A/N: Mage!Hawke, Act 3. Funny, although I call this a collection of oneshots, it's pretty obvious that the pieces featuring my mage are interconnected. That really wasn't intentional. Also: is anyone reading this stuff or what? I need to know interest, or I'm going to quit adding to this.

Description: Hawke comes down with something and Sebastian is there to care for her.

Warnings: Sensuality and UST. (I swear, there will be full-blown sexings soonish. Like next chapter, for sure.)


Shiver

Darktown made Hawke feel claustrophobic. She hadn't been down here in a long while, and although the passing of so many years had wrought changes throughout Kirkwall, the undercity was nothing if not constant. Kirkwall's poor and unwanted congregated down with its refuse. The huddling figures used to consist mainly of her countrymen, Fereldens who'd come to escape the Blight, just as she had, but they were gone now, replaced with different but similarly vacant faces, pinched with hunger, many of them children. Too bad they all couldn't board one of the ships sent by the King for the purpose of getting his people home before the storm could overtake them all.

The airflow was decent. There were sections along the eastern side that opened to the sea, but there was no escape in that direction, nothing but a steep drop onto rocky cliffs below. No, it was the lifelessness of the place, all of the dirt and rock above, that made coming here so uncomfortable. Nothing grew here, no plants, no hopes or dreams, just the dredges, the lowest of the city's undesirable.

The wind pulled at her cloak and she gathered the edges together with a fist at the neck. It was bone-chillingly cold. She was exhausted and sore, longing for the fire that was always burning at home.

They'd come down here to follow up on a few leads. Ser Marlein Selbrech had told her about the hidden supply cache here, and they'd scouted the place and found it loosely guarded. Two or three templars and only a handful of mercenaries later, they'd made off with the goods, and Hawke was confident that things were moving forward.

She sniffed into her fist, hoping to muffle the sound, but Sebastian heard it regardless.

"You alright?" The concern on his face was welcome, but unnecessary.

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a chill."

He moved closer and wrapped an arm around her, offering his body heat. "We could run by the clinic while we're down here."

"Don't be silly. It's nothing serious, I assure you." It wasn't. "And I've been avoiding that place," she smiled, adding strength to her words. In truth, she wasn't avoiding the clinic so much as the man who made his home there. Things had grown increasingly awkward between her and the other mage, not only since he'd used their friendship to blackmail her into helping him get past the Grand Cleric, but just these past few months in general. They'd both been dealing with too much lately, but whenever they did have occasion to speak, he'd been distracted and easy to anger, and Hawke was just too weary at the moment to try to mediate peace between Anders and herself or anyone else.

"You're cold. We should find someplace to warm up."

She nodded in agreement. "Alright. But don't worry. It's nothing, really."

But the next day, she had trouble leaving her bed. She wrapped up in a blanket, padding around the house in stockinged feet. She put on some tea, but found herself racing back for the comfort of her room. She couldn't shake the chill and she was more weary than she'd been when she'd retired the night before. She had Bodhan help her pile more blankets upon the bed, and swiftly returned to the arms of Morpheus.

She stirred around noontide, and called for Orana to bring her quill and parchment. She penned missives to Sebastian and Varric, informing them that anything planned for the day would have to be rescheduled. She trusted the latter of the two to get the word out to anyone who needed to know.

Aveline appeared shortly after the dinner hour. "What's this, now? Since I've known you, you've never spent an entire day abed. Even when you should have."

Aveline spoke of grief, or too much drink, so Hawke childishly stuck her tongue out. "Oh, do leave me alone, Aveline. I'm fine, really, I just needed rest."

"This just isn't like you," she insisted. Moving closer, she touched a hand to Hawke's forehead, checking for fever.

Hawke laughed, swiping her hand away. "Leave off. Don't you have a husband at home? I assure you, I'm not dying. I'm just taking it easy. The growing crisis can spare me for a day or two, I imagine."

Aveline shrugged, content to take Hawke at her word. "I suppose it can, at that."

"I see that Varric wasted no time spreading the news."

"Actually, Sebastian came to the barracks and told me."

"Really."

"You like him," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Let's not."

"Hey, I'm not being judgmental. You could use some stability in your life."

Groaning, Hawke pulled a pillow from beneath herself, placing it over her head. "You know what? I lied. I feel like shit. Please leave." The muffled order came from beneath layers of linen.


Hawke had some bread and broth. Read a little. Her eyes were beginning to drift closed again when she heard a knock on her doorjamb.

Sebastian stepped inside the room, concern knitting his brows. He had forgone his armor on this rare occasion, and was wearing black pants and a simple brown tunic over a plain white shirt.

"Hey, you," she said, sitting up a little straighter.

"How are you faring?" He took a few reserved footsteps into the room, stopping before he was within reach.

"It's just a case of the sniffles. Why... have you stopped way over there?" She'd hoped for a bit of physical contact. A hug, at the very least. "You're not going to catch anything," she teased.

Giving a brisk shake of his head, his face flooded with color. "No, it's not that. I'm just... concerned that it might be improper for me to enter your chamber..."

"You're kidding, right?" He'd never been in her room, but they'd been effectually alone in the house countless times. "Are you afraid that I might sully your reputation?" She laughed as his jaw clenched. "Get over here." Propping herself up against the pillows, she patted the bed beside her in welcome. "If you stay atop the covers, I promise to preserve your virtue," she snickered. "If I try anything untoward, you can always holler for Sandal."

He settled himself next to her, chuckling. "That's all the reassurance I need." He was close enough that their arms rested against each other, and he took her closest hand in his. "You appear to be of fine mettle this evening. Are you doing alright?"

"I'm just cold. It's too bad I can't convince you to strip off and slide in here to warm me." She was a hussy. But his smile was worth it.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"Nope. I'm happy you came." And she was.

"I've never known you to get sick."

"I'm robust." Her nose wrinkled. "It's been years since I was ill."

"Well, what usually makes you feel better?" he asked.

"I have a tradition of pretending things are fine. Mother liked to hover..." Their smiles faded at the turn in topic. "Her cure for everything was usually a bath. Feverish? Take a cold bath. Too cold? Take a scalding one. Bleeding injuries? Soak them in the bath."

"There is sense in that," he said.

She turned to him, jabbing him in the ribs with a finger. "Oh, well, if you're volunteering to be chambermaid, I'll happily oblige."

His smile faltered, and for a moment, Hawke was afraid that she'd put him off. Then he left the bed, heading for the door. "As you wish."

"But what about your virtue?" she called after him, feeling her heart give a little flip.

Turning back to her, he grinned. "Hawke, you're infirm. I can tend to you without worries."

She laughed.

Sebastian had Sandal help him move her copper tub before the fireplace and then fill it. Hawke got up and fetched her soaps and some towels, waving Orana off to bed when she offered to assist.

Her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. She was warmer already. She only hoped Sebastian wouldn't lose his bravado when her houserobe came off.

She tested the water and found it perfect, just this side of blistering. Reaching for the folds of her robe, she swallowed, hoping that the man in the room with her would like what he saw.

Sebastian cleared his throat, his face becoming serious. "I don't mind leaving if you require privacy."

"No," she answered quickly. Neither of them were allowed to lose their nerve. "Stay. Please."

His adam's apple bobbed as her clothing slid to the floor, piece by piece. It was thrilling, showing him her body for the very first time, and her toes curled as, completely bare, she stepped into the tub. She could feel the heat of his gaze touching her all over.

He knelt beside her, dipping a cloth into the water. Neither of them spoke as he wrung it out, then reached for a bar of soap. He worked up a rich lather, then gently rubbed her shoulders. He broke the silence first, with a strange choice in topic. "How old do you suppose Sandal is?"

"I'm not really sure. He's a bit of a man-child isn't he? He couldn't have been younger than his late 'teens when I met him, and he's been with us for years..."

"His father takes good care of him."

"The relationship is symbiotic. They need each other, I think."

The cloth swept down her back, and Hawke leaned forward, her arms coming up so she could lift her hair off the back of her neck. He placed a kiss there, on her damp shoulder. "Do you think you'll ever want kids?"

"Two." She'd thought this through. "One girl and one boy."

She could feel his breath on her skin as he laughed. "It doesn't always work out that way, you know."

"How about you?" she asked.

"Me? I want at least seven. A regiment of my own making." They both laughed. Then Hawke felt her smile slip as she pictured seven children, boys and girls with rich auburn hair and beautiful blue eyes. He cupped the side of her cheek. "I should let you finish." His husky voice sent tremors through her. Handing her the cloth, he stood, walking over to look out one of her windows while she finished her bath.

Without him to watch, Hawke grew tired of the water, and tired in general, the warmth of the water had seeped into her bones and made her drowsy. Rinsing off everything above the waterline, she stood, dripping.

Sebastian retrieved a towel, and wrapped her up, rubbing her through the cloth until her skin glowed.

She rarely slept naked, but tonight, she decided she would. Boldly dropping her towel, she lifted the blankets, sliding into bed. "Can you hand me my comb? It's just there," she said, pointing.

She combed through her hair as she watched him tidy up her mess, mopping up stray puddles with her used towel and putting away all her soaps. With nothing left to do, he returned her comb where he'd gotten it, then leaned to kiss her forehead. "I should probably..."

"Don't go," she said.

"Hawke. You need to rest. I wouldn't want to see you get worse."

She captured one of his hands. "I promise, if I'm not better in the morning, you can send for Anders. But stay. Please."

He smiled. "I can refuse you nothing. You know that." Sitting on the edge of her bed, he pulled off his boots. Fully clothed, he stretched out beside her, staying safely atop the blankets.

She adjusted her damp hair, then turned to face him. "Can I get a goodnight kiss?"

"Yes. But only a kiss. I mean it." He sounded so firm and serious that she couldn't help but laugh.

He framed her face in his hands, softly brushing her lips with his. And it was the sweetest thing she'd ever experienced. "Goodnight," he murmured against her.

Sighing in contentment, she drifted off to sleep.