Chapter Warnings: Angst, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, and Torture.
Edited: 01.31.2015 – Editing galore; please read the Author's Note at the end...
Chapter Two: A Blessing Shared
Come swiftly striking
Cast down your demons, dear one
For you, all is done
Over twenty days of overcast skies, spouts of relentless rain, torrential winds and lightning prolonged their journey. Yet, they persevered, the long days blurred into one another until they reached that last stretch. It was at the border of the principality where Maria Hawke first witnessed a glimpse of Starkhaven's hospitality when an honour guard intercepted the prince's party, alerted by messenger some weeks ago.
"Your Highness -" Third Company Captain Mathieu Briggs, the long feather of his glengarry bonnet sweeping, bowed. "- I humbly beg your pardon, Sire, but with no word from you in a fortnight, we were beginnin' to think that these bloody storms might've thrown you back to the Waking Sea."
At first glance, Maria Hawke painted Captain Briggs in her mind as a fairly affable fellow, his dark hair slicked back from his face and grey eyes sharp for duty. Each of his men stood at parade rest, their kilts and fly plaids of crimson, black, and pale stone-gray tartan - the royal sette - crisp and clean. From the coach, Hawke took note that even their boots appeared polished and their elaborate dress sporrans and sword hilts gleamed with meticulous care in the half-light.
Nevertheless, she kept to herself, a quiet spirit among men. For both her sake and another's, she submitted under Sebastian Vael's rule rather than her own lead.
Taken into the Company's ranks, Captain Briggs directed the party into the village of Srath Karin, Starkhaven's furthest settlement, some three days from the capital. Srath Karin boasted a robust atmosphere, hard-bred people who loved to laugh and who enjoyed their labours. Sturdy dwellings lined the well-kept thoroughfare. Happy children and their parents wandered the streets as the escort passed by, curious onlookers standing in faint awe.
Near the centre of the village, the proprietors of The Valley's Bounty - a rotund gentleman and his petite wife - bent at the waist, their fellows following their example. This was not the stiff reception the prince and his companion had expected.
"It's about time, Your Highness," said Ellar Beckett with a warm smile and an inelegant wave of his arm.
Ever the soldier, the good Captain rounded on the innkeeper for such casual speech but he drew back when Sebastian raised a weathered hand.
"Your acceptance astounds me, Serah Beckett," said Sebastian, his eyes betraying his surprise.
"We're loyal to the House of Vael, Sire. No one here would deny your parents that legacy." Beckett's devoted timbre shaped his words, little notion spared for the repercussions. "They were good people."
A few instants of hear, hear and others rose like waves and filtered through the crowd.
Beckett's steadfast support brought the gentlest of smiles as Maria attended from the travel-worn coach. The allegiance these people held for a prince they did not truly know as they granted him merit on his name alone, it lightened her heart. The power in a name was unlike any other. She herself found herself entranced by their prince where he stood, so tall and so confident before the throng. A maiden's blush raced across her cheeks. Little did she sense the several pairs of eyes beginning to take notice of the prince's companion. Someone cleared his throat and every gaze that fell upon her made her flinch, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the shadows - it was as she had been crowned Champion once again, a title and light she had not desired. Yet it was Sebastian's grin, kinder and sweeter than she could imagine, that drew her to him when a calloused hand offered itself. With as much grace as she could muster, she stepped from the coach into the light of their stares. Sebastian squeezed her fingers, her only comfort amidst the sea of soldiers and peasants.
"Ah, ladies and gentlemen, may I present my betrothed?" The prideful brogue made the mage's heart dance and her blush deepened to a ruddy scarlet. Ringed by confused faces, her eyes darted to the time-smoothed cobbles of the street. Her stomach knotted. Her breath quickened. Her heart drummed a more erratic tattoo against her ribs – fear reigned among the superstitious. Did they know her? Know a mage stood before them?
A low murmuring undulated through the crowd, queries and comments a whispering chorus. But it did not last. Bowing low before her, Captain Briggs diffused their gossip and assumption. Relief built with his roguish smile and the captain took up her hand, bending to kiss the bloodless knuckles.
"Allow me to be the first to thank you for the return of our Prince and formally welcome you to the lands of Starkhaven, milady."
Inside the prince's rooms in The Valley's Bounty, the storm in the former Champion of Kirkwall's mind raged in greater force, more than a match for the clashing fronts over the farthest outskirts of Starkhaven. Twenty days she and the prince spent in peculiar companionship, accepting more comfort in the tentative touch of hands than in few words they shared. It was assurance; the knowledge that he was there which calmed her. They did not spend their nights in reckless abandonment, in an entanglement of naked limbs; betrothed or not, mutual respect demanded it, or so Maria believed.
Everything had changed since their flight. Sebastian kept her at his side but did not share his affections beyond the casual brush of skin or a chaste kiss upon the cheek, never pressing for more. Yes, he was polite and charming, but he reserved, withheld. His smiles were true, yet his poignant stare spoke of a longing for more that he denied. Hidden, some restraint chained him away, just beyond her reach. The depths of those stark blue eyes flashed with a brewing turmoil that mirrored hers, separate but the same. He never met her gaze, nor would she meet his. Sometimes she wondered it was regret that form those chains.
Yet, every night he cast her into confusion as without a word he led her to his bed. At first, she balked at such boldness until there she slept, pillowed in crook of his shoulder with nothing more than a whispered "good night".
Was it he who had designed this detachment, burdened with a truth known only to the prince himself? Did the memories of his vows haunt his thoughts? Or was she to blame, masked in shame and fear, in loathing the past and the reality she could not change? She did not understand it nor could she understand him.
From the bed, she marvelled how calm Sebastian appeared on the outside. It was an odd sight, his mouth agape as his breath hissed a slow rhythm in his sleep. His chin, propped up by his forearm on the armrest of the great chair, cushioned itself in the cradle of his large hand where the fingers curled onto his cheek. The dwindling blaze in the hearth drew conflicting shades across his face and clothes, his armour exchanged for a simple cotton ghillie shirt and trews.
A part of her truly loved him, grown too accustomed to his company in their companions' absence. Prince or no, she knew she would stay if only to see him contented - he meant too much to her now to simply walk away. There was the man who fought at her side and chose to give her purpose once again with a need that matched her own.
Even so, her mind remained ill at ease. Wayward thoughts consumed her. In the darkest hours, she prayed for a sign, a word to ease her troubled soul. When she found no answer, she assured herself to seek them out - without amity between her heart and mind, how could she help the one who mattered most?
For hours she wrestled with her thoughts until something drew her from them, a strangest need for fresh air rising.
Certain that Sebastian remained fast asleep, Maria crept from their bed and stole into the wet Starkhaven night, wary to escape notice by the Third Company guardsmen. Ever cautious, Captain Briggs had stationed small platoons around the inn and the whole of Srath Karin. She let her feet guide her past their ranks, through the muck and darkness, drawn to something beyond its veil. The last lanterns dissolved into the blackness of the night to leave only a three-quartered moon, semi-hidden in shadow, to light the winding path.
Maria paused only long enough to pour a wisp of magic into the Tear of Andraste - not once had she let the gift leave her throat. She cast out its glow before her steps and forged onwards. On the bank of a brook, she caught sight of her reflection - the dark circles beneath her eyes, the haggard look of her skin, all so prominent in the half-light. It disgusted her. There, the former Champion of Kirkwall – no, just a woman, a mage – sank to the ground, shaking, and tugged her cloak closer as tears carved shining pathways down her cheeks.
How she reviled herself. What had she fought for all these years? A title? A home? A life?
Fate's hand forced, she chose to execute the only mage who shared her freedom. She was betrayed by the ones she defended, even after a futile sacrifice. She gave up the prospect a seat of power by her own volition, the most likely place from which to soothe and mend the festering wound left by misdeeds. Whether by chance or by desire, another had brewed chaos while she sought peace, a chaos that only a small part of had been caused by her own hand.
Were these things done for love, for a righteous purpose? No, she chided, the word bitter in her mouth. These were birthed from selfish reasons and desires - these were the consequences of choice. And she despised herself for them, hated its power. And the magic...magic was a gift and a curse, she spat at the shadows.
"Maker, forgive me." Her prayer echoed, the rushing water masking a trembling cadence. "I am a fool and sinner, but... I cannot live without this. I fear it will consume the thin thread that binds me to him."
Desperation reigned in the hate and the ardour, the sadness and the guilt as magic boiled in her veins, in body and soul, within and without. She filled herself with the memory of them and melded them into a single, thriving construct. Maria's hands crackling with energy, the Tear of Andraste quivering against her breast, she released a great bolt into the sky. In it she expelled all of her frustration on a thunderous cry until nothing remained to hold her up. She slumped back and sobbed soundlessly, unable to move as the rain began to fall once again.
"You give yourself more pain that your sins warrant, child."
Hawke's gasp vanished among the thunder of the rekindled storm.
"Come, now. Is that how you greet an old friend?" cooed the Witch of the Wilds, her laughter low.
"Flemeth." Hawke panted, her magic seeping away - another magic worked in the ether, something more than just exhausted weighed the mage's body to the earth. "Flemeth... Flemeth, what is this? What have you done to me?"
Beneath her cloak, the Tear of Andraste began to hum and twitch, heat radiating from its core.
The ageless dragon of a woman stepped into the moonlight, unchanged and brimming with power as rivulets of water ran from her crest. A snide smirk marred her dark lips whilst amber eyes bored into her prey. The witch's smirk grew wider and she let out a throaty croon.
"Though She may favour you in a manner I do not, this farce amuses me. But I have a purpose, as I always do," she answered, her tone no more than feigned importance as she waved her hand. Disdain then poisoned her speech, her glare hardening once again. "Foolish, little mageling, you cannot rid yourself of your pain, your fear. Denying it will only bring you more. You will bring the one you so covet down into your Void and smother him as you wait."
Flemeth's will writhed in Maria's veins, plucked at the strings of her control and her magic.
"You believe you merit more? Then allow me to grant that which you so crave. Let us see if I can satisfy you. Maybe then you will learn its value and that of true magic. Allow me to bestow upon you what you truly need."
If she screamed, Maria could not hear it through the roar of the white-hot pain searing through body and mind. Her chest seized as if bands of iron had settled and tightened there. She could not breath, nor see or cry. Every nerve alighted, paralyzed.
"Wait."
A silent cry tore itself from Sebastain and he snapped awake. The sudden hurt dulled but still remained, constant and worrying as a cold sweat soaked his nightshirt.
Maria?!
Even without the light, he knew her gone. The sense of her, that warmth, the perception of her presence did not fill that place - to him, it was empty and lonely like the Void.
How long did he have? In moments, he dressed in his armour. The harsh white gleamed in candlelight and he strapped on his quiver. Bow in hand, Sebastian barked orders to the men guarding the inn and Briggs organized them in hasty search. He wanted to cry out, to blame them but he reined in that anger - what could they have done against a mage? Marching out into the mounting downpour, he left a stunned and anxious Orana to worry and tremble as she watched him disappear into the night.
Had it not been for the shimmering radiance blazing across the cloud-filled sky, Sebastian was certain he would have lost his way. He knew magic on sight. His jaw set and an arrow notched, he slipped through the sheets of cutting rain.
His fury fuelled him, not only the wrath of his incompetence, but contempt. Had he drove her away? Set against her, he had poured his strength into discipline and respect in an endeavour to master the insatiable emotions, those unbecoming of a prince, which returned to him in that first kiss. Yes, he had withdrawn, forced himself to be satisfied only with the barest of intimacy and asked nothing more of her until the time came. He was a man of two minds, a man of love and a man power - two sides at war. As Prince, he could shield her, but he may never have her, duty and rule at odds with his wishes. Sacrifices would have to be made. For that sake, he tested himself only to face failure. Out of the want, he chose to resign himself, to hold her at a distance. But at what cost? Maker, it would have been easier to hate her, blame her for all - but for all his worth, he could not. How could he not deny that he indeed adored the bride led to him by the Maker? Seared into mind, he had made her a vow, a promise unlike any other, one he refused to sever, to willingly break.
He would not fail her now.
When Sebastian broke through the copse of trees onto the brook's embankment, his grandfather's bow nearly tumbled from his grasp.
The Witch of the Wilds, the Chasind had named her. Icy dread threatened to take him like a spiteful poison as he caught sight of Maria, her features contorted like a madman's dream. The light emanating from the Tear of Andraste did nothing but enhance the twisting shadows. Terror banished as rage fermented, he found the words and the resolve.
"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just." Sebastian drew back the tight bowstring to where the arrow's shaft brushed high on his cheek. "Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written!"
The final words surged forth in a snarl as the he loosened the shaft. He winced as wood abraded flesh with its flight. The prince did not linger to witness if the arrow found its target. Rather, he rushed to Maria's side.
He did not reach her.
The air around him congealed. New magic flooded every sense, crushed the very breath from his lungs. The Tear of Andraste, cracked and burning like a newborn sun, shattered and engulfed the night in a blinding whiteness. Sebastian's hands flew to cover his ears, deafened by pure magic's roar. Seconds elongated into what a dying man might call hours until the ringing ceased. Even robbed of sight and thrown to the ground, Sebastian lashed out into the unreal darkness. He abandoned reason and his bow in his search for Hawke. He called her name in a frantic mien. He cried out until a keening voice broke through and his fingers latched onto the tatters of her cloak. She shivered in his arms as she grasped for him, pulled him closer as if she was afraid of falling into some unknown abyss.
"I heard Her," she sobbed over and over, her voice a trembling thing in the rain. "I heard Her..."
Hours later, the guards found them, mud-splattered and blind.
Sucking in a deep breath, Sebastian exhaled a fraction of the tension gnawing him to the bone. Eyes closed, he stood before the hearth. His vambraced forearm lay along the mantle as he let the heat wash over him, his forehead pressed against the cool metal. The smoke of the fire aggravated the wound upon his cheek, but to him it was trifling a matter. Near his fingers on the great stone mantle, a crystalline glass of fine Tantervale spirits sat untouched.
Three days.
"It saved her life," the former Tevinter slave muttered as his emerald gaze scrutinized the blackened shard of Andraste's Tear. "Danarius once told me that it does not only give power, it takes power. It must have mitigated whatever magic that witch conjured; otherwise..."
He dared not continue. Instead, Fenris let the delicate chain slip down the segments of his gauntlets, the glittering shard swinging from his forefinger. Even he must lay prospect to the subtleties of fate.
"Wherever did you find it?"
To the query, the prince offered him no reply, stoic and silent. Nothing else mattered; the price had been too great.
"Have you considered my offer?" said Sebastian to him in the answer's place as he prayed that the elf would demand nothing further of him. How could he not give the elf pause in the truth, the truth that a vision of a holy woman had given him the relic?
The prince heard the warrior move from his place at the table. Fine, supple leathers shuffled in the stillness as Fenris placed the broken gem on the mantle. Silence filled the space between them. Fenris chose his next words, cautious of their delicate nature.
"I would not be here if I had not. But know this, I will serve no one save Hawke," the warrior said, unmovable in that choice alone. "However, I first must ask something of you."
"Fair enough."
Author'sNote: Firstly, thank you all for the favourites, the alerts, and the reviews. As of late, I've be working on rewriting everything – it's been bothering me for months, so pleased check the Edit date to see if I'd worked on it recently, but for now, I'm going to start reposting all of the chapters save Chapter One, which will always stay.
All, I'd still want to thank Lywinis for becoming my Blessing Beta - Blessing wouldn't be half of what it is with her.