The Chantry garden had been once a place of peace and silence; bright and airy, where tall patulous holly oaks spread dappled shadows across vast flowerbeds, birds sang from above, and the air was vibrant with the scent of roses. Not anymore, apparently. Where Hawke stood, it was a dark, primal place where gnarled trees awaited first snow, untouched by the sun as the gloomy Chantry walls loomed right over them.
Strolling around lost deep in thoughts, Samael ran his hand up the coarse tree bark, leaning his feverish forehead against it afterward. It smelled of moist earth and decay. He reveled in a long deep breath, thinking he would be far away from Kirkwall two days from now. Was it a good or bad feeling? Right now, Hawke himself wasn't sure. He could be sure of but two things though; Merrill was not going with him and he really couldn't stand Kirkwall anymore. The tall and deceitfully pristine walls of Hightown, dark corners of Lowtown with whores plying their trade in narrow filthy alleys, the omnipresent massive black chains hanging above the billowing waters, parting him from the sleepless Gallows and reminding him that he was nothing but a slave to this city like everyone else.
After his confrontation with Alrik, Hawke sought nothing but peace and quiet, but the truth was the only one who could smother the flames of doubt and fear within him dwelled on the Sundermount; packing at the moment.
"And there I saw the Black City, its towers forever stain'd, its gates forever shut. Heaven has been filled with silence and I knew then, and cross'd my heart with shame," a serene voice entered the deafening silence, yet Hawke didn't bother turning around. Sebastian Vael was not surprised he had found the Champion at the darkest garden corner, where the thick tree trunks crowded close together while lean branches wove a dense canopy overhead and twisted roots wrestled beneath the soil.
"Thank you for coming, prince." Samael slowly circled around a tree he had been leaning on, only to lean on it again afterward; only facing Vael this time. "How are we doing?" Hawke lowered his already husky voice into a mere whisper which might have been easily mistaken for moans of the trees stirring in chilling autumn breeze.
"Actually," Sebastian took his time while rubbing his finely chiseled chin, "very well, I daresay," he sauntered forward and it didn't escape Samael's attention that the prince wore fine attire with his family's sigil on his heart; not a Chantry robe.
"So the nobles of Kirkwall…" Hawke intentionally left his question incomplete, waiting in suspense for Sebastian to finish it for him.
"…are indeed ready and eager to acknowledge your claim to the Viscount's throne. Yes." Sebastian bowed to the Champion, but his light smile faded soon. "As long as we have our agreement," he shot an inquiring glance at Hawke's expressionless face. "It stands and falls with your word, Hawke," he continued; now clearly nervous about lack of response.
"You'll have your army of my Templars to retake Starkhaven, Sebastian, once the Vistcount's crown falls into my hands. For that, I require an ultimate support of all nobles to beat Meredith's voice. That was and still is our agreement, isn't it?" A sneer of irony settled on Samael's lips as he approached the prince who noticed the Champion didn't look so well. Not well at all.
"Beat Meredith…" Sebastian repeated for himself; clearly perplexed. "Correct me if I am mistaken, Hawke, but isn't she the one who is pushing you into the Viscount's throne in the first place?"
"Not for much longer," Samael retorted aggressively. "Not after tomorrow anyway," he sniggered at his words and Sebastian shuddered and the tone in Hawke's voice told him to abandon this topic. "So?" Samael woke up from his plots of vengeance. "Do I have full support from the nobles or not?"
"Well, I won't conceal there have been some struggles—" Sebastian fell silent and coughed in uneasiness, "—but it's been dealt with and Kirkwall nobility stands behind you."
"Some struggles you say…" Samael remarked while observing Vael's face closely enough to read nuances behind his diplomatic words. "What struggles?"
"Let's say not everyone was thrilled with the thought of having an Amell Viscount ruling the city. Moreover when his blood is mixed with some Fereldan's apostate and Maker knows what else." Vael regretted his harsh and of course utterly true words right away as he let them out, being painfully familiar with Hawke's temper, but the Champion's face remained more or less impassive.
If only he knew… Samael thought to himself. If only Sebastian knew I intend to disappear the moment the Viscount's crown descends on my head. If only he knew that I absolutely couldn't care less about his precious Starkhaven. If only he knew I plan on leaving this cursed city once and for all and all its petty affairs along with it… If only he knew…
"Do we understand each other then?" Samael shrugged off those disturbing thoughts and reminded himself he had a role to play here and that role better be convincing if his plan was to succeed.
"Yes, we do indeed." Sebastian granted a subtle bow to the man who was going to help him reclaim his parents' land. Or at least he thought so.
"You've changed, you know that?" Samael couldn't resist commenting on shift in Vael's approach to his dilemma whether to remain at the Chantry or return to Starkhaven as its rightful ruler. "Just a matter of sheer curiosity – what exactly you've done to those who opposed me?"
"I did only what was necessary," Sebastian's aristocratic face hardened as he reminded himself he simply did whatever it took to take up his legitimate place in this world.
"Whatever makes you sleep better," Samael dismissed this matter with an arrogant scoff for he was able to understand that unsaid part of Sebastian's words: violence, intimidation, extortion and other just as delightful ways of the artistry of persuasion.
"I would take my leave, now, when we see eye to eye, prince." Hawke pushed himself off the tree trunk, unsuccessfully hiding the mockery in his words. Sebastian looked as if he regretted this shadowy alliance with the Champion of Kirkwall already, but unfortunately for the prince the Champion had, or at least would have soon, the armies of Templars at his command, a few dozens of loyal Circle mages who were an irreplaceable support during wars and the City Guards-Captain in his pocket as a bonus. That alone made Samael Hawke the only worthy ally in Kirkwall for the prodigal prince of Starkhaven.
With this thought Sebastian sealed the deal with a brief nod of agreement and Hawke was yet again one step closer to his absolution.
oOo
The Chantry bells chimed two hours before midnight when Samael strode back to his estate, not entirely sure whether a frenzied ride to Sundermount was in order right now. Or at least the black ring burning and strangling his finger suggested this cause of action rather than a placid stroll around Hightown. But Merrill had made her choice. Well, she kept repeating she desired to stay with Hawke, but how strong exactly this desire was if that blighted clan of elves was more important than him? Always something between them….
Samael sighed and put a hand on the katana handle which was stuck in an adorned scabbard tonight. Hawke wore no armor and he almost laughed that not so long ago he, in his fancy clothing and with a fancy weapon which looked like it had never seen a battle, would have been an easy mark in Hightown at night. But his tattooed face, his long black hair waving in night chills, his weapon; all of it had become legendary if not straight infamous throughout the Free Marches, so no one dared steal a glance at him, moreover openly stand in his way. What some would call a blessing, Samael Hawke called a curse.
"A note for you, my lord," a scrawny urchin, too tall to his age, interrupted Samael's musing when he reached out to him from shadows, bowing his head in submission and waiting until Samael would take the scroll from him.
"Uhm, thank you," Samael mumbled a reply, and his hand automatically reached for a silver coin to reward the messenger, but then he realized there was no one in sight to give it to. "Charming," he murmured for himself and a warning bell rang twice in his head as he glanced around before he broke the seal to unfold the scroll.
In service of the Free Marches and the Crown of Kirkwal itself, I suggest heading into the crypts of Chantry immediately. The Champion of Kirkwall would surely find the meeting which is held there at this very moment reasonably interesting, if not straight viable to his intentions and plans.
A friend
"A friend, huh… One would wonder how many friends I suddenly have." Samael scowled at a neat handwriting, but the more he fought to go straight home, the more he knew he simply had to follow the note's instructions. The sane assumption was that this could be a trap. Well, Hawke should anticipate in the first place that this was indeed a trap. Maybe some final attempt for his life, so Kirkwall wouldn't have to witness his half-noble head being crowned with the Viscount's crown and his blasphemous ass sitting on the Viscount's throne. As Samael approached the front door of his estate, it became obvious that it was near impossible to walk in through them and burn the paper, so onward he went the shortest route to the Chantry, maybe with a perverted hope of some vicious fight ahead.
The crypts yawned at him with their bone-chilling musty air and Hawke did a poor job trying not to read the names on the catafalques all around him, reminding him the men were nothing but mortal worms who lived their short insignificant lives on earth for precisely counted number of days before they were put away, here, underground, to rot within these silent stone guardians of their remains with nothing but tombstones acknowledging their existence.
"We are born crying," Hawke echoed the fading words grazed into a granite plaque, "live complaining, and die disappointed. Huh, being a prophet, are we…?" he leaned down to take a closer look at some strange markings alongside the plaque, when his ears picked up distant voices; angry voices, ardent voices, arguing about something indecipherable.
"… and I would have it no other way, Fenris! Do not misinterpret my words here! We are going to teach our vain Champion a little of humility, all right? Nothing more. Nothing less. I suspect you of all people should know how quickly he forgets his friends and heap his allies up like piles of worthless junk. Only to dig them up when it's convenient again!" Anders let himself carried away with that rage he had been withholding every time Hawke's name came up.
"You talk too much, mage." Fenris' voice was now positively narked with Anders' persuasive technique. "Just get this done as we agreed, take down that Dalish blood mage and you shall have my support. But I have to warn you – anything beyond our agreement and you're on your own. Anything bad happens to Hawke and I shall have your heart in my hand and I shall look into your eyes the moment I squeeze." Only a fool would take that threat lightly, but Anders marked himself a fool the moment he decided to merge his otherwise intact soul with a creature of Fade. A creature which was not ever meant to walk among the living.
Blood mage… Dalish… Was it even possible that Fenris forgot already how it ended last time he had attempted for Merrill's life? Didn't I warn him with a deadly threat in my eyes? Yes, I did. And did he listen to me? No. Apparently he did not. Apparently my words were just a joke. A fucking… Hilarious… Joke.
"All right, you've got yourself a deal," Anders retorted, but the undertone of what supposed to be a guarantee of their mutual understanding was convincing no one; Hawke the least.
"I'll hold you to your promise, abomination. Mark my words." With this grave vow Fenris made his way out of the crypts and Samael managed to slip behind the plaque he had been studying moments ago just in time and only wafer-thin swirls of dust in the air told him the lanky elf had passed by him and Hawke indeed remained unnoticed.
"Good, the slave's gone," a quiet cantankerous voice uttered in satisfaction and hushed sniggering was the only reply.
"He's a valuable ally, Ella," Anders tried to set it into a perspective and to Hawke's surprise his loving words were meant to no other than the mage serpent he had encountered on the Wounded Coast and handed over to Templars once already. "And he knows precisely as much as he needs to play his role."
"Why is he even doing this?"Maurella's voice asked into silence with stubbornness of her own.
"Hmpf, jealousy is a powerful motivator, Ella. You've heard the elf. We have to make sure he is present at the coronation as well, or he'll hunt us down just as ferociously as it sounded. Where are our little motley group anyway?"
"As usual," Maurella purred, entertained by her own thoughts. "The cemetery," she added when Anders obviously waited for an answer. "They were ordered to move here tomorrow right before dawn, because I don't think they could sleep here; not in this number, that is." A brief chuckle coming from Anders jabbed into Hawke's ears and he slowly covered them with his gloved palms as if this was just as much as a man could bear. He was sure they would discuss other important schemes they had so carefully laid out, but Samael simply ceased listening.
Traitors!
Ingrates!
Bastards!
Dark voices were humming in his head as he tried to absorb what he had just witnessed. If Fenris fell so easily prey to this plot, who else from his inner circle of what he considered friends sought to destroy him as well? Who else was sharpening the blade tonight with Samael's name on it?
"The drakestone has been successfully added and the explosives are ready to discharge and… heat up… the Viscount coronation a little bit," Anders chortled at his own joke and once again Hawke pricked up his ears. Did he hear correctly? Explosives? Here? In the Chantry? During the coronation?
"Once Hawke, the nobles, Grand Cleric, Guards-Captain and her second-in-command, Meredith along with her most trusted Templars are gone, we shall make our announcement about new Kirkwall future ahead; new future of mutual cooperation and understanding," Maurella elaborated and judging by the sounds Hawke's ears caught afterward, the two conspirators were either slurping a very hot soup while dancing tango, or they started engaging in some rather intimate activities.
Tsk… Samael snorted almost all too loudly. As if any mage with a brain couldn't come up with nothing but "Let's rebel!" thought which is apparently the only thing they can conceive.
"What about Tethras?" Ella's voice inquired precisely at the moment Hawke started considering to jump them while they were off guard and slice their throats and get that over with at once.
"Varric Tethras?" Anders sounded as though he had his mouth full of something. "I believe he's been approached with an offer to cooperate in the Hanged Man, but unfortunately our white horse was told to, and I quote here, piss off and fuck himself in the Orlesian woods with the friggin' cheese-knife." The slobbering sounds quietened and Anders was clearly upset now.
That's my loyal silver-tongued half-tall friend…! A toothy smile appeared on Samael's pale face; so brief, so frightening that it would make the conspirators to throw themselves to Hawke's feet and beg for quick death.
"Unfortunate, but Tethras has sealed his own fate with this refusal as he will be no doubt present at the Chantry during the coronation," a quiet, sinister voice summarized the situation and Samael was unable to believe it was really Maurella talking. Was she the brain of this whole ridiculous mage underground? Maybe it was not that ridiculous after all. Maybe Samael and the whole city should have paid much more attention to mages. "I imagine Aveline Vallen is out of the question as well," she remarked, unimpressed, and at once she climbed on top of Hawke's to-kill-list.
"She's out indeed, as she is known as notorious ally of the Champion," Anders pointed out the obvious, "but what about Merrill, I wonder…? She is no longer loyal to him. She's abandoned him for her clan and her own people," he voiced his thoughts and it sounded as if nothing could please him more.
"She was his lover, sweet thing," Ella muttered a reply. "Do not underestimate the power of their bond for I believe it's above our understanding," she sounded almost sentimental now. Old Hawke would have burst on the scene already, slaughtering both of them, but new Hawke resolved to listen and make the best of the knowledge of what's been going on in the Undercity and that his very life and the life of all his friends and allies was in unimaginable danger.
"She shouldn't serve as his shield for much longer though," Anders tried to take it the other way around. "I believe she's leaving Sundermount even before the coronation and Hawke will be once again one ally shorter after that." Laughter rang all around Hawke and he covered his ears in despair. Was it too late then? The coronation was in two days! Could he win this battle still? Did he even want to?
No one had ever put faith in Samael except of Samael himself and he learnt this the hard way years ago, lost in dark gorges and believing he left his father for dead. He promised to himself that day, that he would never ever be that little scared child again.
Definitely not today. Not in this fucking crypt. Not when everything Samael held sacred was about to be destroyed, his plans to return to Fereldan marred, the people he liked or even loved, slain in an explosion of some insane mage.
He would become the Viscount of Kirkwall as planned. He would flee for Fereldan the moment the Viscount's crown was securely in his hands. He would build new life from the ruins of the old one in Fereldan. A concept he was painfully familiar with. With money he deserved. Incognito. Fawn would magically appear tomorrow along with his father he retrieved from whatever hellhole Meredith had stashed him in. Merrill and the People would leave Sundermount without an incident and she would be safe at some new place she chooses. All Samael's friends would be safe and well-taken care of, while his foes would be dead. That was how it was going to be. That was the path Samael had to tread down right now. Not the path of defeat. Failure. And death.
Samael had descended into the depths of Chantry tombs with doubt and fear in his heart; he resurfaced illuminated with horrible truth. As sad as it was, Hawke could rely now on no one but Aveline, Varric and his Kossith warriors. With his father gone, Fawn Maker knew where, Isabela humiliated and gone, Samael was at a sad place of loneliness and sobriety.
Yes, he had his little army of lyrium smugglers, petty thieves, marauders and other minions, but who they were really loyal to? To whomever paid them the most; of course. Merrill was leaving shortly and she was already out of his reach, yet she was still on Samael's mind above all else. Fenris' betrayal was not a surprise for Hawke had anticipated something like this coming and Anders had been opposing Hawke and his deeds for a long time now.
With this somber aftermath, Hawke knew what he had to do, though he had no idea how he would do it.
oOo
"What are you doing here?!" was Hawke's first question when he entered the Black Emporium and found there no one else but Merrill engaged in a polite conversation with Xenon.
"What do you mean, Samael?" she turned at the sound of his voice, a warm smile on her lips already, but her eyebrows knitted in confusion the moment she had glimpsed Hawke's suspicious face. "You called me here," she cautiously reminded him since he remained in defensive stance.
"Did I…" he muttered under his nose, contemplating her unexpected presence at the moment he needed her most, even when he wouldn't have ever said it aloud.
"If this pretense, like you haven't summoned her, is genuine, then I deeply admire your cover." Xenon should just as Hawke learn when to shut his mouth up.
"Yeah, I'd very much like to cover you six feet deep, believe me, Xenon," Samael retorted without a glance at the Black Emporium proprietor for his eyes were entirely focused at Merrill's queasy face.
"But you look absolutely horrid, my dear lad," Xenon omitted the rude remark and cried out in pretended shock when the candles flickering all around shed some light on Samael's gaunt face. "Something's bothering you, Champion?" a knowing or more like cunning smile settled on his face.
"You would know all about it, I suspect," Samael droned a reply while he was still staring at Merrill as if she was nothing but a figment of his warped mind.
"After all, the flesh reflects the madness within," Xenon slowly pronounced and let the silence spoke for itself. "You are here for the staff then?" his eyes kept leering in lazy turns at both lovers who seemed content with silent eyeballing one another.
"What staff?"
"A staff?"
They both woke up at the same time at Xenon's words, but the answer was needless as they both saw it right in front of them: the very same staff Hawke had presented Merrill with, as beautiful and powerful as ever.
"Take it. It's yours," Hawke made a dismissive gesture with his hand when Merrill's excited face turned to him in eager anticipation. He must have all but forgotten that he ordered Hein to deliver the broken staff to the Emporium. He was sure back then that he would not want to be anywhere near Xenon the moment he realized his masterpiece had been possibly irreparably damaged.
"Samael… What's happening…" Merrill jumped up in alarm once Hawke practically collapsed along the wall, closing the eyes as denial of what'd he witnessed tonight. Once again, the staff fell against the cold stone, forgotten, and Xenon almost coughed up what was left of his lungs as he protested against such disrespectful treatment. "Talk to me, ma vhenan," she whispered rushed endearments into his ear as she gathered his slumped body to her arms. For a moment, Merrill couldn't decide what was worse; if his attempt for a carefree smile which utterly failed or that haunted glow within his eyes turning up to her for help or at least merciful lie.
"It appears I need your help, Merrill," he pronounced with that last shred of resolve he had left. "In fact, I need help from both of you," Samael slowly freed himself from Merrill's embrace and scrambled up to his feet again.
"Anything," Merrill nodded in nothing but, just as Anders disdainfully described, devoted agreement.
"This better be good, lad," Xenon grumbled and ordered the urchin to lock up the Emporium. "But first I'd like to introduce you to somebody," he almost ceremonially announced and Hawke's eyes indeed widened as the newcomer walked through the side door. Samael had no doubt about who he was; Fenris had described him a thousand times over.
"Champion of Kirkwall. Your reputation precludes you," the newcomer stated with a mellifluous voice and bowed his head only as deep as his eyes piercing Hawke through and through allowed him.
"Oh, but the pleasure's all mine," Hawke mimicked a sardonic bow without taking his eyes off the stranger. "How do you like my city, Danarius?"