Disclaimer - All characters, settings, etc. belong to Bioware and the Dragon Age franchise.
A/N:Sebastian/F!Hawke, rated M for later chapters. Post-explosive end game. Finola Hawke lost most of her family to death and her sister to the Grey Wardens. Her friends were all she had left, and the citizens of Kirkwall wanted her as their Viscountess. She, however, wanted something that had eluded her grasp for years. The love of an exiled prince.
Many thanks to the most awesome beta, Biff McLaughlin! Comments/reviews are appreciated, and thanks for reading!
If Only
"Anders betrayed my trust, making an even bigger mockery of our association. All of Kirkwall sits in judgment of me now." Finola threw herself back against the couch and then stole a glance at Sebastian as they took a moment to relax in the makeshift chapel that was her estate's library. The roaring fire warmed the damp air breezing in through the open windows, but still, she shivered.
"Yes, and you're still their Champion, Finola, and they still want you to be Viscountess, or have you forgotten that?" Unfolding a piece of cloth, he began to wipe off a mud smear from his chest piece.
"I don't want to discuss politics right now." Sebastian's friendly reminder made her a bit nauseous. "Anyway, I thought we shared something special. I really did grow to love him, you know."
Sebastian's head sprang up, his eyes large as two moons. "You were in love with him?" he blurted. Then his shoulders dropped and he let out a heavy sigh.
"Are you serious?" Her eyebrows tightened, drawn together as a bemused smirk twisted her lips.
"Well, you said you loved him, and I've never heard you say that about anyone, except your family."
Over the years, she had intentionally ignored Anders' flirtatious remarks as well as Isabela's come-ons, knowing that Sebastian would not approve, hoping he would see her efforts to dissuade them.
"Maker's breath. You bloody men are all the same."
She thought back to another particularly gloomy afternoon two years prior, when Sebastian and Finola sat by the same hearth and nibbled on cheese and bread while they pored over some ancient religious documents. That was the day Sebastian had decided to test the waters.
He had come across a description explaining the elements of a chaste marriage, one similar to his grandfather's, after his grandmother had died, of course. As he spoke the details, Finola desperately tried to hold back the cackles rising in her throat. Washing down the last bite of her snack with some honeyed wine, she had closed her eyes and thanked the Maker Isabela wasn't around for this particular oration.
When she could take no more, she vocally scoffed at the idea of becoming a sister and living by the laws of the Chantry in a pure marriage. Her disdain had grown bawdier by the minute, and Sebastian seethed. When she had realized just how serious he was, she came to a full stop and apologized, but it was too late. Mocking Sebastian and his faith was an egregious blunder, but she thought a marriage such as that, living apart, devoid of sexual contact, would only confirm and strengthen his dedication as a brother; it would make things easier for him and impossible for her. She didn't get the chance to express those thoughts to Sebastian though. After her cheeky rant, he had stormed off, and then avoided her for a week, the subject never broached again. She had thought their friendship was over.
Finola was wrong. Sebastian had remained at her side, as her friend, her brother-in-arms, and sometimes, her confessor. She couldn't have been happier. And here he was now, poised next to her on the couch, again, the indent of his armor forever molded into the cushion.
She shifted around to face the man she had fallen in love with. "Maker, Sebastian. Not in love, but Anders was one of my dearest friends. I loved him the same way I love all of you." Her eyes pinched close for a split second. Damn it. Perhaps not the best way to phrase that.
Sebastian's spontaneous smile was brief, but she noticed. "Yes, of course. I spoke to soon… well, I hope you know that all your friends love you as well, Finola."
All my friends, you say? She tore off an uneven piece of fingernail and stared at the floor. "I'm not so sure."
Sebastian was always present in her thoughts, waking and otherwise, even in the heat of battle. She protected him at all costs, rallying to the archer's side before any other in their party. Over the years, her love for him had changed from warm and friendly to passionate and adoring, and everyone seemed to know of her unspoken love, everyone except Sebastian.
Her plan had been simple enough, though perhaps an exercise in futility. She thought she could draw him away from his vows as his faith seemed continually shaken, and she labored to change his mind whenever the opportunity arose, using his occasional weakness as a weapon to win him. His dedication frustrated her. It also amused and challenged her how impenetrable he seemed, but she was single-minded when it came to the success of her harmless scheme; every methodically constructed conversation would add up, and the reward would be beyond measure.
"Oh, your fingers. I never knew they were so calloused. Does it hurt?" she asked, taking his hand in hers, and squeezing just once as she smiled at him.
"Oh no. Years of archery have made me immune to such pain. But Hawke, your hands are not much better." He held open the front door of her estate where their friends were to meet to discuss the Qunari situation.
She looked down at her open palms, rough from years of swordplay. "I guess you're right. Hm. Should I thank you for pointing that out?" she muttered.
Sebastian smiled. "If you wish, I can give you some salve archers use to smooth those calluses."
"Oh, that would be helpful. My mother used to say you could always tell a well-bred woman by the softness of her hands," she sighed. Finola shook her head, clearing it of the memories. "Anyway Sebastian, do you regret staying here for so long?"
"Regret is a strong word, Hawke. And the wrong word. I have actually enjoyed my time here, fighting and chasing the chaos from Kirkwall... even praying in the Chantry has been quite fulfilling. Besides, who would listen to your ranting and raving if I left?"
"Hmph, true enough, but have you enjoyed the company? I know you haven't seen eye to eye with Isabela at times, and… Anders. But the rest of us are pretty even-tempered. Right?"
"Ha! You are not as laid-back as you would like everyone to believe."
"Well, at least it's always exciting with me around."
"Yes, you are unlike any woman I have ever known, Hawke."
"That's a good thing, I hope."
"Oh yes, a very good thing."
"Why Sebastian, are you flirting with me?"
"What? No, I just... Hawke, you're trying to make me blush, trying to make me… uncomfortable."
"I am, and it worked! But please, Sebastian, why don't you to call me by my first name for once. After all, I'm a woman, not a bird of prey."
Sebastian's head tipped to the side with a small grin. "You're right... Finola."
His spoken word - her name - rolled off his tongue with a smile and washed over her like a stirring wave, like the thrill of the first snowflakes of winter on her cheeks. If only he wasn't married to his beloved Chantry, married to the vows he had taken as a younger man, forced to atone for the wicked ways of his youth. But how wicked had he been?
"Sebastian, you've not spoken much of your younger years. Were you as reckless and debauched as you've intimated?" A wiggle of her eyebrows yielded a displeased glance in her direction, but she kept smirking anyway.
"Oh, yes. And then some." He let go a low chuckle, finding it hard not to be charmed by her sassiness. "Drunken brawls, gambling away my inheritance, loveless affairs in the dead of night, giving myself to any woman who looked my way. I was quite the prize." His cheeks reddened at the thought of those days.
"Any stories you wish to share?" For the love of Andraste, she wanted this man. Finola rubbed her hands together in anticipation, keenly aware of the alluring smirk turning up her lips.
"Hawke, er Finola, will you stop that?" he admonished, shaking his head. "Surely you can't be interested to hear of my past."
"Oh yes I am! Why so shy? Does it bother you to talk of your racy lifestyle?"
"Previously racy lifestyle." His brows narrowed, his mind working to understand her motives. "Well, I suppose I can share some stories… with you alone though. I don't want our companions to hear any of what I tell you. Understood?"
"Yes, messere. I understand," she purred.
"I mean it, Finola. I know how persuasive Isabela and Varric can be after a few drinks."
A long, pale finger slowly dipped from the top of her right breast, down and across to her left breast and back up again to the other side as she traced an 'x' on her chest. "Cross my heart." She noticed his eyes widen before he averted his gaze.
Sebastian cleared his throat. "First, let me say that I do not condone this manner of behavior."
"Of course not," she giggled.
"Look, if you're going to make fun of me-"
"No! No, I'm sorry. I was just teasing. Continue, please."
She hardly felt guilt for using such unsophisticated trickery to steal him from the Maker's side. What little remorse she had was simply a result of her plan, not worth much consideration, and done for the sake of love. To win his heart, his body, and his soul, she would do anything.
And anything included driving a dagger into the spine of one of the best healers she had ever seen, a man who was as a brother to her, one of her most cherished friends. She suffered overwhelming regret because of that one fatal action and it tore at her core, but Finola knew it would be worth it in the end if she could claim the exiled prince as her own.
However, Sebastian knew nothing of this. Finola had never said the words, never told him how deep her love for him truly was. Every decision she made appeared right and just to him, for the benefit of the people of Kirkwall. Sebastian had no doubt that her choices were meant to protect, heal, and rebuild, not to serve the romantic whims of a love struck woman. Yes, she was quirky and flirtatious, sometimes aloof and often deadly, but under her armor, when she wasn't aware of his gaze upon her, all he saw was a genuinely kind and caring person, one who thought of everyone but herself, a perfect example for a life devoted to the Chantry.
Her strategy had fallen short and was in need of recalculation. As he was more often a man of words than actions, she realized that if she continued her coy flirting yet remained emotionally detached, her snare might never spring.
As Sebastian shifted next to her and stared into the hearth, his blue eyes absorbed the orange glow of the firelight, rendering them grey and cheerless. He turned to her. "Finola, I do believe Anders loved you as well, in his own way."
She sighed. "I don't know. He didn't tell me his plan. If he had trusted me with his torment, maybe then… ah, but what does it matter now. Elthina's blood is on my hands, too."
"No!" Sebastian's voice grew stern, his eyes dark with bitterness. "Anders acted alone, Finola. I could say the same about myself, but I know in my heart that I bear no responsibility for the act of one fanatical apostate. It was no more your fault than mine."
"Then why do I feel so guilty? Poor Elthina, she was like a mother to you, one of so many innocents who died on that day. And any hope of the mages and templars finding some sort of peace has gone up in smoke with the Chantry. Kirkwall is a mess; it will never be the same again."
"You cannot take the blame for any of this. It was a civil war, created by greed and a desire for absolute power. You tried to make peace. You didn't take a side until you were forced to, and even so, you attempted to save as many lives as you could, be those the lives of templars or mages. You did the only honorable thing a person could do under the circumstances."
"What honor is there in any of this?" The mere thought of Anders brought tears to her eyes. "Sebastian, I did as you asked, as they all wanted me to do. I killed my good friend, without mercy."
"You had no choice." His hand sliced through the incense-laden air of the makeshift chapel in the library. "Both sides demanded his blood."
"Yes, and they certainly got plenty more afterwards. The streets ran red for days." Finola shook her head and sighed. "But you're right about one thing. In my mind, I didn't have a choice. But what if I had let him go? Allowed him find his own destiny, and damn the consequences?"
By the grace of the Maker, Sebastian was not in the Chantry the moment it exploded, and he had been quick to ask her if she'd hesitate to kill Anders had he perished along with Elthina. In reality, she would have slaughtered the entire city had Sebastian died that day. And had she let Anders live, Sebastian would have departed for Starkhaven, and that was the one and only consequence that truly mattered to Finola in the end, so she killed Anders in cold blood.
"He would have fought with the mages, most likely trying to kill you before you had to slay him in self defense. If you spend your time regretting these past weeks, and worrying over what might happen tomorrow, you will have no today in which to live. What matters is that you move on, Finola, you learn and grow from this experience."
"Maker, I hate when you're right, Sebastian. Is that some paraphrased Chant of Light drivel?" As quick as the words tumbled from her lips, her hand shot up and clapped over her mouth for a moment.
"No, it is not." Sebastian eyes pinned hers with disapproval, but then softened as an apologetic grin spread across her face. "It's just the reality of life now, for all of us. All things are as the Maker intends them to be."
As had happened on so many occasions over the years, Sebastian's constant internal fortitude and insightful words had eased her mind, and her sorrow. His faith was strong, personal, and very valuable, even to those not as dedicated as he was.
"Why must reality be so difficult?" Finola's head moved forward, compelled to show her gratitude with fewer meaningless words. "You're a wise man, Sebastian."
She brushed her thumb along the side of Sebastian's jaw, an index finger propped under his chin, and she gently pushed his head to expose his right cheek. She moved closer, a nearness that only happened on the odd occasion, sometimes during a flurry of excitement as they stood back to back assessing a group of mercenaries. Their heads would turn at once, ear to ear for a quick statement of their next move as adrenaline raced through their veins, and then they would split apart, his arrows flying as her blades slashed and spun.
This was so undeniably different. The moment her lips touched his face, seconds may as well have been hours. He remained frozen, even as his pulse quickened and she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His eyes closed as she allowed her lips to linger for the briefest of moments. Her hair smelled of roses and almond milk, a heady and delightful aroma.
This close to him, his natural musk competed with the incense floating in the air, and it overwhelmed her senses. She smelled a hint of witch hazel and allspice on his smooth skin; perhaps a balm to sooth his flesh after having shaved with a straight blade. A piercing gaze revealed her obvious desire, her wish for more lay bare before him as her thumb traced gentle circles on his cheek. Staring into the depth of his eyes, she waited for a reaction, her breathing becoming more ragged and heavy in the face of probable rejection.
Sebastian's stomach fluttered as she pulled her head back, her intent look begging him to accept what she offered. He was elated and crushed in the same instant, once again questioning the vows that echoed through his head every time he had thought of her as something more than a pleasant companion. What has this woman done to me? Was Elthina right to doubt me? Elthina's words haunted his thoughts and stabbed at his heart. "People serve the Maker in many ways, Sebastian. You don't need to take vows to do His work." Could she have been right all along, about everything?
He stayed his right hand, pressing it to the couch, digging his fingers into the soft velvet cushion to keep from grabbing a fistful of her golden hair and pulling her face to his. Her lips were plump and moist, her mouth slightly agape, waiting for him to make the next move.
In another lifetime, perhaps a fit of passion would overwhelm him and he would take what he longed for, releasing the hidden desire that had tugged at every fiber of his being in recent months. He repressed the temptation every time, repeating the Chant until his eyes closed and he saw nothing but the white light of divinity. But always, always the light faded to visions of her; finding homes for orphans, defending her friends at all costs, arguing vehemently about freedom for mages and not letting the templars reign supreme, or slaying those who threatened peace in the city that called her Champion.
And sometimes, in his dreams, there were even lovelier images of her: praying quietly in the Chantry, snoring softly as she napped on her favorite chair, laughing aloud as she sang off key in the tavern, or teasing him mercilessly about his brogue.
At one time, I was free to follow my whims, to laugh and love where I chose, he thought. But no, not now, and certainly not when her wounds were still so fresh, not when what she needed most was a friend and confidante to quell her confusion, and certainly not when he needed to address the issues in Starkhaven, and soon. No, he would never take advantage of her grief and ruin the friendship he had so carefully nurtured. Sweet Andraste, give me the strength to end this madness…
"Finola," he whispered. "Please, don't do this to yourself…"
A heated flush crept from her neck to her cheeks. "Me? What is wrong with you?" Her eyes dropped to her lap, and she found herself folding her hands together into a tight ball in the awkward silence. "Tch, just forget it." Anxiety that was barely tempered by the determination that began to rip through her, bubbling up from her very core. "On second thought, don't forget it!" She squared her shoulders and glared at him. "I need to say something you may not want to hear, but just listen and-"
"Hawke!" Aveline flung open the door and burst onto the scene with her usual commanding force. "Oh, there you are. Am I interrupting something notable here?" she asked, her lips quirked to the side.
Finola's head spun around, ready to strike at Aveline's intrusion, but there was no point now; the most opportune moment in months had passed. "No, you're not interrupting anything," Finola sighed. "Is something wrong?" She stood up from her seat, dragging her rose-scented warmth away and leaving Sebastian bereft.
Aveline took another step into the library. "Nothing's wrong. I just wondered where you were."
Finola met Aveline, face to face, ignoring the concept of personal space. "Really? You shout for me and practically bust the door down to find me and nothing is going on? I find that hard to believe, especially coming from you, Aveline."
Aveline stepped back. "Well, I didn't want to upset you, seeing as how you're busy, but that damn healer you hired is drunk again. People are coughing and moaning and there's blood on the floor, and that mage is so pie-eyed he can barely cast a minor heal let alone anything really effective."
"Maker damn it all!" Finola swore, not caring if Sebastian was frowning at her choice of words. She turned to her silent friend only to see his chin had dropped to his chest as he squeezed his temples between two fingers, his eyes closed. Fine, be that way, she thought. "Okay Aveline, I'll go fetch another mage, but it will take some convincing. Cullen is extremely wary about letting any mages roam about, even with me. I guess this will cost me some serious coin."
Aveline tossed her a pouch of sovereigns. "It will." Finola's hand darted out to catch the bag before it hit Sebastian square on the head. "Always a step ahead of you, Fin." The Captain of the Guard walked over to Sebastian and shouted at his lowered head. "Hey, Vael, look alive! Escort our friend to the Gallows, pronto."
He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Hm? Oh, yes. We need to return before darkness settles on the city." He slid to the edge of the couch, glancing sideways at Finola.
"So practical," Finola mumbled, and then she shot a glare at Aveline. "Take over while I'm gone. It's bound to get uglier before it gets better around here."
"Right, Hawke. As you say," she nodded. "Wait, I'm the Captain, you're just… the Champion."
"Was that a joke? I do believe that's the first time I've heard you attempt levity."
Aveline stifled a snide retort, instead choosing to roll her eyes in silence.
Finola motioned towards the door. "Come on, Sebastian. Let's head for the docks."
"Of course." He forced himself to rise from the settee, walking straight out the door into the entrance hall to collect his bow and quiver.
Aveline leaned in and whispered into Finola's ear. "So, anything to report? Did I come in too early?"
"Pfft. Blasted man. No, and… no. I'll give you all the horrifying details later." Finola stalked out of the room, attempting to hide her eyes, which betrayed the sadness settling in her heart.
Aveline felt her friend's misery as if it were her own, and she silently berated her forceful entry. Leaving the library, she proceeded to hurl orders at Sandal and Bodahn who waited near the entryway. "Okay, let's get this place cleaned up! When Hawke gets back, I want everything in shipshape condition! Sandal, empty the chamber pots and clean the bloodstains in the back! Bodahn, new straw and linens for the bedrolls in the rooms! And for Maker's sake, stop blathering about the weather!"
Finola met Sebastian outside the door of her estate. She took a deep breath and put on her happiest face just as his eye caught hers. "Finola, I'm sorry. I should never have let-"
"No worries, Sebastian," she cut him off, waving a stiff hand in the air and nervously laughing at his attempted apology. "With everything going on around here, it's no wonder we're all a little crazy. I chalk it up to lack of sleep. No harm done."
Her chipper voice was almost convincing. I couldn't have been wrong in there. I saw it in her eyes. Dear Maker, show me a sign, he thought. "If you say so. Just know," he said, squeezing her arm, "that I am here to lend an ear anytime. All right?"
"Yeah, sure." She pulled away from his touch to adjust her pauldron. "Come on, it's getting late, and I need to drop something off at Varric's on the way."
After a brief stop at The Hanged Man, Finola and Sebastian made their way to the docks in virtual silence when Sebastian finally spoke up. "Finola, I know my timing is bad, but maybe I should leave."
"Can't you wait until we secure another healer? Aveline will skin you alive if you don't accompany me back home, you know she will. Silly woman, she still thinks I need an escort."
He stopped walking and gazed out across the still waters, the Gallows looming in the distance. "No, I meant leave… for Starkhaven."
Finola's head spun around, her eyes wild with disbelief. "Starkhaven? After everything we've done, everything I've done to help you secure your title, you're going to leave, just like that? Maker, Sebastian, why are you telling me this now?"
"I've been meaning to discuss it with you for some time. Kirkwall is slowly stabilizing, and you have no further need of my skills. Maybe it's for the best."
"No need? Right, what do I matter? You have what you require, and to the void with the rest of us!"
"Finola, you know it's not like that." He scratched his head and moved to stand in front of her. "I thought you might react like this, but you've known all along that my return to Starkhaven was imminent."
A few moments passed, and she was able to get her pounding heart under some control. But her thoughts were racing and she said the only thing that came to mind. "Yes, well, you just took me by surprise. I guess I'll just have to throw you the biggest farewell party this city has ever seen."
"Oh, no, no, that's not necessary," he managed between edgy breaths. "That would be…. inappropriate. And I have much to do if I am to leave in three weeks time."
"Three weeks? It seems you've had this planned for a while." Angry barely described how she felt. Flabbergasted wasn't even close. Don't choke him, don't choke him. "Well, you can't stop me from having a party, and if the guest of honor isn't in attendance, we'll go on without him." Go on without him? Maker, I can't do this! Okay, don't fall apart now. Just breathe, breathe…
She was so uncomfortable, and she knew he was too.
Feeling slightly dazed, she began to prattle. "I have so much to do now. I may even have to decorate. I'll hire those minstrels we saw last year at that soiree for what's her name, that woman from Orlais. Anyway, they were terrific! And maybe I can get some jugglers, or fire breathers for entertainment. Oh, the orphans would love that!"
"Finola, stop this. Take a deep breath and slow down." Sebastian's heart tightened like it was being squeezed in a vice, and his frown deepened, his eyes blazed with concern. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about leaving.
Her words strung together in a frenzy of chatter, her arms flailing about in front of him. "Oh, we'll have to get some of that delicious wine from Fenris' cellar, and I'll meet with that woman from the baker's guild, you know the one. She makes the most delicious fish and egg pie, and I know it's your favorite. Do you think we should invite Cullen? Maybe we should. After all, his connections in Denerim helped gather some men for your army. Oh, and maybe Merrill can have some of her friends from the alienage come and regale us with stories of the ancient Dales."
This was too much, certainly more than she could handle in public. She reached into her pocket, searching for something, and nothing.
"Finola! Stop acting like this. I'm sorry, I know you thought-"
"What did I think?" All her energy drained in an instant, her world turning upside down and landing on its head.
Seeing her like this, so nervous and unbalanced, awoke a powerful desperation in his soul. "Please, talk to me, Finola, tell me what you are truly feeling," he implored. "Tell me what other choice I have, what you would have me do."
She couldn't listen to him for another second, couldn't hear the anguish in his voice as her mind boiled with rage. The instinct to survive took over instead. She pulled her hand out of her pocket and slapped her thigh. "Damn it! I left the coin in Varric's room. Would you run back and get it? My ankle is bothering me after I tripped on the stairs earlier, and Cullen won't even talk to me if I haven't any gold to donate. I'll wait here and keep the boat from leaving without us."
"What?" His desire to protect her was even greater now, and he strained to keep his fluctuating emotions in check. "Forget the coin, Finola. I know what you're doing, and I won't allow it!"
"Sebastian Vael! You are in no position to tell me what you will and will not allow. You are not my father, or my husband, or even my… Andraste's ass, just go!" She rubbed her eyes roughly, willing the dread that seeped from her heart to still, even if only for a minute.
The words were there, aching in Sebastian's heart, trying to escape his lips. What if I could give you everything and more? Would you take it? Leave your home, your friends, your life. "Starkhaven isn't as far away as it seems, Finola. Would you consider-"
"What? Visiting you? Moving there? Leaving everything behind! For what?" A deep breath and headshake calmed her enough to dispel her heated tone. "If you don't go to Varric's now," she began hesitantly, "I won't be able to get a healer before nightfall. It'll only take a little while if you run. Please, Sebastian. Just do as I ask."
Sebastian squinted at her, his chest heaving at the thought of leaving her alone in this state. He looked to the sun and she was correct; the day was waning. He had no choice but to acquiesce. "Fine, I'll get it, but only because we must have a healer. Calm down and wait right here. This conversation is not over, Finola. Don't. Go. Anywhere."
"I won't." Another lie.
As soon as Sebastian sprinted off, Finola felt her throat swell, strangling her as if two hands were wrapped around her neck. A zigzag amble in the general direction of the boat quickly became a jog, and then turned into a full out run, away and down the path to the warehouse district.
The tears stung and blurred her vision as she ducked into an empty alleyway to retch. Her back slid against the rough stone wall of a warehouse, and she slumped to the ground, holding her aching head in her hands.
The mighty Champion of Kirkwall, slayer of all things malevolent and tyrannical, was reduced to a miserable heap of trembling shoulders and soft whimpers.
But not for long.
Ten minutes passed, maybe fifteen. Her sobbing abated with the shadows of late afternoon closing in, her head clearing as dappled sun warmed her cheeks. Allowing herself a moment of weakness and releasing the pent up emotion in the alleyway actually strengthened her resolve. "It's not too late," she said to herself.
Finola had to confront him, had to make him stay for a while longer, or leave with him, using whatever means necessary. Failure to do so was not an option, never an option.
With renewed energy, she stood up, brushed the dust off, and took a deep lungful of air. A small grin turned up her lips as she reached around to her lower back and pulled out the bag of sovereigns from a hidden pocket.
She prayed Aveline had tidied up and released some of the people whose injuries were mostly healed. Luckily, there were only a few patients milling about when she departed that morning. But first, she had to hire a skilled healer from the Circle, and pay the ferryman for his silence, before heading back to Hightown and stopping at the marketplace.
Then, the more significant efforts would begin.
A rosewater bath was critical, followed by the donning of a new dress. A freshly baked fish and egg pie wouldn't hurt, nor would a spiced apple tarte.
And a bottle of Antivan wine from the cellar. Or maybe… two bottles.