Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

Summary: When does the cycle of vengeance end? Sebastian retook Starkhaven and since hunted Anders, the abomination who murdered the Grand Cleric, and Hawke, his lover and the woman who spared him after the fact. When Hawke alone is captured, Sebastian must decide how far he is willing to go for revenge.

AN: I almost didn't post this one, but I had a dream a few nights ago and it just grew.

I probably won't finish it for a long time, but... I don't know. I just had to.


"The runaway apostate Hawke has been captured by the Templars, my prince. They've just arrived in the city."

At the servant's news, the prince turned from the window to face the young elf. He wore a fine leather jerkin with the Starkhaven colors of red and black with the gold sun on a chain around his neck. His finely tanned face was clean-shaven and proud, his bright ocean eyes standing out against his caramel skin.

Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven pressed his mouth into a firm line. "What of Anders?"

She shook her head apologetically. "He was not with her, your grace. They found her alone."

Though his brow wrinkled with confusion, he didn't ask anything further.

"Thank you, Lorna. Tell them to bring her straight to me."


The group of five Templars moved lazily down the trail on their horses, their lone prisoner trailing behind the first on foot. Her hands were bound to the horse to the front of the group with two riders beside her, and the last two rode behind her.

Out of all the Templar groups that had gone out in search of the apostates, theirs was one of the smaller ones, and they were rather surprised that they had caught her.

The leader of the group, a Templar veteran named Colin with dark hair and skin, found the apostate particularly curious. As he rode beside her he noticed that she kept her gaze forward, her chin up, and her back straight. Not once had she spoken since they caught her sleeping alone in a field. Either pride or stubbornness was stopping her from asking for rest or water.

She wore a hooded, old-looking grey woolen cloak over her blue-gray mage robes, which glowed faintly with enchantment. As she walked, she kept the hood up; possibly to protect her pale face from the harsh sunlight.

She had barely struggled at all; this confounded Colin.

When they found her in that clearing, he'd been worried, he'd admit. He had only four other templars with him, and even if they managed to hit her with a smite, she likely had lyrium potions with her.

But she was silent and still on her bedroll, her eyes shut even when he was sure they made noise when their boots moved through the glass.

The other templars surrounded her, and Colin smote her.

With a cry of pain, she had jerked up and lashed out at the nearest Templar with her fists on instinct. She bloodied Marcas's nose before they restrained her and she seemed to realize what was happening.

Colin knew it was her; Prince Sebastian had described her in great detail before he left.

The prince spoke of a woman with long chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and pale, freckled skin. This woman was a perfect match. The prince hadn't lied; she was a lovely young lady.

His orders were that he take her alive, and if they found her, the murderer Anders was likely nearby. When they searched, however, there was no sign of anyone, let alone an abomination. She was alone.

They asked her if she knew where the abomination was, but she only shook her head silently, meeting their gaze with a defiant calmness that irritated a couple of the men.

They took her staff with them; if anything, they could sell it for a high price to shops. Even he could admire the beauty of the weapon. It was made of mostly wood, resembling gnarled roots. At the top was a rounded red stone. However, unlike other staves that he'd seen, at the opposite end of the stone was a sword-sized blade; razor sharp to the touch. With enough force, it could cleave a man in two. It was obviously used for both ranged and close combat; quite practical, for a woman like herself.

He and his men all carried canteens of water and meat in their packs. Whenever they were hungry or thirsty they drank or ate without stopping. The apostate, however, had no such liberties. Still she said nothing; only occasionally twisting her hands in the lyrium cuffs which kept her and her magic at bay.

Colin could tell his men were baffled. Marcas, one of the more experienced of his men and rode at the front of the pack, was still angry about her taking him by surprise. Colin actually found that rather funny; in all his sixteen years of being a Templar, he'd never seen a mage attack with their fists instead of their magic. Most of them couldn't possibly have packed the punch she had, either.

Davidson, who rode behind her, seemed more interested in her silence. He kept asking her why she said nothing, why she never answered his questions. He didn't become angry when she didn't answer him. When he grew tired of questioning her he instead spoke to one of the others.

The youngest Templar of the group, Tristan, rode on her other side. He was a kind, clever boy with ginger hair and brown eyes, and every once in a while, he asked her if she needed rest or water, offering her his canteen. He was the only one she gave any kind of acknowledgement, nodding yes or no.

She hadn't asked to stop once. Colin kept their speed as reasonable as possible to keep from being cruel.

Astoundingly, they made it about a third of the way back to Starkhaven before night fell and they stopped to sleep. Tristan volunteered first watch; Colin could swear he saw a spark of fancy in the young man's eye, but he allowed it. Together, they watched her sleep half the night, apparently uncaring of the five surrounding templars.

Colin never expected that when the prince said, "No matter what, you must bring her back alive," that his job would be fairly easy.