"Serah Hawke," Viscount Dumar turned from the man he spoke with. Seneschal Bran closed the door behind Siobhan as she bowed to the noble. "Thank you for coming."
"You have but ask, messere," Siobahn quietly said. "I will do anything I can."
The Viscount clasped his hands together, nodding, "I am certain you know the Knight Captain, Ser Cullen?"
"We have met before," Cullen replied, offering Hawke his hand. As she shook it, he grinned and said, "She has aided myself and the Order on more than one occasion."
"Any able-bodied citizen would do the same given the opportunity," Siobhan said, smiling lightly.
"I only wish it were true," Viscount Dumar replied with a sigh.
"I have been fortunate, messere," Siobhan glanced to Cullen as his eyes met hers, and he looked down. "Not all are afforded the luck to work for the better of their fellow man. It is my duty."
"The Maker smiles upon you, serah," Cullen interjected.
Hawke dropped her chin. "That is kind of you to say."
"I wished to speak with you personally to inform you that Meredith granted leave for Cullen himself to take up your training," Viscount Dumar said after their exchange. "Given your station in the city, they will not expect you to take vows, but allow you to serve in a more secular capacity for my office and otherwise."
"Who will find justice for you, Siobhan?" Anders bitterly asked from where he sat beyond the end of the bed. His cheeks were sunken, features emaciated from decay to reveal the hollow of his nose as well.
"The Maker alone holds my fate in His palm," Hawke replied, unable to look directly at him. It seemed no matter which way she looked; he was always there in the periphery of her vision. "Beyond this petty life."
"Petty," Anders dryly laughed. His once long, agile fingers flecked in the air, skin clinging to bone. "You know as well as I that you don't believe that anymore."
"What do you know of my beliefs, Anders?" Siobhan tiredly said. She gathered the sheet off her bed, wrapping it more tightly around her body. "You never cared to know. It was always about chaos. About hate. About vengeance. About you."
"And you?" he heatedly replied, standing in her periphery. There was no sound of his movement, no creak of the floorboards. "Was this all about Bethany?"
"Just go away," she whimpered and covered her eyes, trembling again as she lay back. Hawke's breathing shuddered as the tears came unbidden, and she broke out into a sob. She could feel the bed beneath her again, whose bed was it anyway? Certainly hers was never so big. Tangling the sheet further, she crushed her pillow as she sat up, looking around through blurry eyes.
Fenris dropped his quill onto the table, crossing from the other side of the room through the late morning light that shone in their bedroom. Hawke was rubbing her lips, her eyes closed as she sat on the side of the bed swathed in a sheet.
"Is it -" his words cut away as her bloodshot eyes opened upon him. He tread closer, but she pulled her legs up onto the bed. "A smaller portion then."
"No," Hawke croaked, struggling with her sluggish thoughts. She could scarce think but for the burning inside. If only she drank it, it was the Maker's light and it would shine through her fingertips. "I have to stop."
Fenris put his hand on top of the glass on the bedside table, before handing her the water. When she took it and drank he said, "You're going too quickly. You need to wean yourself off it more slowly."
"I don't want it anymore, Fenris," Siobhan's voice pitched, and she covered her lips, wiping the remnants of water away. It did nothing to quench the thirst. "It will destroy me, if it is not already too late. I am needed as a strong woman, a strong leader, more than..."
Exhaling Fenris cautiously sat beside her, hands on his thighs as he watched her in the periphery of his vision. "You speak sometimes. And even if I cannot make out the words, there is so much pain in your voice. I would do anything to take it away - and it seems like the only way."
Hawke's eyes invariably drew to the small vial of blue elixir he retrieved from his pocket. How did it sing to her so? She kept her mouth scrunched in her hand as they sat there, before finally whispering, "Get rid of it. Please... please get rid of it."
With a flick of his wrist, Fenris flung it out the open window, and Hawke suctioned into his embrace. He cradled her head against him, fingers in her black hair and lips upon her copper skin. She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes and resting her lips on his shoulder.
"I won't keep anymore around," Fenris said, his voice softly rumbling. "We'll do this together."
"Thank you, love," Hawke weakly whispered, kissing his shoulder.
She should smell it in his skin. Its song was much more bearable.
"You thought you could strand them here this long without consequence?" Fenris scoffed form Hawke's side.
"She stole the Tome of Koslun – she must return with us," the Arishok intoned as he hefted his battleaxe over his shoulder and looked down upon Hawke.
"And if she does, you will leave the city?" Hawke said, a quiet fury in her words.
"Yes. I will no longer be bound by my duty to remain," the Arishok replied.
"Sio, very funny," Isabela rolled her eyes.
"Take her and go," Hawke said under her breath, blood going cold.
"Most wise," the Arishok, turned and motioned to the karasten.
"Hawke, you bitch!" Isabela cried out as the qunari grabbed her, and she snapped out of their grip. "Get your hands off of me!"
"You could have stopped all this!" Hawke said, her words tinged with bitterness. "You are the cause of all this death – all for your own greed. You must pay for your crimes."
"We will leave, but know that we will return!" the Arishok motioned for the qunari to move, and he hesitated as they marched after the cursing pirate and out of the throne room. Appraising Hawke with a stony gaze, he said under his breath, "Perhaps you understand more of the Qun than you imagine. Panahedan, Hawke."
Fenris kept his eyes up and clasped Hawke's hand, the other at the small of her back as the musicians began to play. With sure directive, he led her through the steps, and the room of nobles followed.
"Wherever did you learn to dance like this," Hawke whispered, an unstoppable smile warming her expression. It softened his in turn.
"You assume I do nothing when we are apart?" he smirked, before twirling her and parting to step and bow. Clapping their hands, they met again, and he continued with the sway of the music.
"No," Hawke said, shaking her head. "I imagine you do a many more exciting things than dancing."
"I thought it would make you smile," Fenris said, squeezing her hand, and twirling her into the crook of his arm. He pressed his lips against her cheek when she leant back into him and they side stepped into a hop as he whispered, "And I was right."
Hawke laughed, following his lead and swirling into the refrain once more, her gown swishing the ground with her steps. His eyes stayed upon her as they moved, fingers stroking the small of her back.
"It was something your advisor mentioned," Fenris said as he pulled her close once more. The room gathered and they spun as the chorus ascended into a delightful rush of energy and sound.
"Varric?" Hawke said in mild disbelieve. "Did he ask you to call him that?"
"Maybe," Fenris replied, twirling her once more as they parted, and she curtsied in kind as the song came to an end.
"Really," Hawke said, smiling brightly once more as she clapped and looked amongst her guests. It was the summer solstice, and the Viscountess' halls were filled with laughter and light for the first time since that fateful day. She pulled Fenris close and kissed his cheek, and he murmured his appreciation before she said, "I will have to find him."
Fenris seemed a little lost as Hawke squeezed his hand and walked away. The Viscountess paused to greet the nobles she met on her way up the stairs - the very stairs upon which her predecessor had lost his head. Tables of sweets and summer fruits scattered the upper level, and she was about to head for the mead to find Varric when she ran into a familiar face.
"Sebastian," Hawke said with a bright smile, shaking her head before taking her gown and curtseying, "Your Highness, where are my manners?"
"It has always been Sebastian to you, serah," Sebastian laughed, reaching for her hand to dip and kiss her dark skin. "It has taken me most of the night to catch you alone."
"As alone as one might be at a ball," Hawke replied, clasping her hands together and moving with the prince as he offered to take her arm. "I had heard you might come, but I wasn't sure you would be able to make it."
"I have neglected our friendship for too long," Sebastian said as he led them towards a nook overlooking the dancers. He pulled a small drawstring pouch from his formal jacket "I have something for you."
Opening the bag, Hawke's eyes sparkled as she pulled out the confection, "What is it?"
"A taffy they make in Starkhaven," Sebastian replied. "Do you remember me telling you about it?"
"Of course," Siobhan said, her cheeks warming despite herself. "Something your grandfather gave you as a boy." She pulled open the paper and took a bite, chewing it and smiling at him.
"Yes," Sebastian smiled and squeezed her arm. "And I remember your sweet tooth."
Hawke drew the bag closed and looped the drawstring around her wrist as she chewed the rest of the piece, "I have trouble thinking you came all this way just to bring me candy."
Sebastian laughed and leaned into her more, a slight flush on his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "While that may be reason enough, there is more, yes. But not now." He looked back up to her, taking her hand in his, "Viscountess, would you honour me with a dance?"
"Ever the gentleman," Siobhan lightly said. "How could I refuse? Of course, Your Highness."
The guests stepped aside as the powerful pair descended back to the dance floor, and the musicians finished their song, drawing applause from the dancers. One hand in the crook of her back, Sebastian took up her hand with his calloused fingers. The rebec lead in the musicians began to play, and the crowd parted to watch them dance as the music flowed into a melancholic refrain.
"It's good to see you," Hawke quietly said, keeping his gaze as they moved. It was all too easy to remember that the eyes of the room were upon them. "I have appreciated your letters and encouragement."
"The Maker knows you need it," Sebastian replied, squeezing her hand. "These are difficult times, and we must work together to see the good people of the Free Marches through it. They look to us."
"Right now more than ever," Siobhan nervously chuckled, and Sebastian smiled in reply, looking down between them.
"You are very much beloved by Kirkwall," Sebastian quietly said.
"As you are no doubt by Starkhaven," Hawke countered.
"Perhaps," the prince replied with a soft smile.
They danced a bit longer in silence, and the swelling emotion of the music echoed through the high chamber. Hawke's eyes glazed a bit as she listened.
"A dirge for the Hero of Ferelden, if I recall," Sebastian whispered, as though to answer her thoughts.
Hawke slowly nodded, her throat tightening. She looked somewhere beneath his chin as they swayed and twirled across the floor. "Merrill grew up with her - did you know that?"
Sebastian flattened his hand against her back and slowly sighed before saying, "We all choose our paths, Siobhan. It is one of the Maker's greatest gifts; free will. She will learn that through Oblivion."
"Yes," Hawke flatly replied, a shiver up her spine as the music welled.