Merrill dreamt a restless dream that echoed the events of fire and doom beneath the Sundermount. Ever since his return from the late dinner that deteriorated into a sparring practice, Hawke watched over the sleeping elf. He had hastily tended to his wound, noting that it appeared to be much deeper than he had originally thought since it refused to stop bleeding. Oddly enough, since his crippled arm was the one that blocked the vicious lunge, he felt pain indeed, but not as much pain as he should have with such long deep slash through the flesh.
Just as he was considering waking up Leske and asking for help, Merrill stirred from her slumber and the first thing she saw after the slaughter that was replaying within her dreams was… more blood. Hawke failed to hide the arm covered with it behind his back in time and the towel in his other hand that was redder than whiter spoke for itself. "What now?" Merrill sighed while climbing out of bed and white flesh of her body flashed within darkness as she shrouded her nudity in a night gown that lie on the bed. She sleepily staggered toward Hawke who, for some reason, started simpering. With her one eyebrow raised in annoyance, she reached for the incriminated arm and only then she noticed Hawke was leering into her cleavage that wasn't quite covered by the fluid fabric. Morosely nudging him with an elbow to remind him to act like an adult, she squeaked in surprise when Hawke roughly grabbed her into embrace to get his hourly dose of Merrill he seemed to require frequently nowadays. There was nothing epicene about Hawke; nothing ultimately gorgeous or superb at all. Even though not built to wield deadly broadswords long as a man himself, he was all male – his figure lean and chiseled by years of training and his fiery eyes and long black always disheveled hair just underlined the savagery and might slumbering deep within that would not be harnessed by anyone and anything. Until, that is, a woman appeared in his life who seemed resilient to all his worst features and hopelessly in love with the best of them.
What one woman would consider in alarm as an attempt for rape, Merrill assessed as an intimate moment she'd been waiting for so long as she went blissfully limp in his arms, credulously snuggling to him with abandon she gravely missed for many days now. "Whom did you fight now, ma vhenan?" she murmured a question.
"Ghosts," he replied with a brief chuckle and only then he let go of her and almost proudly displayed his injured arm that indeed needed an attention of a healer. Watching her face frowning as she examined the wound, his sneer slowly faded; not to mention that the pale arm interlaced with thick dark veins was spooky on its own even without a bleeding slash.
"Perhaps you'd like to tell me what's happened in Kirkwall." Merrill shortly looked up from the injury, catching Hawke's eyes. If she expected him to resist as usual; if she thought he would evade the question just as he had used to, then Merrill was pleasingly surprised that even though Hawke's face turned sombre, he started talking nonetheless.
"As you could gather from what's been said so far, it didn't go well. Certainly didn't end well," he slowly started confessing. "If anything, I was crowned to be king of all fools," Hawke bitterly continued and glanced at the black ragged crown set on a night table by the bed. "The poison failed to set me free from Meredith in time and from the moment she disrupted the ceremony it all went straight to hell. I also failed to realize the full extent of Anders' underground resistance, hence the explosions, and on top of all that my business partners managed to look through my stratagem regarding the lyrium business contracts and attempted to murder me. Sadly, all at once."
"What about the lyrium contracts?" Merrill asked seemingly casual question as she examined in satisfaction the mended flesh and only a thin pale scar meandering on Hawke's skin could tell where the ugly gash was once she cleaned the skin of all blood.
"I kind of, ehm," Hawke coughed in sudden uneasiness, "I sold the contracts to everybody." He cast his eyes down in shame that could have been easily mistaken for modest pride. To tell the truth, he had utterly enjoyed outfoxing those opportunists and back-stabbers. "I sold the contracts to everyone and everyone has paid me the full price," he clarified, emphasizing the important words when Merrill's face showed nothing but confusion.
"Does this mean that we are rich now, ma vhenan?" she asked the next logical question in cautious disbelief and innocence only Merrill possessed. It didn't slip Hawke's attention that she used the word "we" which was very reassuring on its own.
"Well," Samael rubbed his chin in pretended contemplation, "we've been rich for quite some time now. "Now I daresay we are awfully rich," Hawke dryly stated and wiggled the fingers on his mended arm. "And, of course, if anyone realizes I'm still alive, we'll be both awfully rich and dead."
"I've heard Malcolm saying something about you feigning your own death," Merrill quietly remarked and seated herself on the fur by Hawke's armchair he had been sitting in.
"That would be the truth of it," he nodded and scowled a little.
"But, Samael, what about your estate? What about the house? All those beautiful paintings, weapons, furniture, vases, carpets…! Things that your ancestors have gathered! They meant you to have it – not leave it behind like someone else's junk!" Merrill's eyes narrowed in disapproval as she started enumerating all those precious things Hawke had left happily behind. He just watched her outburst in silence. A woman who owned things that could be squeezed into one small arravel before she met him was not able to understand his motives. The things he had owned ended up owning him and leaving them all behind liberated him in ways she couldn't fathom.
Long was Samael staring down into her lovely face in sacred silence as warm waves of peace and certainty washed over him. "I believe I have everything I need right here with me," he smiled at her and lifted her up so she could straddle his lap. Fidgeting there for a while which was delightful, then turning motionless when she cuddled against him, they fell silent for a very long time.
"Hawke… About Sundermount…" he heard her hesitant words in his right ear, but didn't bother opening his eyes. He was aware this question was coming. "I'm not exactly sure what happened toward the end, but… Is everyone… You know?" Considering her tormented words, Samael realized Merrill needed some closure. She needed to hear the truth however bestial it was and she needed to hear it from him. But what was he to tell her? That her people were slaughtered one by one apart from those few mages who were turned Tranquil instead? Hawke remembered as Fawn closely examined every each one of them and then cut their throats while almost inaudibly humming some slow wailing tune in Elvish and thus sending their souls to their Creators. For some this would be a cold-blooded murder, but both Hawke and Mahariel knew it was an act of mercy for one of the last sons of Arlathan would not leave his brethren to waste away in this half-existence. Did Merrill really need to know all the gory details?
"I'm sorry, Merrill. They are all dead." His quiet gentle words were terminal and crushed the Dalish Keeper with all their force and tragedy, but Hawke felt oddly impassive to her wails and cries that followed after that brutal statement. Her pain would fade. His shame would keep him sane and focused on building a new life for both of them, and their child, far away from the place they were not happy at. And so they kept clinging to one another in silence that was interrupted just by her dissipating sobs, hoping in a future that might not be there for them, but there was always fools' hope to be found in hearts of both humans and elves.
oOo
Next three days passed in peace and quiet. The ship ploughed relentlessly through dark cold waters of Waking Sea and Leske proved himself to be an attentive and discrete host who knew when to speak and when to shut up. Hawke saw only a very little of his few companions as he found himself utterly content to spend the days and nights with Merrill; sometimes in gregarious debates, other time in silence or intimate confessions spoken in a low voice. But whatever Merrill did; however hard she tried to seduce Hawke into intimate confessions of carnal manner, he fended all her attempts right off with stone expression on his face and all her endeavor ended up the very same way – with a paternal kiss on her forehead and his arms encircling her in an embrace that was just as soothing as it was frustrating.
Zevran hadn't been doing any better than Merrill as he preferred to dwell in a confined cabin in contemplation, imprisoned in his self-imposed solitary, since Fawn appeared for only as long as to bring him meals for one and then again disappear without a word or at least a glance in Crow's direction.
The situation became unbearable for Merrill an evening before the planned arrival to Fereldan and she decided to confront her unwilling lover who cared for her with ridiculous diligence, but sadly for Merrill that was also the point where her lover's efforts ended. It took nothing but one look at the opulent late supper Samael had carried into the cabin to set Merrill off. She bolted out of bed, clearly intending to make a dramatic scene that would be crowned with bursting into tears and pointless shouting.
"I don't understand," was his confused reply to all her accusations, but his downcast eyes told her otherwise.
"You're refusing to look at me; let alone touch me! You lied about Sundermount! You liar! Hypocrite! You no longer want me! I trusted to all you've said, but it was nothing but—" A knock on the door loud enough to be audible in all that high-pitched mewling and blaming interrupted her and Merrill threw herself on the bed in frustration.
"This conversation is far from over," Hawke finally got space to actually say something to her as he strode toward the door to open them.
"Hawke…" The visitor quietly addressed him when they stood face to face. "Troubles?" Fawn asked with a weak smile, glancing into the cabin before his gaze returned to the Champion.
"You can say that," Samael sighed and rubbed his eyes, stepping into the narrow corridor and closing the door behind his back.
"I won't keep you then. I wanted to give you this," Fawn handed over an envelope to Hawke who took it and looked at Mahariel with a question written all over his face. "You are to open it once you have Fereldan land beneath your feet again – not before."
"So," Samael's eyes kept flickering from Fawn's gaunt face to the envelope and back. "Is this a good-bye then?" For some reason, Hawke felt something was terribly wrong, but couldn't put his finger on it.
"You can say that," Fawn faintly nodded in agreement and he unwittingly used the same laconic words like Hawke before. Then he bowed his head with a subtle elegance and turned around to keep his promise and leave Hawke to his business.
"Fawn, wait, is everything… all right?" Hawke managed to catch his sleeve, now positively perplexed.
"Everything is the way it's meant to be," Fawn slowly replied as if replying to somewhat different question. "Good night," he gently squeezed Hawke's hand, his eyes lingering on Hawke's worried face as if he intended to say more, but decided not to. "Get some sleep, my friend," Fawn's whisper was barely audible as he freed himself from Samael's grip and walked away as if he was nothing but a shadow of the Hero of Fereldan.
Playing with the envelope in his hand and still musing over the visit that was just as unexpected as it was disturbing; Hawke returned to the cabin and thoughtlessly sat on the bed by Merrill who clearly decided to pout. When he realized she would not talk to him, he just grabbed a cloak and intended to cool his overloaded mind on upper decks, and at that point Merrill decided to look at him. It was a long hurt stare; the very same Hawke was afraid to see on her face ever since Sundermount.
"Merrill, you need to help me out here," he shook his head in unease, throwing the cloak back where he had taken it. "I don't know how to… treat you. How to talk to you. I look at you, I see your pain, I see it in your eyes. All those memories of everything that's happened between the time I brought you to the Kirkwall alienage and what's happened beneath Sundermount a few days back. With this said, I can nothing but wonder why are you still right here beside me." He faltered and threw his arms sideways. Not able to withstand looking at her any longer, he turned his back at her and slammed his hands hard into the dresser.
"Hawke, it's not like this," she peeped when she started to understand. She was aware of her own deep wounds that no healer could possibly ever mend, but in her selfish pain she overlooked his.
"Do you think I don't know?" he wouldn't let her elaborate on that thought. "Do you think I'm not aware of what nearly happened as we spoke here in this very place right after Sundermount?" he mirthlessly laughed and whirled around to face her. "One wry look at you, one badly chosen word, a mere hint that I no longer desire your company or that I may blame you a little for anything what's happened, and you'd be gone for good from my life at that precise moment along with our child. It was my last chance to repent and repent I did on my knees in front of you. What more do you want from me?" he howled in angst and sank his fingers into his already tousled hair.
"But that Templar at Sundermount—" she timidly raised an objection.
"That Templar at Sundermount should have been dying for seven weeks and not seven minutes for what he's done to you!" he all but screamed her silent, ripped the blade he'd been constantly wearing by his hip out of its sheathe and cut in halves the tall yellowish burning candles that were stuck in a candelabra. The candles remained just as they were for a fleeting moment, then they swayed and quietly thudded on the floor, sizzling and smoking as they went out one by one. A ringing silence then followed during which Hawke could hear his heartbeat thumping within his head. "I'm scaring you," Samael realized when he calmed down after his outburst and looked at Merrill who didn't dare move as she watched him with poorly hidden anxiety. "I apologize. That's the last thing I want."
Merrill seemed to have no answer for him as she gracefully climbed out of bed and approached him. She took her time, sauntering, looking about herself, until she reached him.
"What am I to do?" he whispered and closed his eyes when he felt her cold hand on his face. "Please tell me what I am to do now?" he searched her face, watching her as she returned his gaze in silence; waiting. He knew that look. He loved that look. He kissed her, slowly, tenderly, only too aware of her reaction that seemed rather... agressive. Even though he had made it perfectly clear it was entirely up to her how far this kiss would go, Hawke found himself lying on his back in bed with Merrill fiercely ripping the shirt off him and her own night gown off herself at the same time. "Wait, wait…" he breathed out between two deep kisses and gasped when he realized her lips found new source of entertainment on his neck; nibbling, licking and biting their way down. "What's this about?" he attempted to hold her away, but she wouldn't let him. Instead, she pulled down his breeches, let him slide right into her with one violent move, and only then she realized this was not the answer to her pain and humiliation. She covered her face, deeply ashamed, and rolled off of him, shivering since the unattended fireplace had died away, yet it was far more than chills in the air that gripped her tight.
Any bit of advice or help would be precious right now as Hawke gently pulled her hands away from her face, examining it for a while, and only then he rose from the bed and strolled toward the fireplace, crushing the candles beneath his boots. Confused by such unusual silence, she watched him as he revived the fire, waiting for questions that didn't come. Only when bright flames licked the logs and danced upon his bare skin did he return to bed and lay down on the back next to her, still without a word, and looking at the vaulted ceiling with his arms folded behind his head.
"Hawke…?" she briefly touched his torso, her finger following an old scar that ran along one of his ribs, when the silence prevailed.
"What is it you need me to do, Merrill?" he asked a calm question, turning his head to look at her.
"I need… I need you to help me… To forget," she incoherently tried to explain and anxiously watched whether her words would be heard and her needs understood.
"With my cock?" Samael attempted to put it into concrete terms and his eyebrow arched in irony. She reacted like a small animal would to a kick – she curled into herself and didn't reply to his boorish question. He watched her pouting with a broadening smile and only then he rolled her to her back, restraining her arms above her head and let his other hand draw tiny circles across her belly since the night gown was conveniently parted. Her chest started heaving and she whimpered when she attempted to free her hands and failed. Hawke's eyes looked black and his hair seemed crimson as the bright fire light was shining through them. "Will this help?" he whispered into her ear before he started pressing long lazy kisses along her jawline to tease her. He tasted her lips, then withdrew, brushed his lips against hers again, enjoying her straining against him, and only then he let her claim what was rightfully hers. Having her now beneath him, he brushed her hair tenderly off her face, searching for a signal that this was it; this was her desire, this was what she needed to bury the dreadful memories deep and never look at them again. At this point he decided to leave things solely in her initiative as he rolled on his back, so she could straddle him and do as she pleased. Their eyes were locked when he entered her again; slowly his hands came up to grasp her hips. Time lost its meaning and the fireplace was long cold when they found release in each other as they were slowly falling asleep in loose embrace.
"Stop fidgeting, damn it…" he murmured into her hair when the elf kept wriggling, finding the right position for sleeping.
She giggled and blurted out without thinking, "I love you!"
He quietly laughed since he recognized his Merrill once more and he looked into her eyes when he said, "You were nothing to me before you became everything. Now sleep. Go to sleep." He let his words dissolve in darkness and she would have done so if only a discrete triple knock didn't come.
"Who is it?" Hawke growled loud enough and soothingly stroked Merrill's back since she jerked and the sound had clearly frightened her.
"It's me, Leske, my lord. I'm terribly sorry about this late hour intrusion. I considered necessary to tell you we have reached the shores of Fereldan. It was as if the farts of all our stinking ancestors were propelling this damn cockleshell forward, let me tell you," he laughed with his typical crude humor. "We'll disembark in the early morning, Champion. My men and I are going to rest for remaining few hours. I suggest you do the same. Good night!" Since Leske was a man of foul words as much as of even fouler deeds, off he went immediately after he'd fulfilled his duties and looked satisfied with how smoothly the voyage had gone so far. Jarvia will be pleased.
"What ails you, ma vhenan?" Merrill asked a quiet question when Hawke sat up in the bed and kept staring at the door.
"Nothing," he absently reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "Just something Fawn said earlier…" he glanced at her and gave her a reassuring smile, seeing that his words had upset her. "Let's sleep," he decided and threw himself back between the sheets, fishing for the giggling elf who let herself to be found only all too easily. A few minutes later the whole ship seemed to be sound asleep.
oOo
When it was clear the sleep would evade him tonight, Zevran dragged himself out of bed and sat down on a low stool in front of a mirror with his knapsack he had brought along with him. He sat there just like he was; dressed into nothing but pliant leather breeches adorned with a crimson sash tightened around his waist and with his hair loose. To say that he was restless would be an understatement. He hadn't seen the Warden in last 30 hours, even though his meals were brought to him as usual – just by dwarves this time. He considered creeping out of the cabin and going after Fawn, but the risk of running into the Champion was high. Moreover, what would he say once he had the Warden in front of him? After all, the Crow was not the one who owed an answer to a crucial question ever since Fawn quite ingloriously decided to abandon their conversation. On the edge and clueless about what to do, perplexed by Fawn's behavior and tired of what his life had become, Zevran reached for his twin blades that were exquisite even when defeated, and a whetstone, as he desperately searched for anything to keep himself busy with and therefore sane.
In the beginning he had been glancing now and then into the mirror, studying his own haggard face, interrupting his work, but then the assassin within him won and the Crow started meticulously tending to his blades as they seemed to be his only friends now. Every time he closed his eyes he was seeing again and again that pale slender hand shyly touching his pendant after Fawn had healed his cracked ribs. Zevran had considered tearing the pendant off of his neck myriad times during past year and throwing it into some bottomless pit as if that would help in his plight. Consumed by the memories, Zevran's eyes shot open in surprise when he actually felt that pale slender hand on his skin, circling his shoulder in feather-like touch, creeping down across his chest, slowly crossing the bandages as the other hand slowly drew aside Zevran's blonde hair off his neck, traced the prominent curve of the collarbone and gently massaged the other shoulder. Zevran's golden eyes narrowed in involuntary pleasure and when he looked into the mirror again, he was able to make out Fawn's face emerging right next to his own in a dim light of live coals in a fireplace. The eyes met through the mirror, Fawn's white long fingers on Crow's dark skin looked almost spectral and Zevran was afraid the Warden would disappear the moment he dared turning around.
"Let's talk." Soft words merged with shadows around them as if they belonged there forever. Zevran felt a whiff of breath in his ear and all he could do; all he could have ever done, was to nod and agree with that voice of reason. As if hypnotized, he attempted to stand up; ready to do as the voice commanded him to, but Fawn's hand stopped him as the Hero of Fereldan nestled down on a wild boar's fur instead, facing the Crow with his legs crossed in front of him. Contemplating where to best start his narration, Fawn's eyebrows were knitting, but he found soon enough that pivotal moment to start with.
"As you know, I thought my life would end on the highest peak of Fort Drakon," he started when he made up his mind. "But when the deed of killing the archdemon was upon us, when the beast was wallowing in its own black blood oozing out of its fatal wounds, I didn't see the Blight ending. I didn't see how many lives would have been spared when I finally got to pierce the dragon's heart. I did not see nor did I care whether I would be glorified after I fulfilled my duty to the Wardens and gave myself to our cause. All I saw… All I saw in that freezing dreadful morning was you and all I was terrified of was losing you. I saw the same fear, same doubt in your eyes. Neither of us was ready to give up what we've found so unexpectedly in each other. But a selfless sacrifice was required of me, expected of me for the greater good, so the Fereldan would have both its king and queen after the Blight was over. I knew all this, yet one look at you at the top of Fort Drakon was enough excuse for me to force Alistair to honor the ancient Grey Warden rules that the eldest present Warden is to be the one to slay the archdemon. He didn't say a word. He just looked at me with those bright kind eyes of his that will haunt me for the rest of my life. And he went. He had lost Marric's blade sometimes in the middle of battle, so he just ripped the nearest iron sword out of some lesser darkspawn corpse, he started striding toward the dragon writhing in agonizing pain, then he started running and with all his might, all his resolve, he thrust the blade into the skull, piercing it through. The dragon let out a gut-wrenching roar before it turned inert. Each night I'm condemned to live through that single petrifying scene in my dreams. Each night I see Alistair, attempting to pull the sword out of the skull; sweat on his forehead, struggling, panting, praying, until the bright light coming from the dying Archdemon consumed him and his life essence along with him. Sometimes I hear the dragon calling me in my deams, hissing, speaking, demanding, and I wake up covered in cold sweat." Fawn's voice faded and his head bowed down in shame for his selfish choice.
"I found you kneeling and holding Alistair's still body in the middle of chaos," Zevran slowly picked up where the Hero of Fereldan left off. "The remaining darkspawn were scattered in no time after the dragon was slayed, and the dwarves were relentlessly hunting every last one of them through the burning Denerim. But I cared not."
"Yes, I remember you, carrying me back to Eamon's palace made of stone that remained intact as one of a few buildings in the city. I remember you telling me that everything would be all right. Then it all went black. Long I roamed through places darker than my soul, consumed by guilt, haunted by Alistair's sacrifice he had made in my stead."
"They told me the darkspawn taint within you is taking a hold of you, that you might not survive the night. Wynne was particularly honest about what would become of you if she was right. A ghoul, nothing but a shadow of your former self. Half-darkspawn, mindless pitiful creature worthy of nothing but a merciful dagger into the heart."
"Yes," Fawn gave the Crow a faint smile. "I think I remember you shouting something utmost indecent at Wynne. But I survived. We both did. The coronation of Anora was splendid, but then I made a cardinal mistake when I accepted her proposition to travel to Amaranthine and rebuild the Grey Wardens. That should never have come to pass." Mahariel then fell silent while Zevran impatiently awaited his next words for they were slowly getting to the part he craved to hear about the most. When Fawn remained silent, the Crow continued instead of him.
"But I went with you. I had sworn I'd follow you when your quest was over and I did," he reminded the Warden, clearly aggravated.
"That you did, Zevran," the Warden slowly confirmed and a sad smile settled on his face. "But as you know, there had been nothing but troubles in Amaranthine for us. I was the Hero, yes, but I was also an elf with painted face who brought yet another elf with painted face along with him, and no one seemed to be able to look past that. People soon feared me for some controversial rulings I've made, a conspiracy was brewing right under my nose to depose me, yet the nobles were untouchable unless they actually openly rose against me. So there I was, sitting in a throne room with my head in palms day after day; I had been seeing less and less of you and every our step was scrutinized and embellished. The more I pushed the Wardens to their former glory, the more I was defamed for my endeavor. The more I tried to remain close to you, the further away from me you seemed to be in your thoughts. I remember the day we had a fierce argument, again, and you told me in spite you were returning to Antiva and that I was a liar who tricked you to Amaranthine under empty promises."
"I shouldn't have said that," Zevran slowly shook his head, bowing it down in regret.
"Actually, you should have and you did," Fawn disagreed and this admission rendered the Crow speechless. "Nothing in Amaranthine was as we expected. Nothing was going the way we wanted. But at that time your words angered me beyond measure and you have planted a seed of doubt inside me," Fawn continued. "It was getting only worse and I persuaded myself I had to get out of there. There was a pile of reports on my desk describing what company you had been keeping, what harlots you'd been frequently seen with, and what you'd been doing when I was bound to my duties and had no time to see you. Blind with rage, sick with jealousy, I stole a few pouches of gold from the vault, planting numerous clever little hints indicating you were the thief. I finally found the courage to be once more the man I was born to be and when I left Amaranthine in early morning along with Occela, I felt reborn." Fawn became so consumed by the bitter-sweet memories that he failed to see the effect his words had on the Crow.
"So easy," Zevran whispered in disbelief. "It was so easy for you to leave me behind…! To frame me! To… I can't believe you!" he sprung up from his seat so fiercely that he managed to knock the stool over.
"It was anything but easy, Zevran!" Mahariel retorted and stood up as well. "I turned back several times, struggling to leave you as I intended, when I noticed the fire broke within the city walls. I saw the smoke climbing high into skies, though I had no clue what it meant. So onward I rode and did not dare looking back."
"You have no idea that I was searching for you that morning, do you?" Zevran quietly interrupted him, his widened eyes absently staring in front of him as if being entirely lost in the memory. "I wanted to talk you into leaving Amaranthine. I wanted to apologize. To say I was sorry for our many arguments, for harsh words I didn't mean, yet I said them in ire. For men I chose to fill my lonely nights with, but who could never satiate me. But you were gone by then. You were gone and they found me in your empty quarters. They blamed me for the theft, attacked me on sight even though I was not armed. They chased me like a rabid cur through the city. No one would help me. I set the fire, hoping it would distract the attention of the whole city that was hell-bent to capture me alive so they could break my bones on a wheel as a punishment for crimes I did not commit. And you were gone," he threw his arms sideways, insanely chuckling as if that was the best part. "You were simply… Gone," he repeated and his face convulsed into hateful grimace.
"And so you've started hounding me." It was a mere observation Fawn cautiously made as his eyes wandered several times to needle blades that innocently lay within Crow's reach.
"And so I've started hounding you," Zevran sternly confirmed, crushing the words between his set jaws. He sensed only all too well Fawn's rising disquiet that was confirmed when he noticed Fawn's eyes constantly flickering toward the freshly sharpened twin blades. Not reflecting this fact in any way, he let himself to be consumed by his feelings again. "Insane with pain, betrayed, I was convinced you set me up. I see I got that one right. I decided to find you and make you pay for your treachery, but not before I asked - why." With an imperceptible move, a cold blade suddenly chilled Fawn's fair skin on his neck, caressing it, as if an artist was sketching his future masterpiece.
"Go ahead," Fawn sized up the Crow with a scorching glare. "Do it. If you think this threat scares me still. I think we both know by now that this is nothing but an empty gesture from either of us. You know the truth now, Zevran. What are you going to do with it?" Fawn calmly asked a seemingly simple question that was in brazen contrast with the upset assassin who was uncontrollably shivering in feverish excitement. For so long… For so long he had been waiting for this moment. The moment of truth. He opened his mouth to… What exactly? Sentence the Warden to death? Gloat? Scream? Cry? Even though he knew the truth now, did it feel any different? If this was what he'd been chasing after during past year, then it didn't taste like victory at all. His eyes betrayed him as they showed the same intense pain he let resurface only when alone. "That's what I thought," Fawn snorted a mocking remark when the Crow nothing but stared at him at a loss. "Quick to draw your blades, but weak when it comes to the deed itself. Pathetic!"
"What did you say?" The golden eyes narrowed into sinister clefts and that alone should have been enough for the Warden to resort to wise silence.
"I say that you're pathetic!" Fawn repeated, only now much slower and louder, as if it was not him who had a blade at his throat and an unstable assassin obsessed with vendetta at the other end of it. "I say you're weak, feckless, and a hypocrite above all else!" Fawn insisted with cold serenity that pushed the Crow beyond the bearable point; but Fawn wasn't done quite yet. "Ever since you were a little boy, you willingly obeyed whoever held the whip above your head. Old hags in orphanage you spent your first years of life in. Crows who bought you at the market as a young scrawny lad showing certain talents valued in their ranks. Whores at the brothels who taught you how to perceive love and take pleasure whenever you can, with whoever you can. And then – then you had nothing better to do than stumbling in my way thank you very much and everyone wondered, me included, why I let you live and even let you join us, given the fact you were sent to assassinate the only Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar! But it was all the same to you, I suspect. Once again you had someone to tell you what to do and that was obviously all you needed," he mercilessly continued and felt the blade quivering on his skin, nicking it here and there as Zevran was no longer master of his own actions and senses.
"Stop that," he threatened with his eyes wide and wild. "Stop that at once or I shall forget who you are to me," he pleaded, desperately clinging to the blade as if that was the answer to everything.
"But once I left you; once I dared abandon the mighty Zevran Arainai of the infamous Antivan Crows, poor Zev remained all alone and clueless of what should he do next with his sorry self. Suddenly there was no one to hold his hand. No quest to be pursued. No companions to be followed and no leader to be worshipped. So do me the courtesy of at least admitting that all this witch hunt after my elusive shadow was nothing but your wounded pride and inability to live on your own! And not some pathetic attempt to settle petty grudges over who screwed with whom first!" Fawn's voice was gaining strength and last words he spluttered out in contempt, striking Zevran's hand to get the blade off his throat finally.
"Why do you care then? What am I to you if not a toy in your cruel hand?! Tell me that! TELL ME!"
Getting that anguish within him out all at once, Zevran took a swing at the Warden, too enraged to realize the blade was still firmly grasped in his hand. Fawn's long silver hair whirled through the air like snowstorm as the blade caught him across his cheek. He slowly straightened up again; cold, lofty, and impassive to this open attack, as he carefully brushed the disheveled hair off his face and lengthily neatened it. As soon as the damage the Crow had caused became visible, the blade inaudibly fell out of Crow's paralyzed hand. There was a long open slash across Fawn's fair skin that started at his cheekbone, cutting askew all the way down across his Vallaslin tattoos, and faded at his jawline. The cut started bleeding from several spots, oozing thin streams of blood that trickled down the pale skin.
In shock of what he had done and even more that no retaliation came so far, Zevran caught his own reflection in the looking glass. He caught sight of a man twisted by hatred, chased by the ghosts of past that were not asleep because he wouldn't let them. He saw a man consumed by his thirst for vengeance until the point where he lost any remaining connection to reality. Only now Zevran realized he no longer saw a Crow in the mirror – for the very first time in his life he didn't want to. His hands started uncontrollably shaking and he brought them up in front of his eyes in panic, rubbing the fingertips together as if he couldn't feel them. Pale steady fingers then enveloped those trembling dark ones, intertwining with them. Fawn had been calmly watching the metamorphosis the Crow had been going through and just as calmly he responded to Zevran's eyes that mirrored nothing but fear and mayhem.
"You were anything to me but a toy, Zevran. You can doubt my reasons to leave you behind in Amaranthine, you can doubt why I'd let you live after Loghain sent you after me, but don't you ever doubt that. Your life is now forfeited to me whether you like it or not and if you disagree, say it now." The Warden stood there, tall, distant again, as he authoritatively fixed his cold black eyes on Zevran's upset face.
"My life has been yours ever since we met," Zevran quietly responded, realizing that he'd achieved nothing; nothing at all, and Fawn was just as far from him as ever. "What would you have of me?" he mechanically asked with an expressionless face and anyone else would have shuddered at that deepest despair of a man who expected nothing from his life. Anyone else but Fawn.
"We are leaving. Now," Fawn heard himself saying before he actually thought it through. "Pack up our things, it should be very simple matter, since you've brought only a little with you and I even less than that. You will take a boat, make it to the shore and anchor it there, so the dwarves could retrieve it in the morning. You will take your right until you reach the first suitable cavern that lies deep within the cliffs, so the fire you kindle won't be visible outside. You will await my arrival there."
Staring at him in disbelief, Zevran thought he had heard wrong. He intended to brazenly laugh at that unbelievable arrogance, rage around to very explicitly show where Fawn could put his orders, but all he was able to do was to fetch his knapsack, sheathe his daggers, hesitantly retrieve Fawn's small valise from the corner and leave the cabin without a word as he was told to do.
Long Fawn sat in an armchair in the darkest corner, listening to the creaking sounds the ship was making as it gently swayed on the waves. He rummaged through every word he had exchanged with Zevran, twisting it, examining it, revealing obscured meaning of all that hidden behind the wall of pain Zevran had barricaded himself with. The hold Fawn had over Crow's life was now clear and absolute just as it was clear that his word was equal to a command Zevran was unable to ignore. Yes; there was no need to think over the next steps, as the next steps were emerging right in front of the Warden – just as lucid and bright as were the first sun beams struggling their way through low dark skies that threatened to pour down the cold heavy rain. Indistinct rustle and subtle noises were hearable within Mahariel's cabin for a while until a single loud sound resounded and then the deepest silence followed.
oOo
The morning dawned and the presage of coming winter was tangible within the crispy air. Merrill wasn't surprised when she woke up alone, but she indeed intended to find Hawke as soon as possible since she suspected he didn't sleep at all. She dressed up, raked fingers through the tangled nest of hair on her head and slipped out of her warm cabin, shivering as the temperature dramatically shifted as she climbed on upper decks. There were only two dwarves huddled by the helm, silent, disciplined and one of them glanced over his shoulder and gave her a subtle bow. Merrill tightened Hawke's cape she had borrowed around her body and then she spotted him. A lone figure standing like a statue at the utmost point of the prow, gazing forward as the Fereldan coastline was laid out right in front of him, shrouded in morning mist.
He smiled when he felt her small hands sneaking their way around his waist, but there were traces of pain in that smile as well. At last he had made it home, but at what cost? How many lay dead behind him? How many friends he had betrayed or thrown away when they served their purpose?
"Good morning, my pirate," she whispered and pressed against him, facing the land just as he was, even though she kept glancing up into his face. She'd never seen him as relaxed and composed as he was now when he had Fereldan literary within his arms' reach.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he replied with a chuckle as he pushed her in front of him, embracing her and crossing his arms over her chest.
"There's a light within you, ma vhenan. Are you happy?" she asked a simple question and perhaps for the first time in years Hawke had just as simple answer to it.
"Yes. Yes, I am. Very much," he laughed and it was just as carefree and beatific sound as it could ever get.
"But—" Merrill objected and turned around to face him.
"There's no but for us, Merrill. Not this time," he gently scattered her worries. "Unless you've changed your mind about us, of course." He cast his fiery eyes sidelong and the light within them waned.
"No, no, no, ma vhenan. I haven't and I won't. But where are we going? Where are we going to live? What are we going to do?" she pressed herself against him, but the fear of the future was leaving her already. During her speech, Hawke's lips curled into coy smile and that smile broadened into roguish grin until Merrill noticed it and fell silent with uncertain smile and head cocked in thought.
"Do you think I didn't consider the possibility that not everything would go as I wanted? Moreover, for many months I've been expecting to leave Kirkwall anyway and refuse the Viscount's crown. An agent bought an estate in my name long time ago in the West Hills and also a small house in Alamar. I was told it's a lovely quiet place on the coast with only a few old residents scattered around the country."
Having no real response to the thought of finally having a home; a place to put down the roots, a place where they could start anew, Merrill threw herself into Hawke's arms, weeping. And so they stood there at the utmost point of the prow – two people who belonged together and who believed in their future.
Malcolm found them like this, but he settled for merely observing the couple who were oblivious to anyone and anything in sight in their selfish happiness. The old mage sauntered around the decks for a while, and this short stroll reminded him why he hated ships with their eternal rocking and water splashing and wood creaking.
"Where is Fawn?" Samael suddenly mumbled in alarm and disengaged as his eyes started searching the decks that started crawling with the dwarves some time ago. "I better go check on him," he decided after a moment of hesitation and set off.
"I'm going with you!" Merrill quickly grasped on Hawke's hand and clutched it with both hers, scuttling by his side.
"Fawn?" Hawke asked through the closed door leading to Mahariel's cabin, and this time he didn't bother hiding disquiet within his words. Listening to the silence within, he barged in without a forewarning, frantically searching for someone who was no longer there until his eyes stopped at a bulk on the bed that was macabrely reminding of a human body neatly covered by a white sheet while a blade was jabbed askew into what was supposed to be the torso. Merrill pressed her both palms on the mouth as both of them obviously expected the worst. Watching the bed with narrowed eyes, Hawke cautiously approached it and yanked the sheet off the bed with one fluent move.
"Oh, Creators…!" was Merrill immediate reaction when the sheet uncovered nothing but more sheets and pillows and the longsword harmlessly dropped down on the furs. Samael noticed it only now – it was not some mere blade, a child's toy or work of lesser descendants of ancient masters who bent the steel to their will. It was the Blade of Brecilian Forrest. It was Fawn's blade and Hawke knew only all too well Fawn would have never parted with his companion.
"Samael…" she quietly addressed him with her hand placed on his shoulder as she was holding an envelope not alike to the one Hawke had received already from the Hero of Fereldan. "There's your name on it." Seeing that she was right, he tore the envelope apart and unfolded the smooth vellum covered with narrow elegant handwriting.
Dear Hawke and my lovely Merrill,
I gave you an envelope already, but apparently the paths our Creators tread through are indeed unfathomable. My original intentions have been marred to my luck or to my doom, but that remains to be seen.
I beg your forgiveness for my unannounced departure and I assure you I didn't plan on it nor did I predict it. I thought my time is up as I've been living on a borrowed time for many years anyway, but Creators decided otherwise. The person whom I suspected to claim my life is leaving with me instead. My dear Samael. You have spared life of this person when I begged you to. I do not regret it in the least and neither should you, my friend. I could write now that the bond between him and me you could never understand, but as it turns out, you actually could, for it is both beautiful and destructive and extraordinary bond not unlike to your bond to Merrill.
Hawke, you have been given Occela already, now please accept my Blade of the Brecilian forest. I believe our time together has reached its end and if I should imagine bearing it anyone else but myself, it would be you. I implore you; do not seek me out for I do not wish to be found.
Merrill, I considered you a sister my whole life whether you knew it or whether I deserved it. There were times when you were very close to my heart until I ruined your affection with presumption of doing you a favor when I tore you from the man you loved and forced the Keeper's staff into your hand. For that I deeply apologize and I wish time would give us reconciliation. Please take the emerald medallion of mine you have always admired and bear it with you. I kept it only because it has the same color as your eyes. Now it's yours.
As far as I'm concerned, the Hero of Fereldan died here in this very cabin, even though his name shall live forever even though I did not deserve that title and most certainly did not live up to it.
Please think of me well, my friends. You might be the only ones who will. I bless your bond and my only regret is that I won't see your child growing up.
Fawn
Hawke turned the vellum over as if he couldn't believe that this was it. Fawn had left. He glanced at Merrill and realized she was holding the emerald amulet in her trembling hands, shyly touching the big emerald that shone just as her eyes did. "Come," he reached for her and watched her as she attached the medallion around her neck in silence. "There is nothing left for us here." His eyes then examined the neat small cabin that bore no signs of its previous dwellers and Hawke took the shining longsword along with them.
Leske and his men turned out to be seasoned sea dogs as they managed to drop anchor at a convenient place where masses of dark water nibbled away the land and created a little harbor shielded from any prying eyes – all that in night darker than an ink puddle. They disembarked without procrastination and Hawke was pleasingly surprised to realize there was a flat wagon and a carriage waiting for them on the road since forethoughtful Leske had sent out a scout to the nearest village to arrange for transportation for the Champion and his small cohort.
"It's nothing ritzy, my lord, but I think it'll do," Leske scratched his head when he realized Hawke was observing in silence as the crates filled with his bloodied gold were being loaded on the wagon.
"It's perfect," Hawke concluded and patted the surprised dwarf on his back, "thank you." Yes; both wagon and carriage were quite old and made of plain wood, but it was also obvious that they were sturdy and, more importantly, completely inconspicuous and subtle which was exactly what Hawke needed. The horses seemed much older than Occela, but they were strong and reliable animals nevertheless.
"Champion, it's been my pleasure!" Leske grinned his toothy unsettling smile and his eyes one last time cunningly flashed toward the sealed crates as if he knew exactly what was hidden inside and were he not under direct orders from Jarvia, he would have gladly relieve Hawke of such burden no doubt.
"The pleasure's been certainly mine. Please give my warm regards and genuine thanks to your Mistress and tell her my thoughts are with her in that turmoil that seems to prevail in Orzammar." As polite and smooth as his words were, Leske caught those warning undertones nonetheless and realized Hawke had pretty much guessed that this could have ended in utterly different way than this friendly one; however fake and suger-coated it was.
Then finally the small motley group of travelers stood in a circle on the road, glancing at one another with uncertain smiles showing their thrill of the upcoming adventure. The Carta ship had left already, but not before Leske expressed countless times his admiration for the Champion of Kirkwall that was just as forced as this whole pleasure crew.
"So…" Malcolm assumed the role of a speaker as he was the oldest man in the group. "Where is that, you know, elf?" he shot a surprised question once he realized he hadn't seen Mahariel this morning and neither did he disembark along with the rest of them.
"I'm afraid he's set off to a journey where we cannot follow him," was all Samael had to diplomatically say and then he turned away from Malcolm who didn't seem mollified by the answer in the least. It was Merrill's hand on the old mage's shoulder that prevented him from prying. "Then… Where are you going?" Malcolm cautiously asked, not daring to ask whether they were all going together.
"Well, we're going that way," Hawke impishly pointed his finger right and felt the burden on his shoulders growing weaker and weaker. Once again Merrill glanced at him in surprise, attempting to comprehend his good mood bordering with elation. They were in the heart of the Highever and they needed to head west down the Imperial Highway until it would lead them to West Hill where new Hawke estate lie. "Shall we…?" Hawke offered an arm to Merrill with comic gallantry and blinked at her when he was seating her in the carriage. Maraas checked one last time upon the crates that were stacked up on the wagon and safely bound to it with thick ropes. No one would have guessed the plain crates were filled with gold and that was Hawke's intention indeed. "Father?" Samael strapped Occela's bridle toward the wagon and then glanced over his shoulder, realizing his father was loitering apart from the group, pushing small pebble left and right with his boot and downcast eyes. "Are you coming or what?" Samael quietly asked and their eyes met. It was a long telling gaze and more Malcolm would not dare dreaming of.
"I'm coming, I'm coming…" he grumbled, peeved just for the sake of appearance, and he pushed his son away from the coach box as Samael had clearly intended to take up the reins. "Gimme that before you drive that carriage off the cliff, lad. Go be with your woman or something," he muttered and Samael caught a broad grin on his face Malcolm was trying to hide in his beard. Not needing any more prodding, Samael jumped into the open carriage and comfortably settled down next to Merrill who had been unusually quiet until now.
"Ready?" she asked a seemingly relaxed question, but there was lots of uncertainty and fear hidden in it.
"Absolutely," he replied immediately, bringing her hand up to his lips, and his confidence became also her confidence.
"Then I'm not afraid of anything," she firmly stated and set her eyes on the road. He just faintly smiled about her courage that was proven many times over already. The irony of a situation that once again became his reality was bewildering. There he was, smuggled to Fereldan in the illegal Carta ship, and traveling incognito towards his new life with one orphaned Kossith, a capricious horse who looked as annoyed as ever being strapped to the wagon, and two apostates – one pregnant blood mage and an old seasoned mage scarred by many battles who decided to be a father to him at last.
If these were the cards life decided to endow him with, Samael Hawke was willing to take it and keep playing.