She didn't stroll and neither did she hurry, but rather slid along the Lowtown streets without any effort. Each shadow tenderly embracing her for a moment before releasing her again at the next blazing street lamp. Seeing the place she had been living at for years, and other painfully familiar places she knew, she liked, and she hated gave her emotional shifts every time she entered that forsaken part of the city of Kirkwall that never ceased to amaze her. The misery and despair was yawning at her at every turn, just like lascivious faces of whores or curious glances from the late night streetwalkers.

Her long cobalt blue attire with silver embroidered stars rustled on the white marble covered with yellow leaves as she hastily mounted the broad staircase leading to Hightown, paying no attention whatsoever to the omnipresent Templars who turned their heads to take a look at the woman hiding beneath the hood. Her pace was steady and graceful; her cloak was made of an expensive fabric, so they let her pass, however Meredith's newest edict strictly imposed a ban on trespassing from Lowtown to Hightown during the night. They mistook her no doubt for some young noble woman returning home from a midnight tryst with some brawny peasant.

The hems of her cloak wildly whirling around the corner, the woman let out an anguished moan and she was able to support herself on the nearest column by just a hair's breadth, panting and bringing her shaking hands up to her face; examining them.

"What's going on… Creators… Anyone… Help me… Help us…" she breathed out before her eyes found the silent walls of Hawke estate. It felt like dying indeed.

oOo

Merrill couldn't have known about two things that occurred right after Hawke had emptied the glass with poisoned liquor.

Varric belched; waking himself up since he had been snoozing in a huge cozy armchair by the stone fireplace, overwhelmed by the night of pleasure and debauchery. Feeble-minded, he squinted at the two motionless men sitting at the opposite side of one table and he knew immediately something was wrong. Utterly, deathly wrong.

"Fuck!" a single, yet accurate word slipped past Hein's lips as his widened eyes kept staring at Hawke who finished his bitter-sweet drink, holding the empty snifter in his both palms as though it was his Unholy Grail.

The moment Hawke's eyes flew to the door leading to the basement, it was crystal clear for Hein what his Master was about to do and why. A frenzied race to those doors began as the two of them sprang out of their seats. They both crashed at the door, but Samael simply threw the boy out of his way and walked through it, vigorously locking it behind his back. He leaned on it with his full weight a moment later, clenching his innards since the venom started working and inevitably spreading throughout his body. Troubles with breathing, numbness, then slow ascending paralysis and then nothing but cold blackness of death – those were Hawke's bright prospects for the rest of his short life if he succeeded and managed to keep the intrusive saviours away from him long enough.

Feeling as though somebody kept piling bricks upon his heaving chest, Samael staggered into his laboratory, locking yet another door behind him; this one was low, iron and seemingly unbreakable. His rather satisfied expression on his face was ruined by another unspeakable wave of pain, which left him benumbed and struggling to remain at his senses for just a little longer. Ignoring the inferno raging within his body, Hawke smashed every single vial with an antidote he could have found at that moment and only then he let himself blissfully collapse down along the wall. The end was near and he could but wait. Myriads times before had he been wondering: "Am I mortal?" Now he was indeed.

oOo

"Where is he!? What have you done to him? Talk, you blighter! Or—"

"Daisy…!" Varric halted in a skid by the Dalish Keeper and the boy who was being held in the air, helplessly screeching as Merrill's magic was crushing him against the wall. The dwarf was smart enough to know not to touch the enraged blood mage, but Merrill appeared to be out of her senses, so he tried anyway, but he fell with a crash for his impudence and all it took for Merrill to do that was a single outraged glance his way.

"He's done to him something! I can tell!" she shrieked and Hein attempted to speak up; unsuccessfully.

"What in blazes is going on in here?" Aveline dashed inside since she was clearly done with her meticulous investigation around the mansion.

"The… basement," Hein managed to rasp, "hurry!" he set his begging eyes at the Keeper. Merrill examined him with her red clefts instead of eyes narrowed in suspicion before she let him tumble down like a ridiculous rag doll. The door swung open on its own in front of Merrill's petite figure enveloped in ominous flare as she rushed down the narrow wooden spiral staircase.

"Can anyone tell me what's going on?" Varric kept badgering the taciturn lad who was apparently the only one aware of what'd happened and why Hawke sealed himself off in the basement.

"Speak, damn it, or I'll beat it out of you!" Aveline lost her prudence once she realized the fear on Varric's face and pure dismay on Merrill's face was genuine.

"He… He was not supposed to drink it. It's my fault. He was not supposed to drink it at all…" Hein's voice was hoarse and right above a whisper when he kept saying the same thing over and over again.

"Let me try to open that for you, will you?" Varric gently pushed the elf away from the door knob she had been furiously jiggling with.

"Drink what?" Aveline grasped the boy by his shoulders, shaking him until he turned his blank face upward to face her. "Speak!" she roared right into that stolid face, but her inhuman scream perished in a deafening blast as Merrill lost her patience and shattered the iron door and a half of the basement along with it.

"Or we could just break it down, I suppose…" Varric coughed out a sardonic response to Merrill's destructive solution, squirming in debris.

"Samael!" Merrill paid no attention to his words and jumped over him, shouting out the name that had forced her to come to Kirkwall against her better judgment. Once she reached the center of a laboratory, she spun around, her eyes desperately trying to penetrate the cloud of dust whirling around her, which was choking her and blinding her. It was hard to tell who had spotted Hawke's body huddled by the wall first, but it was definitely Merrill who reached him first, cautiously turning him around and letting out a single sob when she grasped his cold still body towards her.

Hein started hastily fingering the remaining vials stuck in several large wooden racks, his hands smudged as they moved quicker and quicker, his breathing quickening as he started realizing Hawke really thought of everything.

"What did you mean exactly when you said it's your fault!" the Captain lashed out at the despairing lad since there was really nothing she could do for her friend at that moment; other than punish whomever was to blame for the dire condition he was in. "Answer me!" she lost her patience with the silent boy, but he escaped her vice-like hands, staring at her and looking like an insane person.

"I can save him," he hissed at the Guards-Captain who kept circling around him in smaller and smaller circles. "You can kill me later, if you will," he added a venomous remark and glanced at the dwarf, demanding some support which really came.

"Let's focus on what's really important here, all right?" Varric reluctantly muttered and dragged the fuming Aveline away from the boy.

"Keep him warm, make a fire, rub his skin with some coarse cloth," Hein started issuing orders, already going through the bags with ingredients since he indeed intended to brew the antidote himself, even if it was the last thing he would do in his life. "Elf," his stark voice sliced right through the poor Keeper who was transfixed by that waking nightmare her calm evening had turned into. "Less staring, more healing," Hein gave her a nasty grimace and Merrill once again wanted to bleed that human maggot to death.

Unfortunately, that maggot was the only thing able to mix an antidote and save the love of her life who was unstoppably dying within her arms and she could do nothing but withhold the inevitable. Their eyes met a few times during that breathless period when Hein's hands were relentlessly working on the antidote and they understood each other even without words. They could hate each other as much as they did, but there was undeniably somebody they had in common. And that somebody had no time left for petty squabbles.

oOo

"A nice, quiet evening with whores, liquor and rich people. That was all I asked tonight. Was that too much to ask? By all drunk Paragons, was that too much?" Varric kept chuntering while he made his fortieth tour around Hawke's bedroom. He also kept glancing at the motionless warrior resting in the bed and each time the dwarf shrank back at that pale quiescent face, bloodless lips and prominent dark shadows under his eyes.

No matter what earthy remark Varric pronounced or which splendid gesture of tragedy he performed, Merrill remained silent, motionless, breathless, simply sitting by Hawke's side as though she had been sitting there forever.

"And where's Aveline with that sleazy poisoner, I wonder," the dwarf wasn't about to give up regarding to loosen up that dolorous atmosphere. "I bet she's flogging him in basement as we speak and –"

"You mean as you speak, Varric," Merrill granted him an annoyed look, "and you can save that show for someone silly enough to actually believe the boy is here to blame for what's happened."

"Well, I, hum…" Varric rarely found himself at a loss of words, but this was one of those brief moments.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Varric," Merrill burst out guffawing and Varric couldn't decide if this was better than her previous stolidity or not. "We both know he drank it because he wanted to!" she jumped up on her feet as though she suddenly couldn't bear to be so close to the man lying in the bed.

"Daisy, sit down," Varric resolutely put his callous hands on the elf's shoulders and pushed her down on the bed vigorously.

"But –" she resisted, but was silenced by Varric's more or less threatening long hard look.

"I've been watching the two of you for some time, Daisy. Years, actually," Varric started his obviously well-prepared narration, but he was rudely interrupted.

"Creators, here comes the speech…" the elf snorted and rolled her large green eyes.

"Silence!" the dwarf hissed her silent. "Like I said, I've been watching you two and there's but one thing I do not understand," he made a dramatic pause, "why don't you get back together, you morons?" he asked a simple question with a complicated answer. A silence which followed was ripped apart when Merrill burst into tears and it was more than eloquent that those helpless tears were suppressed for a very long time.

"I can't, I can't, I can't, oh, how would I want to, but I can't…" her frantic words turned into wordless wailing as she finally let out the sorrow she had been carrying inside. The power of her despair left Varric woebegone, however he considered himself strong enough not to yield to such human emotions.

"Let me guess," he remarked after several long minutes he had granted the Keeper to calm down, "your so called people stand in the way," he sneered, but regretted his tone right away, since Merrill's hands started emanating an unhealthy looking purple glow.

"Yes, Varric!" she barked at him, clenching her fists to prevent herself from venting her frustration on the pert dwarf. "Yes, my silly Elvhenan nation is still alive and I am to protect them to my last breath!" Her voice had been getting stronger and stronger until she cried out her last words right into Varric's baffled face.

"He needs you," Varric dared peep his opinion, even though he knew it would be for the best to shut up just for this once.

"And I need him, Varric," she took a deep breath to restrain herself, "but don't you understand? This is larger than me. Larger than… us!" she threw her arms sideways and looked at the sleeping man she loved. "There's no escape from being a Keeper," she whispered and her voice cracked as she collapsed on the bed; her head in palms. "There's no escape from being myself," she murmured and her long pallid fingers found Samael's still hand, curling around it. "Varric…?" she looked up at him when she realized he was standing right in front of her, looking down at those two unhappy creatures with a distant melancholy written deep in his face.

"Let me guess, Daisy," he sighed and offered her a hand to help her with standing up, "you don't want him to know you were here."

Nothing but a silent nod of agreement was her reply as she looked down on Hawke's lifeless face.

"To the Void with that, you two will be the death of me!" the dwarf grunted, scratching his non-existent beard. "I think he's seen you anyway, Daisy," he continued and blinked at the elf. "You know, when you dashed inside like an insane person, blew up half of the basement and set Hein's ass on fire; literally."

"He won't remember," she breathed out a response, merely talking to herself as she kept staring at the human who owed her as much as she owed him. "It would be as though I was nothing but a dream. Maybe I have been nothing but a dream to him all along," she gave the dwarf a sad smile before she let her fingers untangling with Hawke's hand.

"So that's it? You're just going to leave him like this?" Varric stared at the elf with his mouth hanging as he failed to comprehend what'd been going on. "Don't you worry he'd off himself the moment he's awake? Realizing he's still alive? And you even want me to lie to him about you not being here?!" Varric's voice was gaining hysteric undertones as he continued voicing his concerns.

"You can't save somebody who doesn't want to be saved, Varric," she retorted and shrouded herself into her cloak again. "I will say no more," she whispered and was gone before the dwarf could have stopped her.

oOo

An insecure pat on his shoulder from the grumpy story-teller, a tray with steaming meal from the old butler and a fierce slap followed by a tight man-hug from the Guards Captain – that's what Hawke's resurrection looked like.

"You could at least pretend not to be devastated over the fact we were able to save you, you know," Aveline kept throwing scolding remarks over her shoulder as she kept pacing around the dim bedroom.

"Sheesh, give him a break," Varric attempted to ease the tension, but it was right back the moment he looked Hawke in the eyes. They were empty; nothing but dead vessels with no sign of the fire that had always been there.

"Where is he?" Samael reached for the mahogany bed column, panting as he pulled himself up on his feet.

"He? He who? Who? Whom?" Varric started rambling, watching Samael's obvious intentions to leave the room.

"I locked him in the basement," Aveline's voice entered the awkward silence, "though he wouldn't talk to me whatsoever. I'm afraid – where the hell you think you're going?!" she berated the assassin when he tottered towards the door, resting for a while as he leaned on it before he opened it a crack.

"I must talk to him," was his terse response, though his two last faithful companions would have deserved much better explanation.

"If anyone is to talk to him, it would be me during a trial where he'd be charged with deliberate poisoning!" Aveline tried to talk some sense into him, but Varric caught her forearm, giving her a resigned shake of his head. As far as he knew, it had always been pointless to tell Hawke what to do and even more pointless telling him what not to.

Samael more like fell through the steep staircase leading to the basement, feeling nothing but disquiet within his buzzing head. Hein was locked in a laboratory. Alone. Locked with the poisons. Alone. Locked with the pangs of conscience. Alone. What was his relief then when he barged in only to find the lad obediently sitting by the table, his hands clasped together in front of his calm face.

"Hawke," the boy gave his tentative master a subtle bow of his head. Samael's eyes kept watching in turns the boy's face and the spotless dagger lying on the table in front of him as he strolled to the long old table, seating himself heavily down. Face to face, it was hard to tell which one of them looked worse; if Hawke as a survivor of the attempted poisoning, or the lad whose lower lip kept quivering and the fingernails were jabbed into the flesh, drawing blood.

"Crossed and double-crossed, I guess," Samael was the one tearing apart the imperturbable silence.

"His name is Zevran Aranai," Hein frantically shot at him seemingly unrelated words. "Yes, you've met him, Hawke," he continued while his lips curled up into a derisive sneer. "The assassin. The Crow assassin. I am to pay my father's debt to the Crows and this debt I shall pay with my life," he declared and straightened up. Peculiar flashes of pride brightened the lad's eyes up as he almost ceremonially locked his gaze with Hawke's.

"With your life…" Samael shook his head; confused, until it dawned to him what the silly lad had been saying. "I'm not about to kill you, little Rabbit," he but whispered those words as though ashamed that this thought even was in Hein's mind.

"I know," Hein nodded and a gentle smile filled with sadness of the eldest people briefly appeared on his tormented face. "I want you to have this," he slowly pushed a worn-out book towards Hawke's side of a table.

"What is it?" Samael murmured and cautiously opened the book; the fragile vellum rustling beneath his rough fingers. "Lord Aristide Amell," he read out loud the calligraphically written name on the first page of a book which appeared to contain the eclectically chosen parts of the Chant of the Light. "But he's—"

"Your famous ancestor who was struck down just a moment before he became the Viscount, yes," Hein confirmed the obvious before he started leafing through the book, glancing at the befuddled Hawke who obediently started reading the page appointed by Hein's gaunt finger.

Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.
From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.
Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.
In my arms lies Eternity.

-Andraste 14:11

"I'm not going to kill you!" Samael sizzled at the boy an outraged response as he connected all dots.

"I know, my dear one," the lad wearily stood up and only now Hawke was able to see an almost black stain on Hein's dark crimson jerkin, mercilessly spreading through the soaked expensive fabric. Samael all but bolted out of his seat as quickly as his weakened body allowed him to just in time to catch the boy's body since Hein dropped down to his knees, freely clenching the wound he had inflicted upon himself.

"What have you done?!" a desperate shouts of another human being echoed in Hein's ears only a little. He heard the sea and he was sure he would even see it in a blink of an eye. Until now he wasn't realizing how much he had missed the wild life with the pirates.

"Nothing you haven't done today as well, my dear," he heard himself responding to those heart-rending wails. "I'm ending this for you. For the both of us. I want to be it this way. I need to be it this way. The Crows will feast upon the chalice of my blood, satiated by this sacrifice."

"But why? Why you are the one making a sacrifice? Damn it, why? It should have been me! It should have been me for a long time now, but you didn't let me!" Samael shook the unresponsive body within his arms, vaguely realizing the boy hadn't much time left as the stinking hot blood kept pouring over his hands. The metal stench of the fresh blood filling his nostrils was sickening.

"Listen to me," Hein's hands reached for Hawke's face, cupping it with all remaining strength he had got. "The Crow, Samael. The elf. He won't stop. You are not a mark to him. You are a mere trophy. He won't leave you alone even if you deal with the Crows. You must kill him, do you hear me? You must go after him right now, do you understand?"

"But—"

"Do you understand me?" Hein let out a desperate cry for assurance that Samael had heard about the lethal serpent slithering right behind him as a second shadow, ready to strike.

"Yes," was Hawke's choked reply. "If he's to blame, I will make him regret being born into this world," he murmured a second later, looking straight into Hein's misted-up eyes.

"Good… Good…" Hein's hoarse voice started fading as though he was waiting just for those words confirming Samael's awareness of the Crow's intentions. "As for your previous question, Hawke, you can't repair somebody. You knew I was broken when you took me in," Hein's left hand dropped down by his side, fumbling for something in his pocket.

"I thought… Well, I hoped…" Samael kept gulping the tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I couldn't live with myself anymore, Hawke, because I've never found the way of forgiving myself."

"Are you saying…?"Samael left his next words unspoken.

"Yes, Hawke. You need to forgive yourself. For everything," Hein's eyes were wide opened and shone with moisture. "Keep the book. It's my legacy for you," his eyes flew towards the table where the book was. "Now pick me up, would you? I've always hated the thought I'd die lying as an old wobbling hag," Hein's lips curled into a smile twisted by the pain shooting from an epicenter of the stab wound.

Wordlessly, Hawke carried the boy to the stone catafalque; the very same catafalque that once guarded the body of the Arishok who was the true leader of his Qunari people even in his death.

Samael Hawke, the ragged outlander from Fereldan, the petty lyrium smuggler who rose to power against the odds, the mighty Champion of Kirkwall, the new Viscount-to-be of the city of Kirkwall, could nothing but watch the life quietly creeping out of his friend's body.

Hawke had no idea for how long he had been staring into Hein's lifeless eyes, gently dandling his body within his arms which were about to give up. Only now he spotted a piece of yellowed vellum crumpled within Hein's set fist. In reverent silence, hearing his own heart pounding, Samael slowly pried the vellum out of the stiff fingers, unfolding it. Reading that piece of paper apparently torn out of the book over and over again, the absolute magnificence of what Hein had done for him hit him with its full power.

Let the blade pass through the flesh,
Let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch your heart. Let mine be the last sacrifice.

-Andraste 7:12

oOo

The most peculiar cortege emerged from the Hawke estate at the exact moment that the full moon struggled its way from beneath the thick curtain of heavy clouds, casting long shadows behind the silent hooded human silhouettes.

Fallen leaves rustling beneath their feet, melancholic clacking of Occela's hooves, creaking of the flat wagon he was pulling and the eyes of everyone present set at the plain beech casket – that was the atmosphere enveloping Alejandro Belehein Herrera's last journey to his final resting place.

The Templars patrolling around the estate exchanged an alarmed glance before they joined the parade because their orders couldn't have been clearer; not let Hawke get out of their sight no matter what. Samael walked right after the wagon; silent, somber, watching his boots as they kept walking forward and Hawke could nothing but wonder what it was forcing him to carry on. He tried to watch Occela's back gracefully waving as the stallion patiently walked through the silent streets, but his attention was again and again drawn to the casket with a body of his yet another dead friend.

"It's been a while since I last saw you here, lad," a gruff voice came out of the wide open Kirkwall cemetery gate, though they were not able to see anyone.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Aveline stepped forward since Hawke remained still and silent. An old man, so gnarled that he looked gnome-like, appeared out of dark, hobbling towards them as though they were expected.

"Theodore Kipp, the local gravedigger and guardian of those who don't need any guarding anymore," the old man bared his blackened carious teeth at them, laughing until he started coughing and gasping for air.

"Are we supposed to believe you that you're the one digging the graves?" Hawke's eyes flashed in dark as he peered askance at the old man. "Have you considered digging one even for yourself?"

"Watch your foul mouth, lad!" Theodore retorted before yet another coughing attack seized his whole body. "I've seen things in my life which you'd run away from, screaming like a sucking pig," he spat at the rude young warrior.

"Our business is our own, Messere Kipp," Aveline pushed Hawke behind her back and her voice was steady, yet polite and meek at the same time. "If you'd be so kind and see us to the Amell & Hawke tomb and then leave us to tend to our… affairs," she awkwardly finished her entreaty, glancing at the casket.

"By all means, Milady Vallen," the old man performed a rather comical obeisance in the Captain's way before he turned around, deliberately overlooking the Champion who had been watching him with utter impassivity smudged all over his face and attitude.

If it all felt like a dream to Hawke, then it was a waking nightmare indeed. Oblivious to anything and anyone around him, he woke up from that nightmare the moment Hein's coffin thudded on the last empty catafalque within his ancestors' tomb.

"Ehm," Varric harrumphed in uneasiness when he glanced around the dim tomb which rightfully bore its name. Several decrepit Amell crests hanging askance on the cracked walls, shreds of airy black fabric hanging from the domelike ceiling; ghostly waving even when Varric felt not a hint of breeze and, of course, monstrous stone catafalques with black coffins on them. Aveline exchanged with the dwarf a long perturbed gaze before she practically tore a torch out of Theodore's tremulous hands, intending to light up an oil lamp hanging in the center of the tomb just to keep herself busy with something; anything. Nobody paid attention to the meddlesome gravedigger who somehow failed to follow Aveline's indirect order to leave without punishment.

"Hawke," Aveline gently set an ungloved hand on his shoulder, "if you want us to leave, just say so."

"Right, Aveline," Varric stepped in, openly scowling at her, "let's leave that maniac alone in his family's tomb, with swords, coffins, fire and whatnot. Brilliant notion. Overruled. C'mon, Hawke, let's go," he reached for Samael's forearm, only the assassin was by his side no longer.

"He didn't want to lie down," Hawke brushed Hein's coffin with an open palm. "Lie down and die like an old hag. Would you believe that? Those were his final words!" he let out a deranged laughter, clawing at the wood of Hein's coffin.

"Yes, Hawke, he was brave until the very end of his inglorious and tragically short life of a poisoner. Please, could we go now?" Varric shot a cautious glance at the Captain who managed but to stare at the friend she couldn't help nor did he want her to.

"You know next to nothing about the man he's laying in there," the furious Hawke whirled around to face the dwarf who was once again quick at judging everything and everyone around him.

"And I don't even want to," Varric retorted and started walking backwards out of the tomb since Samael started creeping towards him. "He can burn in hell for what I care!" Alcohol, strenuous night of rakish opulence, certain physical activities, then the whole mess around Hein took its toll at the poor dwarf who failed to recognize what state of mind was the Champion of Kirkwall in.

"Burn," Samael sneered to himself, "yes, burn, burn, burn, burn like pagan gods of apocalypse," he finished his debonair speech and slowly drew his katana, examining it as though he had just seen it for the first time.

"Don't be ridiculous, Hawke, and put that thing out of my face," Varric droned in disquiet and checked just how far those damned doors were. "We've all seen it before and been duly impressed."

His face blank, his eyes looking like the fools' wishing wells, with one breathless swing through the fusty air Samael only incidentally-like slashed the thin chain of the oil lamp. It collapsed with a deafening clunk; oil splashing all around, but the real fun began when the flaming wick set the oil on fire which started spreading with disturbing velocity.

Nobody moved for several unbelievably long seconds, too awestricken to do anything, only Hawke stood in the middle of flames, watching them with pure masochistic delight as they kept approaching him, until they licked the hem of his black cloak.

He didn't resist; not at all, when three pairs of arms grasped him by anything they could reach, and hauled him out of the burning tomb.

"Son of a bitch…" Varric breathed out; his widened eyes transfixed by the horror scene unfolding in front of him.

"Come with me, young man. I sure have something you need to see for yourself." The old gravedigger stood up as though nothing insane just had happened, meticulously dusting his knees off. Samael followed him without a word; without a slightest glance back at the burning resting place of his ancestors, his mother, two siblings and a boy who couldn't live with himself.

They walked through the squeaky wicket which resisted moving and whose purpose in this world was rather bizarre, since the stone wall the wicket was embedded in was barely reaching to Hawke's waist. Once Samael's eyes accustomed to darkness again, his mouth slightly opened, but not a sound came out of it. The stench of rotting flesh and misery was groveling above the ground, shreds of mist playfully floating above the rows of shallow nameless graves dissipating in a distance.

"What… How… Who are they?" Hawke managed to nothing but whisper the only thinkable question as though the ghosts of the dead were present and he didn't want to disturb them.

"The mages, the blood mages, their families, the apostates of all races, ages and manners, take your pick, lad," Theodore shrugged and kicked a small pebble.

"So… Many…" Aveline rasped and made several hesitant steps into the dark as though she was trying to estimate the number of the victims of Meredith's reign of terror and fear.

"A woman of your history and status should know better than to moan like a maiden being shagged for the first time," Theodore gave the Captain a wry shake of his head before his eyes flew back to Hawke who stood there with his arms loose by his sides and a bowed head. So many lives – lost. So many dreams – shattered. So many hopes – smothered. Indeed he could have prevented this unspeakable madness of a single person, but he was too frivolous to man up and step in.

"Do not dare contend you haven't seen this coming, Champion. Do not dare stand there and say to our faces you were not able to stop Meredith. Because that's how all grand words of the leaders of this world always end up; with endless rows of nameless graves.

Hawke looked up in surprise just in time to see myriads of spectral silhouettes emerging all around them; murmuring, pointing at him, glaring, silver plumes of mist soaring out of their mouths as they coughed in the biting morning chills.

"Mages…" a single, yet eloquent word slipped past Varric's thick lips.

"Apostates…" Aveline felt obligated to correct their half-tall friend as they both fell back to Hawke, half-drawing their weapons.

"Careful with that word here, Guards Captain," a tall person stepped forward, "we don't appreciate being called such."

"Anders," Samael granted the mage a surprisingly deep bow.

"Hawke," the mage reciprocated the bow; if only a bit sardonically. "Making a bonfire tonight, are we…?" he asked no one particular, nodding towards the burning away tomb. "So?" he nodded at the Champion.

"I'll stop her," an almost inaudible response came from Hawke.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," Anders grimaced.

"It's different now," Samael shook his head, stepping forward and oblivious to the mages who straightened up and those of them, who possessed a staff, drew it. "This time I want to stop her," he made yet another step forward, so he stood right in front of the mage. They studied each other for a very long time, until Anders finally seemed to find an answer for that ardent promise.

"I believe you," he simply stated and stopped the waves of protest coming from his fellow mages. "But know this, Hawke," he gestured around them, "we will raze Kirkwall if you do not live up to this promise. I swear we will march towards the Gallows and break it down or Meredith would break us down instead. If you do nothing, then we will rise and we will remove the chance for a compromise since there's really no compromise here, is there?"

"Wait for the coronation. That's all I ask," Hawke put everything on one card and one card only, since he was not without a plan already. Oh, how easily could Anders and his flunkeys ruin everything!

"All right," Anders gave him a hesitant reply as he watched Hawke with his eyes narrowed in both suspicion and incredulity.

"All right then," Samael echoed the mage and they sealed the deal with a firm handshake. "We're leaving," he threw a nonchalant comment at his dumbfounded companions and gladly leave that dismal place they did.

oOo

"Oh shit, what now?" Varric desperately groaned as they wordlessly walked back to Hawke estate; Samael riding on the gaiting Occela who looked rather bored. First that demeaning wagon, now this slow night walk; what a night for the restless stallion!

A lonesome person stood in their way; motionless, hidden beneath the heavy dusty cloak of a traveler.

"Hawke!" Aveline sizzled at him when he dismounted the horse and strode to the stranger without hesitation.

"I've had just enough of drama, thank you very much," Varric let out a tormented sigh, nervously jerking at his chest hair. Their jaws fell open indeed, when those two persons in front of them fell into each other's arms, exchanging hushed frantic words.

"Missed me?" Fawn attempted to withdraw from the tight embrace Hawke had welcomed him with, but he simply wasn't able to. Samael was clinging to him with desperation of a man who was no longer the master of his own life. "Hawke…?" he whispered into the silence, finally able to pull away from the human while his gloved hands lightly brushed the assassin's face. "What is it?" he asked even though it was more than obvious something was definitely very wrong with his one and only friend in Thedas.

Samael had but two words to whisper to the Hero of Fereldan who appeared the day when Hawke had lost all hope Mahariel would answer his desperate call for help:

"Help me."