Sebastian's steps through the wide palace corridor were solitary, the clacks of his boots accompanied only by the echoes that bounced off the polished walls. The newly crowned Prince glazed over the ongoing trail of sterile white pillars, and the distant faces in the paintings of long dead relatives. With a sigh, he passed by a door, where gentle murmurs seeped through the cracks.

"Karolis carried as many bags of coins as he could, while the others…"

His ears perked, the soothing, silvery voice gripping his heels, compelling him to turn back. He turned the gilded knob with care, as though it would break with too much force, and reared his head inside. At the far end of the room, Hawke sat in a wooden chair, covered in robes and blankets, looking down at a bundle secured in her arms. The Champion turned Viscountess of Kirkwall, a woman who had witnessed surmountable struggles and hardships all her life, was glowing in the soft evening light against the window. Ribbons of pink and yellow embraced her form, washing away the strain and stress that once clutched her face, though her hair was in disarray. Sebastian saw her wide smile from a distance and one was quickly imprinted on his face. Her happiness had a way of being infectious, and she was as beautiful as she had ever been.

The Prince inserted himself into the room and tread softly between the cradle and small mountains of toys. His eyes were glued to Hawke's face, while she looked down upon a little hand wiggling about, the sound of his steps dissipating before it reached her.

"…By the time the greedy lord's men reached the vault, every piece of gold was gone," she said to the little one in the bundle, a spark of excitement in her voice, layered with controlled softness. "All that was left was a single parchment, which read, 'The Black Fox thanks you for your kind donation,'." Only when Sebastian approached the chair and planted a kiss on her forehead did she lift her head to notice him. "Oh," she peeped cheerfully, "hello dear. I didn't see you there. Lucky you, I just got him to stop crying."

"I didn't think you'd be here," he replied as he brought a chair to sit next to her, "I thought perhaps you'd be resting."

"You don't need to worry about me, Sebastian. I'm fine. How was the council meeting?"

He sighed, ran a calloused hand over his brow. His fingers tripped over the creases forming in his skin. "… Draining."

"It will be worth it. You'll see, we'll get through this."

"When I see the two of you, my doubts are erased," Sebastian looked towards the babe wrapped in blankets and arms. The child's head bobbed around about like a pea being squeezed out of its pod, but he blinked at his parents with serene blue eyes. The Prince ran a finger along the child's head, felt the sprouts of black hair forming on his scalp before tapping his little bunt nose, making the child squeal with laughter. "He likes a good story, does he?"

"I know he can't really understand it yet," began his wife, "but I think it's good for him. It lets him know I'm always here for him, that I care for him."

"Ah, so that's why you won't let the servants help?"

"It has to be me. I truly am fine, dear, I just need a little time to regain my strength. Please don't worry about me."

"I'm sorry. I just… can't do this without you. When I lost Elthina and the Chantry, you were my strength, the only one who supported me, helped me back on my feet in my darkest time. I wouldn't be here if not for you. I need you… we both do."

"And you both shall keep me. You've already put me through quite a number of trials, Sebastian, a little thing like childbirth isn't going to stop me."

The Prince laughed. "That I have, and forgive me for underestimating you're strength… if I may ask, is that a Ferelden tale you were telling him? I'm not familiar with a 'Black Fox'."

"Maybe make some time and I can tell you the story, too."

"I'd like that."

"It's Orlesian, technically, or at least that's where it starts. But it's a favorite of mine. There was a book of some of his more daring tales in the Chantry in Lothering. My sister and I read it together a dozen times over."

"You don't think tales of a man who steals from nobility is a bit… confusing for the future Prince of Starkhaven?"

"The Black Fox was a noble, actually, and I think it's appropriate. A good reminder to remain fair when in a place of power," a sly smile crept along Hawke's face. "And who knows? Perhaps he'll grow up to be a dashing rogue like his father." She giggled as Sebastian countered with a playful kiss on the cheek. "I should invite Varric over soon. I only have so many stories. Perhaps he could lend me a few, or even a few techniques on delivery. He was always so good with that."

"I should think most of our… dear dwarf friend's tales are about you, darling."

"Well… it couldn't hurt for the boy to think his mother is an accomplished fighter, perhaps even a hero."

"You are all those things, you can't doubt that."

"You had quite a part to play in those stories, too."

"Ha! I'd count myself fortunate if Varric mentions me in the background of your heroics. Unworthy Choir Boy, with his head too far up his own arse to notice how lovely and wonderful the Champion is."

"To be fair, it's a very fine arse."

"He can scarcely believe we're together, much less married."

"The look on his face when I told him of our engagement was priceless."

"I may need to resort to describing how our son was conceived, lest he spread the idea he was born of someone else. Let's see, when did it happen? Was it that ball Flora Harriman threw that was so dreadful, we snuck up to her balcony and I bent you over her banister? Or perhaps it was that evening you were so enraptured by the Grand Tourney that you tossed me into the bedroom when we got home, and tore off my clothes? You had my belt in your teeth at one point, if I recall. How would Varric like to hear that?"

"Sebastian, please!" Hawke choked on her laughter as she broke one hand away to give her husband a shove. "We're quite the pair, aren't we? We should count ourselves lucky he doesn't understand us."

"Forgive me, love," he chuckled. He looked down at the babe again, his blissful, gummy grin causing his own smile to stretch. His mood had just as much an affect on him as his mother's, it seemed. "He looks like you, I think."

"Hmm… a bit, I suppose. Not to worry, as long as he talks like you, he'll be fighting off hoards of women."

"Ah," the Prince shook his head, "how delightful it will be to be on the other side of that situation."

Hawke laughed. "Call it divine retribution. He has your eyes, I think, but I'm seeing mostly Hawke features. I think there's even a Ferelden chin forming…"

"We… still need to decide on a name. All the maids insisted we'd be having a daughter, so I only thought up girls' names."

"Oh? They all told me I was hiding a full grown dwarf under my dress, I was so big! But I was… thinking of one. I think he resembles someone in my family. Someone I lost a long time ago."

"Do you… wish to name him after your father? Malcolm's a fine name."

"It is, but… my father fell to illness, but he lived a long, full life. I need not commemorate it. No, our son looks more like someone… who never got the chance to grow up. To use all that potential he had, but could never see. Someone I let down when he needed me most."

"Darling," Sebastian cooed as he slipped his arm over her back, his hand grappled on her shoulder. "I know what you wish to name him. I think it's a wonderful idea. If it's what you want, then I want it, too."

"Truly?" she said, her face lit up. As her husband nodded, her smile expanded, and she ducked her head to give the child a light kiss against his scalp. "Son," she began, a mist cloaking her eyes, "I'm going to name you Carver, in honor of my little brother, whom I miss every single day. I love you, Carver," her smooth voice began to crack. Sebastian rubbed her shoulder and brought his free hand to her glowing face to smudge away the tears on her cheek with his thumb. "I didn't tell my brother that nearly enough, so… I'm going to tell you that for both of you. I'm going to tell you I love you every chance I get until you can't even stand it, then I'll tell you again. I love you, Carver." The Prince hooked his other arm over Hawke's stomach, so that he held both her and the child. Hawke leaned on him, nestling her head against his shoulder. "Thank you," she said with a sniffle, "I know he can't yet understand, but…"

"I think he knows," said her husband as he squeezed the both of them. "I think they both know."