New chapter to make up for the long hiatus. Hope you enjoy.

Bell's POV

Black was a somber color, but I liked it. Mirror me twirled a little, golden hair up in a severe bun, black-lace gloves covering my pale hands.

Hawke wouldn't say how Seamus died; only that he had. We'd only met a few times at social gatherings…I believe I might've danced with him once. Rather stiffly…as if he wasn't sure where to put his hands, or didn't want to.

Sister mentioned he enjoyed the company of men. Qunari men. That's fine. Though, at the time, I wondered about the mechanics of it all.

I slipped a little comb into my hair and met Hawke at the bottom of the stairs. Her hair was down, flowing down her back like veins of gold amongst onyx. She looked beautiful and utterly put out.

Hawke turned to me with an irritated frown.

"Mother sent Bohdan to fetch the carriage."

"Whatever for? The Chantry is only-"

Her face clouded over. "The Viscount made it explicitly clear this was not to be held in the Chantry. Now, love, quite a few important people will be there."

I sighed, looping my arm through hers. Forcing it, more like. "Yes, yes. Mother beat you to the speech this time, sister. It's not as if the Knight Commander will be scouting for mages at a funeral, honestly. But, if it pleases you, I promise to leave the glowing 'mage' sign at home."

Hawke chuckled softly. "It's a garish sign anyhow. It would simply clash with your dress."

"Well, the two of you are awfully giddy given the occasion." Mother scolded gently as we approached.

"Should I weep?" Hawke grinned brightly. "Fling myself to the ground and wail? I can, you know."

Mother lifted a perfectly-arched brow. "Sadly, I believe you and you will do nothing of the sort."

Bohdan arrived with the carriage shortly after that and mother insisted we offer Lady Van Tier a ride. How she could stand that gossipy hag was beyond me.

"Such a shame, really. You know, I heard it was one of those Qunari," she leaned in and whispered the word as if it were naughty. "Cut his head clean off."

Mother looked horrified. "Miranda!"

In her seat, Hawke grinned widely and Lady Van Tier shuffled on her skirts a bit.

"Wrong. Candy if you guess in three."

"Hawke!" Poor mother.

"Indeed, Lady Hawke." Lady Van Tier's voice seemed to have rose and octave. Funny, that.

I nudged Hawkes knee, she nudged back. I nudged harder and she banged her bloody knee into my thigh.

"Girls!" We fell still. "Maker, one would think that after twenty-three years, I would not have to tell you to behave like adults."

"As I was saying," Lady Van Tier went on. "It is rather odd, is it not, that the word seems to be mum on this whole fiasco? I'm not sure you girls completely understand the gravity of-"

"Fiasco." Hawke seemed to chew the word around. "A boy is dead, not a man, a boy. The Viscount is now without an heir and-if you'll excuse me terribly-not young. The chicken doesn't exactly rise with the sun, if you get my meaning. Therefor another heir is all but out of the question, isn't it? Then there's the nasty, nasty," she leaned forward with a glint in her eyes. "Qunari."

Hawke fell back into her seat with a small smile. "Fiasco is a good word for all that. Does using it make you feel all gooey inside? I can certainly tell you this," the smile fell off her face as she met Lady Van Tier's gaze. "It was no Qunari that killed Seamus Dumar. It was a human; one you saw every bloody week, one you smiled at, offered greetings to and revered."

"But shh," she held a finger to her lips. "Mums the word."
Lady Van Tier stopped clucking after that. Our carriage pulled up to the Viscount's Keep along with many others, one had the Chantry's sigil on the side. I watched as a cloaked figure stepped out into the snow and a thin, pale hand came to rest on their arm.

Grand Cleric Elthina pulled herself out of the carriage with the figure's help and patted their shoulder with a smile.

Hawke, mother, Lady Tier and I joined the throngs of mourners bustling through the doors of the Keep. Mourner was a heavy word, however. Most were only vaguely aware Seamus existed but to not show would be a travesty upon one's glowing reputation. An errant tear here, a silent sob there; a cacophony of 'what a shames' and 'how unfortunates.' As if the nobility were all trying to out-funeral each other.

We took our seats, seats designated for us by the Viscount himself. Lady Van Tier huffed a bit that her seat was three rows back.

It was all a bit strange, really. There was no funeral pyre outside. There was only a portrait of Seamus, it looked to be a few years old, surrounded by a forest of greenery. Pretty…but very different.

Grand Cleric Elthina's speech was, too, odd. She spoke of tolerance, of acceptance and sending prayers for those we hate. Prayers to better understand ourselves why it is we hate them.

Afterward, the Viscount wished to speak with Hawke alone. Mother and I milled about while she conversed with practically anyone who would listen.

I fiddled with my gloves, my dress and the comb in my hair. It was cold in the Keep, even with all the people and I found it all to be incredibly dull. At some point, I seemed to have wandered off a bit and now was having a time finding mother amongst a sea of black.

"Excuse me, Madam." I jolted a bit at the sudden touch on my shoulder. There was a man, an older man, with a hooked nose and wrinkles beyond his years. It was what he wore that caused ice to run through my veins.

Templar.

"I am sorry," He said softly. "I did not mean to frighten you. My name is Emeric. I…had some dealings with Lady Hawke some years ago."

At that, I smiled wearily. "Indeed? Good dealings, I hope."

The Templar returned my smile and offered his arm. "Lady Hawke believed me when no one else would and, for that, I am grateful. To return the favor, I would very much appreciate it if you took my arm so that I may escort you back to your mother."

I swallowed the knot in my throat, hoping he couldn't see how hard my heart was beating.

He frowned. "I'm frightening you again." Then he sighed. "Please, I mean no harm. There…there is a man I've been…well, I've caught him watching you often since you arrived and I-"

"There you are, you silly little goose." Hawke walked up grinning like a mad cat, pinched my cheek and turned to Emeric. "Have we met? Or have you just got one of those faces?"

I rubbed my cheek and glared as he nodded curtly. "We have, Lady Hawke. Three years ago, you helped me with a missing person."

"Ah, yes." Her smile was a bit less bright as she curled her arm protectively around my waist. "That. Well, it was so nice catching up but I really must dash-"

"A moment, Hawke." Emeric said urgently. "I've gotten a lead and I would very much like your assistance. Would you meet with me? At the Gallows? Tomorrow afternoon?"

Hawke waved a hand. "Yes, of course."

As sister began to lead me away Emeric whispered, "Keep a close eye on her, Hawke."

With the smallest of nods, she whisked me away and suddenly I was being pulled along like a doll on a string through the crowd.

"Hawke!" I called as I very nearly toppled over poor, old Lady Elise in her travel chair. "Very sorry-excuse me-pardon-Hawke!"

Hawke stopped. Red-chested and panting, I blew frizzed strands of hair away from my cheek and stared at her.

"Was all that entirely ne-"

"Hawke? Bell?" Maker in the Fade why do you hate me so? Here I was a frazzled, puffing heap of wheezes while the very vision of the Maker's handiwork stood before me with concern etched on his forehead.

Sebastian sounded tired, concerned and surprised all wrapped up in a neat little bow.

"Got things to deal with."

I squeaked as Hawke all but threw me at him. Sebastian caught me with ease, his arms curled around my waist.

"Hawke-"

"Don't let her out of your sight."

His arms tightened as his brow furled. Without a word, Hawke vanished into a black sea of faceless mourners.

Sebastian's POV

Hawke didn't disappear, she became the crowd, became the shadow. I watched her slink through the crowd unnoticed, touching no one until I lost sight. That was the trick; don't lose sight. Once you have, a sharp prickle might just be the last thing you feel.

Or be suddenly bereft of your gold.

Hawke is a taker; of gold, of life of opportunities. Therefore, what she gives must truly be of worth.

I looked down at the frizzy-haired and red-cheeked female in my arms. She looked…like an irritated kitten. Nostrils flared and soft jaw tight.

Suddenly the heavy weight of my sadness seemed somehow lighter. Mot-Petrice was rotting in a cell under the keep until a trial could be arranged. Only the Viscount, a guard and Hawke had access. I'd not slept in days for what I saw behind the lids of my eyes.

But Bell had a way of captivating my thoughts, pulling me toward her as if I were a moon in her sky. It was inappropriate, I knew, but I could not help the softest smile that tugged my lips.

"Of all the rude, inconsiderate-"She huffed. "You know, sometimes, I really do believe she thinks me a rag doll. It's not as if I…I…" If possible, her cheeks colored further and she coughed gently. "Sir Vael?"

"Hmm?"

"Perhaps, if it's not too much trouble, you could…if you don't mind…release me?"

"Oh. Oh…ah, yes." Bell took a delicate step back, though not far. And that made a part of me grin like an idiot. "What is this about?"

Bell worried her teeth over her lip. "There was a...Templar."

"A Templar? Who? What did they say?"

"Only that he knew Hawke and-" she worried her lip between her teeth. "That he'd noticed someone watching me. A man."

I sighed. "Perhaps…lead with that next time, Bell."

"Sorry."

"Though, I can't say I am surprised." Casually, I offered my arm and she took it. Never would it cease to beguile me how her eyelashes fluttered like wounded butterflies, how her cheeks stained the color of ripened apples.

"Even on a sad day such as this," He said. "My Lady enraptures with her beauty."

The lie felt like poison on my tongue, soothed by words of beauty. Bell was indeed a vision in black; the darkness of it suited her better than the mousy pastels that normally adorned her pale shoulders. But Hawke's words were a ghost that haunted him.

Don't let her out of your sight.

An admirer would not coax such a reaction but it might make Bell feel more at ease to think it because I had no intention of disobeying that order.

"Oh, I don't think that's it." She muttered shyly. "Hawke's just being Hawke. She's a blighted mother hen."

I smiled softly. "Hawke loves you. Sometimes love is smothering."

"Then a little less love would be appreciated."

No smothering. Understood.

"Where are we going?" She shied away as Lady Montgomery's girl eyed their entwined arms with a mixture of envy and distaste. Lady Montgomery was, on the whole, a pleasant-type woman if kept comfortable and plied with frills. Her daughter, Elise, was a grape plucked too late off the vine.

In Starkhaven the Montgomery's were, by and large, housecats playing at the table with tigers. Easily swayed by a strategic slice of cake on a hook; it wasn't that they didn't see the person holding the stick, they simply didn't care so long as they got the slice.

I smiled politely as we passed, making a note to request an audience with Lord Montgomery. If memory served, the man was a half glass short of a pint but there was bad blood between Goran and him. Something to do with a missing earing and a chicken, I believe.

"Her Grace is around," I said. "I am her attaché at present."

The funeral had devolved into a somewhat casual gathering. Food was happening and one could nearly hear whalebone cracking under the pressure.

Bell smiled. "She seems to be quite fond of you."

"And I her." I nodded. "We take tea together after Chant on Sundays. She has," I considered my words carefully. "Been like a mother to me. Perhaps you would like to join us tomorrow evening?"

Nonchalant, casual and yet utterly and completely terrifying. A lead ball had settled in the pit of my stomach and it hadn't stopped there; I suddenly had difficulty swallowing around the other.

This…was not something to which I was accustomed. Showing up underneath a woman's window on a moonlit night with flowers I'd plucked from her mother's garden? Yes…often. Prince Vael would have never entertained the idea of asking a woman to tea with his mother.

Bell was worth more than a secret midnight romp in someone else's hay.

"With Her Grace? Is-is that allowed? I'm sure it's in the rules somewhere-"

I laughed. "Bell, I'm quite sure 'thou shalt not take tea with Grand Clerics' is not in the Chant."

"It could be." She sniffled. "Perhaps you simply haven't looked hard enough."

As we walked, I spotted Elthina speaking with a grey-haired man whose life shown on his face like a map. Odd, I thought. The man carried himself like a nobleman but his clothes were of cheap make. I took my eyes off them a moment to look down at Bell with a smirk.

It was cheating; I knew the instant her cheeks tinted a bit darker. I knew by just the subtle quickness of her breath. And I loved it.

"Is it so wrong to want the two most important women in my life to be friendly?"

Bell had gone incredibly quiet. And then, "Surely you don't mean that?"

"Why not?"

"Well, because…I'm…" Her eyes darted around, likely searching for flashes of silver or crimson skirts.

"Me." She finished softly.

Discreetly, I captured her hand that was resting on her waist and brushed a feather light kiss on her knuckles.

"Precisely."

"We have spoken before, Her Grace and I." Bell's voice wobbled for which I took great pride as she reclaimed her hand.

"Not officially." I countered.

"With words." She persisted. "Many words, in point of fact."

"I don't doubt it. Are you saying you wouldn't like to have tea with me?"

"No!" Several people looked our way and, in typical noble fashion decided we weren't worth their interest. Bell took a soft breath.

"No…that's not—I would very much like—" She huffed, seeing my barely contained grin. "You are horrible, do you know?"
As we approached Her Grace, I brought my upturned lips to her ear in a whisper.

"I thought I was pretty?" She gasped softly, I felt her fingers dig into my arm as I straightened and offered Her Grace a very polite smile.

"Ah, Sebastian." Her eyes crinkled with a lifetime of smiles. "I had wondered where you'd gone off to. Now, it seems, I shouldn't have."

"Lady Hawke," She nodded as Bell craned her neck in reverence. "It is nice to see you even under the circumstances."

"And you as well, Your Grace."

"Lady Hawke, is it?" The elderly man Elthina had been speaking with grasped her tiny hand and bowed.

"What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And may I say," He smiled genteelly. "What a lovely necklace that is. It accentuates your neck perfectly."

Bell disengaged herself tactfully. "How kind."

"I believe it was also my pleasure to have met your mother a moment ago." He said. "Beauty runs in the family, it seems."

"Forgive me," I interjected, politely offering my hand. "I don't believe we've met. Brother Sebastian Vael and you are?"

The man's eyes snapped to his hand like a broken bow string, the smile slipped from his face only to be replaced in a fraction of a moment.

"Just and old man, I'm afraid." He laughed as he grasped my hand with frail, crinkled fingers. "But you may call me Galleger."

"And it's been a pleasure but I fear I've babbled enough," he turned and bowed to Elthina and then to Bell. "Your Grace, Lady Hawke, M—Brother Vael."

"What an odd gentleman." Bell whispered as she watched him hobble off into the crowd.

Elthina chuckled brightly. "It happens sometimes with age, dear. I can only imagine what the young ones say when my back is turned."

Bell's ears colored. "I meant no disrespect."

"None was taken, child." She smiled gently. "The Maker has gifted me with a long life and, for that, I am grateful."

"Her Grace's elegant beauty is ageless." Bell curtsied daintily and I stared. It wasn't a snide remark or a frivolous compliment; Bell really and truly meant it.

Elthina's face softened into a tender smile as she shook her head. "Ah, the poet and the playwright. Appropriate."

"Your Grace?"

"Nothing, dear. Nothing." She waved a hand. "Just the ramblings of an old woman."

"I've invited Lady Bell to tea with us tomorrow afternoon." I said, watching Elthina's face very carefully. Her Grace has always been measured in her expression but her eyes gave her away every time. Disappointment, anger, sadness elation, I'd seen it all through the window of her soft blue eyes.

Now they sparkled.

"I see." She said carefully.

"If you would rather I not, I understand." Bell said quickly. Elthina silenced her with a hand.

"Nonsense, child." She said softly as our eyes met. "You…the both of you, are welcome any time. Consider this an open invitation for," Her grace took a soft breath. "For the future…wherever the Maker shall bring you."

Wherever the Maker shall bring you. For the first time, I knew; knew where my path lay and it was my choice. Not one made for me that I'd learned to embrace.

I'd chosen. And Elthina knew and this…this was her blessing.

I'd chosen Starkhaven, my birthright. I'd chosen the harder path, the path wrought in strife and steel. Not only for my country, for myself but for her.

The girl who basks in a winter's morning, who hides herself behind a delicate mask but whose passions for life enrich and inspire my own with every sweet breath.

The girl who blushes so, so easily as if my words were soft caresses upon her skin.

As Bell chatted with Elthina amicably, if not a bit nervously, I played with her skirts…secretly, of course.

"Are you alright, dear?" Her Grace's asked as Bell nearly leapt out of her skin and shot me a very confused, flustered look. A look that thrilled me right to the core and made me grin like a devil on the inside.

"Yes, lady Bell, are you well?" My voice betrayed nothing but the utmost concern for my lady's health.

"I…y—yes. Oh—" She squeaked, eyes wide as a doe, as I tugged—only slightly—at the bustle of her dress.

Brows drawn, I gently touched my knuckles to her beautifully enflamed cheeks.

"Are you sure?" I whispered. "Perhaps we should fetch a healer? You're positively burning up."

Bell's nose scrunched and she lifted her head high like the noble I sometimes forgot she was. There was a flash of something in her eyes. Annoyance? Perhaps. But…something else as well.

What are you up to, little one?

"Perhaps it is all the people?" She turned back to Elthina, fanning herself with a smile. "It can get so stuffy—."

Sweet Maker Son of a—I yanked my hand back, fingers tingling from the spark. Bell stood innocent as a mouse, continuing to fan herself.

Her Grace seemed not to have noticed a thing.

"Indeed." I mouthed, staring over Elthina's shoulder with a practiced smile. Bell shifted slightly, her dress brushed up against my thigh and a thousand little sparks shot down my leg. It was like fighting a fur blanket on a dry winter's night.

My lady cheats.

"Excuse me, Your Grace?" Sir Alenbaugh was a decent man with wrinkled eyes and a kind voice. And his timing was a gift sent by the Maker. "Could I perhaps impose on you a moment of your time?"

"Of course." Elthina nodded. "When I return, Brother Vael, we'll depart for the Chantry."

She turned to Bell with a delicate smile. "Lady Bell, it was a pleasure and I look forward to tomorrow."

Bell curtsied, head bowed. "As do I, Your Grace."

With a soft but impatient smile, Sir Alenbaugh corralled Elthina off toward his wife who had been sickly these past few months and whose health was declining. Every night I made sure to light a candle in her honor for the Maker to hear their prayers.

"What in the Maker's holy name was that?" Bell whispered breathlessly once Her Grace was out of earshot.

"What would you like it to be?"

There was that thrill again; words weaving a web…no. Web implies entrapment, unwillingness; I wanted Bell to come to me as a bee comes to a flower.

Though it seems I've rendered my lady mute.

Bell's teeth grazed her pink lip. "Broth—"

"Sebastian."

"We are in public." She countered. "And at a funeral."

And I would kiss you now should you wish it. Before these nobles, the Maker and his bride; I would show them what hold you have over my heart, sweet one.

Seamus…I did not know him, not personally but the manner in which he passed had weighed heavily on my heart. I could not sleep for what visions it brought, could not eat for the remembrance of that smell, and could not believe such darkness paraded around in the world under a cloak of light.

Yet the very second Bell was flung into my arms, I felt renewed…as if what truly mattered had been untouched by the darkness. Her light. Her smile. That, I would protect until my final breath.

"My name, Bell." I rolled the L on my tongue and watched her breath hitch with sinful pride.

"Sebastian." Is that a hint of Hawke I detect? That acid-laced lit of the tongue the Hawke women seemed genetically predisposed to when riled.

There's my good little lass.

"Was that so difficult?" I chuckled. The crowed was beginning to thin a bit, none seemed particularly interested in watching Bell…not to a degree that would have Hawke alarmed.

"You tease me." She said stiffly, though I sensed a degree of dejection there. Can't have that, can I?

Our time was running short, I could see Lady Hawke making her way through the crowed, almost in a panic; no doubt looking for Bell.

"Come," I offered her my arm. "Let us assuage whatever macabre thoughts are running through your mother's head, shall we?"

Bell laid her hand delicately on my forearm without a word nor did she speak one as I led the way toward Lady Hawke.

"Lady Hawke?" I offered a polite, if repentant smile. "Forgive me, Bell and I were speaking with Her Grace and it appears we lost track of time."

Relief flooded the woman's face; took years off. Lady Hawke must have been a beauty to rival any other in her youth; she was a beauty now…if one that had lived a hard life.

"Brother Vael…" Lady Hawke held her hand to her heart as if it still its beating. "Thank the Maker."

"Yes." Bell slipped her hand from his arm almost instantly. "Though, Brother Vael, dutifully neglects to mention the kidnapping and ritualistic sacrifices I endured whilst twelve feet away from you."

I snorted, snapped my lips shut and bit my cheek to keep from laughing aloud.

"Maker save me from my children." Lady Hawke mumbled. "Thank you again and, please, feel free to stop by the estate for a visit anytime. Bell,"

Without even a glance, Bell turned to follow her mother. There was no one watching us, any nobles left were, by now, doused in drink and likely watching the sconces dance.

Before she took a step I laid my hand on her hip, pressing against her back. I heard and felt her breath leave her and it was divine.

Like a frightened doe she stood frozen as I leaned in, all but pressing my lips to that soft spot under her ear.

"I tease you," I whispered, feeling her shiver as my breath caressed her neck. "Lady Bell, because you blush so beautifully that no master could capture your radiance on canvas."

It felt like hours I held her, but it was seconds, mere seconds and yet I wished I would never have to let go.

"Should I stop?"

Please do not say yes.

When she did not speak, I forced myself to release her, to step back. Lady Hawke was halfway across the Keep by now; sooner rather than later she would notice she was not being followed.

Bell looked back at me then through thick lashes. Every heartbeat was louder than the last as I awaited an answer.

"I will see you tomorrow…" She spoke her words softly, carefully as if willing herself not to make a mistake. "Good afternoon, Sebastian."

And the she hurried off to catch up with her mother.