. "He still does," she sniveled while her face twisted into a tormented mask, only to start guffawing a second later.
Samael now saw that clearly. This was the outcome of his dissolute behavior. This was his doing. He thought he could have them both, toying with them, using them when he needed them, throwing them away when he had no use for them. Too arrogant, too self-conceited to see how he had been destroying them both. Now they all would pay the price for being unable to get away from him. And he not only tormented the two people he thought he loved in his own way, he even dragged a third victim into this mess he had created around him.
"Do something, damn it!" Varric yelled at Hawke from the ground since the wind swept him off his feet, throwing him here and there as it pleased. Samael realized only now people around him were screaming. Caught in an electrical tempest blustering out of Merrill's staff. Hearing voices in their heads, torturing them. Seeing dead people who came from Beyond to torment them. Every each one of them trapped in their own personal hell, unable to escape.
But not Hawke. Where the terrible wind was trying to strip the flesh off the Templars' bones, the very same wind was caressing Samael's face, playfully fiddling with his long hair strands. When the invisible claws of Merrill's rage slashed Fenris' skin into bloody shreds, the same razor-sharp fingernails tiptoed down Hawke's spine, filling him with an inexplicable desire to live, to die, to run away until he would hopefully drop dead.
Samael peeled himself off the wall, not paying attention to his hair wildly dancing around his head. All he saw was her. He always saw her. All he needed to do was to walk forward and take her. He didn't know what he would do once he was with her, but he kept walking nonetheless.
Merrill opened her eyes as though she had heard Samael's thoughts, and she looked surprised for a moment when she acknowledged that ultimate destruction around her only a blood mage could have inflicted. Then she became aware of him. Walking through the flying debris without getting hurt, approaching with slow firm steps, his wide open amber eyes reaching into her. She misunderstood, thinking Samael was coming to rip Fenris out of the arms of death, but she couldn't let him do that. Not this time. She suffered through Fenris' abuse, silently accepting his mockery, his scorn, his eternal discontent, but not anymore. Never again would she allow that rabid being to hurt her or Hawke.
Merrill had no idea how she was going to prevent Samael from saving Fenris, but the moment she turned on him to do so, something happened; something neither of them could have expected.
The staff, presented to Merrill as a selfless gift from her lover, refused to attack the one whose blood had been circling through its Mistress' veins, just like Merrill's willingly given blood had been slumbering within Hawke for months. Forced to attack anyway, if only to startle Hawke and drive him away, the staff let out an awfully prolonged inhuman screech of unspeakable pain, exploding afterwards with dazzling bright light which devoured everything and everyone around. It was magic in its most basic and ancient form. Immense power which had been unleashed snapped the decrepit columns like toothpicks and the perforated ceiling trembled and collapsed, burying everything beneath it.
oOo
The dust was still whirling through the air when the first survivors started squirming in ruins, coughing and squinting around. The ceiling had collapsed only partially, blocking up the way into the main hall.
"H-Hawke!?" Varric crawled on all four towards his friend who lay motionless not far from him. "Hawke!" he fretted and rolled him on his back.
"You look like a fucking miller," Hawke groaned and hissed when he tried to sit up. His left hand felt like it was on fire, though Samael was pretty sure it looked as always beneath the glove – cadaverously pale and crippled.
"And he survives. What a delight," a venomous voice interrupted Hawke's attempts to stand up.
"Blow me," Hawke's eyes found Anders covered in dust. Samael would have loved to add some other lovely comment, but Merrill chose this moment to emerge from behind a stump of a column, hesitantly approaching. The aftermath of the explosion was dire. Dead Templars intertwined with dead mages in their last row about who was worse than whom. A wounded Donnic was holding the corpse of one of his brothers in arms, slowly rocking him. Maurella was nursing her pierced shoulder. An unconscious Fenris was being slapped by Varric to wake up and, of course, Merrill who just managed to stumble over some Templar breastplate which appeared to contain Cullen's still body. Not a word between them though, when Hawke managed to catch her and steady her, hastily letting go of her afterwards.
They both glanced at the same time at Merrill's staff which lay in debris, emanating the unbelievable heat while its crystals inside of the ribbed staff head were obviously destroyed; bleeding.
"What now?" Varric dared vocalize the main issue here.
"Cullen? Damn it, Cullen!" a panicked voice reached them through the blocked door.
"Champion?" Alrik kept shouting, then he barked at his minions to start clearing out the rubble.
"Do… not… make… a sound," Samael sizzled at the prisoners just like himself, his lips barely moving.
"Whispering 'do not make a sound' is a sound," the morose Cullen started digging himself out of ruins. Merrill flinched and made a conspicuous step away from Samael, remembering only now Hawke was in cahoots with the Templars and nothing he would do or say could trump the pain of his betrayal.
Hawke started striding along the walls like a caged animal, knocking on the walls from time to time and oblivious to everyone and everything else.
"Hawke?" Varric cautiously addressed him, observing his hushed murmurs of an insane person and absent-minded moves.
"Silence," Samael growled at him without looking at the dwarf.
"I have a nice idea," Anders stepped forward with his arms crossed on chest. "Let's kill Hawke," he added when they all turned to him.
"Seconded," Maurella strolled by Anders' side, stomping on Fenris' motionless arm on purpose.
"SILENCE!" Hawke's voice thundered throughout the devastated room as he whirled around to face them. His hand automatically tore the katana out of its sheathe, ready to strike down whomever dared challenge him. He looked magnificent at that moment; magnificently and horribly in his wrath when his eyes glowed in his face which was covered in blood and dust. "Merrill," he turned to her and the change in his tone couldn't be more overwhelming. "I'm afraid this time you won't have any choice but to listen to me," he approached her, noticing her anxiety. A nod from her was followed by the rest of them gathering at the opposite side of their prison.
Once she stood in front of him, insecure, dirty, and yet as beautiful as ever, Samael was able just to stare at her for a moment. He hadn't seen her for over two months and all he wanted to do right now was to simply stare at her in revered silence.
"Hello, Hawke." She was the one shattering the silence with her cold quiet voice.
"Hi," was his awkward reply since she knocked him off the balance with that plain greeting. He took deep breath, though he had no idea what it was he needed to tell her so desperately, but Merrill wouldn't let him.
"Samael," her voice softened a bit, "nothing you're about to say will change the fact you stand with the Templars." Merrill searched his blank face and felt her heart pounding like mad. For two long months she had been resisting the urge to visit him; if not openly, then at least in secrecy. Somehow she managed to prevail, but it took but one glance at Hawke and her determination crashed like a house of cards.
Hawke gulped his powerless roar of the cornered animal, throwing his arms sideways in mute desperation. He couldn't tell her about his plans including killing Meredith nor could he ask of her to run away with him and share his life of an outcast as a murderer, thief, and many other things of which not one seemed positive. He had no idea an insane plan was born in Merrill's head the moment she saw him that night with Templar dogs at his heels. She no longer cared for herself. She no longer cared for her people. All that mattered was to end that agony her life had become. To punish Hawke for being whom he was. To punish them both for what they meant to each other. All she had ever wanted shrank into a persistent desire not to exist. To let go. To get some peace.
"Hawke," she briefly touched him, closing the gap between them. "I can't do this anymore," she whispered and her warm voice broke through his defense like a blade through butter. She sounded calm, though her pellucid eyes looked like they were shedding tears inside. "And neither can you," she continued and both of them knew what she spoke of; the fact they were supposed to hate each other, but the more they tried, the stronger their love for one another grew. Destiny set them at the opposite side of a barricade, yet they kept throwing themselves against it, whatever the cost was. "One of us have to break this vicious circle, Hawke," she nodded at him as if it was all right to sacrifice herself to save him. To free him.
"I'm tired of this…" he moaned into the silence, searching her face and seeing there nothing but deep understanding and volition to end this all for them and free them both from this curse their bond represented. "I've lost track of what's happening to me," he shook his head, raking his fingers through the black hair veil, "my father gone, Meredith at my back, everyone I've known just… Keep dying on me. Abandoning me. I can't… I won't…" he smudged the demeaning tear across his cheek.
"I know, ma vhenan," Merrill brought his crippled hand up to her face, fondly kissing it through the thin glove. This mute reminder of Hawke's irreversibly destroyed hand was the last drop into the chalice of despair since he grasped Merrill towards him, kissing her, kissing her to make this moment last, to feel her once again. He didn't know what was worse; her willingness to be captured and executed by the Templars for repeated incursions to Kirkwall and participation on this conspiracy, or the fact he was ready to stand idly while she'd sacrifice herself.
"I love you," Merrill let out the liberating words of the one who made peace with mundane existence, ready to embrace death. "I love you, ma vhenan," she frantically repeated between two kisses, trying to preserve this moment for the rest of what was left of her life.
"I know," Hawke cupped her fragile face with his both hands, their eyes locked, their souls merging into one being. "I'm sorry, Merrill," he devoured her lips again, "so, so sorry," he groaned into her mouth, embracing her and his feelings for her along with her.
"For what, ma vhenan?" she granted him a sad smile, tracing his tattoos with her cold finger like she used to during happier times. "I regret nothing," she credulously curled into his arms, reveling in that familiar scent of leather and warm skin beneath it.
Merrill's question remained unanswered as Hawke tilted her head up and let himself wandering within her deep green eyes for a while. Then Merrill winced and it was her only reaction at the needle-like blade plunging into her body.
"I'm sorry, because I can't let you do this," Hawke breathed out into her hair, feeling her body as it grew heavier with every beat of Merrill's heart spreading the venom on the blade.
"Are you bloody insane?!" Anders crossed the room, shouting, when he noticed the svelte hilt protruding out of Merrill's belly.
"I think we all know the answer to that question," Hawke muttered as he gently lay her down into the rubble, leaning on the column stump with his both arms stretched and his head hanging between them.
Maker, what I've done this time? I have no time for this! Not with Alrik digging through the rubble to get inside. Not with Hein mewling my name twenty times a minute, probably clawing through the debris with his bare hands. Not with two mages glaring at me and probably waiting for me to turn my back at them. And definitely not with the Knight-Lieutenant watching me first in suspicion, then in shock of what I'd done to Merrill.
Hawke's eyes found Cullen and they exchanged a long telling gaze during which Cullen's expression grew shocked and Samael's face turned into a determined mask.
"Don't…" Cullen shook his head, glancing at Merrill's still body.
"If there's anything human left inside of that shiny armor of yours," Hawke strode towards him, placing his both hands on the Templar's pauldrons, "anything at all," his voice dropped to a whisper, "you'll wait until midnight and only then you'll go to Meredith to tell her what I've done," he let go of the awestricken Cullen. "You'll give me the time to take care of her and get her to safety."
"Champion, you can't possibly —" The Knight-Lieutenant grasped him by an arm.
"I hereby swear to you, I'll be sitting in the armchair at my estate by the midnight last bell ring, waiting for you, ready for whatever punishment you and Meredith would see fit." Hawke freed himself from Templar's firm hold, stepping backwards from him, still watching him. Before Cullen could have said anything, Hawke scooped Merrill into his arms, hitting the old long dead torch with his shoulder.
"Meeran used to send me into the sewers a lot," Samael sneered at Varric and his dumfounded expression when the torch moved, revealing the old door which creaked and a dark tunnel appeared behind it. "Eh, eh, my friend," Hawke stopped the dwarf who was about to follow him. "I want you to wait here for Hein and take care of that—" Samael hurled a hateful glance at the motionless Fenris. "Please," Hawke leaned down to Varric's ears, "keep the boy out of the estate tonight. I don't want him to witness… To see…" Hawke peered askance at Cullen who could do nothing but watch as Hawke was destroying what he'd been building for so long. Without a glance at his former friend, Anders slipped into a tunnel, dragging Maurella along though she seemed rather reluctant.
"You!" Hawke barked at the stolid Donnic who flinched and tried to focus on the Champion's face. "You're coming with me," Samael ordered Aveline's husband-to-be. Donnic put aside his brethren's body in revered silence, only then he followed Hawke with his head bowed in submission.
"Champion!" Cullen cried out when he realized Samael insisted on leaving and taking four conspirators with him. "It doesn't have to end this way!" The Templar tried his best to prevent Hawke from doing something very stupid.
"You're right," Hawke shook his head in resignation. "It doesn't," he remarked and they both knew what was the hidden meaning behind his words; Cullen had Hawke's life in his hands right now and it was entirely up to him what he'd do with it. Either way, Cullen would be forced to betray someone and he only started realizing this unpleasant burden Hawke had put onto his shoulders.
oOo
The next hour dissolved in frantic stampede through the fusty tunnels and constant looking over their shoulders. The refugees took a deep breath of liberty once they'd reached the Chantry courtyard and crept into a dead end dark alley, cowering alongside the wall in silence. Hawke thought his numb arms would fall off since Merrill's slender body had became a heavy burden during their runaway.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Samael hissed at the poor Donnic who looked crestfallen.
"I… Well…" Donnic managed to let out just an incoherent ramble. "I didn't think it would —"
"Precisely!" Hawke flared up. "You weren't thinking when you decided to drag your sorry ass down there! You put yourself in absolutely needles danger. Have you even considered what would happen to Aveline if you were captured by the Templars?" Samael kept scolding the Guardsman who seemed smaller and smaller under the Champion's scorching gaze.
"A-Aveline…" Donnic stammered, shielding his face with both palms.
"Right. Now you're thinking about her. Better late than never, right…" Samael droned while he checked Merrill's slow pulse. He had been feeling weird for a couple of minutes, as though he was about to burst out laughing, crying, or both. Blinking, he tried to focus on Merrill's peaceful sleeping face, but he simply couldn't.
"You," he turned at Maurella who had been suspiciously silent for an hour. As though she had been waiting for something. "What was on that knife?" Hawke lashed out at her and when he brushed his finger over the nick on his throat, it came back with a blood mark on it. Maurella's broadening gleeful smile was speaking for her though. "Did you try to… Poison me?" Hawke actually chuckled since this idea seemed somehow funny.
"Don't be silly, Hawke," Maurella granted him a superior smirk, looking content with herself. "Just a harmless narcotic," she spilled beans and stretched in nonchalance, overlooking Hawke's baffled face.
"Narcotic, huh…" Samael murmured, chortling. "So what… You're like taking vengeance on me by getting me high?" he asked even when it didn't make any sense.
"I'm not a killer, Hawke," Maurella gracefully stood up, gazing down on Merrill's still body. "I don't poison people nor do I steal their lives from them," she added and nodded at Anders. "Are you coming?"
"Not quite yet," the mage reckoned. Maurella shrugged and when Samael's glanced up, she was already gone.
"You too," Hawke growled at Donnic who bolted away as though he had been waiting for permission to leave. Samael and Anders kept sitting on cold hard stone for a while in morose silence.
"You're aware of the fact you're an insane person, right?" the blond mage broke the silence, stealing a glance at Merrill. "Hawke?" Anders demanded a reaction when none came.
"I fucked up," Samael whispered more to himself.
"And he sees the light, hallelujah!" Anders stood up, pacing in front of the two of them.
"Shut up, you idiot," Hawke gave the cocky mage a dressing-down. "You think you can handle this, don't you? You think how important you are right now, hm? How essential you are for this ridiculous revolution of yours."
"Ridiculous?" Anders stared in disbelief at the Champion. "RIDICULOUS?" he shrieked and looked like he was just a hair away from attacking Hawke again. "If anyone's ridiculous here, it's definitely you and your boot-licking! I had an impression you've said something about killing Meredith, yet here you are, making busts on her behalf, you traitor!" he pestered Hawke in outrage.
"Oh, make no mistake," an ugly sneer warped Samael's face, "she ?isgoing to die." He said it with such a grudge even the overzealous mage fell silent after this ardent promise. "But I'm doing it my way and as you can see I've been… Unsuccessful so far," Hawke licked his lips as though he was about to eat her.
"I don't trust you anymore," Anders muttered as he was estimating just how much Hawke meant it.
"Good," Samael sizzled at him, "you shouldn't anyway," he closed the conversation when he stood up, lifting Merrill along with himself.
"Hawke…" Anders stopped his former friend and a wave of anxiety ran across his face. "Our deal. Does it stand or not?" he asked the only thing that mattered to him. They both knew of what he spoke of; the deal made months ago about Samael leaving Anders alone as long as the mage kept his revolution to himself.
"Or not," Hawke sketched a mocking bow with his head before he stomped away, apparently entertained by Anders' horror-stricken face.
Samael's narrowed eyes probed the empty street leading to his estate. He had three hours until the midnight.