"Someone is watching us!" Merrill peeped in urgency. Only then Hawke abandoned his care for the Keeper as he slowly turned around to see for himself. Just behind the line where the light coming from the mansion that was ablaze with countless adorned chandeliers ceased to be, a gaunt tall horse motionlessly stood with just as motionless rider who for some mysterious reason decided to ride the ugly horse bareback. Watching the peculiar duo who had yet to explain what were they doing in his private locked garden in the middle of a night, Hawke subconsciously shielded the elf with his own body, narrowing his eyes to make out the face of a stranger or at least puzzle out the purpose of this untimely visit. Glancing at each other, the lovers cautiously headed toward the unexpected visitor and Hawke's eyes grew larger each step of the way. Leaving Merrill at a safe distance, he approached the horse on his own, only to confirm what he knew the moment he laid his eyes on the stranger dressed in rags.
"Father?" he addressed the ever still rider in disbelief who in stony silence slid down of a skeletal horseback right into Hawke's arms. Not ready for such a burden, they tumbled together down while Merrill halted in a skid just by them, frantically drawing aside the felt-like thick strands of hair and therefore revealing rider's face. Samael ripped his glove off of his hand with his teeth and touched the ashen face. Its coldness obviously startled him since he recoiled his hand from it in panic. At least Merrill seemed to have her wits about her as she reached for Malcolm's wrist to check the pulse and then she started slapping the old man who stirred after a breathless moment and an almost inaudible rattle came out of his mouth once his eyes opened a crack and apparently tried to focus on the worried face that was floating right above him.
"And so I've found you," he managed to wheeze right before a strong cough sent his body into spasm. "My… Son," he whispered once he was able to draw breath again.
Samael for once was speechless when he pressed a fervid long kiss onto old man's forehead before he lifted him up on his feet and hastily headed for the same inconspicuous door Merrill had used to run away from him, letting the old man to lean on his with his full weight.
"Samael," Malcolm attempted to stop him gasping, "the horse, look at the horse…!"
"I'll take care of you. Take it easy. Just let me take care of you," the Champion refused to procrastinate and he kept dragging his father toward the door.
"Look at him, look at the horse, damn you, lad!" Malcolm clutched his son's shoulder and the urgency in old man's voice was almost ridiculous, given the fact it was channeled toward an exhausted scrawny horse that would die at any second, what was confirmed a second later when the wretched beast collapsed down where it writhed for a few moments before it turned inert.
"It's dead, father, I'm sorry, now let's go!" Hawke stole but a glance at the poor animal, intending to keep going, but it was Merrill's gasp of surprise and her hand on his shoulder that finally coerced him to stop and take a good look at the horse. "B-but," he faltered when the horse right in front of them started changing its form, until there was an emaciated, naked body lying in the snow instead, slowly gaining its color and temperature as well. "Maker…!" was all that Hawke managed to say.
"Take him inside first, my son. I believe I've got more time left than he does," Malcolm granted his hesitant son a serene smile right before another wave of devastating cough took over his body. Since Samael perfectly understood that each second would count here, he didn't waste any more time as he gathered the still body into his arms and literally flew through the corridors to his laboratory where a comfortable bed was placed in case the Lord of this mansion decided to stay up along with his experiments, taking brief naps when the substances were reacting together. To his relief he met his father supported by Merrill right outside the lab, and it was a good sign indeed, that the old man was able to walk almost on his own, however slow his pace was.
"Merrill," breathless, Samael nodded at the witch, "I left some lyrium in there. Please use it however you see fit while healing Fawn. I'll smuggle my father to a guest bedroom upstairs and tend to him," he hastily outlined the plan and he would have taken his father away already, but something within Merrill's eyes caught his attention. "Merrill…?" he asked her in alarm. "You do realize it's in your power to save him. Save our friend," he patiently explained to her; completely confused about the lack of her usual ebullience.
"Samael," she took a deep breath, "this is the man that separated us once already in case your memory is that short," she coldly reminded him and only now it came to Hawke that in no way Merrill had ever forgiven Fawn for his arrogant decision to make a Keeper out of her against her will.
"It's also the man that saved my father," he retaliated a little more loudly than he should have.
"You can't ask me to do this!" she also raised her voice in agitation. "Please don't make me!" her voice cracked when she glanced into the lab and saw the lifeless body on the bed.
"I can and I implore you to do this!" Samael also changed his attitude toward his lover when he briefly brought his hand to her face, tracing the delicate tattoo net on her chin.
"Whenever you're ready, kids…" Malcolm leaning on the wall sourly reminded them of his presence and more than sorry state of his health.
"Please," Samael whispered one last time before he threw his father's arm around his neck and circled his waist with an arm to escort him to a bedroom.
Having really no other choice than to give up her own wounded pride and comply with her lover's request, Merrill trod into the lab, murmuring something indecipherable in Elvish tongue. There was a lot of healing to be done and if Mahariel died on her now, Samael could easily come to a conclusion that she deliberately allowed it to happen and watched his passing away with satisfaction. And that wasn't something Merrill wanted – or was it?
oOo
"Are there three dwarves gaping at me or am I hallucinating already?" Malcolm found himself submerged into water so hot that wisps of steam were dancing above the surface and tickling in his nostrils.
When Samael managed to smuggle his father into his own private quarters, he realized he definitely needed help with him. Malcolm kept choking on severe cough, reeling around the room, while he kept insisting he just needed a little rest and hot soup. At least Samael didn't find any wounds on his body apart from a nick here and there, though his father was obviously exhausted to the very point between life and death, underfed and his limbs were threatened by frostbite.
Bodahn appeared once again as an invaluable ally since he assessed the situation with vigor of his own and started drawing a bath while Sandal assisted him with less difficult tasks. Varric barged in completely by chance, but since he had invited himself on his own so conveniently, Samael might just put him to use, so he sent him to inconspicuously snatch some food.
And so Malcolm ended up in a bath tub with just his nose and eyes above the surface and he felt the life starting to come back to his flaccid muscles. "If you're done cooking me," he remarked a few minutes later, "I'd like to hear what's happened here ever since I was taken away on my little lovely involuntary vacation." That whole time while Malcolm was gaining back his strength, Samael was sitting in a chair right by the tub, keeping his hands clasped in front of him as if in prayer, and tapping his leg. To his relief, Malcolm's voice sounded much louder and clearer when he managed to get some food into his belly and hot water seemed to have almost magical effect on his weakened body.
Since Malcolm obviously waited for some short version of what had happened in his absence, Samael decided to feed him some basic facts. "Well, I've been battling with Meredith ever since. She held me in check because of you, but with you back where you belong, she possesses no power over me anymore." Samael attempted to smile on the old man, but the smile failed since Malcolm watched him in suspiciously narrowed eyes. "Also, I'm going to become the Viscount of Kirkwall tomorrow, father," Samael added after a moment of silence and even for this big news Malcolm appeared to have no comment. "Fenris is gone and Merrill is taking her clan away from Sundermount," he continued, but that last piece of update rendered him paralyzed in pain.
"I'm sorry, son." Malcolm's hand emerged from the water and briefly patted Samael's clasped hands in compassion. As curious as it was, Malcolm really didn't come unchanged from his confinement. Too late he realized it would be his son and his son only he would leave in this world as his only legacy. Estates could be razed down, riches could be squandered, crests could be tarnished, power could be wasted on unworthy goals, but the purest Hawke blood pulsed in his son's veins and it had chance to live on in his own descendants. It took years to Malcolm Hawke to realize this and he was not sure whether he could regain his only living child's love. Moreover, if he confessed to him what had really happened in the Whispering Gorges fifteen years ago.
"You have no doubt places to be right now," Malcolm woke up from his thoughts and realized Samael would probably stay with him whole night if he didn't send him away; like into the arms of his lovely Dalish maiden. The old Hawke was everything but sentimental, but being back in Kirkwall and under protection of his son once more was taking its toll on him and he did feel as if he could sleep for a week after the ordeal he had gone through to get there. "Please check on the shape shifter if you'll have a moment," he murmured half-asleep already, "and do give him the bag I brought along with me," he sighed and then mumbled something incoherent.
"Keep an eye on him, pull him out of the bath in ten minutes and put him down to rest. I'll have the Kossiths to closely watch all entrances." Bodahn nodded to his Master's orders and bowed his head that he fully understood what was required of him. "Varric, you better go back to the party and enjoy yourself. The guest bedrooms are at your disposal as well as the rest of the estate," Hawke patted his half-tall friend's shoulder and glanced one last time at his father. With all possible haste he headed for the dungeons again; bursting into his laboratory too afraid of what awaited him in there, but hoping for the best nonetheless.
Merrill sat by the bed on a low stool, impassively watching the motionless figure in the bed, and she shivered when she felt a pair of palms gently massaging her nape. One fleet glance around the lab gave Hawke a hint that Merrill indeed obeyed his request and did her best while healing the Hero of Fereldan. Hawke's eyes then stopped on scattered empty lyrium bottles and a fresh cut on Merrill's wrist she had inflicted upon herself when she realized the lyrium wouldn't be enough to win the battle for Fawn's life.
"Is he…?" Hawke's half-question remained hanging in the air as he let her lean on him while he allowed his hands to roam over Merrill's bare throat and chest in long soothing strokes. He did make sure his question sounded casual since Merrill had made it perfectly clear that she didn't care much whether the Hero of Fereldan lived or died and Samael was thankfully already smart enough in this whole relationship area to pretend as if he rushed down here merely to see how was Merrill holding up. Moreover, he felt exceedingly conflicted regarding how he felt about Fawn right now anyway. Yes, apparently Malcolm had been ripped out of Meredith's claws thanks to Fawn's timely interference, but he did plot against Hawke not so long ago and that cost him nothing less than Merrill.
"Alive and asleep." Her eyes slowly opened and after those three words she kept silent again; clearly content with simple gazing up into Hawke's face and enjoying the pleasures his hands were offering her.
"Good," he murmured a reply, watching the unconscious elf in genuine concern. "Why don't you go to my bedroom, take a bath and wait for me there?" he suggested and concentrated his attention on Merrill again, brushing a thumb across her lips. Even though she seemed responsive to his intimacy, he was well aware the night might not end as he had hoped. "If you're not prone to… You know… Leave," he tentatively remarked, clearly referring to their earlier clash.
She watched him for a very long time, as if to test him just how long he would bear with her silence and the more Hawke seemed insecure, the more Merril's will to leave this man for good tomorrow waned. "Don't keep me waiting," she finally gave him the reply he craved and offered him her lips.
"I wouldn't dare," he claimed them with a long tender kiss, finding himself unwilling to part with her if only for a few minutes. She gave him a smile before she left, he returned it, but Hawke's faded once he was left alone with Fawn who looked simply terrible.
Mahariel lye on his side due to the arrow wound he had sustained, facing Hawke, his arms and head were in rather unnatural position, and a white sheet was tightened around his waistline, leaving his bruised torso bare. Merrill must have washed him as well since his skin was clean and gained a bit healthier color, and his long silverish hair was damp and neatly combed backward, spreading over the pillow. Ironically enough, the areas of Fawn's intact fair pale skin even emphasized the horribly looking bruises and outlines of bones beneath the thin skin indicating just how much the elf must had suffered ever since he decided to set off to a journey to seek out Hawke's father and bring him back to his son. Samael hissed in compassion when his fingers carefully circled the freshly mended wound on Fawn's back, coming from an arrow probably as Hawke concluded. The whole area was inflamed and contused and Hawke could only guess in what horrid state the wound had been before Merrill's intervention since it looked utmost severely even now.
Trying to sort out his thoughts, still unsure whether Fawn would survive this, Hawke paced around the lab for a while with his head in palms, and when he tiptoed back to the bed with an extra blanket and furs in his hands, he realized to his astonishment that Fawn had been obviously watching him for some time now.
"Hello Hawke," he attempted to smile his notorious crooked sneer since the mighty Champion stood there with several covers in his hands, looking silly. "But you look terrible, my friend," he remarked on Hawke's gaunt visage; the heritage of this appalling night.
"I look terrible? Have you seen yourself?" Samael burst into a hysterical laughter that seemed to have no end. When he finally calmed down, with just a few more chuckles, he covered Fawn's body with his blanket, threw the furs all over the bed, and his face lost any signs of laughter just as quickly as he had burst into it. "First things first," Hawke poked a worn out knapsack lying on the floor with his boot that Fawn hadn't noticed yet. "My father asked me to deliver this to you as soon as possible," he promptly explained when he followed Fawn's gaze and realized he no doubt wondered what was in the valise he'd brought with him. "He insisted on coming on his own, but—" Hawke embarrassedly grinned and shrugged.
"But you'd rather keep him in bed to rest; I understand," Fawn nodded and watched as Hawke untied the leather laces and ceremonially pulled out the blade of Brecilian Forest; the very same sword Fawn had reluctantly given Malcolm in the Swan's Swamp outskirts for safe-keeping.
"Beautiful piece…" Hawke inadvertently murmured when he swung the blade through the air several times; then pointed it upward with his arm fully outstretched, and admired the exceptional blade from all angles; it was as straight as a ramrod, sharp as a razor and cruel like forgiveness from a sworn enemy. Hawke voraciously fenced an invisible enemy with the sword, bowed in irony to his audience, and laid the sword into Fawn's lap with an elegant obeisance. "What's in the bag apart from the sword I do not know, but father said he had nothing on him when he left the prison, so I believe everything inside is yours. Do with it as you will." Samael watched the elf for a while, his face then suddenly twisted into a pained expression as he kneeled by the bed and took Fawn's pale hand into both his palms in reverence.
"You're not asking me to marry you, are you?" Fawn gave the young man a faint smile and watched as Samael's head slowly bowed down until it touched the hand that had saved his father from a certain death.
"Anything you want; anything you would require of me as a payment for your deed, you shall have." Trembling with emotion, yet ardent words were spoken and Fawn's smile just broadened when he lifted his other hand with difficulty and placed it upon Hawke's head. Sometimes Fawn forgot how immensely old he was since the life of the true Elvhenan lingered within him still, but this young shemlen and his cheekiness as well as devotion was simply disarming. Not to mention that gratitude of the Champion of Kirkwall as well as the Viscount might be useful one day.
"I hear your pledge and I shall treasure it and remember it," Mahariel solemnly replied and lifted Hawke's head by his chin only to realize the human had tears standing in his eyes and was ashamed of them no less. "Now go," Fawn pretended as if he hadn't seen anything and sent him away, huddling beneath the blanket and grimacing when the barely mended wound on his shoulder blade reminded him he was far from healed.
"Really? Don't you need something? Anything? How about—" Hawke started fussing around the elf, realizing only now the laboratory was just a miserable substitute for where Fawn should have been resting in the first place.
"Sleep. I feel as if I could sleep for a week," Fawn interrupted the young babbling man and closed his eyes. "With no snow in sight, thank you very much," he muttered with irony only he possessed, sighed, and immediately fell asleep. Hawke watched over the sleeping elf for a while, making sure the fireplace was well stocked and emanated warmth, and considering whether Fawn could be left alone or rather not, but then he reminded himself all entrances were guarded by vigilant Kossith warriors that would keep any intruder out, and, more importantly, Anders in. Because once the mage realized his dearest Maurella was no longer among the living as well as all of their followers who were taken care of by Danarius' men, he could easily become a much severe threat to Hawke's plan than he already posed. The Champion had him precisely where he needed him to be at the moment; locked under his direct supervision, and pleasingly cut off from any information, therefore Anders was free to spend this one last night believing that he would change the course of history tomorrow when Chantry debris lie in the burning streets of Kirkwall and blood of the Templars and magic-haters colored the white stones of Hightown.
"Sleep, my friend," Hawke whispered merely to himself when he was on his way out and he glanced one last time at the peacefully sleeping Hero of Fereldan. The black ring on his finger glowed with heat and reminded him he was already sorely missed someplace else, so he walked through the finally quiet mansion as the majority of nobles had gone home and only the most depraved lechers had obviously moved the party into the Blooming Rose; much to Varric's disappointment, because the Kossith guardians very eloquently prevented him from leaving the estate along with the others. When Samael was greeted in his bedroom by Merrill who wore nothing but the black ring Hawke had given her, Samael realized that whatever would happen in the morning, he'd always desire to be wherever that woman was and nowhere else.
oOo
Fawn was roused from his sleep of the dead a few hours later and at first he felt completely disoriented and panic stricken. For a few dreadful moments his tired brains kept generating an illusion that he was on the run still – hiding in the worst boozers during the shortening days along with an old man who required his assistance all the time since his powers were significantly diminished and thus his vision was heavily damaged most of the time, only to shape shift into a stallion at each twilight and run for their lives south to Kirkwall, carrying the old mage on his back like an inferior mule. This had been repeating day after day; as they were barely sleeping, eating even less, and Fawn was constantly trapped in a horse form since Malcolm wouldn't had walked a single mile, let alone walk all the way to Kirkwall. Even now, in safety of the Hawke estate, Fawn was chased in his dreams through the Northern wastelands by the Templars who must had come from the darkest depths of the Fade itself since they rode yellow-eyed dragons and somehow even a couple of darkspawn managed to join their little motley party.
Winking, Fawn stirred beneath the blanket, but immediately he wished he didn't. Every single muscle within his body was sore and he was warm; even hot as he realized when he languidly brushed the beads of sweat off his forehead. The muscles of his legs were uncontrollably contracting, he felt dizzy and his eyes hurt and burnt when he gave them such a simple order as to look at the table by the bed that was lit up with a few tall candles and where a splendid tray with various refreshments was set along with a bottle of wine and a kettle of tea. Since Fawn's head was spinning whenever he attempted to lift it and take a good look around him, it seemed beyond possible to snatch something from the tray. Pushing the pain away and reveling in the air into his lungs with deep steady breaths, Fawn attempted to reach at least for something to drink, but his elegant fingers nothing but brushed against the porcelain kettle and the pain shooting from the back wound paralyzed him. Nothing but an agonized groaning was audible in the laboratory for long minutes and only then Fawn slowly managed to pull his reaching arm back to his chest like a wounded animal nurses its broken limb. It was now sadly evident that he would indeed not be able to reach anything from the table, so he just fixed his eyes on it with a bestial expression on his face, trying to overcome the pain that warped his reality. Soon his eyelids fluttered in exhaustion, but before his head could helplessly slide down off the pillow, a warm tanned hand caught it and gently placed it into the dimple in the pillow. The same hand then slowly uplifted Fawn's head, supporting it by the scruff in the position, and a pleasing jasmine aroma then filled Fawn's nostrils.
"Drink," a distant voice commanded and Fawn considered it very gratifying to leave his eyes closed for now and simply obey whatever the voice demanded from him. Herbal tea warmed his innards as it traveled down his throat into the belly and it left a bitter flavor on his tongue, which was not entirely unpleasant, but strange still. He felt his head falling down into what seemed to be a bottomless well, so it surprised him when he felt a soft pillow beneath his cheek again. Even this uncomplicated movement knocked him down into the arms of dizziness again, but it eased off soon enough, and Fawn opened his eyes to finally look at his caretaker. Not a muscle moved within his face, nor a sound of surprise escaped his mouth, when he realized who it was sitting on the stool by his bed, spinning the empty tea cup in his nimble fingers and roguishly smirking at him. Oh yes, Fawn would have recognized those two cat-like golden eyes anywhere and anytime, and if the Death decided to take this form right before she claimed him, Mahariel was willing to let it take him then and end it all.
"Are you here to kill me?" Fawn asked the question in a matter of fact manner, watching the man with gleaming eyes and a reconciled smile on his lips.
"It would be rather absurd to help you drink your tea only to sink my blades into your tender flesh a moment later; don't you think my dear Warden?" Zevran set the cup he was playing with down on the table again and lazily kicked the stool even closer to the bed, lengthily settling down again.
"That's not really answering my question, is it?" Fawn would like to at least sit up in the bed, since he was definitely not able to stand up to face the Crow, but all his body allowed him to do at the moment was to lie there, vulnerable and naïve like a child, and resignedly watch the man who had his life and death in his hands once more.
"No. I suppose it's not." Zevran averted his gaze from Fawn's bloodless face that didn't lose any of its pale beauty and noble features even now. It appeared Zevran was now interested in thorough examination of Fawn's figure hidden beneath the blanket, as if he was musing whether a blade or two could have been hidden there. "But to answer your question," Zevran laughed his melodic laughter and looked at Mahariel again, "no - I'm not here to kill you," he quietly finished his statement. "I'm here to take care of you."
"Why?" Fawn pointed out the obvious question when he considered Zevran's reason to be there from all possible angles and it always turned out the Crow was entitled to kill him the moment he had found him; lying helpless in the bed no less. "Why, Zevran?" Fawn managed to support himself on the elbow when he realized he needed to hear a clear response to his question.
"Zevran, Zevran, Zevran…" the Crow absently repeated his own name with his eyes closed in pained bliss. "I used to love whenever you said my name. You might have been the only one who ever dared to uncover who I really am. Who ever cared enough to use my real name. You shouted it during the vicious battles, you whispered it every night into my ear and you pronounced it in scorn the day you framed me and left me to rot behind the walls of Amaranthine," he mercilessly continued and watched Fawn as he winced when the shadows of his treachery finally caught up with him.
"So this is why you're here," Fawn quietly answered his own question. "To torment me," he explained when Zevran's face seemed confused. "You shouldn't have bothered then. There is not a day I wouldn't think about you. Not a single day I would feel… free of you," he almost inaudibly confessed and their eyes briefly locked in sudden silence. Not reacting in any way to Fawn's unexpected penance, the Crow poured yet another cup of tea, but filling only a half of the cup this time, since he pulled out a little flask of bright red liquid somewhere from his backpack and topped up the cup with it.
"Drink it," he handed the resulting concoction over to the Hero of Fereldan who to his deepest surprise immediately obeyed and emptied the cup with several long thirsty gulps. Wasn't he afraid; not the slightest bit, that it was poisoned? One simply couldn't accept a drink of an unknown origin from an Antivan Crow and drink it without a question!? It was as if Mahariel reckoned on Zevran trying to poison him, but simply didn't care about it! "It was a rather potent regeneration remedy," Zevran cautiously stated even though no one asked.
"All right," Fawn carelessly shrugged, since he was feeling better and stronger instead of, well, dropping dead in gruesome spasms. Zevran obviously found that nonchalance unnerving as well as slightly offensive at the same time.
"Sooo," Zevran prolonged the word in pretended frolicsome ignorance, "as the priestess so famously said to the handsome actor: What now?" His sneer then vanished and Fawn realized he had seen once already the expression which settled on Crow's face now. Yes indeed. It was the day when Talisien paid them a visit at twilight and right before the fray broke out; he tried to sway Zevran on his side and claim back his loyalty to the Crows. Fawn remembered it as if it had happened yesterday. The perfidious Crow circling around his Zevran who stood there with his head hanging and arms loose by his sides, listening to venomous words in his ears, promises of restored glory and fame for elimination of the greatest threat to Loghain's plans to seize the throne. Fawn told him he loved him no matter what he did; much to the amusement of the murderers all around the arcane warrior. Did he really mean it? Nah, Fawn didn't remember anymore, but he did remember Zevran unsheathing his needle-like blades and throwing them at the Crows lurking and giggling right behind Fawn's back. Needless to say that Talisien understood very promptly after that where Zevran's loyalties lie.
"Bring me the knapsack." It was the time to test Zevran's remedy, and surprisingly Fawn was really able to sit up in the bed, even though with a lot of hissing in pain that twisted his appealing facial features. Zevran watched his endeavor with a grave expression on his face and once Fawn noticed his inquiring gaze, he reached for the blanket to cover his beaten body in shame. Neither of them spoke then for a while; Fawn mortified for his weakness, Zevran upset about Fawn's wretched state and tortured by guilt that he had contributed to it, even though Fawn didn't seem to blame him for whatever happened in Swan's Swamp. "I believe this is yours," Fawn mustered his strengths to look straightforward into the golden eyes as he held out a thin package loosely wrapped in a piece of pliant leather toward Zevran.
A needle-like blade Fawn had stolen from the Crow upon their separation in the north seemed just as glorious and deathly when Zevran had last seen it. Now he reached for it; hesitant, weighting it in his hand, only to dexterously flip it into the other one a moment later. Zevran unsheathed its twin, swinging them both in pleasure and his arms were complete again. Watching the Crow and his keen actions with melancholy, Fawn wished for solitude and quiet. The shivers claimed his weakened body again and he tardily lye down again, more like let himself fall down on his stomach, lazily tugging on the furs around him to cover himself. It was a tough job with only one arm available, since the other one seemed paralyzed by the back wound, but Fawn had stopped all his endeavor once he felt the cold tip of a needle blade tracing his spine in a dance that easily could have been Fawn's last one.
"Were you waiting this entire time for me to turn my back to you?" Fawn droned a colorless question, attempting to sound just as disinterested as he thought he was. "All right, awkward silence for the condemned person it is then," he continued when nothing but a freezing blade on his skin was the answer. He would never, ever admit to himself or anyone else that what was Zevran doing he considered very much voluptuous and an overture for a much more intimate pastimes.
"Tsk, tsk, once you had a faith in me, my dear Warden…" Zevran's smooth-tongued words echoed in Fawn's ear and immediately afterwards he felt warm nimble fingers exploring his back, cautiously brushing against the bruises, avoiding the blackened area of his arrow wound.
"I had faith in you well enough, my lover," Fawn muttered and he failed to hide the aroused undertones in his voice. "Faith that you will one day stab me in my back," he added a cruel remark and just like that the dangerous game of cold steel and warm fingers was over. Fawn turned over in the bed and Zevran reacted all too late to hide the pained expression Fawn's words had caused. Giving him no time to recuperate, even tired of this game, Fawn reached for Zevran's hand holding the blade and he positioned it right against his heart which was as much eloquent gesture to finish what he'd come here for as it ever could get. Zevran watched the blade hovering over the pale skin and Fawn let go of his hand once he was sure the Crow's hand would figure out on its own what to do next with a blade and a beating heart of a man who had betrayed him. Ever time Fawn's chest heaved up as he kept drawing shallow quickened breaths, the tip of Crow's blade buried a tiny bit into the skin; just enough to leave scarlet welt on it, yet not enough to actually pierce the skin.
Resolve was waxing and fading in turns within Crow's eyes like a tide as he was clearly arguing with his need for vengeance, but also under the destructive influence of his ex-lover, and even when all his fibers screamed at him to man-up and finally end the agony, he set the blade aside and whispered a tiny dismissive, "No," right before he leaned down with the tranquility of a man who knew his goal was within an arm's reach. Staring into the golden eyes that spoke of promise to end it all, but somehow failed to keep that promise so far, Fawn let his fingers wander about Crow's face, copying the curves of his black tattoos, brushing against the full lips he was once mad about, and following the thick stream of his hair that smelled of hot bright Antivan sun. Since there was nothing Zevran ever craved more during the last year against his better judgment, he happily let it happen and groaned in pleasure long forgotten when Fawn's lips grazed their way up his throat to find their way to Zevran's and claim them just as possessively as he used to.
But just like that, the bitter-sweet moment was gone, the elves parted and Zevran's golden eyes darkened as he realized it was not in his power to forgive and forget. "Rest now, my Warden," he whispered a hoarse farewell. "Look for me tomorrow," he confirmed what Fawn had guessed already – tomorrow was the big day they would finally settle things between them.
"Zevran," Fawn stopped the Crow, "what of Hawke?" he asked, hoping that the Champion was no longer the object of Crow's attention.
"One simply must admire his style," Zevran's velvet voice casually replied as he was sheathing the blades to their place. "Too bad he has to die," the Crow harshly continued with a smug on his face, deliberately overlooking the shock on Fawn's face.
"I can't believe you're answering to the whips of your Antivan masters as you once were, Zevran," Fawn uttered in scorn; only too aware his words would cut deep into the Crow.
"You know the rules, my dear Warden!" Just as expected, the vain Crow flared up immediately as he stalked back to the bed to face the sarcastic elf. "The contract between the Antivan Crows and their customer is bound by blood and I'm bound with my life to carry the deed or die trying and pass my duty on to one of my brothers or sisters!"
"You can disobey," Fawn calmly remarked, watching the fuming Crow. "It wouldn't be the first time after all, I daresay," Fawn scoffed at the Crow and pushed him past the bearable point.
"Yes, you would know all about that, Warden, wouldn't you?!" he hissed at him. "The only business I ever left unfinished that I'm not allowed to forget about! Rest now, mon amour. Rest while you can!" he spluttered at the elf who'd been watching him in silence. "We shall see tomorrow where the loyalties of the both of us lie!" With his last words he rushed toward the door, clearly intending to dramatically storm out just as his fierce-tempered and histrionic temperament commanded him to, if only he wasn't stopped yet again by quiet, most unexpected words.
"He'll kill you, Zevran," the voice said and the Crow halted and listened, clearly puzzled. He wanted to argue, mock the doomsayer, ridicule the assumption that anyone would be able to take on the mighty Zevran Aranai of the Antivan Crows, but Fawn obviously meant what he had said mortally seriously. There was no mockery behind his words, no hidden insinuations at all; it was merely a presage of what would happen tomorrow if Zevran refused to abandon the contract.
"Then you'll be finally able to tell without any doubt tomorrow whether the man you once claimed to love is dead or alive." Zevran gave him a long somber gaze before he vanished into the shadows, leaving the Hero of Fereldan alone with his thoughts.
oOo
"I still can't believe they're back," Merrill wriggled in a tub filled with hot water and bubbles so vigorously that the water splashed all around.
"I still can't believe everything what's happened tonight," Hawke reacted merely to his own thoughts than to what Merrill had said as he tightened his embrace around the fidgeting body within his arms. His fingers then traced the ugly slash on Merrill's arm which she got during her poorly done escape. Since she wasted a great deal of her powers for Fawn and also for Malcolm, she had none left for herself, though seeing Hawke tending to her wound with his eyebrows knitting in disapproval while muttering hushed curses regarding her general clumsiness was quite pleasing.
"Have you checked on them?" she asked a languid question and started soaping Hawke's arm; giggling when the wet arm hair mixed with white soap bubbles created some funny patterns.
"Both seemed to be very exhausted, but well enough, considering what they've been through." Hawke cleared away the hair off Merrill's nape and let his tongue and lips to play there a little; if nothing else, at least the elf would stop sniggering about such mundane thing as wet arm hair. It didn't take long before Merrill, now completely serious, turned over in the tub and hungrily found Hawke's lips with hers. Before she knew it, Samael was carrying her toward the bed with her legs tightly circling his waist. There was no point in pretending as if either of them wouldn't think about this the whole evening. He was about to crash them both between the soft sheets, but she suddenly broke the kiss and drew a little away from him, clearly up to something.
"Wait," she whispered to him and made him to drop her down on her feet. Not breaking their eye-contact Merrill sauntered toward the dresser, enjoying to see Hawke hungrily eyeing up her body glistening with water. His left eyebrow arched when she slowly pulled out of the dresser a dark blue strip of fabric he'd seen before and also Hawke's secret ceremonial knife whose purpose knew only two souls in the world and they were both present in this room at the moment.
Puckering his brows and very much perplexed by Merrill's actions, Hawke remained standing where he was, watching as she approached him. The knife changed hands while Merrill kept the piece of fabric for herself and they both soon lost track of how long they'd been standing there, touching each other in profound silence, since both of them knew the presence of the other one was not to be taken for granted and since tomorrow, it would be forbidden for good. When Merrill attempted to tie the fabric around his head as a blindfold, suddenly it dawned to Hawke what it was she was trying to accomplish here – Merrill was recreating their first night spent together. Just as for the first time, Hawke caught her hands before she could blindfold him, examining closely her excited face and darkened eyes. And just as before, Hawke then let her hands to slip out of his grasp and a mischievous smile on the face of his temptress was the last thing he saw.
Suddenly Merrill was nowhere to be heard or found and Samael realized his breath had quickened when he stood there, vulnerable and alone. He shivered when he felt a cold fingertip, then a whole palm tracing the old diagonal scar that ran across his chest. Several times Hawke felt the coldness of a blade on his feverish skin, only to be replaced by warm lips that obviously decided to taste him at the most surprising areas. Sometime in the middle of this game, time had lost its meaning as Hawke became nothing but a creature full of frustrated desires that would answer to its animalistic needs and nothing else. Ripping off the blindfold when the threshold was reached, Hawke growled a guttural sound that would have scared everyone but Merrill who stood right in front of him, challenging him in silence to do whatever he had to do.
With restrain Samael didn't even know he possessed, he made that single step forward that parted him from the mistress of his mind, searching her eyes for something that had been always there. He lifted her chin and brought his lips down to hers. He teased her, keeping the kisses short and dispassionate, until she whimpered with desire and clawed her fingers into his flesh to convince him to equally respond to her lust. He let her claim his lips, softly opening his mouth to grant her access she craved, and he felt her straining up to him with all her being. Just to feel the utter power over another being, that was feeling Hawke would have died for many times over. But now – Samael wanted to play a wicked game.
He steered her toward the bed, so they were both facing it, but Hawke very malevolently stopped her from falling into it and drag him along. He chose this moment to murmur into her ear, "Wait for me here, my pet. Don't you dare lying down," and then he was gone. Merrill stood there obediently at first, then she started pacing around the bed, glancing about the room in impatience, only to rush back to the exact spot Hawke had left her on. Only when Hawke heard frustrated moans and soft calls of his name, he decided it was the time to come back and finish what they'd started.
Merrill was standing by the bed, facing it and visibly quivering now, no doubt wondering where her lover had gone. She had not heard him, had not seen him, he was suddenly simply there again, turning her around and kissing her deeply, passionately, tearing down the cold barrier between them. He grasped her by shoulders and whirled her around, shoving her onto the bed. Caught by surprise and no longer the mistress of her own actions or senses, Merrill just had time to catch herself on outstretched arms when Samael slammed right into her. He buried his full length in her, letting out a long savage groan of pleasure, not even realizing that in that one single thrust Merrill started to scream, but he yanked her head back by her hair, softly whispering, "Silence!" Merrill did clamp her jaws immediately, but Hawke made sure even now whimpers escaped her mouth now and then. She took him completely off guard when she deviously waited for his grasp on her to loosen a little, then she escaped from his reach with a lithe elegance, waiting in suspense for his reaction while shredding the bed sheets with her sharp fingernails.
Needless to say Hawke pounced on her with one leap, warped by her disobedience, however playful it was. They wrestled with each other for the dominance over one another and Merrill cried out a victorious shout when she fought her way on top and pinned Hawke's arms between the shreds of fabric. Since she won, however her victory was merely tolerated, he suddenly lay there quiet, motionless, feeling her hot excited breaths on his cheek. He winced and tilted his head back when she shifted and let them merge into one being again, watching closely his face as it slowly went forth again to look at her.
Although Hawke had forbade himself to think about anything even distantly related to their morning separation, he couldn't push this fact away or lock it into a chest and bring it up in the morning. After all, Merrill was everything that he had ever dreamed of; powerful, passionate, demanding, but absolutely in tune with every nuance of him. She tolerated his many, many character flaws; some of them she even admired, and she had proven her loyalty and devotion more times than Hawke could have counted. Even after hours of lovemaking and intimate conversations in between, their mutual frustration was so huge that there was no time for refined games anymore. The bed was soon a shambles, sheets knotted and soaked with sweat and whole room looked as if a storm had raged right through. They simply consumed each other, again and again, until dawn broke, and they greeted the morning feeling just as restless as they were before.
They didn't utter a word when they walked together through the ever still dusky mansion. Just as if the same puppeteer was controlling them, they stopped by the front door as if that was the ultimate borderline upon which their paths were supposed to part. There was really nothing left to say. Devastated, Merrill wordlessly curled up against the warm flesh of her lover, painfully aware that this would be no more than a fleeting memory from now on. Half-blind with tears, she reached for the door handle, but just as she managed to open the door a crack, Hawke leaned on it with his full weight in panic, so it slammed close again and Merrill found herself trapped within his arms leaning on the door now.
"Samael, don't make this harder than it is," she pleaded with him and stroked his frowning forehead.
"Don't go!" he heard himself beseeching her not to leave him. "You don't have to go, Merrill!" he kept on convincing her, but even he was able to hear how childishly selfish he sounded.
"How could you ever trust me again if I break my oath now and stay here? How could you… love me?" she gently tried to explain like hundred times before and watched as his face gained an expression she hadn't seen there for years. He knew just all too well what oath she spoke of. The oath every Keeper swears to protect the clan and serve the clan and nothing but the clan for the rest of one's life. Always the bloody elves in his way! Oh, how he wished they would simply ceased to be! "Ma vhenan…" she tried to bring him back to the reality, but he dodged her hand this time.
"Fuck the clan!" Hawke grasped her by her shoulders, shaking her as if that had ever helped him before. "Fuck the elves, fuck the clan and definitely fuck some fucking oath!" His eyes blazed with the fire of a battle he had lost already. Realizing it, he let go of her and stepped backwards. "I…" he massaged his pulsing temples, "this is silly," he sighed and stole a glance at Merrill. "I don't want to argue," he shook his head and let her snuggle against him again. At this point Samael found himself unable to postpone that which was inevitable, so he pressed one last kiss on Merrill's forehead, searching her eyes afterward in twisted curiosity whether the same pain tearing him apart was visible in them as well. Perversely satisfied when it indeed was, he yanked the front door open and stepped aside. "Farewell, Merrill of the Dalish," he heard himself saying though he had no idea where that reasonable voice came from.
"Farewell, Samael," she somehow managed to reply. "Please tell me we'll meet again someday," she begged him and her eyes shone in something Hawke thought he had lost years ago – hope.
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that," Hawke let his head hanging and wished she would… just go. Go if she wanted to. Go and never looked back.
She reached for his hand and slowly brought it up against her cheek. "Then lie to me," she whispered right before their lips met in one last ultimate kiss. "Close your eyes…" Hawke felt her soft breath in his ear when he did what she commanded him to do. When Hawke opened them, he was alone. She was gone and she took a piece of him away along with her. Closing the door, Hawke leaned on it with his back, then he collapsed down and hid his pain from the rest of the world behind the palms.
"How could I ever possibly redeem what I've done to those two beings?" Fawn kept asking himself over and over again when he secretly witnessed the separation of a man and a woman who loved each other. Hawke's despair and helpless sobs echoed in his ears even long time after he'd returned to his bed, leaving Hawke where he was because there was nothing Fawn could have said or done that would make this easier or even right. And so they both sat alone with their heads in palms, searching for a solution that never existed.