"Samael?" a quiet word was carried away by a strengthening chilling wind. It was early autumn and the leaves were falling off the trees with every fresh gust of wind, playfully whirling through the air before nestling down into a rustling carpet.
"I thought we agreed upon not talking," a familiar voice warmed her ear and his harsh tone was once again contradictory to his arms tightening their grasp around the cold fragile body squirming within his embrace. At that moment it felt completely natural to lie half-naked under a huge willow tree, intertwined and lost in the maze of old twisted roots and fallen colorful leaves.
"I know," she buried her face in the man's chest emanating pungent odour of leather and sweat. "Elgar'Nan, so many things happened to us," she sighed to herself and sounded lost. Neither of them seemed to care their what first looked like a coincidental encounter degenerated into wild love making in the autumn woods. Wordlessly, breathlessly, they tore at each other in desperate need for answers to their excruciating loneliness and despair.
"Fawn's here," Hawke remarked and glanced at the tiny elf fiddling with laces on his tight breeches. The pale long fingers abruptly stopped as though paralyzed by that single name of the man who took everything from Merrill. Despite the heavy black cloak Samael had covered them with, she shivered, jabbing her fingernails into the warm flesh beneath them.
"I don't care," was her sour reply; the change within her tone and behavior couldn't have been any sharper.
"I thought you were friends," Samael wasn't willing to drop this. It wasn't that long since Merrill herself had told him she held no grudge against the Hero of Fereldan despite the fact he was the one who selfishly drove a wedge between the two of them.
"I have to go back to my people," she struggled against the strong arms which turned into a cage for her. "And you should go back to your Templar Mistress!" she lashed out at him with such a glare the arms around her loosened and suddenly the secret lovers found themselves standing, facing each other in indignation.
"Yes, run back to that lovely camp of yours," Samael sizzled and his amber eyes threatened to set the woods around on fire, "because that worked so well for us so far."
"There is no us, anymore, Hawke!" she gave him a mirthless laugh as she hastily bended over to pick up her robes.
"I'm afraid this," he gestured around them at the forest floor which looked like an arena after their duel, "proves otherwise, Keeper," he granted her a sardonic bow as he peevishly put his head through the black leather jerkin. "Tomorrow, the same time?" he asked with the same annoyed undertones in his hoarse voice.
"Don't bother. I won't be here," she reached for Marethari's staff leaning against the nearest tree and strapped it into its sheathe on her back.
"Neither will I," he retorted and for a while they silently stood in front of each other, while their eyes were speaking for them. It was inevitable the two of them would live through yet another day only to end up here again, at this very same place under withering trees and grey low skies, hoping the other one wouldn't show up and be both disappointed and relieved again and again every night the moment the other one emerged from the night shadows. There was indeed no escape from the bond they shared and neither did they seek a way out of it.
"Merrill…?" Samael's voice stopped her as she turned around to apparently storm away from Hawke. Anywhere but here was better at that moment.
"Yes?" she waited for his next words; tensed right to the unbearable point. A long silence followed as though Samael was fighting with himself. He wanted to tell her a hundred words, a thousand words, but he couldn't.
"That's not your cloak," he remarked and both of them knew he was about to say something else entirely. Merrill shook the heavy cloak off her shoulders which was indeed four sizes larger and walked away without a single glance at Hawke. The black cloak quietly folded itself on the pile of leaves and looked just like Samael — forgotten.
oOo
"Where have you been, by my dead brother's beard?! Where the hell have you been?" Varric fretted the moment Hawke serenely walked through the front door. Sweeping Aveline's hand off him, dodging the bristled up dwarf standing in his way, and anxiously avoiding Fawn's inquiring gaze, Samael heavily seated himself on the sofa, hiding his face in a palm.
"Lyrium," he reluctantly droned when it was clear they wouldn't leave him be.
"I thought you were selling the business," Aveline's sparkling eyes narrowed in suspicion. Never ever she would approve of Hawke's illegal activities, just like never ever she would turn her back at him and cease protecting him with her Guard-Captain's status and if that was not enough; then with her own shield and sword.
"I am. But some unique... circumstances occurred," Samael even more reluctantly shrugged and rounded the conversation up with an impatient gesture of dismissal.
"Yes, you are busy," Varric pointed an accusatory finger at the Champion, "you are surprised," he waved his hand in Aveline's way, "that's all very nice and touching, but maybe we should focus on the real issue here!" His ardent words were left hanging in the air; unanswered. Perhaps there was no answer to the greatest and also gravest problem Kirkwall currently had – the Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard.
"Perhaps I can answer at least one of the questions." Fawn, who had been unusually taciturn until this moment, gracefully stood up and stretched like after a very pleasant nap.
"Fawn... Don't..." Samael's lips barely moved as he abruptly stood up; his eyes begging Mahariel not to pursue this topic.
"Hum," Fawn purred as he started orbiting around his friend, deeply inhaling his scent, "I can smell her all over you, Samael." He stated and fell silent after that mocking speech, walking to fix himself a drink from Hawke's vast collection of liquors.
"What?" Aveline stared in awe at Hawke's blank face.
"Who?" Varric raised both eyebrows and watched both rivals in turns.
"Mind your own business," Samael hissed at them and snatched Fawn's carefully prepared drink; gulping it down. "Well..?" he broke the uncomfortable silence during which no one was willing to say out loud they had next to nothing regarding their plan on how to destroy Meredith without setting every Templar in Thedas against them.
"Well," Varric scratched his chest hair, "right now Meredith is the real political power in Kirkwall. Everybody, from Elthina to the lowest Templar, fears to go against her wishes. Those who quietly oppose her disappear. Those who openly oppose her are usually imprisoned based on some trumped-up allegation while their families are disgraced and their possessions devoured by the greedy beast called the Templar order."
"I'm being watched at every turn," Aveline continued when Varric simply shook his head as though he was at the edge of reason which was a terrifying thought on its own. "My men are questioned every week and they are systematically being turned against me," she finished and Samael wouldn't have believed that fear within her eyes, if only he didn't see it by himself.
"I'm afraid it's not going to get any better," Fawn threw in an unconcerned comment and everybody looked at Mahariel, wondering about his repose.
"No shit…" Varric grumbled and unwillingly groped the thick pink scar hidden beneath his flashy leather jerkin; a mark the Hero of Fereldan had left there during their first encounter at the Wounded Coast. "How do you know, huh?" he addressed the elf directly this time. "For all we know, you've just crawled out of some Fereldan brothel you've been hiding in for months!"
"Perhaps," Fawn passively shrugged, but that glacial glance he granted the dwarf silenced the loquacious storyteller indeed. "Perhaps I've even heard that a certain rebellious faction works really hard to tear Kirkwall apart," he added a seemingly innocent remark, observing his well-kept elegant hands. "Oh yes, Hawke," his eyes shortly flew to the Champion who had been intently listening to him, "you must have heard about them at some point, I suspect," he gave the pensive Hawke an ambiguous look.
"The Resolutionists," Samael spat out and clenched the teeth as though he said it against his will.
"Indeed the Resolutionists, among other factions. But we should worry about them the most," Fawn's face darkened. "What puzzles me even more is why haven't you taken some drastic measures against the human woman already? And where is your father dearest anyway?" he chuckled, but that absurd sound died away immediately as though smothered by that burdensome atmosphere creeping throughout the Hawke estate.
Fawn took a very long hard look at the downcast Champion of Kirkwall and finally he put two and two together. He was finally able to see Samael's torment; his powerlessness against the woman who held his father captive no doubt to keep him in check. A woman whose intentions were to sit the Champion down on the Viscount's throne, thrust the black cursed crown which was still bloodstained with Dumar's blood onto his head and rule the city through her unwilling puppet just a few years after she had removed the Viscount Perrin Threnhold after his attempt to expel the Templars from the city in 9:21 Dragon. The Viscount bold enough to stand against her was tried, imprisoned and died from poisoning two years later. Meredith was then subsequently elevated to her current position and rose to power while the next Viscount Marlowe Dumar died in the hands of the Qunari and Meredith placed Kirkwall under martial law and marred every attempt to replace Dumar ever since. Knowing this interregnum was not sustainable for much longer, she chose well her little crowned pet which was supposed to attend to all official Viscount events and keep its silly mouth shut as much as possible.
"You think I haven't tried?!" Hawke burst out shouting, raging all around the main hall. "Damn it, Fawn! Of course I've tried! You have no idea how hard I've tried to get to her! That woman's fucking untouchable! She's guarded at every step she takes, her meals are strictly prepared by the Tranquil morons who are also her servants, her quarters are like an impenetrable stronghold! I have that creep Alrik behind my back every waking hour and, apparently, my father is just a single move of Meredith's bony ugly finger far from a death sentence and I have no idea where she stashed him! I can't even try to find him since my every move is reported to Meredith, including my potential disappearance. Merrill's clan is exposed to Meredith's every whim and she could have purged Sundermount countless times if I ever dared give her if only a single wry look. Aveline's being pressed against the wall, Anders keeps pressuring me with his insane underground rebellion, Sebastian keeps blathering about the troops for his beloved Starkhaven and I have the Carta lackeys and the Coterie crawled practically up my ass since they both crave the lyrium contracts for Kirkwall! Fuck!" he punched the wall, leaving a fading blood smudges on the stone from his bruised knuckles.
Somehow it was liberating to cry out loud everything that had been eating him alive. And the pain pulsing in his hurt hands was purifying as much as it was dreadful. Nobody dared breathe a word after that desperate outburst of a powerful man whose wings had been viciously clipped, his body cornered and soul imprisoned.
"Look at me," Mahariel strode towards the broken Champion who collapsed down along the wall, glaring at nothing in particular. "Hawke, look at me," Fawn pulled the stolid man up on his feet. "I'll find him. I'll find your father for you, do you hear me?" he demanded a confirmation that Samael had understood. Their gaze locked, Fawn could see the growing cautious hope tweaking Hawke's lips into shy curves. "If I understand correctly, the only thing keeping you from Meredith is uncertainty regarding your father, so I'm going to find him for you."
"And then…" Hawke whispered, completely taken aback by what the elf had been saying.
"Then we'll take the bitch down together," Fawn nodded and almost laughed about that boyish dimple the fearful Champion of Kirkwall had on his face at that moment. "In the meantime, keep Merrill safe, convince your annoying shrimpy friend to lay low, keep Anders on a short leash and get your Guards Captain a taster," he impishly chortled at his own joke, but the rest of them weren't sure whether the Hero of Fereldan meant it or not.
"Are you shitting me?" Varric mumbled a question. "Am I supposed to sit here like a duck, waiting for the Templars to decide whether I am important enough to throw me into jail or not? Or wait until our beloved Hawke screw something up which would lead no doubt to the same result? Or – Oh, shit, no, no, no, no, I know that look," Varric squeaked when he realized Samael hadn't been listening to him at all as he seemed preoccupied with staring distantly at something none of them could see.
"I know…" Samael murmured to himself, shaking his head in disbelief as though the solution for all his problems had always been within an arm reach. "I know now…"
"Please, tell me you know what to order Bodahn to make for a lunch," Varric all but begged Hawke not to come up with yet another of his deranged plans.
"I know what Meredith touches that is not expected through and through by her army of Tranquils, Templars, tasters and Chantry minions," he started frantically nodding; his eyes wide open and glowing with malevolent fire, his disheveled hair wildly dancing around his feverish face. Hawke paused; savouring those tensed faces around him, drawing energy from their restlessness and a sudden immense wave of tranquility washed all over him.
He knew this would work.
It had to work.
There was no turning back.
Thus he had really enjoyed saying that single word which was the answer to his ordeal.
"Me."
oOo
"Drought of Waking Death," Hawke ceremonially pronounced while holding a single crystal vial in front of his eyes, staring at it in reverence. "My father made it. I find it perversely poetic this would be the beginning of Meredith's end."
"Hawke…!" Aveline kept shaking her head when she finally started to understand what was Hawke saying. "There's no way I would ever allow you to do this! There has to be another way!"
"I still don't understand!" Varric reached for the vial, turning it mistrustfully in his callous hands and watching as the venomously green thick fluid lazily moved within it. "I thought you said there's no way how to get past the Tranquils and Templars. How are we supposed to slip the venom to Meredith then?" he kept musing about the matter.
"Use your squeamish little brain once in a while, dwarf," Fawn snorted and his thin lips quirked. "It includes venom and exchanging some disgusting human fluids since obviously Hawke here is Meredith's shiny new plaything."
"I… Oh…" Varric was left speechless. "Oh!" he disgustedly blurted out as it hit him what was Mahariel saying.
"Have you thought this through, my friend?" Fawn stepped forward, placing both palms on Hawke's shoulders. "It could easily get out of hand and you would doom her as much as yourself."
"I know," Samael glanced at the pale fingers gently laid on his jerkin and it comforted him. "But I see no other way. Something must be done and I can't approach her directly. I can't simply barge into her office and run her through. The Templars would probably get me a second later or they'd hound me across the Free Marches for the rest of my short life."
"So you choose 'I might die' option rather than 'I'll die for sure' choice?" Fawn's eyebrows knitted as he contemplated Hawke's plan even further.
"Wait, what? What is he talking about?" Aveline couldn't stand to listen to that conversation and not interfere.
"Let me explain what exactly Hawke plan to endure," Fawn's face hardened and his eyes narrowed in perverted interest. "The moment you take in the venom, nothing happens. It is meant to soothe the victim not aware of the danger at hand. After a half an hour the first symptoms manifest themselves and —"
"Shut up!" Samael launched forward, unable to hear about what was awaiting him.
"But here comes the fun part, my dear!" Fawn laughed with a dreary laughter as he started circling around the Champion. "The muscle aches, spasms, your joints feel like they've been ripped out and replaced with white-hot shards of broken glass, stomach fills with biles, you vomit and your throat feels like somebody thrust a hammer down your esophagus. Blood's dripping down your throat, as you bite your cheeks not to scream; it's choking you, gaging you and you feel slick coppery taste of burnt coins. Temperature's sky rocket, one second your skin feels like it's on fire, the second it's buried under tunes of ice, while every pain sensor within your body is firing at the same time until agony is no longer a word or a concept, but your bleak reality. Your... Little... Private... Hell... Hawke," Fawn's melodic voice dropped right above a whisper. "Not good enough?" he asked the shivering young man as though he was asking about the weather.
"Enough..." Hawke attempted to whisper, but his voice cracked. Only his eyes were begging Fawn to stop.
"You hallucinate, you dream of merciful death, yet only then the true race begins," Mahariel continued mercilessly; his bottomless eyes reaching into Hawke's widened amber ones. "Despite all these symptoms you have to drink several cups of odious herbal hooch during this single short episode, because once it's over, there's no way how to reverse the venom circling within your veins. And not to do so will condemn you to the very same fate as Meredith's. This whole episode is stretched into twenty minutes tops, then the symptoms fade as quickly as they appeared, forcing the victims to believe they ate a bad fish and nothing worse. Even after the administration of the antidote you can't be sure for days if it worked or not."
"I can handle the pain," Samael sizzled through his clenched teeth.
"I'm sure you can," Fawn sneered and his eyes slid down along Hawke's body to the place right above his left hip. Only a few beings knew what was hidden beneath the fabric; the rows of ragged scars, whose current sorry state was a faithful mirror of Samael's tormented soul. "But can you handle the Death, Hawke?" Fawn cocked his head as he studied Hawke's determined face for one long minute. "All right then," he nodded as though Hawke had replied even though he remained silent and motionless.
"All right?!" Aveline shrieked. "I'm most certainly not all right with a fact he's about to poison himself! Again!" Her exasperated words died away in a clamor of her Guards plate armor as she sprang out of her seat.
"Aveline," Samael's calm voice stopped her and she realized only now he was smiling at her, "it'll be all right. I must do this and I must do this alone. I've compromised you and Varric enough as it is, considering you're my only friends I have left. The coronation is in a week. I want you two to do just as Fawn suggested – lay low, no fights with the Templars, Aveline, no questionable business with the Merchants' Guild, Varric."
"I'll leave right away, Hawke," Fawn interrupted him and lounged in an armchair.
"Are you… sure about this?" Hawke quietly asked, waiting for a response; breathless.
"That's why you called me here, is it not?" Mahariel dryly stated the obvious and lit up a cigar to Aveline's disgust. "A terrible poem, by the way. Your own work, I suspect," he smirked about Hawke's flushed cheeks.
"Shut up…" Samael growled, hiding a broad smile behind the veil of his black hair. "So, my friends," he glanced around, "the time is upon us. Fawn's going to track my father, Aveline should return to her men and prevail just for a little longer and Varric," he nodded at the dwarf, "I need you to close up the negotiations about my lyrium contracts. A simple task – the highest bid takes it all."
"Call me, if you need anything," Aveline grasped him towards her, giving him a bear hug before she left the estate; two Templars immediately behind her back to her eternal annoyance.
"When I'm done with this shit, I don't want to see any lyrium for the rest of my long, content life," Varric kept muttering when he patted Hawke's shoulder, glared at the Hero of Fereldan who reciprocated with a cold reptile grimace.
"Don't fuck this up, Samael," Fawn blew the smoke upwards and put out his only half-burnt cigar in the ivory ashtray.
"What could possibly go wrong?" Hawke shrugged and they burst out guffawing, though their faces remained serious. "Fawn!" he caught Mahariel's sleeve when the elf bowed and obviously intended to leave right away. "Don't… Die… All right?" This clumsy expression of his worries was all he could say to his friend.
"If only I could ever promise you something like that, my friend," Fawn leaned closer and let their foreheads briefly touch before he grabbed his cloak and vanished into night.
"Messere…?" a bashful voice woke up Hawke from his sullen musing as he watched the flames dancing in fireplace. "What now?" Bodahn summarized the whole situation with but two words.
"Now, my dear Bodahn, we're about to play a game," Hawke slowly swiveled his head to look at the punctilious old steward. "They wanted me trapped and trapped I am indeed with nothing better to do anyway."
"A game?" the dwarf whined, since that vengeful mask on Hawke's face was always a bad sign.
"Yes, a game, Bodahn. A funky game indeed," Samael repeated the words his father once had said. "I'm going to teach you how to frame a Templar," he laughed and it was a sinister laughter that chilled the old dwarf's bones. "You see, I have a score to settle with one particular lizard who took something from me," Samael's eyes found the mabari collar hanging right above the fireplace and a cold hand of revenge squeezed his heart. Even colder than his own left crippled hand; the masterpiece of Alrik's doing as well.
If Alrik thought he would get away alive of what he'd done, well, he should have thought again.
oOo
"I can't say I'm thrilled to see you, young Master Hawke." Xenon's morose voice slit the uncomfortable silence the old Black Emporium proprietor had welcomed him with.
"And you wonder why no one ever comes here…" Samael sneered and poked a suspicious shaking box with the tip of his boot.
"What do you want?!" the old man barked and cautiously coughed into his desiccated palm; examining its revolting content afterwards.
"Oh my, you really wish me out of here, don't you," Hawke's sneer faded and he glanced around. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he got jumped at this place hidden in the Kirkwall sewers.
"I most certainly do, but I ain't stupid enough to force you to do anything, Champion," the chilliness was literally dripping out of Xenon's bitter words.
"And what does that suppose to mean?" Samael's face darkened. He didn't like where this conversation was going; not at all.
"Oh, please, don't play that innocent, lost lad who stumbled off the boat from the Blight-stricken Fereldan years ago. You had nothing. You were nobody. Now look at yourself. Rising to power, controlling the lyrium trade far and wide, in cahoots with that old hag and drunk with gold and power. No longer knowing who you were, not a clue about who you are now."
"Are you done?" Hawke interrupted that spate of vitriolic words and rebukes.
"By all means, young Master Hawke," Xenon mimicked a derisory obeisance, "or is it Your Excellency now?"
"I would shut your mouth if I were you, or I'll rip it off at the hinges," Samael all but roared the old man silent, having quite enough of his mockery. "Take a look at this, will you?" he dropped an elongated package into his lap, scoffing when Xenon's bones rattled beneath its weight.
"What… How… What have you done with it?" Xenon gaped at the broken staff Hawke had bought from him for his Elvhenan mistress. "You brute, what have you done to my masterpiece? You, you, you…" Xenon kept lamenting as though his child was dead; not a piece of cracked wood, bunch of dragon scales and a few smashed crystals.
"It exploded," Hawke diplomatically described the situation.
"Exploded?" Xenon hurled a scornful glare at him. "Exploded!" he cried out as though this single word was a torment. "That's all you have to say?"
"Well, it happened when Merrill attacked somebody with it," was Hawke's curt reply this time.
"Whom? A freaking dragon family?!" the old man couldn't get past this.
"Ehm, me, actually," Samael coughed and fidgeted. "She attacked me," he repeated.
"Interesting…" the change in Xenon's voice and attitude was overwhelming as he settled down, stroking the pole thoughtfully and scratching his chin with his other hand. "And you say that the staff –"
"Exploded, yes," the Champion confirmed. "The crystals were bleeding, the wood cracked and it let out this strange long wail."
"A wail you say, hum, a cry of pain, a defeated roar of despair when you two fools were set against each other," he shot a curious glance at Hawke.
"Can you repair it or not?" Samael hastily proceeded to what was the most important matter for him.
"Can you repair it?" Xenon asked a Solomonian question and they both knew he was talking about Hawke's bond to the Keeper.
"No," was Samael's quiet reply as he bowed his head in sorrow.
"Here's an answer to your question then," Xenon shrugged, handing the broken staff back to the taciturn young man. "Anything else?" his eyes flew to the doors; indirectly throwing the Champion out of the Black Emporium.
"No," Hawke whispered, shrouding the staff back into its duffel bag. Then, as though he had changed his mind, he leaned the staff into a corner, clearly intending to leave it here to its fate.
"I bid you a good day then, Champion," Xenon mercilessly continued, gesturing towards the way out with his freakishly long, bone-like arm.
"A day will come and whole Kirkwall will know who Samael Hawke truly was. A lyrium smuggler, a mercenary, a Viscount, Meredith's puppet, Elthina's holy soldier, none of these things, Xenon. None," he whirled around and the myriads of vials and dusty flasks displayed on endless rows of wooden shelves collided in a brazen clang as he slammed the door closed behind his back.
"That remains to be seen, Champion," Xenon mumbled to himself and his artful eyes hidden in deep dark sockets found the dark crimson bag with the broken staff inside of it. "That remains to be seen indeed."