"I think I'm going to name him Gryphon."

Sebastian looked over as Hawke patted the neck of her mount, a beautiful copper-colored bay.

"You're naming him?"

"Of course. How else is he going to know when I'm talking to him?" She scratched the horse behind the ears and between them up to the white blaze on his face. "You're so handsome. Yes, you are."

Sebastian chuckled quietly to himself, watching them interact and remembering how they'd come into possession of the animals. When the two of them had visited the stables, he had chosen a demure gray roan male who had trotted over happily when offered a few chunks of carrot. Easy temperament was something prized in horses meant for riding, and the prince had a feeling that he'd be grateful to have a companion with such an agreeable nature along.

Especially when he saw Hawke's method of selection. He watched from the fence, resting his forearms on the wood and trying not to laugh.

She was in the middle of the pasture, hands on her hips after having run alongside some of its residents for a few minutes. She whistled, and dozens of sets of ears perked up. A few moved closer, but eyed her empty hands warily.

"Come on," she called, "who wants to go on an adventure?" A few carrots stuck out of her pocket, and it was clear that a lot of the horses eyeing the vegetables were maintaining their distance until otherwise bribed.

One or two came over to push their noses into her hands, and her face lit up at the contact. She was too distracted to notice a third horse slowly sidling up to her, and ever-so-gently tugging at the leaves of one carrot in a practiced stealth.

Leaning on his elbows, Sebastian clasped his hands and pressed his mouth against them to hide his smile, but said nothing.

The enormous thief managed to empty her pocket beneath her notice, taking advantage of her interest in the horses approaching her from the front. It wasn't until she reached for the now-empty pocket that she realized, frowning and looking on the ground to her left and right. She turned to Sebastian and mouthed "What?" at which he pointed behind her. She spun, catching the horse with one half-eaten prize sticking out of his mouth, which he calmly continued to eat as she watched.

She stared at him for a moment before whistling, and when his ears perked up, she grinned and scratched his nose. He made no move to go, just chuffed warm air across the top of her head as he investigated her hair.

"Hey," she signaled to the owner, "I want this one!"

"You sure?" the stablemaster called back. "He's a sneak."

"I know," she confirmed, running her hands along his neck and happily pressing her forehead against his massive face. "That's why I want him."

Watching them now, Sebastian might have had doubts about her unorthodox method of selection, but there was no denying that the two had bonded quickly.

"Gryphon," she said brightly. "Gryphon, Gryphon, Gryphon."

He sighed. "Yes, it's a fine name."

She smiled sheepishly, ducking her head. "Sorry," she apologized, "I just haven't been this excited in a long time."

"You've been this excited for the three days we've been traveling."

"Is it annoying you?"

"No," he said, avoiding a low-hanging branch to the face, "just surprising. The trip promises to fluctuate between life-threatening and frightfully dull, and nowhere between."

"I suppose." She pursed her lips. "Though it could be that I'm simply happy to escape Kirkwall, even if it's to strap myself into a frilly gown and listen to palace gossip and use impeccable manners when I really just want to pull my chair up to the front of the banquet table and have at it."

He grinned. "Well, if it's a Starkhaven banquet, there's a strong chance it may be quite lively. Flooded with music and dancing." His voice suddenly took on a bitter tone, and the grin faded somewhat. "At least, in my parents' time. Maker only knows what the latest opportunists to put my cousin on the throne have done to my homelands."

Hawke rushed to be reassuring. "I'm sure it hasn't changed much. You even remember these roads, don't you?"

"Somewhat," he admitted. "We're but a day's ride from the edges of Starkhaven's outer lands. We should start encountering villages from then on."

She nodded. "We haven't seen signs of people since before the valley." She paused, and held out a hand for him to do the same. "Speaking of which..."

He had long stopped asking for explanations whenever she did that, only understood that it was in his best interest to obey. Sure enough, as they fell quiet, he could hear footfalls and muffled voices coming from the trees on either side.

In moments, a group of raggedly-dressed men burst out of the bushes ahead of them, hunkering menacingly and wielding abused-looking daggers and clubs. The most armored among them (and the one with the most impressive facial hair) led the front, his beard obscuring what was either an enthusiastic grin or a scowl.

"What've we got here," he drawled, spreading his hands. "Someone who wants to use the roads?"

"They gots to pay the tolls!" one of his followers shouted, sending the others into harsh laughter.

Sebastian shook his head, full of pity for the poor fools. "It would be best if you simply let us pass," he advised, sincerely out of concern for their well-being. "Threatening my companion is unwise."

"Hey!" the thug shouted angrily, "we'll be the ones telling you what to do here!" He eyed their mounts greedily. "Starting with hand over the horses."

The archer could almost audibly hear Hawke's patience snapping like a thread, and he grimaced. She dismounted, wearing a thin, tight-lipped smile that anyone who knew her well would recognize as a warning.

They'd had to threaten the horse, of all things.

"You want him," she said slowly, "Come on. Take him."

The group rushed her, and Sebastian dismounted with a sigh, unhooking his bow.

Let's see if we can keep her from killing everyone, shall we?

They made camp that evening in a thicket clearing not too far from the main road. It took no time at all to build a fire, and Hawke set to settling the horses for the night while Sebastian offered to collect kindling. She'd just finished when he returned as well, an armload of wood under one arm and a pair of plump hares under the other.

"You caught two rabbits in ten minutes?" she asked, staring in disbelief.

"You sound impressed." He stooped to let the wood gently roll into a pile. "I am sorely tempted to follow Varric's example and tell you that I killed both with a single arrow."

"Can you actually do that?"

He just smiled up at her, saying nothing.

"You're an awful tease," she sighed, throwing a twig at him.

He caught it in midair, adding it to their small fire.

"Hey," she protested, "that was mine!"

"Then you shouldn't have thrown it," he chided, "nor called me a tease."

"It's true, though." She took a seat beside him, snapping the kindling into more manageable pieces. "That face, that accent, and a vow of chastity? Must be a crime somewhere."

He raised an eyebrow, but sat gently next to her all the same. "You've no need to flatter me. I've already brought you a rabbit."

"It's true!" she said as she continued. "Actually, you told me once that you'd forsworn all your vows to the Chantry the day you swore to avenge your parents. Aside from your own morals, there was nothing preventing you from ravaging the city at your will. Were you a different man," she said thoughtfully, "you could have practically been a public menace to women."

There was a certain embarrassment to his voice as he spoke, adjusting the stones around the base of the flame with a stick. "You did not know me in my younger days. I may well have narrowly escaped being that man. The Chantry saved me."

"And that's why you've stayed? Because you're afraid of turning back into that?"

"No," he said firmly. "As I am now, I could not."

"Good for you." She snickered, shaking her head. "I can't picture you living a life of debauchery, anyway. I may have no qualms about fucking for fun and profit, but you might have an issue or two with it."

He raised an eyebrow at that, as she suspected he would.

"You're able separate lust and love to that degree?"

Hawke shrugged. "Women can do it as well as men. And in a few cases, even better."

She had an inkling that he was picturing Isabela in his mind from the expression on his face, and she smirked. Prime example.

"I..." he started, then paused to consider his words. "I had not heard you speak of it before tonight."

"Well," she said, leaning in closer, "don't tell anyone, but I'm secretly a romantic at heart." She tapped a finger to her lips, as one would shush a child. "I probably could be convinced to only mindlessly ravage the right someone for the rest of my life."

"You, Hawke? Champion of Kirkwall, tied down? Never!"

Laughing, she reached for her daggers threateningly. "It's a secret you take to your grave!"

"Aye," he said, a twinkle behind his blue eyes, "yet my opinion of you is forever changed."

She groaned, and he pulled a few thicker sticks from the pile, stripping them with an arrowhead and pointing the ends.

"I envy you," he said after spending a time focused on his handiwork.

"How so?"

"I've..." His hands stopped, and she saw his fingers press into the sharp sides of the arrowhead he was using.

"I have never bedded someone I loved," he finished, resuming his motions. "I can only imagine the experience it must be."

Her curiosity overriding her common sense glaring at her not to press, Hawke inched closer. "Never?"

"I've honored a vow of chastity most of my adult life."

"No, I mean..." She tried to think of a way to put it delicately, but failed miserably and went for blunt instead. "You've had plenty of women, right?"

He turned to her, frowning. "Hawke, I was an incorrigible rake. What makes you think I cared for anyone or anything other than myself in those days? There were brief and shallow infatuations, true enough, but nothing more."

She shrugged. "I suppose I have a hard time picturing you that selfish."

"And glad though I am to hear it, a part of my heart can't help but wish that I had let myself fall prey to matters of affection. Just once." He tossed the shredded bark into the fire. "Just to see what it was like."

"If you take the throne, you'll marry."

"If I take the throne," he replied, "I've accepted that I'll likely take a wife based on position. Though I will do my utmost to care for her, in my way."

"Well," Hawke said brightly, "then I hope she's stubborn, loud, and good with a blade. A perfect foil for you."

He chuckled at that, picking up the rabbits. "A good, stout Starkhaven woman, then."

She reached for them as well, unhooking a small dagger from one boot. "Here, let me."

"No need."

And as Hawke watched, he made a few expert cuts along the legs and nape, then pulled nearly the entire skin off in one deft, gruesome tug.

"You can cook?!" she exclaimed, examining his handiwork.

"Of course I can cook," Sebastian replied, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. "One of the Chantry's largest services is feeding the hungry. Everyone lends a hand."

Chin in hand, Hawke sighed and watched him mount the hare on a stake over the open flames. "I appreciate a man who cooks."

"You deserve one," he said, not missing a beat and picking up the second animal.

She stared at him for a moment in disbelief.

"How can you say things like that so easily?"

He looked up at her briefly before returning his attention to the task at hand. "Because I believe them."

Hawke couldn't do anything but laugh and ruffle his hair a bit, enjoying the way color rose to his face at the gesture. "You'll make an excellent prince."

It took no time at all for the rabbits to cook, but they burned through the small supply of kindling in the process.

Hawke stood, a small "oomph!" escaping her lungs as she brushed off her backside. "I'll take care of it this time."

Sebastian shook his head, joining her on his feet. "It's too dark now for either of us to go alone. We should be able to find enough for the night relatively close by."

"As you say." She hopped over a small briar, tearing dead branches from the trees they clung to. She could hear the archer behind her doing the same, each step crunching leaves and twigs beneath his boots.

"You know," she started after a few minutes of quiet, "the qunari don't believe in physical affection much, if at all." She glanced at him over one shoulder. "Just hearkening back to our earlier conversation."

"Ah."

She wiped crumbling, rotten bark from her gloves as she searched.

"But they clearly form attachments," he called tentatively, and she could hear the strain in his voice as he did his best not to open fresh wounds.

"Right, they do. But they show it in ways they consider more practical, like," a few more branches on the pile, "polishing one another's armor or caring for weapons. That's considered real intimacy. The closest thing they have to physical affection is headbutting."

She could hear the smile through his voice. "I beg your pardon?"

"Headbutting," she repeated matter-of-factly. "To congratulate one another on a victory or to greet a friend you haven't seen in some time or that sort of thing." She gimaced, flinching as the memory brought sympathetic pains dancing across her skull. "I had headaches for weeks until I got used to it."

"It does sound relatively unpleasant."

"To be honest," she said, "I think it's something that humans just don't appreciate."

Sebastian sounded less than convinced. "I mean no offense," he said, "but I'm not so sure that it translates well."

"No?"

All right,Hawke thought as she turned and dropped her collection of wood. Challenge accepted.

"Hey," she called over. "Come here for a second."

He did so, looking puzzled.

She took his armload of sticks and added it to hers on the forest floor. "Now," she said, taking his hands and guiding them around her waist, "hands here."

He began to protest and draw them away, but she simply put them right back.

"I have a point," she explained, "I promise."

And Maker bless him, he kept them there as she slid her hands behind his neck. He stiffened, a nervous laugh making its way up through his throat.

"Just for clarity, do you intend to headbutt or kiss me?"

"Neither," she said. "The thought of either clearly makes you squirm. And while that's incredibly entertaining, I'm just trying to show you something."

She interlocked her fingers at the nape of his neck and pulled him down to meet her, pressing her forehead to his.

"This."

She felt him relax against her, and she smiled, draping her arms across his shoulders.

"See?" She closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth. "Perfectly chaste."

"I apologize for doubting you," he said, shifting to accommodate their height difference. "Although my skepticism at the word 'headbutt' was completely warranted."

She laughed, and he pulled her in close enough that she could feel his warm chuckle vibrating in his chest. His breath brushed over her cheeks, and the comfort of another person's touch was far too welcome.

This was getting frighteningly close, she thought, internally panicking a little. She had meant to demonstrate, prove her point, and go. Not get sucked into Sebastian's land of hugs and rainbows and the Chant of Light. It was dangerous and scary there.

She was silently plotting an escape strategy when she felt him let out a small sigh of what sounded like relief, and his words pinned her in place.

"I am truly glad you're here."

He brought his hands to her jawline and tilted her head down, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

Hawke's burning need to run left her like a gust of wind, and she cursed her soft side as she let herself be held a little longer. She wasn't usually a sucker for most things. But she did have a disconcerting tendency to cave when someone bared their soul.

"You know I would never let you do something like this alone," she said, hesitantly - and a little awkwardly - patting him on the shoulder.

"I do know," he replied, resting his chin on the top of her head. "And I often wonder what good I might have done to have earned such devotion."

Damn it all to hell, that voice in Hawke's head sighed. Now they were practically snuggling, and his face being so close to hers was starting to bring out some of her not-quite-appropriate impulses from her less restrained days.

"Sebastian," she warned aloud, "if you don't pull away, I'm going to kiss you."

"What?" The hands on her skin released her, and he looked down. "Hawke, you–"

A flurry of snapping dry brush and voices caught their attention, and torchlight appeared and disappeared behind nearby trees.

"More bandits," Hawke said, visibly relieved. "Oh, thank the Maker."

A quick brawl was just what she needed, and she was all too happy to comply with Sebastian's request to avoid killing, opting to sheath her daggers and instead punch the ragtag group into submission.

As they watched the pitiful band retreat, limping, into the darkness, Sebastian saw Hawke casually wiping the blood from her knuckles.

"You are a frightening woman," he said. "I frequently wonder at your skewed sense of compassion."

"They're not dead, and neither are we. Everyone is happy." She grinned as she turned back to camp. "Come on. I'll take first watch."

"Would you really have kissed me last night, in the thicket?"

Hawke groaned, steering Gryphon around a few fallen tree branches. "Did you really have to bring that up?"

"I find myself curious."

"And I find myself in need of something to throw at you."

"That may be so, but remember that you were the one who declared it." Also, Sebastian thought to himself, he wanted to know more now that she had shown she was irritated by it.

They rode in silence a while longer, him not pushing for answers and her not offering any up. He had almost resigned himself to yet another instance of Hawke refusing to answer something she found uncomfortable when she spoke.

"It was just the atmosphere," she said flatly. "And old habits die hard."

His mind didn't know what to make of this, both slightly disappointed and equally as entertained. He decided to focus on the latter, chasing the prospect of learning something about Hawke's guarded years in Ferelden. "You would count kissing people among your old habits? With the likes of sucking your thumb and sleeping with a particular blanket?"

"I wasn't much older than that age when I started," she said, going on to admit, "and it only got worse as I became a young woman. And I was, according to my mother, particularly egregious when we summered in Highever, with a family who wouldn't turn in my father or sister and who happened to have a son not much older than I was."

He saw the smile creep across her face slowly. He knew that specific smile, though it had been long since banished from his own face.

"You must have had that boy at your heels like a shadow," he said.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Fergus. I haven't thought about him for years. They would find us sneaking kisses in the larder, behind hay bales, on the roof at night – and then our mothers would fetch us and give us a sound tongue-lashing that did nothing but fan the flames."

"He was your first love, then."

"Hardly," she said, and he arched an eyebrow as color crept up lightly to her cheeks. "I was like that with the stablehands, the cook's son, the maids' daughters, even Fergus' sister once or twice."

He froze, and he silently cursed the horse beneath him for being sensitive enough to also stop in its tracks. It was only momentary, though, and he prayed that Hawke wouldn't have noticed.

"Other girls," he managed, clearing his throat. "Even at that age?"

"They were softer and smelled better than the boys," she said with a shrug. "And both genders meant I could kiss twice as many people."

"How very practical of you."

"I was a child," she said as she patted Gryphon affectionately. "I didn't understand what it meant until later. And I'm glad I did fool around so much while I was younger, as now I've spent almost the entirety of my adult life in Kirkwall and I'm covered in massive scars."

Sebastian frowned at the mention of her scars, knowing full well from past discussions that they were a sore topic for her - and a subject where they had previously butted heads. Still, he was unable to keep himself from speaking his mind.

"You do know that you are a beautiful woman."

She smiled bitterly, but didn't look up. "I have a nice face," she said, "but the dragon claw scars and enormous gash over my heart alone are enough to send most running even before I'm bare to the waist."

His blood boiled as he prickled in sympathetic defense of his friend. "If they cannot see those wounds as proof of your accomplishments and sacrifices, then they are not worthy of you. Look at me, Hawke." She turned at her name, and he fixed his eyes on hers, completely sincere. "You will find that person."

Her expression hardened, and she looked away. "I did find him," she said grimly, "and he left with the rest of his people."

The chantryman could have kicked himself. Of all the things to say, he didn't know why he hadn't thought this would dredge up the Arishok.

Hawke rode a few paces ahead, and he only needed to look at her posture to tell that she was still tense, likely masking her more honest level of uneasiness. He knew her enough to know that her fits of malaise were hard to break, and he'd lost count of the vases thrown at his head whenever he insisted that she speak her feelings aloud and openly to him.

Pointing out that he was ordained to hear confessions had only ever made it worse.

Over the years, though, his persistence was begrudgingly more well-received, and he could acutely remember the first time she actively sought him out for comfort. He had very nearly excused himself to the rectory and wept, but thankfully managed to hold himself together enough to offer a listening ear and some form of solace.

His hard work was well-timed, as not a year to the day, Leandra was killed. And there was a week that followed where he and Varric, the only two Hawke had allowed in the estate at the time, said not an unkind word to one another as they took shifts reminding their leader to eat and open the windows.

A woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she had the most human anxiety about her looks.

He tapped his mount's side with his heels, bringing him up to speed with Hawke. Stretching over, he took her hand in his and squeezed lightly, but didn't seek eye contact.

"You could be covered in soot," he said quietly, "dressed in a burlap sack, and still be lovely. And I will tell you so every day for as long as I am with you."

After a moment, he could feel her squeeze him back, and he smiled at the contact.

"Flatterer," she muttered.

"Never," he replied.

And that would have been a lovely, shining moment of camaraderie and friendship if an arrow hadn't promptly sank into a tree in front of them.

They both halted quickly, horses voicing protest as they spun in the direction of the arrow – only to see yet another group of grizzled woodsmen creeping out of the trees and onto the road.

"More bandits," Sebastian sighed. "And I doubt that they've learned from their brethren."

"You know," Hawke frowned, "you'd think twenty broken noses and dozens of cracked ribs would send a warning flag."

"These men haven't turned to barbarism because of their intelligence," he said, caution creeping into his voice, "so excessive violence is not needed."

She groaned and dismounted, flexing her fingers. "Fine," she said, "but you take care of those with bows."

"Of course." He reached for his bow and quickly fired off several shots in succession, pinning the clumsy archers to nearby trees by their leathers or snapping the bows against their hands. He'd learned many ways to avoid killing in his years of training, and the extra time it took to line up a more precise, nonlethal shot was worth the risk.

As he worked, he could see Hawke running about in a flurry out of the corner of his eye. Where she learned to render a man unconscious so quickly was a mystery to him, though he appreciated her restraint.

It was precisely because he kept an eye on her back that he shouted a warning when one of the larger, brutish thugs advanced from the brush. She spun and reached for her daggers, but her hands twitched and she only managed to dodge out of the way of his club at the last possible moment.

"Damnit," she hissed, rolling back to her feet.

"Hawke!" he called, sliding out from behind his cover. He was at her side in but a few strides, shooting an arrow through the man's foot. As he howled and dropped his club, Hawke pulled her would-be savior behind a thick tree.

"I appreciate the assist," she said through clenched teeth as an arrow flew past them, "but now we have bigger problems."

"But I couldn't just–"

"I know, I know." She ducked her head around the side, then pulled it back as a hail of bolts and daggers followed in its path. "Thirty or so left," she said. "From what I can see." Her brow furrowed, and he could see her running the scenarios in her head. "I don't know if I can get us out of this without killing anyone," she said finally. "Even bad shots as they are, I don't think I can get more than three or four down without at least one arrow landing."

"I understand." His eyes narrowed as he gripped his bow tighter. "I am sorry for having put you in this position."

"Don't be," she said. "I've survived worse." She grinned at him reassuringly, and he nodded.

"Then what do you suggest?"

She thumbed toward their right, where a line of trees about as thick around as a grown man stood two or three deep. "I'll run there for cover, then send a couple of tremors through the ground." She ran a finger along the lyrium veins on her daggers, and they sprang to life at her touch. "That should paralyze most and panic the rest. We can use that."

"Understood." He pulled an arrow and crouched at the ready. "I'll wait for your mark."

She bolted like a rabbit, and he heard the sounds of a scuffle among the bandits, but nothing from Hawke. She'd made it through. Now he had to wait.

To his surprise, however, the noise coming from the road continued long past the time it would take Hawke to dash twenty feet to the trees, and he couldn't make sense of it.

Against his better judgment, he pressed his back to the tree and peered toward the spot Hawke had said she would aim for. Sure enough, there she was.

Except she wasn't alone.

She held her hands up in surrender as a man stood at her back reached around to hold a blade at her throat. And she didn't look smug about it, meaning this hadn't been part of her plan.

With the bandits distracted amongst themselves, Sebastian silently crept up behind the both of them.

"Keep your hands where I can see 'em," he heard the swordsman say. "Try anything and you bleed."

It was at this point, behind the safety of the trees, that Sebastian drew his bow and pressed the point of the arrowhead into the back of the man threatening his companion.

"I disagree," he said calmly. "You won't get the chance."

The man froze, but made no move to release his captive.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Hawke said cheerfully. "I made a friend."

"So you have." He pressed the point further into the skin. "Drop your weapon."

"And leave you armed," the man snorted. "Not bloody likely."

"Drop it," Sebastian repeated, tone icy.

"Aidan!" A deep voice, thick with a Starkhaven accent called from their side. "Do as he says. These are no bandits."

Sebastian hesitated. That voice. He knew that voice.

Slowly, the man in front of him lowered his sword, and Hawke ducked away.

"Not to seem ungrateful," she said defensively, "but if you're not bandits, who are you?"

Sebastian lowered his bow, wondering the same. As he turned to the source of the cease command, however, recognition hit him in the chest harder than any kickback.

"Bann MacDougall?"