Here's tae the heath, the hill and the heather,
The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather.
Hawke smiled, but sighed through her teeth. "I don't see why I need more sheets. The ones I have are just fine." She stifled a yawn and wondered whose idea it was to hold this party so early in the morning, right after the Chantry's first services. But the showing of presents was a Starkhaven tradition, and she wanted to do things right by him.
Isabella was eyeing a young man across the room who was sitting patiently by his mother. "Oh, hush, kitten. You'll have a husband. And the things you'll be doing with your husband can get awfully dirty. Clean sheets are a necessity, my dear." She stirred the chunks of fruit in her chilled wine with her finger and closed her eyes as she suggestively licked her finger clean. The redheaded man gave her his full and undivided attention, and the pirate purred with delight.
A strong contralto voice chimed up behind them. "I should have given more thought into my present," the Guard Captain lamented. "If I had known that these were going to be presented in the traditional sense, I'd have done something more than armor polish." Aveline shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. But Helen was actually very grateful for her oldest friend's gift - it was a beautifully practical thing that both she and her betrothed would use well.
"What she should be doing, big girl, is polishing him off. Every night. In fine Orlesian silk sheets." Helen stifled a chuckle and slowly shook her head in amusement. She shouldn't have been surprised at how furious the pirate got when Sebastian proposed.
"You mean the world to me, Hawke. I couldn't have gotten through this time without you. Join me in the Chantry. Pledge yourself to the Maker! We can serve Him together with a chase marriage in His eyes."
His words hummed in her ears and her heart. "I would gladly swear my vows beside you."
"I'll speak to Her Grace about accepting you as a sister in faith. She'll recognize the purity of our love. I swear to you, nothing shall come between us."
"And that's the problem, isn't it? No one will come. That's about as sad as it gets." Helen had never heard Isabella so angry.
It took a long time for the two to even tolerate being in the same room together. And it took a very long time for Sebastian to acquiesce, and for a while Helen was ready to rip her hair out and scream in frustration. She cringed at the memory and shook her head again, remembering the arguments. There were a few times that she was so sure he would storm out and never return.
But there he was, on the other side of the large hall in her-their-estate. She thought that Sebastian would feel a little tense for being out of his armor, but the soft tunic he wore showed his strong shoulders in a relaxed slope as he smiled to himself, running his fingers through the furs of a gifted blanket. Shimmers of gold from the fire danced in his blue eyes as he looked up at her, and his smile widened, and Helen couldn't resist a shiver that sent the long braid of her black hair twirling.
In just a few days, all the years of waiting would come to an end.
Sebastian could kick himself every morning for the rest of his life. How could he have even dared to think that he could spend his days next to Hawke and never run his hands through her impossibly long hair, never kiss her?
When he looked up from the thick winter blankets and caught her gaze, he could feel his breath catch in his throat and the slow burn in his heart fan to a strong blaze. Once he finally accepted that it would always be there every time she so much as looked at him, Sebastian felt a world of torment lift from his shoulders.
Her dark hair would fan out behind her as he laid her down amongst the furs in front of the fire. She would be softer still, Helen's pale skin would burn him like the hottest flames as he touched her, kissed her, held her fast. He'd try to quench his thirst in her everburning heat and gladly die in the flames. 'An unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied.'
A strong clap onto his shoulder broke his reverie, and a dark hand absent of its usual clawed gauntlet offered him a cup of wine. Sebastian took it happily and drained it, letting the chilled drink and fruit cool him down. The elf quickly took the cup back and offered him another, but he decided to sip this one. He leaned against the wall and watched the string of nobles flutter around the tables. These were old friends of her mother, Helen had told him, and most of them were unbearably superficial. As much as she disliked the idea of hosting them, she endured, and he admired her for her polite manners even though none of them remembered Leandra until Helen returned from the Deep Roads with a sack full of sovereigns.
"I'm glad you came, Fenris. It's good to see a friendly face."
He could feel the elf's eyebrows furrow. "Is Hawke not enough?"
"No, is not what I meant." Sebastian noted that the nobles steered clear away from a table in the corner that hosted the quivers of arrows and a replica of the famed Starfang that the Hero of Ferelden had wielded. "With all these . . . people here, I'm sure I can speak for the both of us when I say that we're glad to see our friends here as well." A jolt of apprehension lifted Sebastian's back upright when he saw Anders come in.
Fenris grunted shortly in understanding. He must have also seen the mage. Together, they watched him slink through the room towards the other side and carefully place a bundle on a table before he straightened himself up and made his way towards Helen.
Sebastian had to remind himself that she still considered him a very close friend and that for all that he was, Anders was an exceptional healer that saved his life on quite a few occasions. And for all his protests, he was still a Gray Warden of incredible skill and power.
And on the day he proposed, after the Rivaini pirate exploded in the Chantry, Anders had been the voice of reason, much to his surprise.
They were in the Hanged Man. Sebastian kindly accepted Varric's offer of wine, and kept watering it down at the table, his eyes fixated on the cup. She was going to talk her out of it, that blighted pirate. He closed his eyes and prayed for Helen. "Guide her through the blackest nights, steel her heart against the temptations of the wicked-"
"Wouldn't that make you her warmest place? I thought she would be . . . wait, I don't want to know." Sebastian flinched at the sound of the abomination completing his sentences. Any Transfigurations from him sounded like blasphemy, especially with his wry grin.
"Our love is pure and will serve the Maker, Anders, not some dark passioned breath that that harlot pursues with a different man each night. I just don't want her to sully Hawke." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Varric slowly reach for a quill.
Anders sat down at the table and leaned forward, serious but eerily calm. "Helen is passion, Sebastian. There's a fire in her eyes when she fights for what she believes in. Just don't . . . don't quelch that. 'As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light.' That's in your own blighted words."
And he was right. For all her grace and poise, Helen Hawke was an everlasting flame, always moving and always burning, the braid of her hair whipping around her as she charged into battle. And he would be lying to himself and the Maker and His Bride if he said he didn't hold that same passion himself, long ago.
"Just . . . if you do love her, love her for all she is. Love her completely. Fire and all. It's torture otherwise." Anders got up and left for Darktown, and Sebastian stared intently into his watered wine for a moment.
Varric had told him once that many years ago, Helen found herself drawn to the mage, but he had pushed her away for fear of hurting her. Sebastian was sure that Anders still cared for her and that was why he was being so protective.
He remembered how she looked when her mother died. After Leandra's cremation, Sebastian offered her his arm to walk her home, and her gray eyes were lifeless, much like Meredith's Tranquil assistant Elsa, and he shuddered at the memory.
And so he decided that he would do his best to keep that fire alive. He would still serve the Maker and sing his praises, but he would also worship one of His finest creations as his wife and keep her fire burning bright.
Sebastian watched Anders bid her goodnight, embracing her tightly with one arm while the other held a large sack of bandages and potions she must have given him for his clinic. Helen smiled at something he told her, close to her ear, but it was nothing compared to the smile she gave her betrothed as she caught his gaze.
She was not smiling now. Her eyes were squinted shut in concentration, and sweat beaded her brow as she tensed, moaning nonsense. The air around her felt heavy and stale. Her lamentations fell on deaf ears and he would not relent for all her pleas, he was drunk on the power he held over her. She was sharp and tangy and drenched in sweat and arousal and he could not get enough of her, his tongue continuing to thrash against her sex as he sought out the fires within her to quench his own. Finally, she arched her back and thrust her breasts up in a heartfelt prayer, and she sang to his approval.
Just a few more days.