He tried to ignore her presence and his guilt at her capture for a downward spiral of six days.

Originally, he'd hoped that solitary confinement would encourage her to talk. Then, perhaps, lack of food. He hardened his heart against her suffering for the most part, but it stopped when he decided to pay her a visit.

He thought of threatening her, of bargaining with her... the possibility of beating her himself even crossed his mind. He knew she wasn't much of a threat in her state; her mana was constantly depleted to prevent her using magic to escape.

But when he reached the dungeon, he came to an abrupt halt.

Hawke was being kept in the cell furthest from the doors, and she wasn't the only one here, but the sound he heard as he entered forced him to stop.

Hawke was singing. He knew it was her the moment he stepped into the room; he'd heard her voice for years. He knew it almost as well as his own.

The sound of it had the memories of their friendship to the forefront of his mind. He didn't want to be, but he was reminded of their nights at the Hanged Man, playing Diamondback and Wicked Grace. He was reminded of following her down the Wounded Coast. He remembered joining her and her mother for tea... before she'd been murdered. He thought of their travels to Orlais, and into the Deep Roads.

He'd truly loved Hawke... loved her as a friend, and admired her. He'd wished so often back then that he'd met her before he'd taken his vows. He wished he could have traveled with her as an unbound man, as a man without as many burdens of mind and blood. And underneath it all, he still cared for her. He hated what she'd done, yes, but... he could not bring himself to hurt her. Not anymore.

He left the dungeon without saying a word to Hawke.

On the seventh day, Hawke woke to the sound of her door slamming open. Unconsciously, she flinched away from it, curling up into a ball in the corner with her arms protecting her middle and face. She knew the routine; they'd beat her, smite her, say some nasty things, then leave her alone. If she was lucky, they'd give her water or a crust of bread like they had on the second day. She prayed they would; she was getting incredibly weak from the loss of both magic and food.

Through the cracks of her fingers, she watched the figure in the doorway hesitate. She couldn't see his face, but she could tell the man was a templar from his armor and helmet. A hand, encased in a metal gauntlet, reached down, grabbed her by the arm that was protecting her stomach, and pulled her up.

She noticed the other templars behind him and prepared for the worst.

"Prince Vael wants a word with you," the templar who held her stated, tugging her into the group of templars. One of them put a robe around her shoulders, and she obediently slipped her arms through the sleeves.

They put her back in shackles, but it didn't surprise her.

They dragged her back to the throne room and to her surprise, released her and left the room, shutting the doors behind them.

Without support, she swayed on her feet. She didn't have enough to eat when she was on the road, and her feet were blistered and bruised from the walking. Not only that, but she was exhausted; ever since she'd arrived, she dreamt of the Brand of Tranquility being seared onto her forehead. She hadn't slept well in days.

Her knees gave out, and she fell into a heap on the stone floor. She landed badly on one knee and shoulder, but couldn't bring herself to care as she curled up on the floor. A choked sound escaped her throat.

"Hawke..."

She looked up as best she could. Somehow, without her noticing, he had come up to her. Hm. Damn rogue. "What does your Highness require of me?" she said with as much cheeriness as she could manage, her voice cracking slightly at the end.

He said nothing as he strode towards her, stopping and kneeling beside her. Only when he reached out to touch her and she flinched away did he stop.

There were bruises on her cheeks and wrists, and that was only what he could see.

Disgust filled his gut. He had done this to her. He captured and beat her. He had practically tortured her.

Looking back, he tried to remember why he blamed and hated her for the death of the Grand Cleric. Blinded by rage, he'd thought she was an accomplice. He thought she would have killed Anders were he stood if she wasn't. He thought her mercy was proof of her guilt.

But looking at her beautiful sad face now, all his anger melted away.

Hawke was never a violent person by choice. He always knew that. It was why he had followed her, why he had so much respect for her. The only time he could remember her shedding blood for vengeance was when the maleficar killed her mother, and even then his death was mercifully swift.

He knew she couldn't have been even partially responsible for what happened to Elthina.

"I need to know why you let him live, Hawke," he said seriously. "If you don't know where he is, fine. But just tell me how you could let him go after he did such a thing."

She sighed, turning her face down. "I couldn't," she said quietly. "I knew it was what he wanted. He wanted to die. He asked to die. And his crime... it had to be punished. I didn't have it in me to show him the mercy of a quick death."

"I don't... understand..."

"If he had died, by my hand that night, he would have become the immortal icon of the mage rebellion. It was what he wanted. He wanted to become a legend, to live on the lips of generations to come as a hero. He wanted to die in the most memorable way. I could not let him have that. This way, he'll die alone, forgotten, and all people will remember of the rebellion is that some madman with a demon in his head started it."

Sebastian didn't know what to say.

"Elthina did not care for vengeance, Sebastian," she reminded him softly. "She would not have wanted you to be consumed by it like this. I did it for her, as well; she would never want to be the reason for someone's death, even if they were a murderer. It's why we all cared for her."

Death is never justice.

He bowed his head in shame. He felt like such a fool.

"I'm sorry, Hawke," he breathed. "I'm so sorry." He gathered her up in his arms and held her close, placing a kiss on her forehead.

She sighed, closing her eyes and resting on his shoulder.

With her safely against his heart, he got to his feet, and he carried her out of the throne room.