Celebration
Maebh Hawke woke to a crisp coolness tingeing the air, and she breathed in deep. Scents of apple and spices drifted up from the kitchen, where she was sure Orana was cooking some delicious form of breakfast. No matter how she told the elf she wasn't a slave anymore, Orana seemed pleased to always make sure Hawke had meals whenever she spent enough time in her estate. The Champion of Kirkwall stretched languidly in bed, her mabari jumping onto it the moment he realised she was awake, nosing his huge muzzle against her side. She laughed, obligingly scratching behind his ears.
"Yes, I am in fact, awake," she told him. "And I will feed you shortly, Faolan." His stub of a tail went wild at that, and he tried to lick her face, though she managed to ward him off. "But, you have to let me get up first." He gave a soft woof and leapt over her onto the floor.
Hawke sat up and swung her legs over the bed to stand, reaching her hands toward the ceiling. Letting out a loud exhale, she dropped her arms to her sides and went to her wardrobe to dress for the day. For once, she didn't have any pressing matters or emergencies to tend to, so she decided for forgo her fighting leathers and take the rare occasion to dress more suitably to her sex. It wasn't that she didn't care for her leathers… but they did get old after a while, and she found she sometimes missed the swirl of soft fabric around bare ankles.
In light of the day and celebration of the change in season, she pulled out a grey-blue dress with two rows of trim along the bottom hem of rust and a muted gold-bronze. Oak leaves of the same two colours were skilfully embroidered down the outsides of the sleeves, which were snug to the elbow, where folds of fabric cascaded down while under-sleeves a slightly darker blue than the rest of the dress continued to he wrists. They tapered to a long triangle over the back of her hands, while stopping short on the underside, exposing the last two inches of her wrists for ease of movement. More oak leaves and acorns ran along the wide square neckline, leaving her collarbone bare almost to the shoulders before swooping down to hug the curves of her breasts. The dress fit snugly down to her hips, where it subtly and steadily flared out in large pleats to her ankles, making a wide flare around her if she were to spin in a circle. She chose a simple iron and copper-linked belt to settle around her lean hips, the extra length smoothing down the front of the dress. Old, comfortable leather slipshoes slid onto her feet with ease before she walked in front of her standing mirror. She let her auburn-red hair down, but then on a whim made two braids from each temple, securing them in the back with a loose leather string. She smoothed down flyaways and smiled at the way the minor accents of golds and rusts brought out flames in her hair.
Faolan nosed her hand with his head, and she smiled at him.
"Yes, yes," she chided. "Let's get both of us something to eat."
She led him from her chambers after tossing the coverlet over the top half of her bed, trying to muster a vague attempt at making it for posterity's sake. She was never one for keeping a tidy sleeping area; it wasn't like being exposed to air would make her sheets dirty, she reasoned. Giving up on it, she and the mabari made their way down the stairs, where Bodhan exclaimed his admiration of her choice of attire, while his adopted son clapped his hands, exciting Faolan.
"What's the occasion, messere?" Bodhan asked her as she spun around at his behest. When she stopped to face him, she shrugged, grinning.
"Because, Bodhan, for once, I can." With that, she strode to the kitchen, Faolan trotting after her with no need of encouragement on her part.
Orana was bent, looking into the oven as she entered and called out greeting. The sapling-thin elf straightened and gave Maebh a mild smile. She had been slowly opening up and becoming more comfortable as time went on, Hawke had noticed, much to her pleasure.
"You're starting at this early today," Hawke remarked cheerfully. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."
"I wish to have everything ready, messere," was the shy reply. It raised one of Hawke's eyebrows.
"Ready for what?" She finally noticed all the food Orana had already prepared—at least six pies, all of different fruits, a host of smaller pastries and tarts and honeyed oat cakes, four loaves of what smelled like garlic and rosemary bread, and two large pots Hawke supposed were vegetables in one form or another.
"What in the world are you cooking for? An army?" Maebh asked again, perching her hands on her hops and looking back at the elf woman.
Orana blushed deeply and stammered a little. "I—I'm sorry, messere. I should have told you. I found a cart with all these ingredients and a note requesting they be cooked for the festival today. I—I do love cooking, so I didn't see the harm—"
Hawke raised a hand to stop her apologies, smiling. "There's no need to back-pedal, Orana. I don't mind. But," she added as she sauntered over to a dish of pastries, plucking out an egg one. "I will take breakfast as payment for using my cook and my kitchen." Maebh bit into the flaky pastry cup that held fluffed eggs, tasted cinnamon and sweetbutter in it, and felt her kneecaps melt a little. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she finished the bite.
"You are the best cook," she told Orana as she walked to the icebox by the wall to fish out a three-pound slab of aurochs meat to toss Faolan, who caught it mid-air. He shook it violently, tail wagging relentlessly, then plopped on the floor to start eating it.
"Oh, no you don't," Hawke warned him. "I don't want to have a pool of blood to clean up again." She held open a side door that revealed the small gardens her family estate boasted. "Outside."
The mabari let out a soft whine around the meat in his mouth, but went outside. Closing the door, Hawke took another bite of her egg pastry.
"I think I'm going to see what sort of excitement I can find today," she said thoughtfully. "The kind where I don't have to kill or threaten anybody." With all the mounting tension in the city recently, Hawke desperately hoped even criminals and thugs would want a day's respite from trying to muck things up and make life harder. Still, as she finished the pastry and left Orana to more cooking—at least one roast, from the smell of it—Hawke opted to fasten a thin leather belt below the iron and copper one that held a small but vicious dagger and a compact pouch containing a few essentials. It never hurt to be a little prepared.
"Heading out, messere?" Bodhan asked as she walked to the foyer.
"I think so. I've always loved the fall festival the most," she said, eyes alight. "After Orana is finished and sends all that food on its way, why don't you and Sandal drag her out of the house for your own bits of fun?"
"You're too kind, messere. But… mayhap we will."
Hawke bid the dwarves a final farewell before stepping out into the streets of Kirkwall's Hightown. She felt her heart lighten and her breath deepen the instant she took a cursory glance around. Almost all the houses had hung wreaths and buntings all done up in fall colours, bedecked with leaves, nuts, and small dried gourds. The trees were all variants of gold, orange, and rust; though the streets were all littered with a leafy carpeting, more than enough leaves remained on the trees proper to add splashes of colour all throughout the city. Someone had gone around and hung gourds and little wooden carvings from many of the trees, and Hawke found delight in all of them. She passed people out for a stroll by themselves or in couples, and greeted each warmly. Most of the women wore colourful garlands made from branches and leaves and berries in their hair, and everyone she saw wore something special for the festival day.
As she entered the Chantry Square, she found a small town of brightly coloured tents set up all over the middle. Revellers, musicians, out-of-town merchants had all set up wherever they liked in the giant, open area, giving visual and aural pleasures to all who meandered through the mini-streets their stalls had created—which was now the only way to cross the square. It was not an unwanted experience, and Hawke was enjoying herself even before she fully joined in on the festivities. She heard tunes she recognised from Ferelden played on whistle, fiddle, and pipe—Sweeney's Buttermilk, Flower of the Flock, and even Friel's Kitchen. She could have stayed there in the square and been entertained all the day's length. But something pulled her onward.
As she made her way to Lowtown, the decorations grew less well-crafted and lavish, but no less celebratory or colourful. Lowtown's streets were much the same as Hightown's though less new merchants filled the empty spaces simply because there was no one space large enough for them all to cluster. She spotted Varric and Merrill—the former wearing a leaf garland on his head, and the latter winding another garland around Bianca, still on Varric's back—and waved to them, but did not join them. There was a tickling in the back of her mind, a desire she couldn't place. Pausing a moment to accept a small mug of heated apple cider, Hawke decided to head north of the city on a whim. She had seen the festivals all up and down Kirkwall itself in past years, but it suddenly occurred to her she had never once gone beyond its walls.
Sipping carefully as she went, a few people stopped her now and again for bits of light conversation she did not mind in the least. Fall in Kirkwall had become one of her favourite seasons—Ferelden was cooler than Kirkwall, so it reminded her fondly of her birthplace, and it was always so colourful. She loved the contrast the bright trees made against the city buildings and skies, loved the snap of cool she scented in the air. It made her steps and her heart light, her mind clear. She didn't pay very close attention to where she was going, instead allowing her feet to guide her where they will. Soon, she found herself walking out the decorated walls of Kirkwall and into the lowlands surrounding the north and east sides of the city, the land surprisingly rich for farms, if the right sort of hardy crop was chosen. The faints sounds of bawdy music and loud laughter tickled her ears, and she finished her cider, hooking the mug on a spare loop on her pouch before eagerly following the sounds.
After maybe a half hour's walk, Hawke found herself coming to the outskirts of a small village, though it looked empty. A moment's looking revealed the reason—two large tent canopies and several smaller ones were set over and around a moderately large gathering of people in a nearby field. Their dress was colourful from a distance, though as she neared she could tell it was the type of attire only worn once a year for several years. By their chatter and jovial expressions, she somehow doubted they cared. Children were running around with painted leather masks on that were of an exceptionally high quality, she was surprised to see. She paused on the outskirts, looking in, and the dark auburn head of a tall man caught her eye. His tanned face crinkled with smiles, and his blue eyes were full of delight that made them light up more than usual. The edges of her lips curled up in a devilish smile as she watched Sebastian Vael mingle among commoners, looking just as at home as she imagined he would in a court. Hawke bit her lip as an idea struck her, and she stopped a gigging group of children that were about to run by her, crouching down to speak with them. A few of the older ones recognised her, and all crowded around. The masks they wore really were of top quality, and they told her they had a master leatherman in their village, Thom Tine, who made them in his spare time. She managed to talk an older child into giving up his mask with the help of a silver piece. It was shaped like a fierce bird of prey, painted bright blue, black, and cream colours. She sent the children off scampering as she tied the mask behind her head and stood. The holes for the eyes were slanted, and an orange rusty beak covered her nose, hooking down to cover half her mouth. Her cheekbones were covered by feathers almost shaped to look like small leaves, with black arrow stripes painted on some of them. A few of the adults wore masks, but they either had them pushed back on top of their heads, else they appeared to be mummers and performers. That would be no problem; she could play along just as well with the rest of them—at least to get by without risking much notice.
Hawke joined the crowd seamlessly, and found these rough-working people to be in the best spirits of all the groups she had passed. No one said anything about her mask, and as she moved through the crowd, she saw a number of young women and men with masks on that didn't seem part of the mummers or performers. She wondered about that. The smell of food drew her, and it occurred to her she had not eaten aside from the egg pastry, and that had been hours and miles ago.
Having lost sight of Sebastian for the moment, Hawke followed her nose until she heard a deep laugh and glanced to her left. Sure enough, Sebastian stood before a crowd of people again, chatting and laughing with them as she saw his shoulders and arms move. People stood in her way of telling what he was doing, so she wormed her way through and saw the host of food Orana had cooked splayed out on a long wooden table with a cloth draped over it. Sebastian stood on the other side, serving out food to the very young or the elderly that had trouble with it themselves. Everyone else seemed to be helping themselves where there was a space, so she picked a wooden bowl—it felt rough and handmade in her hands—and began dipping into dishes that she liked. She listened in on Sebastian's conversations as she neared, easily picking his rich brogue out of all other voices. Smile quirking her lips, she idly wondered if Orana knew it was Sebastian that wanted all this food and just didn't tell her, or if he really had hoodwinked them both.
Her little bowl was soon overflowing with food as she found herself standing directly in front of Sebastian. Her heart pounded in her chest, though she wasn't exactly sure why—what did it really matter if he recognised her or not? It seemed he didn't, though, as she looked directly in his eyes and he flashed a grin. The smile didn't hold any recognition in it that she could tell, so she merely smiled back as he spoke to her.
"Enjoying yourself, lass?" he asked and she felt her heart skip a beat. She nodded, and decided to keep quiet to see how long she could fool him into not knowing her.
A charming look filled his eyes, a glint of something she had never seen in them before. "Cat got your tongue?"
On impulse, she stuck the part in question out at him, then grabbed a warm biscuit from his hand and whisked away, taking a bite and melding back into the crowd. She heard him call something out, and a glance behind her found his bright blue eyes trying to search her out. Hawke laughed to herself, then slipped nimbly through the crowd to a secluded spot to eat her meal.
The Champion of Kirkwall found herself set up beside a troupe of musicians playing old tunes for a small group—and any within hearing. They all wore masks, as well-one a fox, two hares, and another bird, though it looked to be a robin rather than the fiercer raptor she wore. They played on a lute, fiddle, whistle, and a drum held sideways, with an open back in which the fox who played it had a hand. The tunes were lively and fast, having her feet tapping along without her knowing any of them as soon as she began listening. Several people were up dancing, while others watched and clapped. After she had finished her food, she clapped along as well.
Several other people sat around her, and she leaned over to one of them, in a badger mask, and asked,
"What are all these masks for?"
He cocked his head at her, and when he spoke his tone was quizzical. "You're wearing one and you don't know? Ah, well, by you're accent, I can tell you're not from here. The masks are worn by those whose loved ones have died recently, so when the Veil is its thinnest tonight, spirits who come from the Otherworld won't recognise them and take them, too." She saw a grin form on the lower half of his face, covered in stubble. "Also, lovers who have gone through or wish to go through the handbinding try and pick out their partners to see if they be true." He looked her up and down. "Mayhap you're the latter…?"
She laughed a bit, and shook her head. "I've gone through no handbinding," she replied.
"Just so! New lovers are sought out and caught tonight, too!" He leaned close and she smelled mulled spices, horses, and leather on him. It was not an unpleasant mixture. He held out his hand to her. "Dance?"
She hesitated only a moment. "Why not?"
Rough fingers closed around her palm as the man drew her up from her seat and into a quick dance. The steps were easy, and after the first two go arounds, she went as smoothly as he.
"Fereldens pick up quick," he laughed as she spun her around. She joined him, breathless.
They danced through the next two songs, after which she was Sebastian stalking through the crowd looking distracted, and begged apologies to leave. The man in the badger mask bowed and kissed the top of her knuckles in thanks, then went back to the music as she meandered closer to Sebastian without directly trying to intercept him. To her surprise, after he caught sight of her, he came her way.
"Do I know you?" he asked her. She had to bite back the chuckle that bubbled to her lips, shrugging instead. A smile quirked his lips. "All right, then, who are you?" She pointed to her mask. "A falcon?" He sounded amused. "I've never seen that one here, before."
Her smile broadened. She was infuriating him, she knew, and loved it. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned close enough to feel the heat coming off his body, hands held behind her back, and tilted her head up to touch his lips with the beak of her mask. He pulled back, startled with brows knit.
Unable to hold her laughter in, she whirled away as he tried to catch her arm. Again, she slipped away through the crowd of people, lither than he and able to squirm through tighter openings of people more easily. He lost her again, and she chuckled under her breath.
The rest of the afternoon Hawke drifted from circle to circle of musicians, sometimes listening, sometimes being caught up in a dance. Her favourite was when she was drawn into a large circle of people that moved side to side and got faster and faster until they all fell out of beat, laughing and clapping accolades to the musicians who bested their speed. She managed to avoid running into Sebastian again that whole time, though she could almost always keep him in sight, and she was sure he caught glimpses of her, but never got close enough for another encounter.
As the sun began to dip below the mountains and she took savouring bites from an oat cake dripping with honey, a cheer went up from the opposite side of the festival grounds, followed by a bright blaze of light. Quickly, she made her way to the source, the sounds of pipes cutting through the air, over all the chatter. She wove her way to a good viewpoint to see a tall masked man with a bag under his left arm, squeezing it like a bellows, while his fingers danced over a chanter, the higher notes accompanied by the bass and tenor drones that leaned back from the bag, tied together by bright cording. Beside him blazed a great bonfire, and when a number of drums joined the piper, the people nearest the blaze jumped into a dance, much to the delight of the rest of the crowd. Children ran amuck through everything, some trying to dance, others merely playing.
And then she saw him. He was silhouetted against the flames, but she knew instantly it was Sebastian. He was slightly hunched over to dance with a little girl, who Hawke imagined was giggling with mirth. She barely noticed her own face was split into a grin as her heart filled with warmth, watching him. When the song changed, he sent the little girl off with the other children, and took a few steps closer to the surrounding crowd, watching those still dancing with a broad smile on his face, illuminated by the flames. She couldn't take her eyes from him. One of the few times she had seen him in clothing other than his mail and armour, Sebastian wore a long-sleeved tunic that laced at the throat, though he let it fall open, laces loose and baring flesh almost mid-chest to the hollow of this throat. It was belted around his narrow hips, the cream colour of the tunic dyed orange by the firelight, red and gold accents set ablaze. His breeches were dark, as were his boots, and it wasn't until she moved closer that she saw the falcon emblem with two arrows in its talons embroidered on his tunic. That was why he sounded amused when identifying her mask as a falcon, she realised. The bonfire set his dark auburn hair on fire, with shadows playing over his face. She looped out into the crowd to come up soundlessly behind him, appearing suddenly at his side.
It took him a moment to realise she was there, and he started a little, but smiled at her anyway. A fiddle took up a tune she knew, and she held out a hand to him, which he took after a moment's look at her. She imagined him still trying to figure out the face behind the falcon mask. The fiddle started slow at first, then gradually sped up until they were whirling in each other's arms and the music was the only thing in her world besides Sebastian. By the time the tune finished, they were both breathless and laughing, holding one another to keep standing.
He drew her off to the side, by a copse of trees. They still stood in the light of the fire, but less people were this far out. He looked down at her, leaning slightly against a tree. She didn't move when he reached a hand out to lightly graze the cheek feathers of her mask. Hawke felt her pulse speed in her throat. Something dark lurked in his eyes, in the way his breath was still deeper than normal.
"Do you celebrate Moramhain for the dead, the handbinding, or the heart?" he murmured.
She felt herself blush and was glad the mask covered it. This was a side of Sebastian she had never seen before, not without instigating something first. Hawke's anger flashed momentarily to think this was how he acted around peasant girls, when he wasn't sputtering excuses to her about the Chantry, about vows not renewed. And then he leaned in close to her and pushed the mask back a little, just enough so he could capture her lips with his. All thought fluttered out her head as she tasted him-warm, mulled cider and whisky. His fingers twined through her hair and he pulled her against him, her hands pressing against the firm mass of his broad chest. She had no idea how much or how little time passed before he drew his mouth back. Her mind still reeled pleasantly from his kiss, but her thoughts snapped back together when he leaned close to her ear and murmured in it, his voice low and snaking in to wrap around her mind like wisps of smoke.
"The falcon is mine," he said, and she swore she heard a smile in his voice. "If you don't want to be as well, a hawk would suit you better next time."
The realisation that he knew who she was hit her like a hammer, and even as she pulled away to say something to him, she felt his heat leave her. She looked up to see a wolfish grin on his face, teeth bared and a predatory look in his eyes. He winked at her, then turned and slipped back into the crowd. A hand went up to her lips, still tingling with warmth and wet from his, and it took a moment or two for her brain to kick-start into motion again. By the time she went after to find him, he really was nowhere to be found.
After another hot drink, Hawke headed back to Kirkwall herself, the music still driving into the night as it slowly faded from her hearing. Hawke kept the mask, however, fingering the smooth, tooled leather as she walked, a quirk of a smile perched on her lips.
"Devil of man," she said aloud, as the outer wall of the City of Chains came into view.
A/N: I want fall to be here. And a dress like Hawk's.
Moramhain = "MORE-ah-vain"; Old tongue for the day when the Veil is thinnest, and spirits of the dead most able to come to the living world. It is the time for reaping harvest, and slaughtering and salting the livestock that is to last through the winter. Couples that went through a handbinding the year before decide if they wish to stay together and go through the second, permanent handbinding, or if they wish to part ways in search of a better-suited lover.
I was going to provide links with the things that inspired this story... except I can't figure out how to imbed links into this document. So, if anyone would like to let me know how to do that so they actually work, I will edit this and provide links and the like.