Tying Up Loose Ends
"Freedom and happiness are rights - we are all our own masters." After Isabela finally takes her ship, Hawke's disfavour is turned towards the slaver with the help of two interested parties. Sebastian x F!Hawke (One-Shot).
This fan fiction might contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. The bulk of this work takes place after the events of No Rest for the Wicked¸ in which Hawke reluctantly allows Isabela to hand over the slaver's documents in exchange for ownership of Castillon's ship. Of course, Sebastian and Fenris have something to say about it and a poor female mage Hawke can only agree with the object of her affection and her favourite elf.
Author: Illusionary Ennui
Disclaimer: If it's not in the Dragon Age games, codex entries, or the wiki, it's mine. All else, hail to Bioware.
Chapter Rating: M
Chapter Warnings: Angst, Blood, a little Bondage, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Attempted Rape, Romance, Violence, and NSFW sexual scenes...
Beta: Lywinis
Edited: 07.11.2012 - Miscellaneous patching and editing...
Tying Up Loose Ends
No mistaking it
Breath for breath and blood for blood
Give up thy pure heart
Mindful of the sun's harsh rays, Maria Hawke breathed out a sigh of sweet relief when she slipped into her estate, the cooler air a welcome change. Thane let out a happy bark, sharing his owner's relief, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. However, the respite ended as soon as she stepped past the threshold and her mabari sounded a low, warning growl.
Peridot and azure eyes bored into her, displeasure and righteous fury burning in their depths.
"Sebastian? Fenris?"
Both men continued to glare, their pacing abandoned for the goal before them.
"How could you let her do that?" Fenris demanded the truth through teeth gritted and his clawed-gauntlets clacking. Wrath bubbled beneath the surface, an old wound opened wide.
Head cocked to the side, she faced the resolute query with bewilderment and surprise. Even without understanding his forceful tone and unexpected arrival, the mage could not comprehend why both the broody elf AND the exiled prince paced her foyer.
"Maria." Sebastian Vael cut the warrior off before he could berate her again. Nevertheless, the heir of Starkhaven's brogue brimmed with a distaste reserved for something darker. "You should not have let Isabela use you like that and then allow her bargain with a known criminal using the lives of innocent people. That man should have been brought to justice for his sins against those poor souls and against the Maker."
"I-"
"You will help remedy this error, Hawke." Again, Fenris growled his desire, not allowing her the chance to argue with his narrowed eyes.
Both men's presence burned with vehemence and honest rage, each with their own adamant reasoning. Beneath the men's combined strength, she fell powerless under their whims. There would be no escape from it. She could never deny either of them: the lover she craved and the slave that she had saved and who in turn became her friend.
She sighed as her eyes closed in silent prayer and submission.
"As you wish."
The Hanged Man overflowed with such a raucous of laughter and cheap ale, a drunkard's paradise. Three separate games of diamondback threw up a cacophony of cheers and woeful cries of loss. Puffy-eyed waitresses banged tankards onto dirty tables while lowlife patrons begrudged their coin purses. Beyond the half-drunken centre of boisterous revelry, Maria watched her two companions, both deep in conversation with Varric Tethras. A corner of his mouth twitching, the silver-tongued dwarf eyed the men with obvious scrutiny and disbelief mixed with vague approval. Golden brows rose in veiled interest, and he leaned forward to wave a grubby bit of parchment before his companions.
"And here I thought we were done with that Antivan bastard," the dwarf said with a sarcastic air and his smile broadened. "But, that kind of scum doesn't last long with the right kind of enemies, do they?"
Fenris gave him no answer, instead plucking the information from the leather glove.
"You're especially broody, today, Elf." Varric made the off-handed comment with ease before he let out a heavy sigh. "Fine, fine. Take it. Just don't tell 'em where you found it."
With news of the slaver's whereabouts and movements in hand, the elf turned his back on the dwarf, his jaw set.
Their business done, Sebastian inclined his head in gratitude and then turned on his heel to join Maria, her arms folded across her chest while she stood back in perfect silence. The prince studied her face and observed the look of shame which marred her countenance. In hopes of placating the expression, he took up her hand to brush a chaste, chivalrous kiss to her knuckles, a solemn thing amidst the chaos. A rush of crimson rose to her cheeks while her frown deepened became his answer instead of calm.
"Maria? Are you all right?"
"I – it's nothing. I'm fine," she said, tensing as she attempted to dissuade further inquiry. "Let's go."
Baffled, Sebastian took a moment to compose himself. He kissed her hand once more before he lowered it in polite accord. Bowing to her with a gentleman's air, he gave her a charming smile and he gestured toward the door.
"Shall we?"
Her blush hidden, Hawke scooted past him, ever careful to avoid his gaze. Her shuffling steps seemed to pound on the wooden floor with each fall to resonant over ringing in her ears. Sebastian fell into stride behind, sure to keep a respectful distant between them. As she shook her head, her stomach twisted and flipped, her emotions a boiling pot of desire and confusion. Little did she know of the sapphire blue eyes that gazed at her back, curious but repentant as they drifted down towards the sway of her hips.
Flames wavered in the dark, misty morning, the dilapidated hearth painted a greasy black from years of use but now abandoned. The dock house, old and beyond repair, creaked with the wind which howled off the Waking Sea. There it mixed into the scent of brine with the stink of rotting wood through the uncovered window. Pitch and thatch littered the floor, more shaken loose from the ocean's blow. Dust left a blanket thicker than wool over the smashed and strewn relics of some unfortunate family, their lives lost during the Qunari uprising. All that remained of their passing were bits of broken pottery, rat-chewed cloth, and a single torn children's book - a pitiful sight, the memory of a troubling time.
On the floor before the hearth, Fenris and Maria stared into the fire, the flames crackling and smoking to an rhythm all its own. The petite mage leaned against the elven warrior as one hand stroked the great hound at her side. Alone, the hiss and pop of burning kindling, collected from a broken chair, sounded beneath their awkward conversation.
"- There has to be more to it than that, Fenris." Maria argued her point, unrelenting as she ran a hand before the warmth. It was an old disagreement, but nevertheless she ducked her head to hide her blush.
"And why not?" the warrior said with a shrug of feigned annoyance. "With Isabela, sex is sex. There's no meaning behind it other than release and mutual pleasure. For all her faults, I respect her and I will take her company in whatever form she offers it. Now that Danarius is gone, I am a free man - I'd be a fool to take that for granted. For that alone, I cannot thank you enough."
"You're more than welcome, my friend," she said as she offered him a faint, forced smile.
His gaze, curious yet intent, fixed her with concern when he detected a hint of sadness beneath the quiet voice.
"Something yet troubles you, Hawke. Tell me."
"I just don't understand it." She mumbled the truth in defeat and wrapped her arms around her knees. The sigh that followed hung in the air and the redness of her cheeks glowed in the firelight. She closed her eyes, her thoughts veiled from the former slave. In habit, her fingers touched the thin tip of the scar which ran down her throat to disappear beneath her collar where the silvery line marked her from neck to hip down her side. "I don't think I have it in me to have just one night... besides, I doubt that it's ever that simple."
Lashing winds covered Sebastian's re-entry, the rickety door's rusted squeak drowned by the whistling roar. Rain scented the air – he prayed that the sheeting torrent churned the dirt paths into mud, nature's cure to bury his tracks. Once inside, he frowned when his cloak dragged in the dust on the floor and he missed the comfort of his armour, its weight forgone for stealth.
Varric's information had proved most helpful with its detail of the receipts from the slaver's dealings with a suspicious captain from the Antivan merchant marine. Thirty-six unidentified items of stock marked them and Fenris assured the prince that they could only be potential slaves for market. There they waited, stowed deep in the hold of the ship. According to the research, Castillon planned to inspect his newly acquired goods before he boarded another ship - the slaves in tow - before he set sail for Tevinter, his final call of port. Sebastian ground his teeth in rage, the mere thought of trafficking human beings an affront to the Maker's gift of freedom for every man, woman, and child.
The heavy cloak unclasped, he unwound himself from the woollen mass. Upon picking up on the conversation in the room beyond the pitiful foyer, he paused, the cloak half-folded over his arm.
" - Sex isn't as complicated as love - removing the emotion, it's no more..."
Fenris spoke with mild amusement, involved in some risqué retelling of his exploits with their Rivaini companion, Sebastian expected. The man shook his head and breathed deep of the brewing storm air that had followed him into the tumbledown dock house.
Yet the longer he stood in the shadows, the more he grew hot and bothered. Unseen, his ears went pink and his chest tightened. Sebastian, the guilt of his action ignored, hugged the wall outside the doorway, wary to conceal his arrival and presence. He worried his lip between his teeth, his hands clenched at his sides as the conversation turned to reveal truths to which he had refused and chosen to be blind.
"Hawke, sex isn't as complicated as love - removing the emotion, it's no more than a simple act of flesh. Nothing but raw instinct and need." Fenris explained his reasoning in an unaffected tone, almost casual in contemplation before he raised a black brow and a small chuckle bubbled in his throat. "However, I'm certain that you have something else on your mind. Have you never enjoyed someone's company for the sake of their company?"
Long, rich russet tresses fell over her eyes as she buried her scarlet-washed face in her forearms. Her hooded gaze returned to the snapping flames, taken aback by the perceptiveness of the elf's speech. Her mind, restless and unchecked, flitted through some many thoughts, each lonelier and more pathetic than the last. Coupled with the deepened flush, she fought against the notion that she might well burst into flames and become one with the blaze. Even so, she froze in fear when cold steel touched her forehead to brush a lock of hair from her eyes and tuck it behind her ear.
"I've told you of my past, Fenris. My life has been a firestorm, a deadly game of running and hiding." Maria's words muffled into her sleeve and she huddled further into the sanctuary of her cloak. "My father always said that love was worth waiting for, that one night is never enough... The timing just never seemed right, but it's not just that now..."
She shivered in the cool morning and tightened the wool robe about her form. Fenris remained silent as he waited for her to continue, his respect for this one mage - his only true friend – more than enough to give him reason to lend a sympathetic ear. He knew that if he prodded enough, he might very well lance that emotional wound that festered beneath the veneer of the Champion. The misery she endeavoured to mask did not fool him, a relative master of the art himself. Their companions may have said they had seen it, but the warrior needed to hear the confession from her lips. This was not just for his ears, but for those of the man who had thought to conceal himself just beyond the doorway. Something hid inside those dark eyes, a dam about to burst. When it gave way, it all came to light, a surge of unfiltered thoughts tinged with rampant emotion.
"I don't just want one night – I want a life, the promise of a family. For once, I want to be selfish and stop running, Fenris. But I'm an apostate, scarred and spoiled, and he's a prince beholden to the Chantry - no matter how much I think I love him, no matter how much I care, I can't see reason. I may as well accept this path alone. Broken vows aside, how could he, or anyone for that matter, ever want -"
She clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized without pause that she had said too much, the words pouring forth in a fit of melancholy anxiety. Ashamed, her gaze fell on the gold-trimmed white steel laid out on the nearby table and she bit her lip. She had never spoken to anyone before about her infatuation with the prince of Starkhaven. No, infatuation was not quite correct - it was more than admiration and not quite obsession... Perhaps she did love him. She adored his smile, the way his eyes shone in contentment. She respected his dedication, his faith and she loved the way he spoke, truthful and strong. Even when she made decisions or gave him answers that he himself failed to consider, she loved the way he accepted her as she was. Every moment she spent with him made her heart flutter. Yet, she bottled every sensation to bury them away - despite the truth that she would give him everything, she would not taint him. Bound to the Chantry, he could no more love her than she could love another.
At the same time, she never forgot the mark her past left behind.
Maria gnashed her teeth in memory and Fenris nodded his head in understanding. They had once shared stories as friends are known to do, exchanging dark secrets over spiced wine. One night in particular left him speechless, the night where he learned the terrible truth behind that ugly scar. Not long after her father's passing, the scar hailed as a parting gift from an overzealous templar who had tried to take from her what he desired from her sister. In the girl's folly, the templar found them. Skills learned from their father ensured Bethany's escape, but left her bereft of hope for her own safety. Captured, the templar made to take from her what he desired from her sister, choosing between them with a covetous eye. Though she would have submitted willingly to save her sister, disgusted with herself afterwards, the man instead abused his position and power. Drunk on the prospect, he drained her of her magic to leave her helpless for his pleasures. Before he could truly damage her beyond redemption, however, her fear and fury gave her the strength to break free as he made to destroy that last shred of sanity. She paid for her freedom in blood - his knife scored the jagged wounds that now scarred her. Blinded by pain, she returned the favour by taking his life, removed him from the world to never harm another mage again. Although the mark of her maidenhood may no longer be intact, she was untried. That memory still inflamed, the thought that anyone would want to claim her after that felt like an icy dagger lodged in her heart. Its imagined blade cut her again and again with every quickened beat for the man she could never have. Doubt yet lingered, but even so Fenris has chided her then for even thinking that giving in would have better - she would have been no better than a slave and she was no one's slave.
"That templar may have stripped you of something precious, but there's more to a woman than her virtue and beauty, Hawke. You think too little of yourself." Fenris offered her a rare kindness to soothe old wound before he stood to rest a gentle hand on her shoulder. It wasn't much, but it was enough. "Perhaps more than most, you deserve happiness - you both are more alike than you realize."
No more words left unspoken, the warrior left her alone in front of the dim fire, the soft sounds of her quiet tears piercing his heart. As he walked, Fenris gritted his teeth again, dust kicked up with his passing. His ears pricked when he stepped through the archway and he resisted the urge to round on the man who tried to hide himself in shame.
Sebastian panicked as the elf's light footsteps resounded closer and closer. With nowhere to run, he steeled himself against Fenris's shrewd glare. The warrior was a perceptive one; the sureness of his strides and a steady cadence of his leather creaking as he moved belied the prince's assurance that he had kept himself unknown.
"I'm not blind, Sebastian. I see the way you look at her. Now, see for yourself the result of your obstinate idiocy." Fenris spat the truth at him, the man caught red-handed. With the elf's disdain, the lyrium brands ignited briefly as one clawed-gauntlet reached for the door. "She deserves better, but she has apparently settled her heart and I shall not see it broken again."
Green eyes, livid and burdened by knowledge, narrowed on the prince, his mouth a thin line. Determined to see the task to its end, Fenris furnished Sebastian with dark threats, teetering on the edge of a fury born of the need to protect someone dear to him; Hawke had done so much for him, the least he could do was help her find some shred of happiness.
"I won't argue that you're a good man, Your Highness, but you can be better. Vows or no, no man should ever deny that woman anything and you WILL NOT deny her."
A sharp, feminine gasp did not go unnoticed by either man, but neither acted on it at first.
"Go to her." His companion growled, its pitch so low that it took Sebastian a moment to comprehend its urgency. Without another word, Fenris disappeared out into the red-painted dawn to wander into the docks with the silent hope as he left the prince to make amends.
Abandoned, Sebastian sucked in a shuddering breath, his head hung in shame - there was no doubt in his mind that Maria had heard Fenris's tirade no less than he while at its centre. He heard frantic scrambling from within over the dying wind, the house beginning to settle in its moorings once more. A sudden sensation of dread overcame him.
Inside his own mind, he picked over her confession. Through her innocence, she spoke her mind - it was more than infatuation. In truth, he himself attempted every day to deny his attraction to the Champion, a mage and an apostate at that, as he clung to the remembered vows and teachings he once railed against with contempt. At once, he recalled the gruesome tasks she performed for the throne he meant to regain, remembered the wounds that she had healed and the scars that she bore for his sake. His thoughts then wandered over their late-night discussions, the long and delightful hours he spent in her company outside the realm of status, position, or creed. He smiled at the little things he had watched her do: reading lessons with Fenris, collecting herbs for Lady Elegant, or giving a silver to some poor starving soul. But for him, she was different – softer, kinder, withdrawn after the loss of so much - first her father, her sister not long after and then followed by their mother. Even now her brother was beyond her reach.
Though she must have grown so lonely, she gave him everything.
No, he agreed. It was never infatuation. Every lingering touch, even in memory, stirred something within him that he had thought he kept locked away. That wanton ache for this one woman returned to spur more devious contemplation. In light of it, he allowed himself to indulge in sinful fantasy for only an idyllic moment.
What would it be like to kiss those lips that tempted and teased, even in innocence?
Imagining a future with her proved effortless and he revelled in the daydream of her lost in his embrace: they strolled together, their fingers laced, through the gardens of the Starkhaven keep where their children beamed up at him along the path. Yet, the thought and its building elation vanished. All at once, he realized that losing her, to be deprived of her compassion and of her warmth, would cripple him. So accustomed, so ingrained in his life, a life without her tasted like bitter ashes.
So, she believed herself unworthy? That alone strengthened his resolve and his measured, cautious steps carried him into the drafty room beyond. Inside, Maria welcomed him with fear in her dark eyes and shied away.
"Oh, Sebastian..." She cried out, frustrated and embarrassed, but still she pulled back and bit her lip until it bled. Caught unawares, she was not ready to face him. Far from it. "I- I am so, so sorry. Fenris had no right, he -"
Sebastian crossed the breadth of the small quarters, his long legs taking but a few steps before he snatched up a shaking hand. Silenced, she stared at him with watery eyes. Kissing the fingers, he summoned a charming smile for her to try and dissuade the light of despair. It worked, her trembling eased until one hand slid to her cheek while the other enveloped her hand and pressed it to his chest. His thumb then rubbed away a tear as he cupped her face with odd tenderness.
"Maria..."
The words wedged in his throat when he began, each weighted by more than apprehension. So close, yet bridled. To disguise the struggle, he leaned forward to place a kiss to her brow, the skin hot beneath his lips. Her reaction, unmasked, drove him onward into the fray.
"When this mess is behind us... tonight... I think we -"
He stopped again when the words stuck again to his tongue and he instead melted into silence. Fallen to stillness, he felt her tentative touch stroke his cheek. A smile full of sorrow marred her countenance, tear-streaked and raw, and he struggled to resist the urge to kiss it away. In that expression, he read all the pain and all the joy he brought to her - she would wait for him, even if it meant a lonesome life, one of emptiness.
Repentant, he brushed his thumb along her jaw to tilt her head. Her mouth twitched in response and he moved to kiss her lips, quivering in the light, his own protests ignored. Yet, her fingers pressed to his mouth to halt him.
"I don't want this unless you truly wish it, Sebastian. Do not placate me out of obligation or guilt," she said, her fear bit back with the promise of rejection. This was not some maiden's crush - she would not have her heart broken by his regret. The price of his dignity wrought by her folly heaped too high for her conscience.
"We've spent enough time together to go beyond this strained friendship, 'Ria." He assured her with words, the only answer he could manage. With her hand brought to his lips, he hoped in absentmindedness that his private name for her dissuaded the look of fret in her eyes. Indomitable as he masked the hurt in his own voice, he marshalled his wits to temper her worry. "If you desire, I shall think on your words but you must promise me that you'll give me the chance to make up my own mind."
"That's all I can ask of you. For now, let's get some sleep." It was a coward's answer that she proffered. All of her power she spent in an effort to steer him away from anything more lest she dissolve into tears. "We'll need our rest. Tonight may be a bit of a challenge."
The finality burned him even as her gentle touch soothed his trouble mind. In assent, he kissed her hand once more and then led her to their makeshift sleeping pallet, nothing more than a mass of haphazard blankets and cushions piled in the corner. As he pulled her down next to him, Sebastian drew their cloaks over their huddled forms and settled down among the thick folds of wool. Despite the gesture, she hesitated in his lax embrace, reluctant to share his warmth. He held her tighter in a possessive effort to give her some comfort, some sign of his approval. By minute degrees, she curled up at his side until her head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder. However, he was fast asleep by the time she relaxed, lulled into slumber by her presence in his arms.
Tonight would change everything...
Over the steady crash of the waves below, Fenris heard Sebastian's yawning when the archer awoke just ahead of nightfall, sunset's lasting glare reflecting off the rolling waves of the Waking Sea. Gold, purple, and bright crimson rippled across the water, the Maker's beauty riding the crests. His snow white hair blew in the salty breeze while he admired the sight from where he perched on the windowsill.
"It's almost time," Fenris murmured, careful to keep his voice low.
The prince brushed away a stray lock of hair which fanned over the face of the mage wrapped in his arms, lost to the Fade as she slept. There, he studied her to notice the dark circles beneath her eyes and that her waist seemed slimmer, an unhealthy loss in the wake of the troubling times. Sebastian pressed a kiss to her forehead and made to disengage himself from their sleeping arrangement. Thane, Maria's mabari who had curled up at their feet sometime during their rest, snuffled and pawed at the air when Sebastian pulled his feet from beneath the beast. After a few seconds, Thane settled down and Sebastian left the woman beside him to continue her needed respite. As an afterthought, he paused to tuck the cloaks about her small frame and left her to her dreams.
His shoulders squared and his mind afire, he sought out the one man who might ease the strain for knowledge.
"You need to tell me everything, Fenris." Sebastian pleaded for truth from the warrior when he joined Fenris in the column of light that streamed through the open window. "I need to know."
Both glanced back at the broken woman buried beneath the woollen cloth, each taken in by her for different reasons and desires. So solemn, so fragile within, the need to protect yet reigned despite her power.
"I'll tell you as long as you listen and hold your judgements, Your Highness. She's been through enough and I will not see her like this should you continue this farce."
Too involved to turn away, Sebastian nodded his assent and stayed his tongue. Anger built within him as Fenris gave him more than he bargained for, secrets buried for her sake unearthed. He seethed through pursed lips for realizing the fool he had been. With each word, he grew more and more determined to remedy his gravest mistake.
But that would have to wait for another time...
Four mismatched shapes crept through the night, black shadows among shadows and waning moonlight. Three fluttered with the soft snap of cloaks in the wind, the smallest of them protected between the larger with the fourth's paws nigh unheard as he guard their rear. Together, they shuffled along the dirt streets. Not far ahead, their goal lay towards an unassuming warehouse on the quay. Beside it, moored to the dock at hand, rode the Antivan merchant's ship, its lights doused save one. Darkness shielded them, hiding them from the few mercenaries that guarded the shabby establishment.
Two fell to a sickening crack of the neck, their screams stifled by a clawed gauntlet flashing in the moonlight. Three more slumped forward, their assassin unseen. Each sunk first to their knees before they collapsed, gurgling around the arrows which sprouted from their throats. The last man, however, had not moved in minutes, his whole being encased in conjured ice from the ocean's waters, frozen in death like a macabre sculpture.
A taste of misfortunate then punctured their task when a seventh guard approached. The mabari's merciless bite failed to cover his indignant cry - it roused the men, formerly asleep on their watch, to arms.
More soon joined the commotion, their master among them and shouting orders over their heads.
Howling in anticipation, Thane jumped on the closest man and bore down to tear at his throat. Great paws crushed the guardsman's chest with wet crunch and the mabari soon left the half-dead body to attack another who dared point a blade at him. His deep snarls followed him into the lantern-lit rooms beyond as he paved the way for his mistress and her companions.
Once inside, cloaks flew off tensed shoulders to free weapons and deadly talents.
Their element of surprise gone, Maria gathered a spell of force to drive back the oncoming swarm, intending to give her companions time to prepare. Two more crashed to the ground, their spines snapping in half as they slammed against the warehouse's columns. Still, they came, some merely disoriented by the blow. Casting out a wave of ice shards, pulled into being by drawing heat from the moisture in the air, she managed to snare some of their quarry where they waited for their end by her companion's talents. Her staff doubling as a weapon, she pressed her back to her other ranged support, protected his back with quick swings as she readied a quick spell of healing in reserve.
Beside her, using arrows of Antivan-make obtained through Varric's contacts for confusion of any who might pry, Sebastian shot one after another. All the while, he cursed their inferior craftsmanship as they veered a degree from their marks. Nevertheless, each shaft punched through the men's light armour and leathers - his skill as a master archer compensated for the errors of their make.
One act blurred into another. Sebastian cracked a clever dagger-wielder upside the head with his bow in a single movement before he swept up to nock another arrow, the fletching ghosting across his mouth and cheek when he drew back on the taut string. His grandfather's bow sang with power, the cord snapping to force back another assailant and send him smashing into his fellows.
Not far off from the pair, weaving among the remaining men, Fenris cleaved through mercenaries and slavers alike. The elven warrior gutted and tore many asunder with each massive cut, a brilliant star cutting through the darkness. For every man frozen mid-step, a shattered mess of gore remained in his wake, blood oozing from the pieces. The elf's wrath drove him through the fray - his disdain burned as bright as the lyrium branded into his flesh. Peridot eyes full of hate never left the rogue who barked commands from the level above and Fenris fought almost blind with rage. Wading through the carnage of his own making to abandon the battle below, Fenris leapt up a flight of steps and rushed towards the Antivan slaver. His steel-sheathed hand closed around the bastard's throat and Fenris shoved him back into the wall.
"Prepared to die, slaver?"
Fenris snarled his query as a single-mindedness clouded his senses. A credit to his class, Castillon caught him off-guard with hissing chuckle which rumbled beneath the elf's fingers. The rogue then lifted a hand to point down into the battle he had left behind. The clash of steel did not hide the clattering of Malcolm Hawke's staff upon the ground.
"Sebastian!"
Over the din, Fenris roared in fear, distracted just enough to allow his grip to weaken on the slaver's windpipe.
On command, Sebastian whirled around to find Maria struggling in the grasp of a large, armoured soldier, a knife pressed to her throat. She fought against the strong arm which locked her against the dented breastplate. How had he caught the Champion so readily? Time soon reveal the truth as around her the distinct tang of lyrium tainted the air where emanated from the towering and sneering warrior - a templar! Without the magic now blocked by the man's particular skills, she would not be much assistance to her companions, held as she was by the renegade.
Above them, Castillion moved to take advantage of the diversion and drew back a fist. Unaware, it sent Fenris smashing through the railing. The elf crumpled on the ground of the lower level in shower of splintered wood.
"Help him!"
Maria's clarion call shrieked carried over the battlefield, appalled to watch a number of unscathed and wounded mercenaries and slavers move to surround the fallen warrior. The templar pressed the dagger's point harder into her skin. New pain prompted her to cease her thrashing about even while she let out a strangled sob, helpless.
Circled around her companions, the gathered force caused a shock of fear to strike her chest, her breaths rigid. Sebastian hauled Fenris up by the arm and supported him beneath the bloodied, lanky length. He held his stance as he scanned the hostiles arrayed against him, the numbers proving too great.
"Don't want your little mage scratched, do you?" Castillon gloated as he rubbed at his throat, a proud man to the end. "You're outnumbered, little boys. Now, why don't you drop that bow?"
With a quick glance at Maria, Sebastian saw her eyes plead for him to run. Instead, however, he shook his head and let his grandfather's heirloom tumble from his fingers. Fenris groaned in protest, but his sword lay beyond his reach and his head spun from the overpowered blow – his part in this was done for the moment.
"Good. The Tevinter magisters will be rather pleased with this magical beauty, no? Not too hard on the eyes; could be worse. Besides, the magisters treasure power over all, do they not? But don't worry, my friends – my associate will take good care of her once you're gone. I'll admit that the man does have expensive tastes, but every man has his price."
The templar sneered and an armoured hand squeezed Maria's breast through the thick leather of her jerkin. A flash of memory spurred her into action. Quickened by dread, she raised her own clawed gauntlet to scratch at her captor's square-jawed face. Behind them, Thane broke the stillness and sank his fangs into the templar's unprotected thigh to aid his mistress, ignoring the cuisse to lock onto the muscles at the back. Howling in pain, the warrior dropped her, but not without scoring a delicate line across her throat with the dagger's edge.
Incensed by the loss of his prize, Castillon jumped down from his perch and threw a wicked knife to impede her escape, a streak of silver in the gloom. She screamed as the blade sliced into the outside of her thigh where it tore through leather and flesh. Ripped into the muscle beneath, it caused her to fall to her knees. Recovered in the small space of time, the templar kicked at Thane to knock the mabari outside the realm of combat, and grabbed her hair, once more assertive of his control.
So filled with vehemence, her companions drew upon her pain. Adrenaline fuelled them. With naught but their bare hands, Sebastian and Fenris levelled the field. Their frenzy of fists and sweeping kicks brought down each man thrown against them. Sebastian dislocated one man's jaw, rolled his shoulder with another mercenary's wild cross-cut with grace. At his side, Fenris released the power of his hated markings to spear his hands into whoever met his touch and ripped into vitals which splattered him with more blood.
As Sebastian reached for his bow, a knife whistled towards him. In his haste, he underestimated Castillon's aim. His dodge failed to save him from injury and the blade sliced across his nose. Biting his tongue in pain, he channelled his wrath into his marksmanship. In rapid succession, he pinned the slaver to the wall behind him. Four arrows flew at a blurring speed. Each smacked with a loud, wet thunk into the warped wood, one to each shoulder and each thigh.
Behind him, Fenris dispatched the remainder alone before dragging himself over to Castillon. He appeared almost feral beneath the amalgam of blood and torn flesh. The elf raised his hand even as he staggered on his feet with his fist aglow with blue light of lyrium. Nevertheless, Sebastian caught his arm before he could end the slaver's miserable life.
"Leave him - he's not going anywhere."
More enraged than any demon, the prince snarled his command as he wiped at the blood which dripped down his face. With his wound stinging like the Void, Sebastian stormed off deeper into the stronghold. Searching for that which had been taken from him, he vowed to the Maker and Andraste that the templar would pay for what he had done.
Castillion's compatriot slung Maria over his shoulder with little care and carted her off from the clash of flesh, muscle, and steel. She screeched when he dug his fingers into her wounded thigh to give her more pain until she felt the blood flow trickle down her leg unhindered. Weakened even further, she fought the dizziness which circled and she screwed her courage for any moment of opportunity. Misfortune favoured her instead and her path went abandoned when the sight before her destroyed every thought of escape.
"Dear Maker!"
Her dark gaze widened and she stilled.
Their eyes hollow and their bodies thin, Castillon's stock stared at her from behind iron bars. Children snuffled, bright eyes full of hope only to see the light die. Tears streaked through the grime, their faces beholding with mixture of defeat and hopelessness. Blood and mud patterned with holes marred their ratty clothes, broken souls, one and all.
A sudden taste of anger spread across her countenance and she wrenched her arm out of the templar's grasp to make a hysterical move for the cages. It was a mad idea, she realized. Steel dug into her arm, pulled her away, and dashed her spirits. Petrified, Maria tried to swipe at this face once more, the first wounds still oozing and raw, out of spite.
"That'll be enough of that, lass," he said with growl as he caught her flailing fist. "Yer nothin' without yer magic."
Twisting her arm, he tried to pin it against her back. Maria hissed but she fought him and threw a punch with her weak arm. Tired of her antics, the templar howled again and backhanded the mage to send her flying into the cages. She crumpled on the bars, her head cracked on the corner on the joining walls where the iron edge sliced up into her scalp. Darkness threatened to overtake her once more as the templar sneered and leaned down to clap her wrists in rune-etched manacles designed to bind her magic. Its effect immediate, he let out a deep chuckle when she no longer resisted. Emptied of will and magic, she slipped into unconsciousness, unaware while his hands began to work the buckles of her mantle.
Nails dug into his palms, his bow gripped with every ounce of his wrath. Tense fingers held an arrow notched at the ready. Fenris kept close on his heels alongside Thane, the mabari limping along as he growled.
Both men raised their weapons when they found the templar where he stood over Maria, her mantle open and more blood staining her torn garments.
"Step away from her!"
"Sebastian."
"I said get away!"
Sebastian roared again and pulled his bowstring tighter in anticipation, his mind afire.
"Stand down, man."
Fenris's warning sounded hollow, unearthly over the din of blood thundering in Sebastian's ears. Cautious, Fenris placed an assertive hand on the prince's arm and broke through the haze. Together, they watched the templar begin to sway and then keel over without so much as a breath of wind. Sebastian's eyes narrowed on the bolt which protruded out from the base of the man's skull, its fletching familiar. Sebastian and Fenris turned when they heard the dwarf's crossbow clanking as he put it away.
"Couldn't let you have all the fun." With a forced laugh, Varric called out to them from his hiding place before he stepped out into the torchlight. "Besides, Bianca was getting a little lonely."
Unheeding of their companion, Sebastian's bow clattered onto the ground when he rushed to Maria's side. The pieces of her vambrace which littered the floor around her kicked aside, he fell to his knees and gathered her into his arms. Like a man deprived of even the simplest comforts, Sebastian ran a hand through her hair as he allowed the other to test her responses and assess the harm. Flecks of drying blood dotted her visage and more splotches of black-red marred her form, the pattern partially hidden in the shadows. The new wound on her head had begun to coagulate, much to his relief, the purpling skin bruised and tender. Little blood marked her throat, that cut more or less stemmed. Her leg, however, continued to bleed –Castillon's wild throw had sliced deep.
Sebastian addressed her wounded thigh first, the need greatest there. He pulled a knife from his belt and cut away her trousers, the thin leather tough but yielding. His fingers dallied on the pale thigh to caress the cold flesh and the old scar. In observation of the half-open garment that covered her torso, he fought against distraction. A stretch of bare skin peaked from beneath the soft linen chemise under the heavy leather mantle, the cloth torn to tempt him with unspoken promises. He ground his teeth to bite back a surge of lust and he tamed his focus for the task at hand. Using the undamaged cloth, he bound the wound after he soaked it in a poultice and cleaned the laceration.
Dread then set in - the Champion had yet to stir despite his efforts.
Blue eyes stared up at Fenris while the warrior bashed another lock to free another group of slaves. Aware of the prince's gaze on his back, Fenris paused to offer him an expression of worry as he glanced down at Maria. Even Varric failed to comfort him.
Unable to breath, Sebastian squeezed her hand and prayed for her to awaken.
Fretful, his mind ran through a thousand ideas and a thousand outcomes. In a fit of panicked inspiration, Sebastian reached into one of his pouches on his belt, opened and closed one after another until he drew out a small vial of health potion. He ripped out the cork with his teeth, lifted the glass to his mouth and drew up some of the potion into his mouth. He then tilted her head, running his thumb over her lips before he parted them. Bent forward, he pressed his mouth to hers and slipped his tongue into the warmth to allow the potion to trickle from his mouth into hers. A hand slid behind her neck to brace her head and his thumb massaged her throat to urge the potion's passage. Meanwhile, unnoticed, the other hand gripped her waist - it held her tighter with every beat of his heart, a desperate cling to sanity.
In reluctance, he withdrew only to repeat the process with increasing dedication.
Why had he waited six years for this, he berated himself. Why did he wait until she lay bleeding and broken in his arms? The Maker give him strength, he should have seen it before - perhaps it was His will that their paths crossed and merged. With each contact of their lips, he lingered longer and longer, entranced by their softness and fit, she his ideal.
After some time, the potion running its course, her dark eyes fluttered open. Gaze widened, Maria peered up at him in complete shock at the demanding mouth that covered her lips, his tongue intertwined with hers. The gingery flavour of elfroot, mixed with the coppery tang of blood, tickled the back of her throat from the concoction slithering past her teeth and tongue.
The iron chain linking her manacled wrists jangled as she pushed on his chest, his kiss broken.
"Seb-"
His mouth slanted over the mage's again, a request which brimmed with relief and urgency when he silenced her. A broad thumb stroked her cheek to coax her further, begging for submission. Her apprehension faded and Maria's hands slipped to his shoulders, calming down a little more each time and melting into him. They both ignored the chain which rattled between them and he clasped her tighter, their bodies melded together in the sudden wave of passion. He seized her hip and tugged her closer, his palm ghosting across her stomach beneath the torn fabric of her shirt. Their desperate kiss grew more and more heated, overtaken by Sebastian's attempt to drown out his fears. Her sharp intake of breath caught in her breast and her heart hammered against her ribs.
Within, bewilderment reigned.
"You know, Choir Boy," Varric said, grinning from ear to ear, "after that little display, I'm upgrading you to Prince Charming."
Interrupted and wary of their audience, they parted and panted in the cool night air. A tentative hand touched the angry wound across the royal archer's nose. At the sight of flesh swollen and crusted with blood, her face conveyed her displeasure for the hurt and the worry for his safety. As her expression shifted into one of shame, she tore her gaze away from him. Instead, Sebastian turned his head to kiss the palm that cupped his cheek, a gesture of reassurance. Behind a mask of tenderness, he attempted to hide the lust and need as it brewed within him and he struggled against his desires. His stomach twisted into knots, his breaths heavy and his head spinning. In blatant regard, he took notice of his tightening leather trousers, constricted by wanton promises. Yearning plagued him, the scent of blood sickening next to the sweetness of provocation. It built on the high left over from frenzied battle and liberation and it burned.
"Ria, I need - "
Fenris then rejoined the party with a stream of Tevinter curse uttered under his breath after the last of the refugees from Castillon's trade had been escorted out. The two humans entangled on the ground went quiet as they stared up at him, a hint of irritation in the vibrant blue of Sebastian's eyes. The sight taken in, the lanky elf shot them a small smile of approval. With regards to the intimate closeness of the mage and rogue, he reminded himself that this is what she wanted – six years was more than long enough for her to find this place, this moment.
"I freed all I could find," he said as he limped towards them, his sword used as a crutch. "Let's finish this."
Sebastian nodded and rose before he helped Maria up with protective ease. He reached for the manacles, locksmith tools readied without prompting. However, she shook her hand, covering his hands with hers and pushing them away.
"Worry about me later."
Although unwilling, he acquiesced to her wishes and looped an arm about her waist. She leaned against him to stabilise herself with a trembling hand which clutched at his blood-splattered breastplate. Together, they shuffled back into the other room, their progress slow and laboured. To keep her safe until their deed was done, Sebastian deposited Maria on a nearby crate, its bulk shoved against the wall, and placed another healing potion into her hands. Her needs seen to for the time being, he kissed her forehead. That simple act alone almost exhausted his willpower to ignore the pang of licentious hunger. Though he wanted nothing more than to claim her mouth again, he resigned himself to watch her partake of their last potion.
Satisfied for the moment, he shifted to stand before Castillon whose limp form sagged on the wall and legs twitched just above the floor. Both Sebastian and Fenris fixed the slaver with piercing glares – the man would not escape justice in any form. A sharp right cross to the Antivan's chin which split his lip brought Castillon awake with a choking, guttural moan. His renewed struggled caused the arrows to tear larger holes into his flesh which sent him into another wracking fit of pain. The slaver wheezed and strained, stuck flush to the wall. Out of spite, he returned his captors' poignant gazes and grated his yellowed teeth.
"You're finished," Sebastian said, his arms crossed over his chest. "Your time in dealing in flesh is done. No more innocents will suffer at your hands. You shall pay for your crimes to the Maker and to those poor souls. Until then, we'll leave you here to pray to the Maker that the Guard will be merciful. But for their sake, I hope they are not."
Still the brutal judgement did not irritate the Antivan. In a rather unexpected reaction, Castillon let out a manic chuckle. A mad gleam burned in his wild eyes, mild interest shot at the pair of them. Amidst the tension, Maria hobbled over to Sebastian to wrap her chained arms around his arm, the terror plain on her countenance - even she was frightened by the man who cackled on the wall, bloodied and torn. A hand moved to soothe her fear and his fingers wove into hers, both consoled by the contact.
"Your Maker doesn't care what I do." Castillon laughed again, his fists clenched as he fought through the pain. "Not that that matters. My only allegiance is to gold, my friend. That little mageling of yours would still fetch a hefty price for some Tevinter magister. So innocent, so breakable. Even you, elf - there are some admirers of your former master that would very much enjoy - "
Castillon never finished his final words. Wreathed in the full glow of his lyrium brands, Fenris took a swift step forward and plunged a fist into Castillon's rumbling chest. A strangled sound issued from the slaver's throat as Maria buried her face into Sebastian's shoulder, her eyes averted from the gaping fissure in the man's torso. Fenris, feral-looking once more, flung the wretched heart into the ocean, his snarl almost primal in the moonlit quiet.
Sebastian made to confront the elf, to reprimand him for denying the Chantry and those poor people justice. However, the murderous look in the pale green eyes killed the resentment on his tongue as did the tightening grasp of the woman on his arm. Enveloping Maria in his embrace, he searched her dark stare for some reprieve only to find more fear and confusion. Even so bruised and battered, she managed to captivate him. With a heedful thought, Sebastian pressed an insistent kiss to her quivering lips in a reminder that he had much to make up for. There, he poured out his anxiety and fanned hunger into her pliant form.
"Um, I think Broody and I'll go check and see if there's any more bad guys needing a swift kick in the ass but I think we're good." Varric's cheery announcement went unanswered – he knew better than to intrude where he was not wanted... for now. "Don't stay too long, Your Highness."
Near them, Sebastian caught Fenris's gaze when he pulled away from Maria, the loss of his support leaving her staggering. A motioning gesture from the rogue granted him leave and Fenris understood without further instruction. His head inclined in gratitude, the prince kept his eyes on their companions just long enough to see them and her mabari gone.
Alone at last, the Champion of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven stood still, surrounded by bleeding corpses and blood-drenched steel.
Sebastian swept his gaze over the mage, taken in by her tattered garments and exposed skin glowing in the moonlight. Shame coursed in his veins at the sight of his blood smeared onto her face, mixing with her own. A hand ran up her arm and he threaded long, square-tipped fingers into her matted tresses. With the realization that he had almost lost her, that he might yet lose her, Sebastian reeled in a flourish of possessiveness.
No one would touch ever her again, never harm that which he cherished most; she would be his and his alone.
A deft hand grabbed her hair and he kissed her with fierce abandon, turning the mage a vibrant shade of scarlet as if she would burn to cinders from the heat of his passion. He relished in her soft sounds of delight when he kissed down her jaw and his tongue flicked at the rapid pulse beneath the broken skin. The taste of blood and sweat did not deter him.
With her hand then gripped tight, Sebastian led her through the result of their violent deed, the stench of death ignored as he dragged her up the stairs. Incorrigible in his need, he kicked open the nearest door to find an empty office. Lost to desire, he struggled to breathe when he drew her back to his chest, driven by the blood that pounded in his ears. He gripped her hair and tipped her head to bare her throat to his kisses and teased the tensed column while his hips rocked against her buttocks. A free hand roamed to her front, giving her the touch to crave to drown out the old memories. Seeking fulfilment, it caressed the quivering flesh of her belly before it cupped a breast and she squealed. He tasted the coppery tang of her blood on her salty skin and he reared back, incensed by the mere thought of anyone hurting her so. Never again, he told himself and vowed to make that pain forgotten - he owed her far too much.
Spinning her around, he melded their mouths together in another searing kiss. He pushed her against the wall, encouraged by the touch of her hands on his shoulders. Meanwhile, he ripped at the remnants of her clothes, mindless with the task. His mind remembered every belt and clasp, that same mantle of armour worn day after day in memory of her father; he knew them as well as his own, every daydream spent memorizing how he would lay her bare before him even as she fought with the buckles of his armour in return. Her manacles' chain clanked against steel and mail with each movement, loud and jarring but nevertheless forgotten. Impatience quelled his rational mind to convince him to leave her torn garments hang off her form and open to him. Instead, he helped her dismantle his vestments into its separate pieces and discard them to the floor, neither wanting to have anything to bar the other from them but to desperate to wait. Freed from his armour's confinements, he pinned her with his hips long enough to add his mail and leather undertunic, along with his shirt, to the chaotic pile.
Another instance of inspiration overtook him and he threw the length of chain over his neck to trap himself with her grasp.
Closer, his bodied demanded.
Skin to skin, he never wanted to be parted. His wide palms wandered over every inch of flesh even as the heavy iron links indented into his back. At first, it became a simple exchange: a kiss for a kiss, a touch for a touch, but each barter raised the stakes and fuelled the other's passions. Together they were nothing but teeth, tongues, and hands. Rough palms pawed at her breast while his mouth kissed down towards her chest. He nipped at her clavicle before he lavished her pert peaks with a wicked tongue. While he mapped and memorized every inch, she gripped the corded muscles of his arms, sinking beneath the promise of more but afraid of the unknown. Growing bolder despite that, she raked her nails down the rippling expanse of his upper body to ignite his nerves by pure touch, a magic unique to all. Spurred by his desire, he wrapped her legs around his waist and turned to hoist her onto a desk, his mind and body in sync, in harmony with want. A shriek of half-hearted protest brought a smile to his lips when he paused to kiss the wound upon her thigh. Tender fingers examined the makeshift dressing where blood began to soak the cloth. Out of sympathy, he trailed the scarred pads of his hand up her leg and left light, feathery sensations which pebbled the skin in his wake. The heat of her skin and musk released him from chivalry and his lust held sway. Her smallclothes shoved aside, he slipped an overzealous finger in her heat where he tested and stretched her with parodying thrusts before he added a second. His thumb circled her swollen quim and she shuddered under his attention, crooning her pleasure. Her murmuring cries appeased him and he relinquished the failing hold on the flood that he had so long kept in check.
As he growled with renewed fervour, quick hands divested her of her smallclothes and then freed himself, the lacings of his trews almost snapping with his vigour. He halted, however, when the tip touched her core. In that pause, Sebastian regained some sense of civility. A moment of clarity pierced the haze of his frantic mind. Vibrant blue eyes, alive with heady lust coupled with concern, gazed into hers to seek acceptance.
"Do you trust me?" His voice sounded gravelly, the brogue infected with restrained fervour.
The chain used to tug him closer, Maria kissed him hard until her boot-heels dug into the flesh of his backside. She offered naught but a reassuring nod and goaded him with a squeeze of her shapely thighs. Large, sun-browned hands spread her trembling legs to settle nearer pressed to her heat once again and waited.
"Do you love me?"
Sin or not, this was all for naught without truth. Although he would have preferred to savour something so intimate, so special, rather than rut among the dirt and blood, his blood sang with need, a unbridled desire to possess and lay claim. Reason may have left him, but he needed her love more than breath.
"Always."
With no other foreplay, Sebastian let out a growl of zeal and gave into that consuming need. Though with her mouth muffled against his skin, inexperienced, a soft cry painted her breath across his neck. All around him, her body became a tense and tight sheath. Then, her lips hot against his shoulder, she bit him when he first hilted himself and earned a small grunt of pain but no word of complaint. The iron links thumped against his back with every thrust afterwards, her arms hooked around his torso. Desk drawers rattled and papers drifted from their places, scattered by the wild coupling. Pain merged with pleasure while the flickering lantern light cast dancing shadows over their blood- and sweat-soaked forms. His erratic pace caused her to gouge deep scratches into the man's back and they tore an angry hiss from him. Still, he hitched her legs higher and delved deeper, seeking the culmination of passion's peak. The coil within tightened and strained, readied to snap. She stifled her moan into the crook of his neck, her whole being writhing with satisfaction. Through the haze, she kissed the mark she had made earlier, blinded by the wave of release.
Sebastian pushed towards the edge when he arched her back and pushed himself deeper into her core where heat and light merged and rippled. So desperate to become one, he broke free again of reason. In a single intense drive, he threw himself over the precipice and followed her in completion, his pique of lust satiated. He said nothing after he finished, his teeth marking her throat when he spilled himself inside her. Vanished in a daze, his head pounded with heady rush of blood, his panting uneven and his energy spent but no less sated. Exhausted at last, he rested his head on her shoulder, aware of how her skin hot was beneath his brow. Maria, mindful of the chain, ran her fingers up into and through his hair whilst she reeled from their exertions. So warm, so embracing, she never wanted to move again. Yet, her lover glided up her body and captured her mouth in another imperative kiss where his tongue led hers in a union of their very own.
That peace was not to remain.
Solemn and silent, he removed himself before he offered her his hand, his intent unknown. Guided back onto her feet, she helped him gather up his armour and what was left of her clothes, unsure of where this path led but following his lead without thought save for devotion. Sebastian collected one of their discarded cloaks and wrapped it around the near-naked mage before he picked up their weapons. Hand in hand, they took their leave of the bloody warehouse. Her gait proved awkward and she continued to lean on him, the fresh wound not her only source of discomfort.
Together, they absconded to her estate, the prince refusing to return to the Chantry.
Upon their arrival, the exiled prince dropped their gear in the foyer, staking his claim that he had no intention of taking his leave. At the sound, Thane trotted over to nudge his mistress's hand, having waited for her after their companions took him home. The mabari bumped the prince's leg in acknowledgement, but otherwise left them to curl up before the hearth. From there, they made their way to the main hall where Sebastian asked Bodahn not to disturb them when the old dwarf welcomed the two home. His tone commanding, Sebastian enforced the request before leading his lover up to her room and left the poor manservant stammering. Once inside her private chambers, the cautious rogue locked the door and jammed one of his lesser-used locksmith's tools into the tumblers – after all, he had not ideas to leave any time soon.
Unwrapping the mage from her cloak, Sebastian perched her on the edge of the grand bed and pulled a small stool over to seat himself before her. No more waiting, he assured her; the magic-blocking shackles needed to be addressed before something worse could happen. Tools in hand, he set his sights on the keyhole of one manacle. Deft flicks and jabs worked at the mechanisms, scratching away and lifting tumblers. The cuff parted with visible, blinding cerulean arcs of lightning as the forking fringe of electricity danced between the once joined metal. Seconds passed until they dissipated and he kept his eyes shut against the glare. Finished with the first, he then matched his efforts on the other shackle and it gave way with another shower of sparks. Unchained, her manacles clattered to the floor in a ringing chorus and he left her to rub at her wrists in reprieve.
The prince, eyeing them with an irate air, grabbed a hold of the etched iron set and cast it into the corner after he rose from the stool.
Good riddance. Now, onto more important matters, Sebastian considered with a weighted sigh. Gathering a copper basin and washcloth from her bedside table, he placed them at her feet before going to the hearth. Within, a fire blazed in the grate, warming the large copper kettle that he took from a hook dangling over the flames. He returned to pour the steaming water into the basin and dipped the thick washcloth into the heat. While it soaked, he first tugged off her boots, stopping to kiss the tops of her feet with each reveal. As he ran his hands up her legs and to her arms, he peeled away the torn shreds of fabric, once more leaving her bare to him. Purpling bruises, fresh wounds, and old scars caught the firelight to deepen his worried frown. He summoned a small smile for her and brought her wrists to his lips. There he lingered to lick at the pulse points while he kissed them, tender with each brush of his lips.
Wisps of vapour rose into the night air when he took up the washcloth before he pressed the warmth to his lover's cheek. Maria winced the moment the heat stung her already burning flesh. His gaze softened to assure her that he would be gentle, then and always, and she let him do as he wished. With great care, he wiped away the blood from her countenance, much of it his own. From time to time, his lips touched hers in a brief respite while he worked, concern for her well-being and comfort at all times. He dabbed the damp cloth to her head wound, his delicate presses cleaning the injury. Every now and then, he paused to wring out the blood and renew the warmth before he returned to the task. Moving down her neck, the cloth dipped between her breasts and he kissed the heaving swells over where his thumbs traced circles around the stiffening tips. Instead of lust, adoration coloured his actions, worshiping what the Maker had given him. All the while, he ran his hands down her belly, the skin tensing beneath his touch until he shifted to her legs. Doting fingers then untied the dressing from her thigh. Beneath the bloodied bit of her trousers, the wound had begun to heal but it was still ugly with its jagged edges and congealed blood. Maria stifled her pained cry during his prodding while he did his best to clean the laceration and wash away the dried rivulets of red painted down to her calf, penitent with heartening kisses placed to her knee.
When he spoke, it was only to ask for some healing salve and fresh dressings and she directed him to the drawer of her armoire. Fallen again in silence, he pried off the lid of the unguent, its sharp odour of elfroot wafting into the air. Coating his fingers, he slathered the poultice to her wounds before re-dressing her leg, kissing the thigh in admiration of his endeavours. The salve did its work where the tingling sensation spread over the hurts and dulling the pain.
His deed done, Sebastian gazed up into her dark eyes to regard the conflicted emotions flickering their depths. A tender hand cupped his cheek, her thumb once again tracing the unsightly gash across her lover's nose. Her breasts brushed against his chest when she leaned forward, her whole being suddenly desperate to feel him once again. With her lips pressed to the wound, she kissed the swollen bridge. There, she pushed just enough magic into him to heal the unpleasant prize, uncaring for her own strength to give him that last of hers. She later stole the cloth from his hands and like he had done for her, wiped at the blood as she pressed it to his face. Roaming hands trailed down his chest and she washed away the crimson tarnish, the remnants of her misfortune that had transferred during their feverish coupling. Throughout, she left loving kisses in her wake while her fingers mapped his own handful of scars.
At last, they were refreshed, clean and unburdened by the past. He kissed her in gratitude and took back the red-tinged cloth. He stood and drew a whimper from her, but his affectionate manner when his kissed her brow again assured that he was not done, not then and not for some time. Another mischievous grin was her reward before he returned the basin, now full of pale-pink water, along with the bloodied washcloth to their former places.
Without a warning save for a roguish glint in his eyes, Sebastian scooped her up and balanced her on his hip. Held out of the way, he threw back the blankets with one arm and laid her down in the middle of the bed. He then discarded his blood-stained trews along with his smallclothes before he crawled in after her and hauled the covers over their nakedness. From there he stretched over and settled himself within her embrace. Safe in her arms, he drowned her in another deep kiss, making his intent obvious to her delight. She received him with eagerness and fervour, the rhythm and coupling more gentle than before but no less passionate. Paired with his talented fingers, they collapsed into a heap of contentment, each indolent in sated reform.
"I'm sorry." A simple sentence, to say the least, but there was more to it than that when he fell back into stillness, praying that he chose his words carefully. His forefinger sketched languid patterns on her hip, sombre. Her head lifted from the cradle of his shoulder and her leg shifted along his stomach, confusion marring her countenance. Even so, he presented her with a remorseful token of his affection, another impassioned kiss, and then offered her his most sincere apologies.
"You've given up so much, lost nearly everything." His confession ghosted over her skin as penitent fingers stroked her face. "It must have been so lonely and I mean to make up for my ignorance, to repay for all that you have done for me. I can only hope that I can be as good a lover as you have been a friend."
"I can't expect any less. Only know that I love you, whatever the case - I just hope that's enough."
"If not, Fenris intends to kill me, I'd suspect," he said with a sigh. The amusement only lasted a moment, more truth than casual observation. Still, he brought her hand to his lips in reverence. "But, I don't need his threats to know that I've been an idiot."
Maria chuckled and cradled his chin to kiss him, particular to show him tenderness.
"I do love you."
Her heart swelled with the words and she straddled his waist to wrap him in her arms. There they bound themselves in the quiet evening, each content with the reassuring feel of the other against them, until something began to draw doubt.
"What do you intend tell the Grand Cleric?" A loaded question, of that she was certain, but it needed to be asked. He broke from the Chantry long ago, but he had so long clung to the old vows and to the mother who truly cared for him. With nothing left to tie him save Elthina, where would he go? What would he do? Dreading the answer, she kissed his neck and splayed her body over him, her prayers veiled by the diversion. She gave him time to think, wary of how his hands rested on her back, the way his thumbs rubbed along her spine and the way her hair lay across his chest. She snuggled closer where awaited his response with mounting trepidation - she couldn't let him go. Why would she when she finally felt safe, complete?
"I suppose I'll just have to convince her that I must return to Starkhaven after all." He mumbled at the ceiling, his voice lacking any sort of regret, before he turned to kiss her forehead.
"You're leaving?"
Hurt and abandonment flashed across her visage and she shivered as though shards of ice had filled her veins.
He would leave after all this?
Sebastian groaned ruefully, rolled her over, and straightened up on his elbows. From there, he loomed over her and peered into her very soul.
"Not without you."
Her mind soared and she pulled him back into her embrace to grant him everything he needed, everything she had, and more...
Isabela stomped through Hightown, fuming with every step. The broody elf kowtowed to her after the third release and confessed his bloody deed with Hawke and the Choir Boy. No matter how great the sex had been, she still felt betrayed. She had wanted Castillon to suffer humiliation, to be awash with enough shame to last his miserable life. His demise denied her that satisfaction and that demanded reconciliation. Granted, she loved Hawke, but this proved too much.
She barged into the estate, the front door swung wide - unlocked and unguarded.
"I'm sorry, serrah, but I'm certain that my lady will not be taking any other visitors for the day," Bodahn exclaimed, scrambling into the foyer at the ruckus that the pirate had wrought.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, staring down at the manservant. "That little witch ruined my fun!"
Ignoring him, the Rivaini captain mounted the broad steps, and reached for the door. A soft giggle and the rustle of silk caught her attention and her hand stopped midway towards the handle. Such a delightful development, she mused. Curious and more than intrigued, for she knew those sounds all too well, she peered through the crack between the door and the jamb. The corners of her mouth turned up in a wicked smirk at the sight beyond. Pride reigned even as her shoulders shrugged - she would throw her fit on another night.
"My, my, my..." Her golden eyes glinted with mirth. While she continued to stare through the small sliver of light, Isabela chuckled to herself. "Who knew Hawke could bend like that. Well done, sweetie."
FIN.
Author's Note: I'm never going to finish Blessing at this rate, but meh... I'm possessed - 'tis my Maria Hawke's first one-shot for your entertainment, but feel free to replace her with your own Hawke with my happy permission.
After a conversation with Lywinis over our individual playthrough canons, this idea somehow took root in my insanity and refused to leave. Mulling it around for a while, she helped me work out a feasible concept and I ran away it like a mad woman... and she even conjured up the base for the title. Though, it probably didn't help that I kept watching the Tonight (I'm Lovin' You) music video by Enrique Iglesias (and yes, I prefer the edited version for some reason) a good number of times... *grins*
So, thank you, my dear, and also for continuing to beta and encourage me - you are amazing, especially when I come to you for validation about every idea - you'll get tired of me... eventually. Also, I want to give a shout-out to all the lovely ladies of the SSG: thank you for listening to my ramblings, weathering my spoilers, and letting me bounce ideas off you - you make me better. And here's to you, my readers - you help keep me going. Thank you all for reading!
Although, I am sorry for the parallels between this and Blessing, but I seem to enjoy writing angst...