Crimson Favour
A Sequel to Tying Up Loose Ends - "Your favour, my purpose. I cannot lose this moment, this prize. Nothing matters, save this - for you, I have given all." Sebastian x F!Hawke.
This fan fiction might contain spoilers, canon and also non-canon endeavours and history. In response to a prompt and a sequel of sorts to Tying Up Loose Ends, Sebastian earns the favour a female mage Hawke: the fabled red ribbon/scarf.
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: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, NSFW.
Beta: Lywinis
Edited: 12.10.2011 -Minor wording update...
Crimson Favour
Red, passion's colour
My only true desire
Crimson, your favour
The fire crackled low in the grate, long in need of rekindling. Early morning's chill, only a few hours past midnight, permeated the coverlet and silk sheets, cool to the touch. Her body shifted in his arms, fingers curling on his ribs. The leg thrown over his stomach hugged him tighter, a wide palm rubbing the warm flesh, and her cheek nuzzled chest, a thin line of drool pooling near his heart. A prideful smile tugged on the corner's of his mouth as he brushed a thick stand of his lover's long tresses away from her half-closed eyes. In his mind, Sebastian Vael replayed the last few days, much of it spent in these chambers, one of his locksmith's tools still jammed into the tumblers of the lock.
For six years he had denied her, shrugged off her innocent teasing and railed in their supposed rivalry. But, their relationship changed in that one, blood-washed night.
Still painful and bloodied, the bruising on her head throbbed and the cut on her thigh itched beneath its new dressings. A maddening shiver ran down his spine, the memory of almost losing her, bleeding and broken, prodding him with guilt. Never again, he promised. Never again would he flail beneath the responsibility that was his right nor would he forget her sacrifices. Musing, the thought of them retaking Starkhaven together, as husband and wife, entertained him for some time. Granted, the Chantry would never allow a mage to share his seat of power, but the Maker help him, he would find a way.
Kissing her brow, his heart leapt as her eyes fluttered open, the dark eyes blinking away the remnants of the few hours of sleep they had managed. His thumb mapped her dry, crackled lips, her tongue flicking out to wet them and lick at the pad. The prince of Starkhaven grinned and placed a chaste kiss to her mouth.
"Good morning, milady," he whispered, a tempting hand ghosting along the curve of her hip.
Maria Hawke lifted her head, a little groggy from her night in the Fade - being a mage did not make one immune to dreaming, the Fade just responded to them a little more than most. Her father once told her it was like the days were longer, an experience of more time than someone without magic, that mages lived a second and separate life. Unlike a normal person, their dreams were like memories, not easily forgotten. Influenced by her own thoughts in light of recent events, last night's had been no exception with the demons circling to offer her more than her beloved and a bright blush rushed up to her face, choosing him over any deal.
Feeling the moisture dribbling down her chin, a hand flew to her mouth to wipe it away.
"I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, rising up from the bed.
The royal archer assured her that it was fine, but she shook her head. Depriving him of her body heat, she slipped out from under the heavy blankets. Maria swayed a little as she climbed out of the bed, the stone tiles cold beneath her feet. The mage shuffled first over to the hearth, tossing a bit of kindling and another log onto the low fire. Flames snapped with new life, bathing her tired face in an orange glow.
Sebastian rolled his shoulders, the silk of the sheet sliding across his naked skin as he stretched his whole body. The prince tore his eyes way from the curve of his lover's hips as she traipsed across the room to empty the washbasin, still full of pale pink water. He stared up at the embroidered hangings, trying to imagine what twist of fate brought him here. Shaking his head, he knew the truth: lust and love. What made matters worse: no matter how well he hid the evidence, he still wanted her, still needed her. Last night set too many things in motion, the mere thought of that wild abandon thrilling him.
Glancing to her, the woman washing her face in a fresh pool of warm water, the bow of her back tantalized him. In the flickering firelight, her silvery scars glinted, a reminder of their darker history. Following the one from her worst nightmare, the royal archer's gaze swept down from her jaw to past her wide hip where it bisected the newest addition on the thigh. Thinnest on her throat, it sank deeper as it travelled along the outside of her breast to rake down her ribs. Ripping into her side, it continued onto her leg, a jagged, ugly beast now worsened by Castillon's last act. Just one of many, he reminded himself.
Granted, the mage possessed little in the ways of physical beauty, but he saw Maria as plain woman with a glorious mind. Her matchless character held him captive, her kindness coupled with reserved judgement. Even when unable to care for herself, so broken inside, she gave him the encouragement he needed, the choices he required to become a better man of his people, for Starkhaven. Venomous rage boiled in Sebastian's stomach, the memory of someone hurting that woman so, both in body and spirit, clouded his conscious thoughts.
Throwing off the heavy blankets with an angry flourish, the exiled prince stalked over towards Maria; however, he allowed his anger to vanish when he approached, dampened by another prospect. He felt himself twitch, the blood rushing in his veins with the sight of her naked form before him. Replacing the fury with something more primal, his hands gripped her hips and then slid them to her back. Sebastian grinned as he caused shivers to shock upwards, running his wide thumbs along her spine. Maria straightened, dropping the washcloth into the basin with a splash. A sharp intake of breath hung in the air, her lover's breath hot on her ear. The rogue brushed his lips to its shell before suckling the spot below the lobe, sending another shock of surprise down her smaller body. She flushed as her nipples tightened and her breath quickened to join him in wanton arousal with the hardness pressing against her backside. Need throbbed with the heat which pooled between her legs.
"S-Sebastian," she croaked, endeavouring to master herself as corded arms drew her back into him. Large palms and squared-tipped fingers skimmed across her abdomen. She struggled to speak in their wake. "Wh-What are y-you doing?"
His tongue burned her with his lust, darting out to taste the hated scar. The mage closed her eyes, praying that she would not blister with the heat coursing in her body. Skin against skin, their combined passion scorched her, his hips rocking against her. Magic tingled at her fingertips, alighting along her nerves. Without great effort, she siphoned off the heat into the early morning, drawing it away with the barest hint of power. The elemental magic cooled the pair down to create minute ice crystals from the beads of sweat and saliva.
The prince grinned, intrigued by the subtle use of magic. Musing at what else that talent of hers might bring, Sebastian spun his lover in his arms to press an insistent kiss to her chilled lips. He felt a shiver overtake him, radiating across his form in a wave of gooseflesh. The notion that he had never had a mage use magic like this on him before flitted in his mind for a moment, but it dissolved when the fire in his belly spurred him with desire as their tongues danced.
Breaking their kiss, panting white puffs of cold, the royal archer caught up his lover's hand. Leading her to the Orlesian rug before the hearth, he laid her upon the thick, intricate weave and intertwined their naked forms. Hands caressed trembling thighs and petite fingers gripped broad shoulders, exploring and teasing. Sebastian lavished one breast, teeth scraping the sensitive flesh while he kneaded the other. The prince revelled in her reactions as she arched into him to brush his neglected member. He bit his lip, using the pain to focus on his task.
With no magic of his own, he chose to rely on devious, shameful skills gifted to him during the nights of mindless gratification in more talented arms. In his own mind, he cursed himself for the strings of nameless lovers, each of them a tool for his satisfaction and nothing more. Within his heart, he knew that Maria held different place in his heart and deserved better. Fraught with determination, he promised to show her the pleasures a man could bring to one he treasured.
With a rakish smirk, Sebastian turned them lose on the mage writhing beneath him with building fervour, plucking her like a harp to hit just the right notes to make her sing. The prince left her unsatisfied when he withdrew his fingers from both her core and body, a low whine pouring from her throat. Her seeking mouth latched onto his as her thighs squeezed his slimmer waist, begging him for more.
"Sebastian, please," she crooned, her breasts compressing against his chest. Maria traced her lips down his jaw, returning the slow, torturous lick to his pulse. In casual observation, it amazed him how she had learned to beg, knowing that she needed him for relief.
Hooking her legs about his hips, he rolled the pair of them over until his back settled into the rough cushion of the grand rug below. He masked a groan as the texture grated against the scratches the mage left the night before, but he became more concerned as she scrambled atop him. Straddled over hips, her knees dug into the Orlesian weave. Maria gasped in surprise to feel him press to her slick heat, unsure and unlearned. Sebastian propped himself up on his elbow, one hand caressing her arm as he leaned forward to kiss her quivering lips.
"Trust me, sweetling," he said, hauling himself up into a more comfortable position.
His lover nodded, a hesitant gesture that changed the moment she grasped his intention. Yet, soothed by tender kisses and roaming hands, she gave into his desires. Groping her hips, Sebastian guided and lifted her over him to slide deep between the folds. She whimpered as she felt him fill her, inch by inch. Letting herself spread her knees further to accommodate him, she sank onto him as he rose to meet her. The prince greeted her with a satisfied smile, groaning into her neck as she dragged her nails down his chest. She treated him with alternating caresses of heat and ice and he responded with growls of pleasure.
With every rise and fall, aided by his eager hands, they lead one another in a heady spiral. Sebastian drowned her in a fiery kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist as he sat up, thrusting to counterbalance her descent. Her arms slipped under his, clasping him tight to her. The pace increased, her sharp keening cries ringing in his ears. Maria threw back her head, almost screaming out his name as he buried his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, marking her yet again. Her lover tumbled after her in release, smothering his moan into her throat when he later spilled himself inside her, his movements grown lazy in exhaustion beforehand. They collapsed together in a heap, silent while the archer prince sucked on the renewed bruise of his claiming.
Snuggling into his side, Maria drew patterns on his chest, kissing the spot above his heart as he kissed her hair. They lay like from some time, cradled one another's embrace to trade little kisses and caresses in the softening glow of the fire. She giggled when his fingers tangled in her hair, catching in the knots. Sitting back up, she unwound the twisted strands from the scarred lengths, pressing an apologetic kiss to each one.
Sebastian offered her another charming smile as he then shifted to stand, intending to depart. Her hands clasped one of his in a loose hold, a distressing looking sweeping across her features, and her dark eyes pleaded for him to stay. The royal archer kneeled to kiss her brow, her grip slipping as her hands fell back into her lap. In affectionate sympathy, seeing her shiver without his warmth, he grabbed a blanket from the dishelved bed to wrap her in its comfort where she sat before the hearth.
Her frown lengthened with the shadows crossing her countenance, dark eyes studying him as he dressed: first his smallclothes, then the torn trousers, and lastly, the bloodied shirt, each in a slow, reluctant manner. Disheartened, she prepared herself for abandonment, readying her weary mind to watch him disappear. Love could not save her from the inevitable - he was a prince and she, a mage.
Yet, Sebastian surprised her, turning to sit on the edge of her bed, his head sinking into his hands. Whether lost in contemplation or distress, she could not guess. It pierced her heart. She owed him something, she surmised, after such a wonderful experience - even if he intended to take his leave. Struggling to her feet, clutching the blanket around her wobbly form, Maria wandered over to the chest stashed in the corner of the room - all that was left of her life in Lothering locked away from prying eyes. Addressing the iron lock, she opened it to root around for a special thing, something more precious than all those trinkets combined. Her shaking fingers closed around it and she hugged it to her bosom.
The prince gazed up at her in bewildered unease as she pressed it into his hands. Brilliant blue orbs studied the small wooden box, the ornate carving delicate and beautiful. His thumb tested the ivy relief, admiring the pattern of knotwork dominating the piece. It smelt of lavender and mint, the scent ingrained into the dark-stained wood.
"Open it."
Her voice was small, but gentle. Sitting at his side, she kissed his broad, covered shoulder. The bed dipped with their combined weight as she leaned against him to enjoy that intimate closeness once more. With bated breath, the mage stared at the little box, so innocent but yet treasured.
Curious, sun-browned hands slid back the lid at her request. Inside lay a small red scarf, slightly faded and frayed but more or less whole. Maria snatched the crimson fabric from the sweet smelling wood and tied it to her lover's wrist. Her eyes did not meet his as she told him its story, hiding her vibrant blush in his shoulder. Her memories of her father swam at the front of her thoughts, always wearing that smooth strip of cloth bound to his wrist for all the world to see. Somewhere in her broken mind, she wanted to carry on that tradition.
"My mother gave my father this favour after their first night," she said, letting her fingers run over the wrinkled fabric as she continued to flush. Regardless, she stayed the course with unusual determination. "Whether you choose to stay or no, the token is yours, should you desire."
Taking up her hand from his shoulder, he whispered a reverent "thank you" into her palm as he kissed it. Sebastian brushed his lips to her brow and then explained that he must go. Seeing her eyes brimming with tears, the rogue tilted her chin to press his mouth her quivering lips, promising to return. His sincerity and gentleness washed away her fears.
"Get some sleep, my love," he suggested, cupping her cheek to kiss her yet again. "There are a few things I need to take care before I can rest again in your arms tonight."
A mischievous smirk lit up his handsome features and she presented him with another brilliant blush. Enamoured by her maiden charms, he felt the persistent tug of desire and captured her soft mouth in heated need. His tongue slipped past her parting lips, delving to greet hers in a familiar dance. Another jolt of yearning travelled down his sternum and blood pounded in his ears, making him crave more.
"Now, now, Ria," he chuckled, teasing her with trailing lips along her jaw. Her arms tighten around his neck as he scooped up her to place her back into the middle of the bed. Pushing back a wayward lock of rich brown hair from her eyes, Sebastian witnessed the loneliness mixed with hope smouldering in their depths. "You shall never be alone again, that much I can promise."
"Please stay," she mumbled, nuzzling the hand stroking her cheek. "Just stay 'til I fall asleep."
Sebastian smiled and settled in the hollow of her pillows, his head resting on the headboard as Maria's hair splayed across his chest. Rubbing her back, he hummed Starkhaven Fair for her, drawing swirling patterns on her shoulders. She drifted off into the Fade by the third stanza, her breathing steady after a few moments. Pulling the covers from beneath her, the prince left his lover to her rest, making certain every bit of her still nude form benefited from the warmth. Fingers lingered on a bare shoulder and Sebastian scolded and compelled himself to draw away.
Collecting a fallen cloak to disguise his bloodied and dirtied garments, Sebastian walked over to the locked door. He remembered his paranoid and possessive antics when he first arrived and frowned at his absurdity. Regret taunted him as he fought with the jammed tumblers, spite against the lock poisoning his mumbled words of disdain. In the end, the rogue broke the lock, his locksmith's tool falling to the floor with a tiny clatter, bent and unusable.
Sebastian paused long enough to ensure that Maria still slept before taking his leave. Shutting the door behind him, although not quite closed thanks to the destroyed lock, he stepped beyond Maria's chambers. To his misfortune, a leather boot lay across the threshold over which he tripped. Stumbling, the prince stared in horror at the Rivaini pirate.
The woman's yelp pricked his ears, creating a pang of sympathy for his negligence.
However, a wicked smile marred the dark rogue's face when she realized who stood over her. She stretched and purred, trying to distract him with her own endowments just to gauge his reactions. His stoic expression remained and the royal archer demanded the reason for her unusual, unexpected, and rather unwanted presence. Being a gentleman, Sebastian offered her a hand to help her up off the cold floor and waited for her answer.
Raising a blackened brow, Isabela presented him with her widest grin as she took that hand, musing of its remarkable talents. After last night, her respect for the exiled prince changed and elevated. Her smirk broadened, how could she not say anything? True, the mage was not some exotic wonder, but that woman had potential in the archer's gifted hands.
"I'd have never thought Hawke was so flexible," she said with a casual gesture as the prince helped her to her feet. Her arms reaching above her head, Isabela cracked her joints, sore from her uncomfortable sleep. This was too much fun, anyways. "You'll have to get her to show me how she does that. I've not seen skills like that outside of a brothel in years. I'll definitely have to try that finger trick 'cause I've not heard a woman scream like that in YEARS."
Sebastian's face burned scarlet and he cast his gaze to the dark stone tile. How unsurprising that Isabela would find herself nearby. Trepidation kept him still, pondering as he stared at her with the kindling flames of worry. How much she had seen?
"Aw, you're blushing. You know you're cute when you do that," Isabela chimed, giggling behind her hand.
"How much, Isabela?" Sebastian asked again through gritted teeth.
"Do you roll your tongue when you plunder her pearl, Sebastian, or is it more of a flick? You know, for future reference," the pirate prodded, ignoring him. Unable to resist the challenge, she kept going with her investigation. For her own amusement, she even illustrated her speech with lewd finger motions and twists of her tongue. The look on his face was priceless.
"First knuckle or the second, Your Highness? I didn't get a good glimpse of that. Would you mind demonstrating some more of those techniques? In return, I could show her some things that would make your toes curl, serrah. Seriously, I -"
"For all your wild talk, you have yet to make a single move, Isabela," Sebastian said, interrupting her rambling. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, the embarrassment drained from him and replaced by cold purpose. "You will not now, nor will you ever again."
"Oh, I have tried, Sebastian. I just got bested, it seems," the Rivaini admitted in defeat, chuckling behind a mocking hand.
"So, it does," the prince said, grabbing her arm, "Now, allow me escort you out. However, I will strongly suggest that you do not return without my permission."
"Rough and possessive," Isabela crooned, another snide smile on her lips. "I like it. But, I guess she does, too. Honestly, Sebastian, tell -"
"Good day, Isabela," he shouted, throwing open the front door and pointing out into the starlit Hightown square.
"All right, I'm going, I'm going," she mumbled, walking off towards Lowtown. "Just don't come crying to me when she gets bored of you."
Sebastian bit back his retort, taking a deep breath through his nose to calm the irritation. He refused to dignify the dagger-wielding rogue's perverted, voyeuristic demeanour with response out of respect for Maria. Or so he told himself. Watching her saunter out into the pre-dawn, the prince turned back to the estate's foyer at the sound of a intentional cough. Just inside, Bodahn Feddic greeted him with an amiable but distant appearance.
"Your Highness?" the dwarf queried, bowing his head and motioning into the interior. "Will you be returning for dinner? You see, the boy and I like to keep a strict meal hour. For little Orana's sake, of course, lest the poor dear becomes quite lost. Our lady is a kind woman and none of us will stand for any ill-manners in this house."
The prince realized the threat for what it was and agreed without remorse. He knew better than to argue as Sandal poked his head out around the corner, a broad grin on his face to ask for some salamanders. Suppressing a small chuckle, Sebastian assured them he would return by dinner. Meanwhile, his mind reeled in awe at the simple life they led, a life he wanted to share. But now was not the time for such idle thoughts.
With his plans made, Sebastian at last took his leave of the former Amell estate. After receiving a word of approval from the manservant and a offered promise for his armour to be buffed free of scratches and polished to perfection, the prince of Starkhaven threw the cloak around his shoulders and stole off into the dark morning. He reached the Chantry long before the sun had begun to rise, sneaking through the empty sanctuary to his quarters, his home for so many years. As he undressed, ridding himself of the sullied clothing in much need of repair and washing, he let his thoughts wander. Alone, the royal archer bathed himself from a basin, not unlike the last night in her chambers, her small hands running over his body in unsure caresses. His breath hitched in his chest and he fought to bury those memories for the time being, the scratches of their coupling starting to twinge once again.
Dressing in fresh shirt and trews, he rehearsed the conversation that he knew he owed to the Grand Cleric while he stared at the bit of red scarf wrapped around his wrist. Gone was the indecision, the chaste brother - all that remained was a man walking a divergent path, needed both love and validation in the Maker's eyes. Was he making the right choice?
Too early to speak to Grand Cleric Elthina, Sebastian stepped out into the gardens, dying lanterns lighting the cultivated trails. Leaves brushed his hair, low hanging branches catching the wet locks as he walked in soundless pondering. Morning's birds began to twitter as the sun began to break over the horizon, their incessant calls piercing the serene landscape. His head hurt with the cacophony and his own thoughts, a storm of confusion and loss.
"Sebastian?"
Surprise overtook him when he heard the Grand Cleric call out. Seated on a stone bench beneath a well-kept willow, Elthina offered him a gentle, matronly smile and patted the space beside her. A part of him welcomed the benevolence while the other argued for his sanity - did he deserve that kindness?
"Come child, I can see that something troubles you," she said, her motherly tone banishing his disputes.
Sebastian took a place at the far edge of the side of the garden seat, watchful to avoid her poignant gaze. Those gray-blue orbs saw more than he dared to envisage, more than he wanted. He could not hide the broken vows, the favour bound to his wrist with loving care. Everything he desired to say vanished in her presence. Those wise, old eyes fixed him with a knowing look, divining his secrets without words.
Sunlight breached the Chantry's garden walls, pouring gold over the green before Elthina started on him with casual conversation. Sebastian only listened as his elder mentioned that he had not been home in a few days. Yet, she shrugged and assured him that she accepted that helping the Champions and her companions was a time-consuming but noble agenda. A pause gave him a chance to defend himself; however, the prince failed to answer, his spirit in turmoil. The Grand Cleric's perceptive smile only pushed him further into his dismal state. To his astonishment, she sought to alleviate his fears and give him direction, the sign he needed to assuage the desperation: love is a powerful thing, created by the Maker as something beautiful and indispensable.
"There's no point holding onto vows that six years ago were forgotten, Sebastian," she told him, her gaze softening as she stared out into the shadowed garden and its pools of dappled sunlight. "You cannot break something that exists no longer. Don't throw away your happiness for that loss."
Sebastian glanced at her bewilderment, watching the older woman rise from the stone seat. Cast into a tumult of uncertainty, he almost called her back when she stopped. Not turning, the Grand Cleric dispensed one last piece of advice.
"The Maker led you there for a reason, Sebastian. Take that path, child, and never leave her side."
Leaving him with nothing else, the exiled prince sat alone in the Chantry garden, slumped forward with his forearms resting on his knees. Was this the blessed sign he had been so desperate for? Was the rationale he desired, the freedom for which he pined?
He sighed.
Maker, was it truly that simple?
Seeking his quarters one more, he left the gardens behind and fell before his bunk to pray. The sun burned the back of his neck as he knelt, confessing and pleading to the Holy Bride and her Husband, revealing his intent and believing in Their silent replies. Sore but at ease, Sebastian sorted through his belongings, gathering up cherished memories and trinkets. From a little chest beneath the bed, he emptied out the contents onto the woollen blanket of his bed, pouring out the long-lost bits and pieces of his life in Starkhaven. He searched through the clutter, a sure but frantic hunt, and took up a small leather pouch, the leather cord dangling between his fingers. Holding out his palm, he tipped out its prize to fall into his hand. His grandmother's engagement ring, given to him by his grandfather, glittered in the rough span. 'Twas a simple affair, not typical of a nobleman's betrothal gift: a thin band of intertwining silver, a delicate weave of knotwork. It sparkled with his intent and Sebastian smiled as he gripped it tight while he untied Maria's favour. Kissing both the ring and crimson scarf, he wrapped the little bit of silver in the fabric, folding it within the sanctity. He then returned enveloped ring to the pouch and slipped the cord over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt to keep it close to his heart.
Sighing, the rogue took in one last sight of the Chantry, clinging to the memory just a while longer - somewhere in the depths of his soul, he knew he may never return. No matter, Sebastian found the life he wanted, the course the Maker had chosen for him and he would walk that path at her side. Dispossessed of everything else - his relations, his former home, his old life - this was his chance for a family and a place of belonging, to be not unwanted. The memory burned him, recalling that his own family never gave him that reality, but she could and he loved her for it.
That splendid thought in mind, he went about his task with renewed zeal.
The towering Chantry far behind him, Sebastian returned to the Hawke estate to find a cheerful Bodahn ready to greet him with odd gratitude. He exuded the sentiment, seemingly grateful for his presence. It must have been hard on him to worry so much over his mistress, taking such pleasure at the opportunity of her happiness. Sighing, Sebastian could only hope he matched the dwarf's high expectations.
"Bodahn, could you send someone fetch my things from the Chantry?" he asked, following the elder dwarf into the main hall.
"Aye, Your Highness. I'll send Walter later this evening," Bodahn said, grinning as he bowed. "If I may, would you mind looking in on Messere Hawke? That Tethras fellow has cornered her in the library."
Bowing, the manservant left the prince to his own devices. Prompted by the dwarf's concern and his own curiosity, Sebastian wandered towards the library to stand just outside the door. From that vantage point, the royal archer heard a rather interesting, but potentially problematic conversation between his lover and the silver-tongued rogue. He groaned, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall; that woman would be the death of him.
The Void take you, Isabela.
"Come on, Hawke," Varric Tethras whined, "I need some new material! Who did the sweeping? Did he go down on one knee? Please tell me that Prince Charming got some sense knocked into that Chantry-addled brain of his the other night."
Maria fidgeted by the hearth, begging for escape. Her faced burned with the heat of her embarrassment rather than the warmth of the fire. Oh, why did he of all people have to canvass her for the intimate details of her life? What had she done to deserve this kind of attention?
"Damn it, Hawke, give me something I can work with," the dwarf pleaded, a large smirk plastered on his face. Varric felt an odd pleasure in riling up the little mage; although she never answered his queries, the sheer look of terror and awkwardness amused him. "I've heard things about those Chantry priests, there's got something dirty going on in there. Andraste's ass, he's a rogue and former rake! The boy's got the talent - I just want to know what he does with it, that's all. Considering what I've heard from Rivaini, it must be some sizable repertoire and he's good with his hands from what I've seen. Just tell me in perfect honesty, just between us, are royals truly gifted or is it just a yarn they spin?"
Unable to weather Varric's questioning as an outsider, particularly in light of the content, Sebastian breathed in a deep breath and strode into the room. He could not stand to see her suffer under such scrutiny - his dear mage was not made for this kind of attention. Throwing up a mask of cold stoicism, he made to confront the crossbowman and defend what was his.
"You're quite the inquisitive one, Dwarf," Sebastian announced, joining him at the table. "Just what have you heard about my so-called repertoire?"
His feet, propped up on the tabletop, dropped to the floor and an expression of curious shock spread across Varric's stubble face. The merchant-caste dwarf shrugged his shoulders, throwing up his hands in defeat. Caught red-handed, it seemed. In a playful gesture, he inclined his head towards the prince of Starkhaven in mock respect.
"Compared to what I come up with, it can't be as interesting as I want it to be, I'd imagine," he answered with a lofty air. Golden brows waggled as he grinned, grabbing at the new prospect to slake his prying habits. Looking from the royal archer to the mage, whose blush came more from relief in her lover's appearance than in discomfiture now, Varric only smirked broader. "Care to clear up a few things for me, Your Highness?"
Sebastian, his expression unreadable, leaned towards him and pressed his hands onto the table's edge. Their eyes level, the prince's own on narrowed him, crushing him with an overpowering will. Varric withdrew a bit when Sebastian spoke, taken aback by the sheer force of the man's sincerity.
"I shall keep my secrets, Varric, save one," Sebastian claimed, his brogue thick with the importance of the truth. "Ria is mine and I shall share her with no other, not even in your stories."
Shaking his head, Varric pursed his lips and fought against the argument that formed on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he only smiled. This was more than enough for him.
"Fine, fine. Keep your little secrets," Varric said, chuckling to himself. "I think I have what I need anyways."
Both the mage's and rogue's expression were more than enough to entertain him while he set about drafting notes in his head for his journal. But what title should he use? Breaching Her Kirkwall?
"Nah, too pulpy," he muttered aloud, drawing odd stares from them as he sauntered off and left them to their own conclusions. This was too much fun, he considered on a happy note. Varric reminded himself to thank Rivaini for giving him such a fascinating tip - there was something interesting going on in that lavish bedchamber and he would enjoy making up every minute of it.
Bewildered, Sebastian's threatening demeanour dissolved into confusion. He glanced towards Maria, who shared that she was just as perplexed as he. Together, they come to the same conclusion. Worse, there was no stopping him.
"Maker, help us."
The prince sighed and slumped into the armchair by the fire while Maria shifted to stand beside him. However, her lover pulled her into his lap to wrap her in his embrace. Curling up in his arms, her hand alighted on his wrist, the very one to which she had tied her favour. A pitiful look falls across her features, the firelight casting dark shadows on her face. Sebastian took up her hand in apology and placed it to his chest, letting her palm mould about the pouch safe behind the linen shirt.
"I keep it close to my heart."
Smiling, the glow of happiness in her eyes rewarded him with an impassioned kiss as she straddled him. So, this was what it was like to be loved, Sebastian mused. A soft chuckle bubbled in the archer's throat when he gripped her waist to draw her closer. Dinner was not to be served for another hour or so, if he was not mistaken.
"Plenty of time."
The steady crash of the Waking Sea provided counterpoint to the crackle of the campfire. Maria's fury had long since been quenched after the rescue of her brother, falling to exhaustion and left to sleep alongside the Rivaini rogue. Now gathered about the fire's warmth while Fenris surveyed the area for any remnants of the blood mage's handiwork, Sebastian and Carver sat alone in the circle of light.
A unspoken alliance suspended between them as the younger Hawke shifted to pass the prince the near-emptied wineskin. Taking on a polite sip, the royal archer aired out his mouth from the taste - it had been too long. Fenris returned not long after to collect the skin from Sebastian and took a long pull from the dregs. When silence reigned, the Grey Warden posed serious conversation, hoping to win support from his fellow warrior. It was his sister, after all.
"So, I've heard some rumours," Carver mentioned as he fixed the prince with a firm glare. "The point of the matter is this: is any of it true?"
Sighing, Sebastian worked the little pouch out from his jerkin and shirt, its contents even more protected by his armour. From its hold, the prince withdrew her father's favour, so recognized by her little brother. That small scrap of fabric held all the truth as he kissed it. Both warriors stared at him, each in awe and understanding.
"It seems you really do love her," Fenris commented as he nudged the blade of the Sword of Mercy, the tip plunged into the ground, with his foot. The mage was his friend, the woman who had set him free. Of course he would share her brother's sentiments on the matter.
"Aye, I do," he said, needing nothing more to convey that reality.
"There's not a better man I would trust at her side, Sebastian," the former slave assured him, his pale green eyes staring into the snapping flames. His gaze hardened and his overtone grew more serious. "But, mark my words, break her heart and I'll make certain you lose yours."
"And I'll make sure of it," Carver added, fondling the hilt of his greatsword. "My little sister deserves no less."
Fin.
Author's Note: My first (technically second - I just found a prompt that matched my prequel) kinkmeme fill and I turn it for my nefarious purposes... *shrugs* Sorry. In the words of Aquila!Anon, the smut is acceptable "unless otherwise explicitly stated" since "it's the kinkmeme" and "sex is expected". Any road, another installment for my AU of Blessing, I guess, pre-ending of the game - a sequel to Tying Up Loose Ends. There's also a sequel for this one as well in the works: to make a trilogy, so to speak.
I'd like to thank Lywinis for the usual, but also Minfarshaw for all her help - she knows what I'm talking about. Both of them are to thank for Isabela and her oh-so-entertaining dialogue along with that of Varric.
Here was the prompt: Everyone knows that Fenris, Isabella, and Merrill get a red sash/ribbon thing after romancing them. But here's what I was thinking:What would Sebastian or Anders do with that sash?Up to you.