Chapter 21

"A…" Marcelle's tongue felt too big for her mouth. "Formal alliance?" Her eyelashes fluttered as her mind raced through all the possibilities of what his words meant.

"You look surprised." Sebastian traced the rim of his mug with a long finger. "You were the one who made the suggestion to me, if I recall correctly. Have you," and he said this with a teasing tone of voice and a gentle quirk to his lips, "had second thoughts about an alliance with Starkhaven?"

"No!" Marcelle shook her head quickly and placed the bowl of soup back on the tray, lest she spill it all over herself. Her empty stomach whined in protest and she clapped a hand over it to silence it. "Not at all. I…am just surprised that you would risk allying Starkhaven with Kirkwall in these times of troubles. And look at us," she chuckled, "we're speaking as if I'm still the Viscountess. I am sure that title has been stripped from me in my absence."

"You would be surprised." Sebastian fixed a knowing stare at her. "The people of Kirkwall still recognize you as Viscountess. They know you are alive, and that you cannot return because of Templar control on the city, but that doesn't make you their leader and their Champion any less."

"That is…" Marcelle closed her eyes as she considered what he said, "unexpected."

"If you are worried about titles," said Sebastian slyly, "I would advise you not to be. It would not be hard to reclaim Kirkwall and the seat of your power. There are many large, freestanding armies in the Marches that owe allegiance in some form to my family. Besides," his smile was wolfish in the dim light, "I am sure Seneschal Bran is quite bored and would be happy to have you do all the paperwork once more."

"Resent me for it, you mean." Marcelle smiled fondly into the bottom of her cup. "I love Kirkwall, but I would not spill innocent blood so I could call myself Viscountess again."

"If the people want to spill their blood for you, then that is their choice. It is the burden that all sovereigns have to bear."

"You are speaking," Marcelle canted her head to one side, "from experience, aren't you?"

"From future expectations," Sebastian corrected. "And…" he continued quietly, "what I propose would not just merely be an alliance and military assistance." Sebastian returned his mug to the tray, his eyes watching the way the water sloshed and rippled as the clay mug met the wooden surface. "My grandfather once told me that the strength of kings stems from their faith in the Maker and the support of their wives." He brought himself to bear upon her, sliding the tray of food up the length of the bed to occupy its place in front of her.

Marcelle flushed at the closeness and the earnestness of his gaze. The blush on her cheeks deepened when he took her hand in his, though she kept her eyes fixed resolutely to his. She gave him no quarter as his bow callused fingers plucked at the skin of her palms and smoothed down the length of her hands. "I…" she frowned, "I do not want to make any assumptions about what you are saying…but are you asking me to marry you?"

"The kings of men shepherd their people into the Maker's glory, but I am not without my flaws, Marcelle. For all the years I've known you, you have kept me honest, both in my own eyes, and in the Maker's. Starkhaven," he said with a raise of his chin, "needs a leader who is wise and compassionate, who is firm, but who is also able to see reason and mercy. And I know I could be all of those things with you by my side." A part of Sebastian feared that she would say no, that he had been, perhaps, too hasty in this proposal. But he had been so moved by her words, by her beauty, her wisdom, that it was hard to deny all the feelings he had kept contained while he was in the Chantry. "I have traveled across the sea for you, I tracked you down, and I cannot simply let you leave again."

"Sebastian," Marcelle removed her hand from his and absently tugged down the sleeve of her dirty robe, "I would be…honored to aide you in Starkhaven. But," she smiled kindly at him, "you do not have to marry me to have my support. I know you swore yourself to Andraste, and I will not tempt you from the path you have chosen to walk, whether you are a priest or a prince. You have my love and my help without needing treaties or promises."

"I would do right by you, Hawke. But," he looked at her pensively, lips puckering in thought, "perhaps I am going about this the wrong way." He reached out a hand to cup her cheek, his fingertips tangling in her matted, golden locks. Slowly, he leaned forward, pulling Marcelle to him until their lips met. Her lips were warm and soft and felt like the whisper of a butterfly's wings against his own. He saw her eyes widen and he smiled against her mouth. She tried to draw away but he kissed her again, and this time he saw her eyes flutter shut and felt the timid pressure of one of her slender hands against the column of his throat.

It was a gentle kiss, a simple meeting of lips, breath, and spirit. It was not chaste, for kisses such as the one they shared were meant to be done by lovers, but it was innocent and pure in its intent nonetheless. It was also long overdue, as both Sebastian and Marcelle discovered by the quickening of their blood and the breath. Marcelle could feel Sebastian's heartbeat fluttering below her palm, and the hand that Sebastian had slipped to her waist could feel the gentle tremors of pleasure rippling through her body. And when at last they pulled away, they stared at each other with a sense of wonderment.

Marcelle put her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide with surprise. Words escaped her, and so Sebastian filled the silence.

"Since learning of my family's death," Sebastian said quietly, "I have prayed to Andraste for guidance. I searched for a sign of what to do. I thought Her silence was an affirmation of the Maker's will, and in His service I was happy. I was ready to forget being Prince of Starkhaven, but then - "

"Oh no," Marcelle interrupted, looking mortified. "Please do not tell me you think the destruction of the Chantry was the sign you were looking for?"

"It was my home for many years," he replied simply. "And it was taken from me." He reached for her hand again and drew it away from her mouth. "There is no more obvious sign that that." He saw her open her mouth to comment and silenced her with a shake of his head. "I still serve the Maker, in my own way. Do not trouble yourself about my convictions."

"Your convictions do not worry me, Sebastian." Marcelle let out a deep sigh and slowly placed her hands on either side of his face. Her fingers ruffled the hair behind his ears and with another sigh, she brought their foreheads together. "I just...I hope…with every piece of me…that you want this as much as I have wanted it." Once upon a time when things had been better and life simpler, Anders had told her of the friend and lover he had lain awake at night aching for – and she had shamefully admitted to having similar feelings. She had never told him they were for Sebastian, but she knew he had guessed by the dirty looks he had sent the Prince.

With her confession came a kiss. Her lips were strong and demanding, prying and searching for his soul and his secrets with the softness of her pink tongue. She felt, rather than heard, Sebastian groan. Emboldened by the sound, her hands tangled deeper into his hair and she pulled herself closer until her knees were resting against his thighs. Sebastian's groaning gave way into laughter, and Marcelle was forced to abandon her kiss at the presence of his strong hands on her upper arms pulling her away.

"Easy, love, easy," he whispered, his blue eyes shining in amusement. "There will be plenty more of them. They do not run dry."

"I have a drinking problem," she whispered sinfully against his lips, her eyes transfixed to his in a half-lidded gaze, "or at the very least I will soon develop one."

Sebastian laughed loudly at that, tossing his head back. "I can think of a remedy or two to help cure it from experience!"

"Anything you might have," she said after placing a kiss to his chin, her lips rubbing against the stubble, "would be much appreciated." She snuck a quick kiss to Sebastian's exposed throat, which prompted the Prince of Starkhaven to right himself and gather her into his arms. Her side was pressed awkwardly against the ridges of his light breastplate. The sigh that Sebastian let out ruffled the hair on the top of her head, and she did not know whether he sighed in frustration at her actions, or in contentment.

"It is a simple pleasure to hold a woman again." He rested his cheek against the top of her head. He smiled as he felt her chest rise and fall with her breathing and paced his own breathing to match. He threaded his fingers through hers and brought their joined hands over his heart. "I had forgotten what it feels like."

"So you truly mean it then," Marcelle tilted her head back against his shoulder to look at him. "You wish to marry me?"

"I do," he smiled.

"And," Marcelle pitched her voice low in a conspiratorial whisper, "you do not think Andraste will be jealous?"

"I would not think so. She still has me," Sebastian said, running the backs of two fingers down her cheek, "just no longer all of me. I will always praise Her name, and swear to make His kingdom glorious. But I will also swear every earthly covenant between a man and a wife with you."

Marcelle flushed pink straight to the tips of her toes. Her face was a mixture of excitement, surprise, and fear.

Sebastian saw this and dropped another fond kiss on her forehead. "But not tonight. When I have seen you safely crowned Princess of Starkhaven I will greet you as a proper husband. For now, you must endure my rather pitiful attempts at courtship."

Marcelle struggled to sit up, straightening herself with an artful arch of her back. "Have you never courted anyone before?"

"In my younger days, yes. Though I would," he looked embarrassed to admit it, "hardly call it courting. The…young ladies I knew were not particularly hard to woo."

"Oh." She blinked. "Oh."

"Have you…ever been courted?"

Marcelle had to take a few moments to think about that question. "I think so. There have been attempts to court me. I…was just never interested." She smiled at him tenderly. "My attention was elsewhere."

"Was it now?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow and felt a small blossom of masculine pride growing in his chest. "Where was your attention?"

"On the Arishok of course!" She wrinkled her nose at him. "He was the greatest threat to the city at the time."

"Ah, yes," he sympathized in return, fingers wandering around her sides and digging in playfully. "Most certainly the greatest threat."

Marcelle squirmed out of his arms, her flailing nearly knocking one of the mugs of water over. "Husbands should not torture their wives!" she pleaded as his hands continued to stroke at her mercilessly, showing her that his hands were the greatest threat at that moment. "They are supposed to take care of them!" Her face was flushed and her chest was heaving, but Sebastian was unrelenting and only gave up when she curled herself into a ball. She wrapped her arms around her middle to catch her breath and ward off the hunger pangs that were threatening to emerge. "We can play later," she gasped, "but please just let me finish the soup."

The rustling of the tray against the bed linen behind her and then the presence of Sebastian's hands on her shoulders lifting her up was the signal that sent her mouth watering and her appetite soaring to new heights. She took back her bowl of soup, scooped up the soggy bread with her spoon, opened her mouth, and feasted. In between mouthfuls she commented about the flavor of the soup, how it could be improved, how her mother used to cook it, and the techniques for growing the different ingredients.

Sebastian watched and listened with an amused expression as his future wife inhaled her soup and the majority of bread. Though it had been nearly a day since he'd eaten, he was much more methodical and slow, breaking apart the bread into tiny pieces and then neatly dunking them into what was now a lukewarm paste of rice, lentils, and onions. When he ran the risk of dirtying his fingertips he switched to one of the deep wooden spoons.

He was about half-way through his meal when he realized that Marcelle's idle banter about Fereldan food had stopped. He noticed that she was looking longingly at what remained of the soup in his bowl. She was like her late mabari, who would come to the dinner table and stare mournfully at Sebastian when he had visited her for dinner. "Do you…" he extended the bowl and spoon to her, finding her disheveled appearance and flushed cheeks to remind him of the Fereldan orphans that had used to come to the Chantry (and then it hit him that she was a Fereldan orphan), "want the rest of this?"

She nodded her head and smiled sheepishly.

"I would give you my last mouthful, if you required it," Sebastian said, "it is my duty to see you whole and healthy, wife." He placed the bowl in her lap and watched in contentment as her eyes closed shut when she ate what was left of the soup. She had likely not eaten for days. "Now if only we had a bath," he mused, "then we could wipe some of the day's grime away."

"The bath will have to wait until the bathhouse is open in the morning." Marcelle's tongue darted out to lave at the curve of the spoon, the sight of which sent a hot pang of need down Sebastian's stomach. "Though…" she eyed the porcelain washbowl that rested on a stand in the corner, "I could… no." She dropped the spoon into the bowl and placed it back on the tray. "I shouldn't."

"You shouldn't what?" asked Sebastian curiously.

A look of pain passed over her face. "I could…conjure some water in the basin. A sponge bath is better than no bath, yes?"

Sebastian turned the thought over in his head: it was dangerous for her to be casting magic… But his doubts vanished when a thunderclap overhead sounded and rain began to pound on the roof. If the tavern keeper asked about the water, they could always say that they filled the basin from the rain…

"I suppose it is," he said after some length. Marcelle looked honestly shocked that he had agreed to the suggestion. "I trust you, Marcelle. You have always used the gifts the Maker has given you responsibly."

Mollified, Marcelle slipped off the bed and padded to the small washstand. She rubbed her hands together briefly before whispering something to her fingertips. All at once, the sound of tiny droplets striking the bowl's surface could be heard. The gentle symphony blended with the rain, disappearing completely as the bowl filled to its brim.

Marcelle turned over her shoulder to call for Sebastian, "do you want to…" she stopped midway as she saw him pulling a spare fencer's shirt and trousers out of the saddlebag. "Uhm…would you like to go first?"

Sebastian shook his head.

Marcelle turned back to the bowl and felt heat creeping up her cheeks. "The water will probably be very dirty when I am done with it."

"I will make do," Sebastian reassured her.

Licking at her lips and knowing that there was nothing to be done about it, she tilted her head forward and began unclasping the padded binding around her waist. Sliding the washbasin to the stand's edge, she folded the heavy fabric of the binding and placed it beside it. She then slid off the voluminous outer robe with its quilted insides to help shield her from wayward blades and arrows. This she also folded and placed it atop the binding. She did not remove the delicate inner robe made of an airy fabric, though she did unclasp the first few toggles so that she could slip the robe down her shoulders if she so chose.

She rolled up her sleeves and took the small washcloth at the basin's edge in hand. Carefully dipping one end in, she wrung out the excess water and brought the cloth to her face. She rubbed away the grime and gore that had accumulated from her captivity amongst the Templars. She ran the cloth over the top of her head, sweeping it over her dirty locks of hair until she reached the back of her neck. As she was tipping her head forward a rumble of thunder sounded outside and she felt a pair of hands cover hers.

"Let me," Sebastian said in a hoarse voice as he pushed away her hair from the back of her neck. He felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as his fingertips stroked her nape, followed by the cold touch of the washcloth. He smoothed away a rivulet of dried blood that had come from a wound somewhere in her scalp and placed a gentle kiss where the droplet used to be. Marcelle shivered in his arms as he continued to carefully wash her. From her neck he moved to first one shoulder and then other, a finger slipping along the neckline of the robe to gently bring it over her shoulders. He moved the cloth in a slow, circular motion over the skin he revealed, dropping a reverent kiss atop each bruise he encountered.

When he felt her shoulders and upper arms were sufficiently clean, he passed the washcloth up the column of her throat, wiping it under her jaw and down to the hollow of her chest. He dragged the washcloth carefully across the front of her, mindful of the way her skin prickled at his touch. He wrapped one arm around her waist to steady her, bringing them flush to the point where Sebastian, having removed his armor, could not hide the evidence of his arousal. Her breasts were curved over the top of his forearm, and as he dragged the cloth over her chest again, he felt the stiff buds of her nipples pressing up through their binding against his wrist.

"I am going to let you," he whispered in her ear, "tend to the rest yourself. I have placed one of my shirts and a pair of breaches on the bed for you."

"If you let me go," Marcelle whispered back, "I shall fall to the floor."

"I have faith that you are stronger than that, wife." Sebastian placed a kiss to the curve of her neck. "But I need to pray. A lot."

"Will I get to return the kindness, at least?" she asked.

"We shall see how fast I can pray," was Sebastian's amused but strained response. He let his hand slip from around her waist and balled it into a fist. "And how fast you can bathe."

"I shall go extra slow if you are watching."

"Oh, Maker," Sebastian whispered, "truly, do not tempt me."

"See to your prayers," Marcelle said with a tender smile over her shoulder. "I will not torment you." After a moment she winked. "Much." Seeing Sebastian's cheeks flush a deep red, she added, "Sebastian, I have waited years for you and I could wait years more. I am just…" she turned and reached for his hand, "so very happy that you are with me."

Sebastian only smiled in response and tucked a lock of hair that had fallen out of place behind her ear.

"I will come get you when I am done."

Nodding, Sebastian turned and moved to the wall opposite her, dutifully allowing her the privacy she needed to continue. Kneeling before the window, Sebastian offered his silent prayers to the Maker, thankful for the blessings that He had bestowed upon him, and for giving him the strength to be righteous in the face of injustice. And if the Maker heard him, Sebastian did not know, but in his heart he was sure that someone most certainly had.

Moving along, moving along - the seas are smooth tonight!

I know, I know, short chapter and edits for such a long delay, but alas, there were some RL issues that had to be dealt with. That's mostly resolved now - I won't be homeless when going to law school! Woo! And on that note - I am currently taking offers for BFFs and second-Moms in the Northern Virginia/DC area. I'll eat anything. You cook me brussels sprouts, and I will eat them. Om nom nom. In all seriousness though, Icey's going to be super lonely - so if things slow down in the writing department during August - October, you know why.

Anyhow! Thank you to all my lovely readers - both for reading, and enduring the wait!