Eight days a week is not enough to show I care.
The manor was dark inside, which was unusual. Bodahn would have had a hearty fire going. Just as well, he thought, I'm sweating enough already. This is the day I tell her. Sebastian held himself back so that his footsteps would not fall so heavy on the stone floor. Today of all days he would have to tread carefully. At least they're not my greaves. Why didn't she have a rug down? No wonder she always looked cold. Her cheeks were always rosy, and when she didn't think anyone was watching, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. He wanted to do that for her, and keep her warm...
That very thought struck a new tinge of panic down his back, and he had half a mind to turn around and run. There was no one there to see him arrive, and there'd be no one to see him leave.
No. Courage, man.
In the eerie silence, he became incredibly aware of all the sounds he was making. When did he start swallowing so hard, so loudly, so often? And where was Sandal's usual laughter coming from the kitchen as he tried to steal cookies from Orana's pans?
When he reached the top of the stairs, Sebastian started a little to see the mabari sitting sentry in front of Leandra's door, his ears slumped back and was that crying? as it gazed at the cherry wood door. The archer froze, but it was still enough movement to register in the hound's peripheral vision. An ear twitched, and he turned his head to look at him, but instead of bounding up and barking as usual, Clegane simply whimpered and laid down on the floor.
What on earth?
A crash from Hawke's room startled him and he sprinted like a shot to her door.
"Hawke? Oh, Maker." His heart was racing as he barged in, and it felt like it dropped to his feet at the sight. A trail of two bracers, her jacket, a smashed lute and broken glass led to her curled up in the corner, with a bottle of wine in her lap. With his toes, he swept aside some of the glass and splinters to sit in front of her, carefully leaving enough room for her to dart off if she needed it.
He was about to venture forward and ask her when she finally raised her head a fraction of an inch and croaked. "Not today, Sebastian."
His breath hitched. "I'm sorry?"
"It's Lunesday."
"Well-"
She cut him off. "On Lunesdays, even after a nice long Andsday of services, you're just dragging your feet and pondering your Great Big Decision. Which is fine, I get it, but you know how I stand on that, hm?" A short smirk gave him hope that she wasn't completely mad. Yet. "Masdays you wonder aloud why the templars haven't tried searching the alienage and Darktown for blood mages and abominations." Ouch.
Her head drooped, as if it took genuine effort on her part to keep it up. And she could - if only to take a hearty swig from the bottle. Her nose scrunched up as she swallowed. Not wine. Sebastian reached out to take it from her, but she had a firm grip around its neck.
"Mercesday I'm particularly on edge because that's when Gamlen comes over for dinner and steals a few sovereigns from my desk, and then I have to deal also with you bringing all the copies of Anders' manifesto you could find in Hightown and the Chantry and lecture me about encouraging him before you throw them all into the fireplace. Juesdays, you sulk after having lost money to Isabela at Wicked Grace again, and then you worry about her because she reminds you of yourself when you were younger."
Whiskey, her breath told him, as it rushed out all at once in her ranting.
"Hawke-"
"Not bloody today, Sebastian. My mother died today. Come back Vendsday when you're all cheerful from working in that stuffy library."
His first thoughts were, Am I so terrible and predictable? But then her words sank in further, and explained the deafening silence, and the state she was in. All the breath rushed out of him at once, and for a moment in his head he was back in his cell, on his narrow cot, hands shaking with the missive from Starkhaven. She's lost so much, again. First Malcolm, Bethany, Carver, now her mother.
His mouth moved before he could think, and he regretted it as soon as he felt himself say it. "It's Samsday," he whispered, and then he covered his mouth. "Maker, I didn't mean to say that." He buried his face in his hands and listened to the spirits sloshing around in the bottle in front of him. When he looked up, she was done, and he decided to take a chance, and he reached for the bottle again.
She squinted at him, trying to count the days in her head. "Oh, balls. I was hoping for Lunesday. Marsday, maybe. Means I have a problem, don't it." Another swig. Sebastian's heart ached at the tears that shined on her face in the firelight, and his chest threatened to collapse under the weight of the pain. Before she realized it and could react, he had taken it from her. Just as she was about to protest, he tipped his head back and took a long, burning drink. Whiskey, but only by Corff's standards.
"I'm so sorry, Marian. Beyond words."
Slowly, Hawke shook her head and it rocked from where she was leaning against the wall. Then she finally met his gaze, and he hoped she could see that he meant it. After a spell, her eyes went to focus on a floorboard.
Slowly, Sebastian swept away more glass and wood to move beside her, offering the bottle, but instead she took his wrist and lifted it, settling into the crook of his arm. And he held her there, closing his eyes and listening to her sobs as she buried her face into his shirt, slowly stroking her arm and back. He swallowed hard to chase away the taste of the whiskey, and tried to tamp down the storm in his chest.
In the back of his mind, another day. Another day, I'll tell you I love you.
Thank you for reading; an edited version is here while I work on a, er, different version for AO3 under the same name. Hawke's rant is something I've had kicking around in my head for a while. I hope to have my other works revised and updated soon. -PHV