"How do I like your city?" Danarius repeated quietly Champion's question and his velvet voice vibrated with amusement, though the eyes grey and bottomless as the sea at storm remained serious. "Being perhaps un peu presumptuous, are we?" he added a nonchalant remark. "Not that I intend to raise any objections to your claims to the Viscount's crown, oh no. That would be rather shortsighted, if not straight foolish of me, wouldn't it, if we consider how poorly your enemies usually fare."
Samael managed to withstand that sarcastic speech in a grace and silence which might have impressed the crowds, swayed the opinions of kings, but they repelled off from Hawke's impenetrable façade for he was able to pierce that smooth mask Danarius wore on his face for decades.
"Not much of a rhetorician, I see, Champion. You are a man of deeds rather than words." That superior undertone started losing its edge when Samael appreciated Magister's words with nothing but long hard stare. "Maybe you would like to learn the merit of my unexpected visit…?" Danarius spread his arms sideways and this innocent gesture alone made Merrill to retrieve the staff and assume a defensive stance by Hawke's side, though the Champion himself remained motionless. "And this is your Elven mistress, if I'm not sorely mistaken. What a lovely creature…" Danarius remained impassive to the sparkling staff just inches far from his face as he gave Merrill a chivalrous bow; his arm gracefully sweeping the air. "Enchanté, my dear. Or even better - Andaran atish'an, Keeper." After Danarius' charming entrée the silence lengthened until Samael decide he would torment the Magister no longer since his face was gaining all shades of pale as he waited for any sign of response.
"I think we needn't bother pretending as if we both don't know the reason of your kind visit," Hawke finally vocalized his thoughts and let Danarius know that whatever characteristic he had heard about the Champion of Kirkwall, fool he was not. The Magister confirmed his assent with subtle bow, though his imposing brows had drawn in together in a thoughtful frown for his carefully outlined plan was torn asunder right at the beginning. He had expected some Fereldan turnip, profligate lad interested in nothing but what mysteries dwelled between women's legs, a spoiled brat drunk on power far too large for him to wield. Definitely not this young taciturn man with fiery eyes who was aware of his power over the lives of others, but who had yet to realize his full potential. To this young man standing right in front of him, Danarius had nothing to offer in exchange for his help. Gold, power, slaves, estates – all those things would have caused nothing but insult if offered to the Champion.
"If we see eye to eye then, and I believe we do, would you mind taking our conversation to someplace more… pleasant for our intentions? Surely we could both nothing but benefit from our allegiance should the situation prove that we can help each other." Danarius' silver tongue was as much as persuasive, as it was forked and treacherous.
"My dear Magister," Samael's face eased off and his hand lazily caressed the staff's shaft, forcing Merrill to lower her weapon which she did rather reluctantly. Danarius, watching very closely that silent exchange of expressive glances between the lovers, almost rubbed his hands since he thought his mellifluous words aimed well, so it was up to Hawke to crush his confidence. "My dear Magister, I honestly don't give a flying fuck about what you want. All I know is that you've come to Kirkwall to find something you had lost years ago and for some reason you think I know where it is, or even that I'll be prone to help you to reclaim it."
During Hawke's bold speech Danarius' face hardened and Samael was able to see it took all his resolve not to pull his own staff out and brandish it around a little to make his point. Now he had the Magister precisely where he wanted him to be; insecure, hesitant and vulnerable. Merrill started fidgeting by his side and Samael slowly realized Danarius was not the only one held in check here as Merrill no doubt wondered why they hadn't cut the Magister down just as they would have yesterday or any other day. But not today. Not when Hawke explicitly heard from Fenris' very mouth just an hour ago, that his hate for Merrill was rooted so deeply he allied himself with Anders just to get rid of her. Of course, Fenris played a rather woeful role, not knowing the whole truth about Anders' plans, but that did not cleanse his betrayal nor did it justify his little vicious scheme behind Hawke's back.
"How many men have you brought along?" Hawke shot an unexpected question at the Magister who was unable to conceive any answer but the honest one.
"I have nearly forty bodies at my command."
"Mages?" Samael continued in his dismissive inquiry.
"Some of them. All of them seasoned and loyal. Interested?" Danarius baited and switched and just like that the superior undertone in his velvet voice was back.
"Perhaps," was Hawke's uninterested answer. "Meet me in an hour at the Kirkwall cemetery."
"Hawke…?" Merrill dared interfere and that single word contained it all; both consternation and fear over this unexpected overturn of events.
"I shall have an answer for you by then," Samael decided to ignore the silly elf who unwisely decided to question his judgment right in front of the Magister of Tevinter Imperium.
"Hawke…!" Merrill's hoarse voice strengthened as if the Champion hadn't heard her the first time. "Are you serious?! What about Fenris? What about—"
"I don't recall asking about your opinion, Keeper," Hawke turned his once again expressionless face toward the tiny elf, but the blatant menace emanating from his silhouette was eloquent.
"I will be there." Danarius slowly pronounced his reply as he observed the peculiar wordless exchange between the Champion and his Mistress. "It's been a pleasure, Champion," he granted the young man a rather humble bow. "My lady," he mimicked a gallant kiss on her hand before he walked away through the same door he had used to make an appearance. No one but Xenon caught that strange thrill which settled on a fleeting second on the Magister's face the moment his hand connected with Merrill's.
"Hmpf…" Xenon aptly evaluated the scene he had just witnessed.
"This encounter has never happened, old man. Do we understand each other?" Samael glared askance at the Black Emporium proprietor who for once stalled his witty comments and settled for a docile nod instead.
"You," Hawke reached for the pouty elf, "are coming with me," he declared. Merrill pried her hand off Hawke's tight grip twice, only to scuttle by his side the moment he shrugged and headed for the door alone.
"Ah, those young fools in love…" Xenon sighed as his dark eyes set deep in his wrinkled sockets followed the lovers as they hand-in-hand left the Emporium. "If they think this has a happy ending, they haven't been paying much attention."
oOo
"Where are we going again?" Merrill's attempt to sound casual and not spooked at all was in vain.
"First my estate where we both need to change, then Hanged Man where they pour alcohol down Donnic's unwilling throat as we speak since it's his bachelor party. I wouldn't be surprised if Aveline's present as well."
"Hum, wedding party. Aveline's wedding party…" Merrill's voice trailed off. "Hawke," she shyly plucked the sleeve of his attire, "I don't think she would be pleased to see me there, given our history."
"Once again I don't give a shit about what she'd like or dislike, Merrill," he tenderly brought her hand up to his warm lips. "At some point Varric must have mentioned that I'm paying for that comedy. My gold, my rules. And my anointed crowned ass wishes its Elven mistress to tag along," he referred back to Danarius' words, but Merrill chagrined at Hawke about such untimely jokes.
"An explanation of what exactly you need help with would be nice, Hawke." She apparently decided to pout and do this the hard way.
"I have no idea. You'll be the first to know, though," he purred into her pointy ear as he gallantly opened the door to the Hawke estate for her. Strange, how everything suddenly didn't seem as grim with Merrill by his side, even though it was only temporary. Entering the bedroom, Merrill glanced around in disquiet and winced when her eyes reached the neatly made bed; the very same bed where—
"I believe there are still some suitable… robes… in your old closet for this occasion." Samael vaguely waved his arm toward the massive wardrobe which was once Merrill's. From the profound silence, Samael knew he wasn't the only one tormented by memories of the time they had spent together until the day they were mercilessly torn apart.
As if only looking at Merrill; looking so vulnerable, so clueless about coming here so unexpectedly, was unbearable for Hawke, he rather turned his back at the elf and started hastily unbuttoning his plain ivory shirt with bulb sleeves after he had thrown away the light cloak; the color of dried blood. He was about to remove the belt and thumb off his breeches open with still no sound behind his back whatsoever which alone was unsettling, when a pair of cold hands slowly brushed his shoulders, circled the shoulder blades and descended to his waist where they snaked around his body into tight embrace as she gently rested her head against the tensed muscles of Hawke's back.
"Merrill…" he gave a hoarse whisper, or more of a groan as a reply to her touch. She felt his body started responding to her strokes and instead of an answer she slipped under his arm to face him, her hands tracing the soothingly familiar relief of his bare torso. "Merrill…!" Hawke slowly, almost against his will, trapped Merrill's hands fumbling for the thongs keeping the breeches at their place and brought them up on his chest, breathing just as heavily as she did.
"What…?" she breathed out and attacked his mouth instead as she blissfully left her hands where he had put them.
"As much as I'd love to ravish you right here, right now," he underlined his statement with a rapacious kiss, "I don't think this is the best time to think south of my belt," he glanced down and realized Merrill's clever fingers had managed to get rid of the belt already. "So to speak," he murmured and coughed in uneasiness.
Merrill processed what he'd said with unbelievable slowness and finally giggled, leaning her ruffled head against the warm skin again. "I give up," she sighed in pretended defeat and pressed a long kiss as high as she could have reached and she heard the deep rumble in Hawke's chest as he heartily laughed at them both, standing there half-naked, as awkward as the first night they tumbled into the bed together.
"Right, uhm, I think we should…" he nodded toward the closet and hoped she would start paying attention to her own attire rather than to his body.
"Yes, we should… Dress up and…" she cast her eyes down, her cheeks flushed, and stumbled over the carpet hem as she made her way to her wardrobe backward, still leering at Samael's body. "Got that explanation for me yet?" she asked in passing as they finished dressing-up and checked their appearances in the over-sized mirror on ugly talons which belonged to Hawke's mother once.
"Oh, I'm working on it, believe me," he replied and there was a dark element in Samael's voice; a presage of furor of what was about to happen. Merrill decided not to pry about why Hawke considered the strap of throwing knives across his chest necessary to wear to a party and she rather turned her attention to the nest of dark braided hair on her head. "You look…" Hawke's hungry eyes stripped the sky-blue gown of Merrill's fragile frame, "delightful," he finished his thought and his own words seemed like an understatement to Merrill's beauty when she stood in front of him with an insecure smile on her face. Once again Hawke had to slap himself mentally and reminded to both of them there was work to be done tonight.
oOo
The lovers were able to hear the Hanged Man much sooner than they actually saw that little alehouse, infamous for its poor quality of drinks as much as for public secret of being the favorite place of the Champion of Kirkwall for reasons which would remain unknown forever.
"Ready?" Hawke glanced down at his lovely companion shrouded into velvet midnight blue cloak which belonged once to an Amell lady which was evident from the family crest embroidered with thin silver lines on the back. The cloak might not have been new or even fancy, but it undeniably suited Merrill's pale face and fragile frame, as much as to her dark side Hawke knew only all too well.
"Samael, I…" she stammered and her eyes kept flickering between Hawke's face and the small holes in Hanged Man's wall which apparently served as windows. Bright light and boisterous laughter were streaming through them right now, inviting the by-passers inside, though the pair of Kossith bouncers with their arms folded on chest was in place to remind them that this was a private party indeed. "This just doesn't seem right. Remember when I ambushed Aveline when she had you locked away and you were dying of poison and no one has the slightest notion of how to help you? Or when I repeatedly perform blood magic right in front of her, despite the fact she threatened every time she would have the Templars hound me for the rest of my life? Or when—"
Though Samael seemed prone to listening to whatever ramble came out of Merrill's mouth that night, he simply leaned down and stole her next frantic words with a slow, calculated kiss. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" his husky whisper in her ear sent shivers throughout her body. "You know, you're much cuter when you're shutting up," he commented on her breathless silence as she tried to cope with what just had occurred. "Shall we?" he offered the elf his arm in a rather charming way and once again Merrill wondered who was the man in front of her who was known for nothing but his excessive drinking sprees and irascible manners.
"We shall." Merrill accepted the arm and clung to it as if it was her little personal beacon. As much as Hawke would appreciate especially tonight not to get recognized by every citizen of Kirkwall, once inside, the crowds and groups of people happily chattering to one another fell quiet one by one as the unusual couple made its way through them in silence.
"Lord Hawke," Corff seemed immune to that revered silence in his inn as he broadly grinned at the Champion and mimicked a mordant curtsey. Just like that Samael was able to shrug off that uneasiness he experienced every time the people spontaneously fell silent in his presence and intently watched his every move for he knew there was still one person who would see him just as he once was – too young rumbustious adventurer with unrestrained appetite for anything wearing a skirt and sometimes even not wearing a skirt, known for getting into all kinds of troubles and his ruthless way of how to overcome them.
"You're late," Varric pulled out his head out of a woman's cleavage and greeted the Champion with a morose observation.
"You're stunted," Hawke repaid him with the same coin and nodded his thanks to Corff who ceremonially handed him over a silver chalice of mead which surprisingly looked and smelled almost palatable.
"Making jokes about my height," Varric closed his eyes as if he was just deeply insulted, "very unique!" he rapped out at Hawke and trotted away, frantically muttering to himself.
"What crawled up his ass and died?" Hawke raised an eyebrow at Aveline who approached him and a disapproving frown formed on her face the moment she realized who it was fastened to Samael's arm, staring up at him in quiet devotion. "Something wrong?" he nonchalantly uttered the moment he became aware who deserved such stark glare from the Guards Captain who looked unexpectedly feminine tonight as she traded her usual uniform for a strait-laced periwinkle violet gown. Before the bride-to-be could have protested against having a known blood mage at her wedding shower, the tipsy groom swayed past her and threw himself at Hawke in genuine joy. Samael, his breath squeezed out of him as he suddenly had full hands of Donnic.
"My dear brave Messere Hawke! You came! Can you believe it!? I'm getting married to a beautiful woman who arm-wrestled me yesterday!" he hiccoughed and attempted to steady himself on the Champion who, even though he was tall and broad-shouldered man himself, was still a head shorter than the oversized Guardsman.
"You're a lucky man then," Samael slowly pronounced and his eyes flew to Aveline who, hearing such unexpected words from her friend's mouth, melted like an ice chip in Hanged Man's worst warm home-made swill. "Some will never found their soul mate even though they've searched for her their entire life," Hawke continued, but his words were no longer meant for Donnic as his eyes found Merrill standing apart from them, in the middle of crowds, yet so separate from them as ever. "And some finds her only to lose her again…" his hoarse voice trailed off as he looked at the one his words were meant for. Even the cheerful groom caught there was something deep and fatal happening at the moment as he reeled by his bride's side, wrapping his bear-like arm around her as if he intended to hold her until the moment he carried her to the altar and married the woman.
As Aveline and pretty much everyone around the Champion was used to witness similar turn of events every time Hawke appeared in public, this evening was no different. Hawke became a magnet and everyone without an exception was drawn to him and worshiped him and every each one of them at some point attempted to have him for themselves if only for a moment. The lone voices at the far side of the room started chanting one word which they accompanied with rhythmical clap of hands and soon the whole cramped inn vibrated in spontaneous roar of rapture.
"Speech, speech, speech, speech, speech, speech…!" the chanting went endlessly on and on until the citizens snatched their Champion and carried him on their shoulders to the little crescent podium where the regulars usually sang some drunken dirty ditty in early mornings soaked in alcohol and odors of cheap whores. Once standing on his own feet again, his eyes flew past the Kirkwallers crowing in delight to find the only one who deserved his attention tonight and Samael was glad when Merrill returned his light, almost imperceptible smile as she clapped along with the others and giggled when Varric pulled her down and whispered something into her ear.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please!" the penetrating voice rose above the cheering crowds at his feet as Hawke neatened his handsome apparel and prayed no one had noticed he was armed far too excessively for an exhilarating event such was this one. At least this woke him up from his joyless vision of a life without the woman he loved, and Hawke intended dealing with the awkward situation in his own portentous way. "As you all know, the Guards Captain is marrying tomorrow her long-standing companion and brother-at-arms – Donnic Hendyr," he lowered his voice to a pleasant husky level, making sure he had the attention of everyone around. Hearing his name, Donnic whooped and gulped down his drink, which was rewarded with another salvo of cheers and a subtle bow from the Champion. "Don't even let me get started on how the two of them met for it involves Aveline being the meanest Guardswoman in history of our city and Donnic who almost went down with a terrible case of sword through bowels." The crowds burst out guffawing, though apparently some people had hard times deciding whether the Champion was joking or not. "May their love for each other and devotion to welfare of this beautiful city and its honorable citizens be an inspiration for all of us!" his voice soared up once again, so it would drown out the rejoicing voices which were silenced once Hawke raised his palm in a gesture of a father who lovingly admonishes his children to be silent. "I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol now in order to celebrate this union and don't you dare let Donnic's glass go around empty. We're gonna get him so drunk he won't find the altar tomorrow. Lucky man that his bride can always carry him to it…!" he finished his speech and boisterously laughed along with the others as they helped him to get off the stage.
"How was my speech?" was Hawke's first question when he finally managed to reach Merrill and the dwarf thirty minutes later.
"I wept," Varric simpered and mimicked how profoundly had Samael's speech touched his heart. "It appears our fop-coiffed hero read a book or two about diplomacy and manners after all."
"… says a petulant dwarf with daddy issues," Hawke growled and reached for the elf who all too willingly let herself to be trapped in his embrace.
"Easy, Hawke, finesse!" Varric pretended to be offended and took a dignified sip of his own drink which was in direct contradiction of the way Hawke gulped down his fourth chalice of mead.
"What…!?" Samael burped and rolled his eyes about being under such scrutiny. "Just because it kills your liver doesn't mean it ain't medicine…" he tried to vindicate his liquor consumption as he waved at Corff for a re-fill.
"Yeah, Hawke, you're a picturesque depiction of mental health," Varric commented on Champion's behavior.
"Yes, that's me," Samael slowly replied even though his gaze was locked with Merrill's at the moment. "I waste my potential on worthless experiments," he added and hungrily kissed the elf whose seductive glances were finally rewarded. "And unlike you, I never joke about the sublime art of burlesque entertainment," he managed to break the kiss for a second to grant the bored dwarf a haughty grin.
"Get a room, you two…" Varric snorted and hacked his way through the guests just to get away from the lovers.
"Not a bad idea at all," Hawke reflected and without any other word he judiciously headed for his room; leaving Merrill just where she was, so she could decide whether to follow him or not. The moment the heavy door thudded behind Merrill's back, the lovers tumbled into a made-up bed, but to Merrill's eternal exasperation after several heated moments Hawke climbed out of it, approached the door and cautiously listened in to distant chatter and sounds of celebration.
"Samael…" she moaned and tried to lure him back to bed. "Hawke…!" she purred a moment later when her lover remained motionless and apparently more interested in what'd been happening behind the door than in who was lying in the bed, offering herself to him in all glory.
"Hush," he hissed behind his back, too aware, that his rebuke left the elf pouting again.
"You planned this all night long, didn't you?" Merrill pointed an accusatory finger at him and gave a snort of disgruntlement. "Unbelievable…!" she bolted out of the bed and started buttoning up her gown and smoothing out her ruffled hair in such a vigor that she managed to make it even worse.
"Silly elf," with two long sudden steps he appeared right in front of the muttering woman and crashed his lips against hers, letting entirely up to her to decide what should happen next. "Tell me, lover, does this feel like a cold-blooded calculated rehearsal?" he breathed out between the frantic kisses and then held her face inches away from his own, awaiting a reply which she resisted to give in futile attempts to reclaim his lips again.
"No. No it doesn't," she moaned in unfulfilled desire and only then Hawke let her to kiss him again and again though he blocked her attempts to steer them toward the bed once more. When she realized it, she aggressively broke the kiss and pushed him away. "You're going to meet the Magister, am I right?" she shook her head as if she was supposed to see this right from the beginning. "And I'm to be your convenient cover, pretending you are here with me and waiting for you to come back. Or not," she gave him an ugly sneer and heavily sat down on a bed edge with her head in palms.
"Are you done?" was his annoyed reaction since she just quite aptly described his plan he intended to keep to himself. Rubbing his temples and trying to understand her defiance and break through it, he sat down by her side and gently nudged her shoulder with his own. "Is this the moment we share the tense sexless silence?" he asked after a while and when she turned her face to him, he realized in surprise her eyes were full of tears. "Merrill…" he whispered in sadness of seeing her like this and her lack of attempt to conceal the tears from him. She apparently wanted him to see her like this. "Yes, I'm going to meet the Magister for it appears I need him even more than he needs me. Thank the Maker that he doesn't realize this little inconvenient fact. And yes – I hope you would stay here along with my imaginary myself to provide me with alibi." Long deafening silence followed leaving Hawke waiting in suspense for her decision.
"I thought…!" she jumped up on her feet and her voice cracked, so she just wordlessly threw her arms sideways.
"You thought we'd spend a night together," he quietly finished her chain of thoughts for her since it was the very same thought occupying his mind right now. "One… Last… Night."
"No!" Merrill jerked and laughed and snorted and stumbled while managing to knock over a heavy unlit candelabra. "No, no, no, no, of course not!" she kept negating the statement and watching Hawke in horror in her eyes since he stood up as well and sauntered toward her with a teasing smile on his face.
"Merrill, Merrill, Merrill…" he shook his head in a chiding way and trapped her within his arms against the wall. "My bullshit meter is reading that as a 'false'," he crooned and realized in satisfaction Merrill was indeed unable to resist him. After all those years, after all they'd been through together, they were still drawn to each other with love and desire they couldn't fight even if they wanted to. "Tomorrow," he tenderly gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, shattering the last pieces of defiance within her. "Tomorrow, my lover," he repeated and brought her chin up, so he could look into her eyes.
"I believe you," she whispered in response to his endearments. "Call me a fool, but I believe you," she smiled up at him, then glanced at the window in disquiet as this was the only way for Hawke to get out of there; unseen.
"That makes the two of us," his smile broadened before it faded as his departure was nearly upon them. "Give me two hours," he braced himself against what was he about to face and then he was gone.
The Kossith bouncer thought he had heard a soft noise at the back of the alehouse and just when he peered around the corner, a dark silhouette inaudibly landed on the ground into a crouched pose and there it simply blended into the shadows of night. The giant and the shadow within shadows exchanged a long telling gaze before the Kossith slowly nodded and returned to his post.
The celebration in the Hanged Man continued and no one seemed to notice they were one guest shorter.