Summary: Love between an priestly prince and a rogue is never exactly easy. But once both sides acknowledge it, nothing can tear them apart. Snapshots of Sebastian and Kilaen's life together.

Disclaimer: If I've said it once, I've said it a million times...

Queen's Quornor: I wasn't planning on making this a drabble fic. After the 100 plus chapters of "Evidence of Sephiroth's Humanity," a fic of that nature seemed a little unlikely for me to undertake once more. I thought I would write a oneshot about Sebastian and the rogue I created for him, and that would be that. Instead, I think I created a monster...again. But I do think there's going to be a running theme of darkness in this collection, though whether that will be situational, environmental, or purely due to Kilaen's appearance and fashion sense will depend on the individual chapters. What I already know is this will range everywhere from their time in Kirkwall to their life in Starkhaven, so expect a number of OCs to pop up every now and then. Thus, to kick off the official drabbles, here is a look at Kilaen from Sebastian's point of view, sometime before she was named Champion but after the Harrimans were killed.

Stolen Kiss

Being on watch certainly gave a man ample time to think, Sebastian reflected. He glanced back at his sleeping comrades, satisfied that their rest was peaceful, before returning his eyes to the silvery orb hanging full and heavy in the glimmering sky. There was little danger in this area, so he could afford to let his mind wander a bit. Besides, with Rosco along on this trip there would be plenty of warning if his attention went too far astray.

He looked back to the mabari snoring by his mistress's side, sprawled like a seal on the soft moss. Sebastian grinned, but his expression softened as his gaze drifted to the woman curled beside the dog.

In repose, she was undeniably a beauty. Kilaen was a fashionably pale woman, although the lightness of her skin was natural and unaugmented by cosmetics, and she had the longest rope of braided hair he had ever seen, the silken tresses a glossy match to the blackness overhead. She always dressed in black, rarely with any other colors for accent; awake, she reminded Sebastian of a panther with the sinuous grace of her movements, her hair swaying behind her.

He watched the embers of the dying fire paint shadows across her high cheekbones and full lips, remembered how her golden eyes shone when the fire was lively and the group chatted of small, unimportant things. The woman possessed an almost magnetic appeal to menfolk, whether she knew it or not. He had often caught Fenris staring at her lips while she spoke, and Anders followed her every moment with hungry eyes. Even Varric sometimes gazed upon her with less than pure intent, and Isabela had already declared her physical attraction to their leader. But Kilaen had never returned their interest. She regarded them all merely as friends.

Sebastian knew who she wanted, although she never spoke of her desires. He had often felt the caress of her golden eyes as they walked around Kirkwall and its environs. Once he had overheard Isabela attempting to give her seduction advice, "guaranteed to make a holy man break every vow in the book," according to the pirate. Kilaen, to his relief, had hurriedly changed the subject before he joined the conversation. But her cheeks had remained a faint pink the rest of that night, and she kept glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking. If she didn't like him that way, then he was a red-haired nug.

Feeling a chill from the night air, the prince rubbed his arms and moved closer to the firepit, by coincidence kneeling next to Kilaen's bedroll. He traced her sleeping form with his eyes as he warmed his hands above the glowing cinders.

She was not a physically imposing woman. Kilaen was a small female, very compact in her musculature. Standing, the top of her head barely reached his collarbone. It made her capable of getting into spaces few others could follow, a huge benefit for a rogue such as her. But there was a surprising amount of power packed into that small form, and agility enough to turn any opponent into a whirling, stumbling fool as she tumbled all around them. She often used her quickness to set up prime shots for him. They worked extremely well together, considering that their outlooks were so different.

Sebastian had come to respect her views, even though he did not agree with many of them. Kilaen believed that many of the Chantry's teachings originated more from the circumstances of Andraste's life and death rather than her connection to the Maker. She did not see the point of isolating and punishing a substantial number of innocent people for the long-ago trespasses of a few, particularly when those at fault were dead centuries before. Anders could not sway her into militaristic action against the templars, but their beliefs were not so different. She and Sebastian had gotten into heated arguments over their interpretations of the Chant before, furious exchanges which left them panting and glaring at each other with clenched fists.

If he was completely honest with himself, Sebastian would have already acknowledged that he wanted her with every bone in his body. As it was, he had begun spending a lot more time praying for the Maker's guidance than before he met her. Scarcely a day went by that he didn't fight the urge to pull her into the nearest secluded spot and ravish her. Back in Starkhaven, he would have done so long ago; now, she was only driving him mad.

Kilaen was a torment of the sweetest kind, the sort of woman he would have found irresistable before his time with the Chantry. He could not forsake his vows, but he also could not deny that he was sorely tempted with every sway of her hips, every sideways glance of her tiger's eyes.

He leaned closer to her without thought, examining her sleeping face. Who would have believed such an inherently sensual woman could be so innocent in repose? The Maker must surely have spent a little more time creating her.

Too late, he realized his face was only inches from hers. This close, he could smell the faint remnants of the perfume she dabbed on her skin, the light fragrance of lilies combining with her natural scent to spin his senses. Kilaen murmured something and turned her head, offering her cheek.

His name, he realized with a start. She had whispered his name.

The Maker was testing him. That had to be it.

Still, the prince could not help lowering his head that slight, final distance to press a gentle kiss against that proffered cheek. He ached for it to be her lips instead, but that was too risky. Waking her was the last thing he wanted right now. It would be too awkward, explaining why the chaste prince was kissing her.

Reluctantly he sat back, relieved that none of their companions had stirred to witness his breach in etiquette. He finished warming himself hurriedly and returned to his rock, hoping the night's chill breeze would cool his ardor.

He folded his hands in yet another plea for divine guidance, but in his heart he knew the course he should take.

There would be no peace for him until he either cloistered himself entirely from her, or gave in and married the woman.