Reunion
"Your Highness, you must—"
"If you would just pause a moment and listen to—"
"Don't you think you've practiced enough for—"
Sebastian whirled away from his pestering courtiers, turning his back to them as he moved in rhythm, brows knit together in concentration. It was good practice, he told himself, to try to keep mistakes out of his steps even as a small host of lords tried to distract him.
Finally, one of them bumped into the piper, who fell off beat as he missed a few notes. The man glowered at the lord who had caused his error, while Sebastian relaxed his arms and looked skyward, a light sheen of sweat coating his broad chest and back, his breath slightly heavier. He rolled his shoulders back and turned in a fluid movement to face the courtiers. The look on his face stopped all the questions forming on their lips, and he held them all in a steady glare.
"Now that you've thoroughly interrupted what little spare time I have set away to practice, what do you wall want? And one at a time," he reminded them.
"Sire, why must you practice so often when there are matters of state to address?" a younger man in dark blue breeches and a cream shirt asked.
"Believe it or not, Pherson, this actually does pertain to a matter of state."
"Do you honestly think she'll come?" another man asked.
Sebastian smiled, a devilish quirk of his lips. "Oh, I know she will. I will make sure of it."
Lost in thought and imagination, the Prince of Starkhaven only half-heard everything else they said.
Fall passed to winter, and winter began to melt into spring and he still had not received any word from her. Finally, a few weeks before the lambing season began, a letter came by bird.
His advisor came to him in his private study, finding Sebastian hunched over a writing desk, frowning down at the papers his treasurer had given him.
"Sire," the elder man said by way of announcement, knocking on the open door as well, for good measure.
"Hmm? Come in, Reginald," Sebastian replied, distracted. He scratched a few numbers on a separate paper, comparing it to the other.
"A bird arrived this morning," Reginald told him, entering the room. "She'll be here in two weeks' time." He laid the letter on the prince's desk.
"That's nice—wait, she will be here?" Realisation jerked Sebastian's head up, and he looked at Reginald's face before searching out the letter on his desk, snatching it up.
His fingers skimmed briefly over the broken red wax seal of an image of a hawk with a blade held vertical in each taloned foot. His stomach fluttered and he opened the letter to greedily read the words she had writ him.
Things have finally settled, and I can steal away for a while. See you in two weeks.
It wasn't signed, nor even addressed to him, save for his name scrawled on the outside of the letter. Even if that had not been there, he would have known whom it was from. He knew her handwriting and tone, if nothing else. He couldn't keep a broad smile from splitting his face.
"She'll be just in time for the gardens to be in full bloom," he mused, then stood, meeting Reginald's eye. "Come, we have many preparations to make and only two weeks to get it all in order."
The advisor raised a bushy grey eyebrow. "I thought you didn't want to make a big to-do about it, sire?"
The Prince of Starkhaven gave a shrug. "I don't. But I do want it all to be just so. And I want it to look effortless." His brows knit. "I should practice a wee bit more, too…"
"Careful you do not overdo it," Reginald warned. "You already know it; don't let your mind into it too much. We certainly wouldn't want you to misstep and ruin the whole thing."
Sebastian's look turned incredulous. "What unerring faith you show in me, Reginald." He shook his head before his advisor could reply. "I just... I'm not offended. Please round up the two best seamstresses—Margaret and Eileen, I think—and Horace. I want her dress and the food to be more than prepared for her arrival."
"You're sure of her answer, then?"
The grin Sebastian flashed was pure confidence. "I wouldn't go through all this plotting and planning otherwise."
"Very well, then, sire. I'll send the cook and ladies to your solar immediately." They older man gave a quick bow, then retreated from the room, a secret smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He hadn't seen his prince this excited or sure of himself since he wrested the throne from his incompetent cousin.
Sebastian, the treasury numbers quite forgotten, strode out of his study and into his private suit of rooms to rummage in an old chest for a simple wooden box. It was plain and obviously very old, but he held it reverently. Blowing some of the dust from the top, he opened it carefully, a fond look softening his features as he looked down at his grandmother's ring. It was silver inlaid with small lapis lazuli, around which intricate knotwork wove. The centrepiece was a vibrant moonstone, sparkling iridescent in the light. The deep blue-purple satin it rested in only brought more attention to the delicate stone, and he bit his lip to think of how it would sit upon her finger. Sebastian was more than confident she would agree to his proposition. Closing the box, he set it own his wooden dresser and headed to his solar.
They were waiting for him when he arrived, and bowed or curtsied as was appropriate. He was impatient, however, and waved off the formalities to get down to business. To the seamstresses, he described the dress he envisioned in his family colours, both the tartan and in solid panels. When asked, he had no clue what her size was, but he described her proportions to them as best he could—without his thoughts trailing to other details and uses for the way she was curved—and the two women nodded, mentally sketching his vision in their own heads. To the master cook, he started to describe what he wanted before the stout man cut him off and finished the list for him, better than what Sebastian had in him. The prince smiled sheepishly.
"I suppose I should leave the details up to the experts," he remarked, receiving a chuckle of agreement.
"Donnae worry," Horace said in his thick, rural burr. "I cooked for yer da and yer grandda at times like these—I've got it maire than handled."
Sebastian clapped the elder man on the shoulder, then the three servants took their leave. Excited and bounding with energy, he felt the need to burn it off. Despite Reginald's caution of over-practicing, Sebastian wanted to make sure he had it perfect—besides, he needed to practice it wearing what he intended to surprise her with, and it had been a while since he wore his family tartan kilt; he knew the swinging fabric would throw him off slightly. Swiftly, he went back to his rooms and dug around in the closet for his old kilt, and was dismayed to find it was a bit too tight around his waist.
"I didn't think I'd gained any weight," he bemoaned to Margaret when he took the garment to her.
She gave him a sharp look through the grey strands of hair that had fallen from her bun.
"And how long has it been since you last wore it?"
"Before I was sent to the—to Kirkwall."
Margaret shook her head. "You were but a young man then, and that's over ten years passed." She clucked her tongue at him. "You're in fine, fitting shape for your age, my Prince, but you're no longer twenty." At his sigh, she chuckled and beckoned him closer. "Come, you're even more handsome than you were then, and with a better head on your shoulders. Now come here," she unceremoniously pulled him closer, "and let me get your new measurements so I can fix this."
"Will I be able to practice in it?"
"Och, to be sure. I should be done with this no later than tomorrow."
Sebastian smiled and let her fuss over him a while longer, conversation turning to fond memories of his family.
Robbed of his idea to practice in full attire, Sebastian found himself wandering the halls of his youth, half his mind preoccupied with the future, half the past. He had terrorised these halls as a child and young man, and worried his mother sick when he had discovered a string of hidden passages. He had decided to investigate them and vanished for four days doing so. He recalled how she had wept when she found him in the topmost wine cellar, embracing him tightly to make sure he was all right—right after which she had spanked him soundly. Sebastian chuckled at the hellion he had been.
He did not wander too much longer before the treasurer found him, requesting he look at the numbers Hawke's letter distracted him from. He told the man he would get right back to them, but his thoughts went immediately back to Hawke as he walked back to his study. Everyone would have to stop calling her Hawke, he mused, because he didn't intend for it to remain her surname for much longer.
"Maebh Vael," he said aloud as he entered the study. "Has a nice ring to it."
Two weeks passed all at once too slowly and too quickly for Sebastian. Margaret had altered his kilt to fit perfectly again—and reassured him it was only an inch more than it used to be—and he had finally convinced his advisors to leave him be while he practiced. He had snapped when one of them pestered him so much he stumbled for a moment and knocked one of the swords out of place. The noble had fled when Sebastian turned to unleash his fury upon the man, and the others then left him alone when he announced his intent to practice. His years in the Chantry gave him calm and compassion, yes, but his temper was still explosive when provoked enough.
But, the day had finally arrived and a messenger ran into the training ground where he was impatiently passing the time hitting the bull's-eye of every target in front of him.
"Sire," the young man called breathlessly.
Sebastian didn't move except to release the arrow, its fletching having caressed his cheek moments before. He turned without bothering to see where it landed—he knew he hit his mark.
"Aye?" Since coming back to Starkhaven, his accent had thickened slightly—back to normal, to his ears. As much as he had come to love his life in Kirkwall, he had dearly missed the more familiar cadences of speech his native land had.
"She's here—Messere Viscountess—I mean, Viscountess Hawke."
A smile spread across Sebastian's face even as butterflies filled his gut.
"Thank you," he told the boy. "Go let Reginald and the others know, and then take a breath to sit. No need to run yourself out."
As impatient and restless as he had been the past two weeks—the past three years, really—he now felt surprisingly calm. Without bothering to change, he merely slung his bow across his back and rested a casual hand on the practice quiver that hung at his left side, much like a swordsman rested his hand on a pommel to stay relaxed but ready for action if need be. He arrived in the throne hall moments before Hawke, just enough time for Reginald to give Sebastian a disapproving look at his casual attire and sweaty demeanour. The man under scrutiny merely smiled and shrugged. She'd seen him worse off, his expression said, but neither had the time to say anything before the doors swung open and the herald tried to stop her from striding into the hall even as he began to call out her titles in formal address.
"Uh—Presenting Viscountess Hawke, Champion of—"
"Can it," the all-too familiar voice said loudly. "I think he knows who I am."
"Then, let me announce Messere Tethras—"
"Don't even bother, little bird. His Princeliness knows us, too." The dwarf's gruff voice brought a smile to Sebastian.
And then she came into view and Sebastian's breath caught in his throat. He didn't even see the few others trailing behind her, and he felt his heart thud in his ears. Hawke had let her hair grow out, and it was half pulled back in a leather strap, half spilling down her shoulders in an unruly tumble. She wore snug, dark riding leathers and gloves, with a black coat to ward off the early spring chill—she had heeded his warning that the winds could still be bitter in his mountains, even after the first blooming. Both her clothing and face were dirty from the ride, but it did nothing but enhance the beauty of her smile and her eyes. The only difference regarding her station as Viscountess that he saw was the small ermine border and cuffs of her coat. Other than that, she looked the same old Hawke.
"Hawke," he said, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face, unable to stop his feet from descending the stairs to greet her.
Before she could say anything, he swept her off her feet and spun her around in an enveloping embrace. For that moment, he could bury his nose in her hair as it fell through the soft fur of her coat, smelling of cinnamon and loam, that gentle earthy smell of her he had dreamt of so often. He finally had to set her feet back on the ground and stepped back, admiring her. Her face was flushed and a bemused smile perched on her lips. He had surprised her with his greeting.
"You're looking well, Hawke," he said, unashamed of his actions. "Being in charge suits you."
"As it does you, Sebastian. I'm not sure I've ever seen you beam so much," she remarked to him.
Part of that's you, he added silently. He would tell her soon enough. For now, he looked beyond her to see whom she brought. Varric stood slightly to her left, looking immutable as ever, save for longer hair as well, and next to him was Fenris. The elf looked worse for wear on the surface, especially with a black patch covering his right eye, but his relaxed stance and small smile told Sebastian his rough exterior belied how he felt. Behind those two old friends, stood another man and woman Sebastian didn't recognise, but they were both dressed as nobles, though not overly so. As he stepped forward to greet Varric and Fenris, the dwarf held up his hand.
"Don't pick me up and twirl me around, Choir Boy. I'm too close to the ground to like the thought of being air-born. And as amusing as it was to watch you do that to Hawke, I don't think I'd warrant the same reaction."
Sebastian laughed and clasped hands with the shorter man. "Trust me, Varric, I never intended to do such. I'd wager you're solid and heavy as granite, and I wouldn't want to pull something important."
Varric's eyes widened a second as he registered Sebastian—chaste, too-good-to-be-true, brother-of-the-Chantry Sebastian—was making a quip at his expense before erupting in laughter.
"Oh, I like this new you," the dwarf said. "Looks like leading an army and storming the castle finally got you to loosen up!"
"Looks like," Sebastian agreed, then turned to Fenris.
The dark elf stood silent, as Sebastian recalled was his wont, but he definitely seemed more at ease. Sebastian's face softened and they clasped hands, as well, before embracing.
"How have you fared, my friend?" the archer asked him.
A good-natured snort came in reply. "Other than a particularly nasty crow and I not seeing eye to eye… More than well."
"I want the whole story once you've settled and have the time."
Fenris waved him off. "It's really not that interesting or heroic.
"He's right," interjected Hawke, and Sebastian glanced back at her. "When he said 'crow', he was being literal. No Antivans."
"A bird?" His eyes darted back to the elf. "Now I definitely have to hear that story."
Varric rubbed his clean-shaven chin as he watched this man they once knew as Sebastian Vael. "You really have changed, Choir Boy."
Sebastian smiled down at him. "Probably because it's 'Choir Boy' no longer."
"Sounds like you've got some of your own tales to tell."
He shook his head. "After you've settled in and cleaned up." His eyes moved to the two people he didn't know, remembering them. "Who are your new friends, Hawke?"
She clucked her tongue at herself, chiding. "My manners haven't changed in the least, as you can see. These are serrahs Raven and Brently." The woman bowed at the first introduction and the man at the latter. "Might I introduce my old, dear friend, Sebastian Vael, master plucker and, consequently, Prince of Starkhaven."
His lips twitched at her teasing nickname for his unparalleled ability with a bow as he gave Raven and Brently a courtly bow. The woman had hair dark as the wing of her namesake, windblown and cascading down her back in gentle ringlets. She carried herself as if she could hold her own in a battle, and did not smile, but gave a courteous nod to him. The man Brently gave an easy smile, and Sebastian instantly did not like him. He was broad and good-looking, with a shock of chestnut hair that reflected both red and gold in the light.
"They are…?"
"My personal retinue. Aveline sent Raven to play bodyguard and helping hand should we run into trouble on the way, since she couldn't make it herself." At Sebastian's questioning look, she explained, "It'd be a bit hard on a woman seven months pregnant to come out here and back again."
Delight shone through his face. "I must send her my congratulations and a gift. I am truly glad she found happiness with her Donnic." He noticed she didn't give further information on Brently. "And I imagine he plays much the same part?"
"Sort of, but in a more political way."
His brows knit some. There was something odd in the way she answered, but he couldn't put his finger on it.
"No matter. I have rooms and baths enough for everyone. Once we have all washed up, we'll meet in the small hall for lunch—there will be servants to show you the way." With a final grin to his old companions, he allowed his retainers to lead them to the wing of the castle he'd set aside for their stay.
When they reconvened for lunch at his request, he had the cook prepare fish and egg pie, but also less regional dishes in case the strong Starkhaven dish didn't agree with his friends' palettes. To his surprised, Varric enjoyed the pie, and to his delight, Hawke did as well. Fenris took a sniff of it, declared it too rich and overpoweringly of fish, and stuck to the simpler dishes.
"How long do you plan to stay in Starkhaven?" Sebastian asked as they ate.
"Just got here and already trying to get rid of us?" Hawke teased.
"Just a gauge on how much food and sleep I should prepare to lose," he countered around a glass of light white whisky.
"Oh, you plan on losing sleep?" Hawke's voice took on that lost smoke it always had when she flirted. It sunk into Sebastian's veins like it had never left and he felt a tightening of desire settle in his belly.
"I suppose it does depend on how much of my fine whisky I'm persuaded to consume and how long Varric takes to regale what's happened in Kirkwall since I left to retake my home.
The dwarf in question shook his head, still disbelieving. "You know, it's really hard to believe you're the same pious man spouting 'Maker this' or 'Maker that' for so many years."
"It's difficult to be a good ruler and a pious man at the same time, I've found." Sebastian looked at Hawke. "I think it just took a while for it to sink in, that I'm much more useful to people as a leader, and would have been wasted in the Chantry."
She graced him with a knowing smile, remembering their lengthy conversations in her library as each worked to convince the other to take up a ruling position. The look did not go unnoticed by either Varric or Fenris, though neither commented on it.
"So," Hawke said as they finished their meals. "When do we get the two-sovereign tour?"
Sebastian made a vague motion with his hand. "Whenever you like. Now, tomorrow—it doesn't matter."
Hawke looked at her two companions. "I don't know about anyone else, but I am positively beat. How does tomorrow sound?"
"Sounds just fine, Hawke, just fine."
The next day, after they ate a late breakfast, Sebastian led them through the stronghold of his youth, sharing histories of the castle and fond memories with each notable room. In some, giant and ancient tapestries hung from the walls, and he took the time to shape each story. He knew he couldn't weave a tale anywhere near as well as Varric, or even Hawke, but he tried his best to keep things entertaining. He even joked about becoming a dull old man now that he was settling into the role of Prince.
"If you're a dull old man, Sebastian Vael, then I'm a hook-toothed old spinster," Hawke declared.
"Oh, anything but, síe criedhen," he said to her in a low voice, full of hidden meaning.
Though she didn't know the meaning of his endearment, she blushed lightly, unsure of how to react to his burning eyes.
Fenris cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "A very fine castle," he said.
"So far as castles go, it is quite… homey," Varric added.
Sebastian broke eye contact with Hawke and grinned at them. "Ah, but you haven't even seen the best part." He beckoned them to follow as he went through a door that opened up to a stone spiral staircase. He bounded up two at a time like an excited boy showing off, but Varric lagged further back, his shorter legs unable to propel him at the same speed as Sebastian's long ones.
"Old man my ass," he huffed, then called ahead, "Go ahead, don't wait for the dwarf."
Laughter echoed through the staircase, and he saw they waited for him at the top of the stairs on a landing. The only thing at the top aside from arrow slits was a heavy wooden door with studded iron bands at the top and bottom. Sebastian eased it open, allowing them to exit before him, out onto the windy top of the castle's highest tower. All three visitors felt words and breaths escape them as they took in the rolling landscape that unfolded beneath them. Forests and fields alike dotted the ground, with the wide Minater snaking through it all like an enormous blue serpent, the head and tail of it vanishing in opposite directions. To the north rose imposing mountains of nigh impossible heights, the tallest crags vanishing into the clouds. Throughout the countryside, splashes of colour told them most flowering plants were in full bloom, and it was easy to see why Sebastian had chosen to come back in the end.
"Maker, Sebastian," Varric breathed after a long while.
"What a far cry from Kirkwall," Fenris murmured.
"It really is a wonder you stayed as long as you did," Hawke said last, wonderment softening her voice like a prayer.
"I had good reasons to stay," he said, utterly unable to keep himself from beaming with pride over his homeland. "But it's bone-achingly cold in the winter and much harsher than
Kirkwall. But," he added, a growl of possessiveness none had heard in his voice before, causing them to all turn and look at him. He stared directly at Hawke. "It's mine."
Her cheeks rosied darkly under the heat of his look, again, and she turned back to the beauty of his lands, the wind whipping at her hair.
"It's a land to be proud of," she said, hugging herself. He suddenly realised she probably wished she had her coat; the wind could be biting at this height.
He worried his bottom lip in thought, as Fenris caught his eye. The elf looked deliberately at Hawke, then headed for the door. Varric patted his arm as he followed suit, giving a knowing wink before they closed the door quietly behind them, leaving him alone with Hawke.
He came to stand next to her, startling her with his silent arrival, and she glanced around quickly to find their other two friends gone.
"Where," she began.
"Back inside," he answered, watching her. She nodded and he moved closer, putting an arm around her back. He felt her stiffen momentarily, unsure. "I should have told you to bring your coat.
She gave a wry smile, not looking up at him, not relaxing back into him. "That would have ruined the surprise."
"I'm glad you finally decided to come," he told her softly.
She bit her lip. "Sebastian, I—"
"I'm also glad to hear you took up role as Viscountess," he continued, not giving her room to finish. There were so many words waiting to pour from his lips, so many connections his fingers ached to create.
"The people practically begged me to," she replied. "After how much you always believed in me, how much you told me the city did…" She shook her head. "How could I not?"
"Is it everything you feared it would be?" he teased.
This time, she did look up at him. "Is being Prince?"
He laughed. "It's hard work, to be sure. But, I've never been one to back down from a challenge. Not when I've set my mind to it. It's… satisfying, pulling a dying principality back from the brink of destruction and make it prosperous again."
She nodded. "Things have really improved in Kirkwall—especially for the Fereldans." He smiled at that.
"Our exports and domestic trading have nearly tripled since a year and a half ago when I wrested the throne from my cousin," Sebastian said. "Trade flows freely on the Minanter again and the people have hope."
"They're rebuilding the Chantry," Hawke said quietly. The statement took any other words from his mind, and old flames of hurt burned his heart again.
"I—That's good to hear," he said finally.
They both stared in silence at the rolling hills for a while. Sebastian didn't see any of it as he relived that day three years ago.
"Do you regret that I—"
"Do you?" She cut him off sharply. He knew she didn't want to hear him say the words.
No hesitation came over him. "No," he replied. "I only regret I couldn't save those people." His throat tightened. He was still dealing with the guilt and anger he felt over Elthina's death, over the death of so many innocent lives, but it was more muted than before.
"As do I. I regret I couldn't stop him." Hawke seemed to grow smaller as her shoulders sagged. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
"I don't think you could have been able, Hawke. He would have done something similar, if not the same thing, but in a different place—or even the same place—no matter who he had gotten to help him, unwittingly or no. I place no blame on you."
"I do."
He pursed his lips and let out a sigh. He turned her to face him, took both her hands in his. Her fingers were chilled, and he enclosed his warm ones around hers. His new life made him bold again, and so did his confidence, so he found himself bringing her fingers to his lips, his breath hot on her skin.
"The blood is not on your hands," he said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. He kissed her fingers to emphasise his point, drawing a small noise of surprise from her throat. "Else they would not be as pretty as they are."
He lifted his eyes from their hands to hers, and found them wide, suspicious.
"Sebastian… What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Things I should have done years go, things I tried to convince myself I was unworthy of doing." He felt her pulse quicken in her wrists.
"Then don't mince words with me, Sebastian. Be blunt," she demanded.
He relinquished the hold of one of his hands to weave it through the hair at the back of her head, pulling her lips against his own in a claiming kiss. She made another noise of surprise and then melted into him. He released her hands entirely and slid his free fingers to the small of her back, tugging her against him. Her hands pressed into his chest, pinned, and he felt intoxicated. When he finally broke the kiss, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, lips slightly parted.
"Why speak at all, then?" he murmured.
"Oh," was all she breathed. When she opened her eyes to look at him again, dark with desire. It sent a surge down his spine to see confirmation of his hopes that she felt the same as he.
"Did you plan this?"
"This? No." Not entirely, was his silent amendment. But so much more. "I've learned to go with the flow of things," he said, leaning in to kiss her again.
He went slowly this time, giving her the option to pull away if she wanted. She did hesitate, but only for a moment, then met his mouth with hers. Her hands slid up over his broad shoulders, and he tightened his arm around her waist so they were flush. The wind blew her scent into his nostrils, and he lost himself in her, unaware of the low rumble that came from his chest. It was Hawke who broke the kiss the second time, and rested her forehead on his collarbone. He felt her shaking.
"Hawke? Are you well? Cold or…?" He trailed off, not wanting to admit he might have overstepped his bounds.
"Cold and, well, surprised." She was always honest in her answers, no matter the circumstance, and he loved her for it.
"Not insulted? Pushed?"
She shook her head. "No, none of those. Let's go inside."
He nodded and led the way, opening the door for her. He was mildly worried he'd only succeeded in making things awkward between them, and his grand plans would crumble down around his ears. Then, as she passed him to go through the open doorway, she trailed fingers light as feathers across his abdomen. Unable to keep the smile from his face, he watched her descend the stairs before him.
They found Varric speaking quietly with Reginald and Brently, but when Sebastian's advisor caught sight of him, he murmured something and the other two turned.
"Quite the view, eh?" Varric grinned as he joined Hawke and Sebastian. The short crossbowman was up to something, Sebastian knew.
"Indeed," Hawke murmured in reply, and the Prince himself opted out of answering. He respected and liked Varric, even if he felt he couldn't always trust his words.
"Where did Fenris go?" he asked instead.
"Aw, don't tell me you got Hawke to travel all this way just to spend your time with Mr. Broody?" Varric teased. "Isn't she much prettier?"
Sebastian met the dwarf's gaze and decided he was definitely up to something. It seemed to involve putting him and Hawke together, however, so he'd let Varric think he was oblivious.
"Of course she is. But I would like to catch up with him first. An appetizer before the main dish." He cast Hawke a look and watched her lower her eyes.
Sweeping one last look over Varric and Brently, Sebastian tightened his jaw and set off to locate Fenris. The elf he knew and called friend would be straightforward with him.
"Somehow, I figured I'd find you in here," Sebastian remarked, leaning against the doorway of the stables.
"There aren't many horses in Kirkwall," Fenris replied, not taking his eyes from the dark roan in front of him. "I've missed them. Their grace and power is underestimated, I think, but their silent natures."
"I would say the same for you, had I not seen you in action." Sebastian pushed off the frame to walk over to his friend. "Why did Hawke agree to come? Was it really just to visit an old friend, or is there more behind it than that?"
Fenris met his eyes with his favoured unreadable expression.
"Why did you invite her out? Was it just to see an old friend, or was there something else you wanted?" He threw Sebastian's words back at him.
The prince narrowed his eyes. "Just who is Brently?"
A silent battle of wills ran its course between the two men before Fenris relented, tilting his head away, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"You have changed, my friend. You're stronger." He grew serious as he looked back at Sebastian, one hand still idly resting on the roan's neck. "Brently is one of Hawke's suitors."
"'One of'?"
"I believe Varric's last count was at sixteen, so, yes. One of."
He wasn't surprised to hear she had so many, but he felt jealousy in his gut. "Why would she bring him here?"
"He's also one of her ambassadorial advisors."
"Does she think she needs an ambassador to talk with me?" Sebastian was taken aback at the thought.
Fenris's mouth drew into a tight line, and Sebastian could not for the life of him figure out what was hidden in the elf's eyes.
"Perhaps you should ask her yourself."
A frustrated noise escaped him as he spun on his heel and stalked back to his castle proper. So much for his close friend giving him a straight answer.
"Andraste's flaming ass," he growled to himself.
"And swearing even?" Varric's voice came from behind him as he entered through a side chamber. "You go away three years, wage a war to reclaim your homeland, and everything about you changes."
He couldn't help but smile. "How dare I. You seem enthralled by the fact that I turned out to be like everyone else." Sebastian turned to see the dwarf in a simple shirt and breeches with an old book in his hands. He snapped it shut as he sauntered closer to the prince. He gave a shrug to Sebastian's observation.
"I'm still reeling from it, I suppose. Broody not giving you the answer you wanted?"
He wouldn't give Varric the satisfaction. "Answer? I just wanted to catch up, Varric."
His short companion laughed as they began walking the halls.
"I like the new Choir Boy."
"I'll take that as a compliment, despite coming from you."
It wasn't until dinner when he saw Hawke again. He would have searched her out, but Reginald came to him with a stack of paperwork he needed to read and initial, and he only got out of it when his stomach rumbled loudly. He was not pleased to see Hawke sitting next to Brently, her head bowed closer to him in low conversation. Sebastian took his seat between Fenris and Raven, across Varric and Hawke. They had already started eating.
"We thought you wouldn't be joining us, your Princeliness," Varric said after washing down a bit with ale.
"I had begun to fear that myself," he replied, eagerly filling his plate. His servants had balked when he first came and refused to wait until someone brought him a ready-made plate. He told them he didn't take his home back from pampered nobles and corrupt politicians just to become one himself. He had grown far too accustomed to fending for himself, and he didn't intend to give that freedom up. After the first year, they got used to it.
"So," Hawke said, breaking her conversation with Brently off as soon as Sebastian sat. "What is there to do for fun around here?"
He grinned at her. "Depends on the sort of fun you're looking for."
"You know me—the most life-threatening kind."
"You can always pick a fight in one of the pubs, but I did have other things in mind."
"Yes, I've evolved to a more refined danger-seeking woman, no longer satisfied with mere bar fights." She smirked as that brought laughter. "Honestly, I do have higher standards as Viscountess."
"I should hope so." Sebastian could not keep the hint of jealousy from his tone, nor stop the glance he shot Brently.
"What did you have in mind?" Fenris asked, diverting his attention.
"Falconing," he said. "Fitting, I think. Especially since we've recently trained a lovely hawk."
"Haha," Hawke said sarcastically. "You're a clever one, Sebastian. It can be like a battle of sigils."
Sebastian flashed a wolfish grin. "I have told you the falcon was mine."
"And now you have a hawk, too," Varric said, picking up on the double meaning.
"So to speak." He cleared his throat. "I have bird for everyone—save your entourage, Hawke. I wasn't expecting them. I hope I haven't offended?" He pointedly looked at Raven rather than Brently.
The black-haired woman shook her head, then spoke for the first time. Her voice was low, a smoky alto. "Of course not, your highness. I am content merely to accompany."
"As am I," Brently added in a surprisingly tenor voice.
"Good." Sebastian bit back snide comments that leapt to his tongue, opting to dive into his food instead.
He kept the conversation light the rest of the evening, for once glad he had learned the pleasantries of keeping court to not let his displeasure show. He told himself he should be happy to see Hawke and his friends, and that he shouldn't worry about some ambassador after the kisses he and Hawke had shared. Her silence about them afterward and her casual avoidance of being alone with him bothered him a little, but he planned on talking to her about things between them, anyway, and did not let the thought weight on his mind after that first night.
He was up in the predawn, a time that, nowadays, was truly and only his. He stretched in the cool air and smiled at the dew clinging to everything. He liked to take this time to run along the river. He ran for nearly an hour before he got back to the garden wall, where he dipped his hands in the water to splash on his face. It was cold and sent a shiver over him, welcome though it was. Normally, he'd take his grandfather's bow out to the training grounds for a the next hour or so, until his stomach complained for breakfast, but today he went to the mews.
Gerun, the head falconer, was already there feeding the birds, and he greeted Sebastian with a grunt as the prince walked down his favoured bird, a peregrine falcon he named Aidan. She landed heavily on the thick leather glove he put on his left hand and burbled at him as he scratched her chest feathers with a finger.
"How many today?" Gerun asked, not looking at the archer.
"Three more besides Aidan. One of them Durian."
"The hawk?"
"For the Viscountess Hawke."
"Ah. Fitting. Makes sense now."
Sebastian helped feed the rest of the birds, giving a small extra piece to Aidan before he left. He remembered his parents keeping a full rookery, but it had been nearly empty when he finally took the stronghold back, a mere shadow of what it once was. He was pleased to see Gerun still tended it, however—he never knew a man more suited to his job.
His companions found him poring over papers at breakfast, which he was halfway through.
"Ah, the duties of office never stop," Hawke said fondly. He looked up to reply, but his breath caught.
She had chosen to dress more regally today, in dark greys and terra cottas, with silver buckles and accents to set it all off. Her hair was bound in a loose braid that fell to her mid-back, and was held with a dark blue ribbon. Though her clothing was cloth and leather, suitable for a day of riding, it hugged in all the right places, and revealed most of her collarbone. Around her neck was a pewter pendant of wolves howling at the moon, and on one hand, she wore a ring with runes he recognised from before she was Viscountess, while on the other hand, she wore the silver ring of her office. Varric and Fenris were similarly dressed, though the former sported rich crimson and gold, while the latter preferred greys and blacks. Sebastian himself forewent his armour they were all used to seeing him in for dark sepia tones to his leathers, and blues to his surcoat. The surcoat reached just below his knees and had the silver and white falcon of his family embroidered on the panels. All four were armed as usual, and he smiled at that.
"Almost feels like old times," he remarked, sitting back in his chair to watch them sit and take in the food before them.
"Do you always have food on this table?" Varric asked. "Did you pick up some magic, food-creating table somewhere?"
Sebastian laughed, his rich baritone filling the hall as Hawke's retainers joined them, quiet and dressed simply.
"No, I just inherited good cooks. They're blessed with loving their work."
"As I am becoming, as well," the dwarf chuckled. "There might be something to this whole 'prince' thing."
"Truthfully, I think they enjoy showing off. Usually, it's just my staff and myself they have to feed." Sebastian poured more hot water into his tea.
"What, no balls or fancy parties for our Prince of Starkhaven?"
"Maker, no. I've got too much real work to do."
"All work and no play makes for a dull boy," Hawke chuckled.
"Trust me, I learned that lesson well in the Chantry."
After they finished their meal and Sebastian scribbled his signature on the last paper with a triumphant noise, they carried their conversations to the courtyard. Six horses and four hooded birds of prey waited for them.
"Do you regret your time in the Chantry?" Fenris asked as he mounted the dark roan from the previous night.
Sebastian waited until he was on his dark grey gelding and had Aidan on his arm before responding. "No, of course not. I just see now that it was not the sort of life meant for me."
Hawke was on a black mare, slim and graceful, while Varric sat through Fenris. Raven and Brently both were on chestnuts, and Gerun came with them on his palomino. Varric held his hawk owl, Hawke her namesake, and Gerun held a snowy gyrfalcon for Fenris. Sebastian let his falconer lead the way, so he could fall back and chat with his friends.
"Still not keen on horses, Varric?"
"If Hawke would have brought her bloody mabari along, I could have more easily ridden him," the dwarf grumbled.
Hawke laughed with Sebastian at that. He turned his attention to her. "What do you think of your namesake?"
She glanced at her arm. "Heavy, for such a small thing."
"Small, but deadly." She met his gaze at that, as he was pleasantly surprised to see heat in her eyes.
Before he could say anything, Gerun halted the group in a large open field. They sat atop a hill, the side rolling steeply away to their left into a thick forest below. Gerun turned his horse to face the rest of the group. He was a lean old man, with sharp, hawkish features and silver hair. He had no regard to station, and spoke to everyone in the same curt manner.
"First things first. Who has never hunted with a falcon before?"
Fenris and Hawke both voiced their inexperience. Sebastian regarded Varric with some surprise.
"Varric? You've gone falconing before?"
"I've done things you've never even dreamed, so, yes. I have gone falconing before."
Gerun simply nodded.
"That's all right. I won't fault you two for it. It's easy enough," he continued, lifting the arm that held the gyrfalcon. "This is Bella, and she's yours, serrah elf, so she'll be coming back to your arm." He removed her hood, and the raptor blinked sharp, luminous eyes. With a soft murmur to her, Gerun lifted his arm to the air swiftly, propelling the gyrfalcon into the flight as he let go of her jesses. "Most important thing is to remember is to let go of the jesses," he commented, nodding slightly to Hawke. "Else you will have a very unhappy set of talons scrabbling closer to your face than is likely comfortable."
Fenris's eyes were on the sky in the direction Bella flew. "How does she know to come back?"
"Training. Good training. And proper food control. Too lean and hungry, and they'll glutton themselves and just stay out to hunt. Too fat and they don't want to hunt at all. You need to know the right balance."
A few minutes later, a keening cry came from the treetops and Gerun smiled.
"And there's our girl now. Serrah elf, lift your arm—no, the one with the glove, unless you want to get it shredded. Right. Here she comes, get ready—she'll be fast and heavy."
To his credit, Fenris did not flinch as the white blue dove for his arm, pulling back at the last second to offer the dead hare in her talons as well as her jesses. Fenris automatically took the hare right before she landed on his glove, then grasped her leathers with his gloved hand. His eyes were wide as he looked at Sebastian.
"Fantastic," was all he said.
"Got all that?" Gerun asked Hawke. She smiled.
"I think so." Without awaiting further instruction, she followed the same steps Gerun had shown them, though her hawk was a bit heavier and larger than the gyrfalcon.
"Mine is…"
"A red-tailed hawk," Sebastian explained. "Named Durian. I thought him fitting for you."
Her face was alight. "It is. Thank you."
Gerun inclined his head to the hawk owl. "That one's a special case—"
"Also fitting," Hawke piped in.
"—We found him with an arrow through his wing and nursed him back to health in the rookery. He seemed to take to the name Rook quickly."
"Rook," Varric repeated to his bird, scratching the belly feathers as the hawk owl leaned from one foot to another on his wrist.
"Once Durian comes back, you may send Rook," Sebastian said. "Aidan and I don't mind waiting." He thumbed the feet of his bird and she fluffed her down against the cool wind.
Durian came back with a squirrel for Hawke, and Gerun instructed her to let him have some of the meat as Varric released Rook, much to Fenris's and Bella's dismay. The gyrfalcon screeched and spread her wings for balance as Fenris ducked away from the hawk owl's wings.
"Your arms are too short," the elf snarled to Varric, who was merely grinning at his discomfort.
"I'm a special case of gracefulness," he reminded his riding partner.
Fenris watched the hawk owl come back with empty talons and land on Varric's glove with a bit more grace than what he had left with. The bird bobbed his head and burbled.
"A very special case indeed."
Gerun tossed Varric a bit of meat from a pouch, which Rook happily tore at, and Sebastian unveiled Aidan, rubbing her feet one last time for luck before releasing her.
"A truly beautiful bird," Hawke said, following the falcon's flight with her eyes.
"Especially since the peregrine is what my crest is based off of," remarked the archer.
Aidan came back with a smaller bird—perhaps a robin—in tow, chirping happily. Sebastian sighed.
"Other birds are the worst," he said mildly. "I hate de-feathering them."
They let their raptors hunt a few more times each before heading back. Gerun gave them the option of releasing their birds back to the rookery, but they all opted not to.
"You look good with an actual hawk on your arm," Sebastian told Hawke as he rode beside her. He fancied he'd look good with one on his own arm, though he'd certainly prefer the one without feathers.
"And you with your falcon," she replied.
He wanted to ask her about her visit, about bringing Brently, but not in a group. He was certain both Fenris and Varric knew how he felt for her, and he tried to make it as plain to her as he could yesterday, so he decided a private walk with her through is blooming gardens would not come unexpectedly to anyone.
They set their birds all free of their jesses once within the mews, and thanked Gerun for the short lesson as he tended the predators.
"Charming fellow," Hawke said as they led their horses back to the courtyard, where waiting hands took the mounts to the stables.
"A good man," Sebastian amended. "I find I like his honestly. Reminds me of you sometimes." He paused a second. "Not quite as pleasant to look on, however."
"I should hope not."
A smile tugged at his lips. "On that note, might I take the time to show you my gardens?"
"That sounds like a euphemism if I ever heard one," Varric muttered, sure to speak loud enough for them all to hear.
Sebastian ignored the dwarf's commentary and offered Hawke his hand, half-smile dancing over his face. She bit her lip and didn't glance to either side as she took his hand and allowed him to lead her away. Once they had left the others behind, Sebastian was delighted she had not yet let go of his hand nor tried to pull away. He led her through a few doors and hallways back inside the castle proper.
"I thought we were going to your gardens?" she wondered. "Unless Varric hit it more on the mark than I thought?"
He chuckled. "No, we are going to the garden, don't worry." His eyes flicked back to her, the blue darkening to fathoms of the sea. "I wouldn't do anything more without your permission."
He watched in pleasure as a rosy hue crept over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose before tuning to open a door they had reached.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "I promise it will be worth it."
Obeying, she replied, "If it's anything like the view from that tower…" Hawke let the rest of the sentence hand in the air as he took both her hands in his own and led her outside.
When she opened her eyes at his whispered okay, he knew she found the sight breathtaking; he heard the gasp slip audibly past her lips. Trees in full bloom haphazardly lined a winding stone pathway, branches hanging heavy with flowers and young fruit. There were apples, pears, oranges, a weeping cherry tree that sang with the voices of thousands of bees, as well as dogwoods with their white and red blossoms and delicately curving branches. All along the ground were flowers—peonies, irises, stately tiger lilies, hoards of periwinkles, and even snowdrops left over in the cool spring air. The scent of delphiniums and hyacinths was almost tangible in the breeze, and even Sebastian had trouble recalling all the different flowers that bloomed here. Vines and ivies clung to the ancient stone walls, creeping over the tops in some places to spill out over the edge. Birds sang to one another, and feasted on the drifting insects caught up in the thick haze of pollen-swollen air. It was not overwhelming to them, however, though a pleasantly and mildly delirious look came over Hawke's face as he watched her. It took a while before she found voice enough to speak to him.
"Maker's breath, Sebastian, this is paradise!" Her feet propelled her forward into the garden, and he smiled as he watched her go. As she walked, he saw the years of stress and shouldering so many responsibilities that weren't her own start to melt away as she went from blossom bunch to blossom bunch, marvelling and complimenting. He slowly followed after her, hands clasped behind his back, leather boots silent on the stones and moss.
She came to a halt and stepped through the low, drooping branches covered in pink, humming blossoms of the weeping cherry. He trailed in after her, careful not to overly disturb the bees as he parted the branches like a curtain. It was noticeably cooler and dimmer within the centre, near the trunk of the tree.
"It's like being surrounded by a singing, living veil," she breathed, head tilted back to look up at the canopy.
"I loved coming to sit in this tree as a child. My grandfather used to call me out, telling me that 'the choir had arrived'." Warmth filled Sebastian at the memory, though it was difficult to tell if it was simply the memory itself, or the fact that he was sharing it with her.
Hawke closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I love it."
His heart skipped a beat as soon as the words came out of her mouth.
"It gladdens me to hear that, síe criedhan," he told her, more truthfully than she knew.
She canted her head to one side, squinting slightly at him. "You've said that twice now, that 'shee-cree-dan'. What does it mean?"
It was now or never, Sebastian knew, and he never felt more sure of anything else in his days. He took a breath.
"Would you answer me something first?"
Suspicious rose in her eyes. "Depends. Ask, and if I wish, I will answer."
As much as he felt he had grown in confidence, so had she grown more guarded, and Hawke had always been that from the beginning.
"Who is Brently? Other than part of your ambassadorial, political retinue?"
She didn't meet his eyes. "He's also a suitor."
"Is that why you brought him?" Sebastian fought to maintain a calm demeanour and won. "Is he a… successful suitor?"
Hawke bit her lip, and he feared her answer. "No," she said at last. "He's here for… other reasons. I hope. Nothing to do with him being a suitor."
"It means, 'my heart'."
Her eyes flicked back up to his. "What?"
"Síe criedhen. It means 'my heart'." He stepped closer and gently took her hands in his again. "Did you think the kisses meant nothing yesterday? I've loved you since before you restored me my grandfather's bow," he continued, his voice low and heated. "Since before I remember acknowledging that I did."
The smile she gave him was both fond and wry. "And you asked me to journey all the way to Starkhaven to tell me."
"Well, I've got to keep my reputation as Prince, Hawke."
Laughter bubbled from her and he found her sliding easily into his embrace, her movements somehow seeming as if he were the one drawing her in. She rested her head on his collarbone.
"You were my first choice," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"My first choice," she repeated, louder. "It was always you. And you were always out of my reach."
Sebastian drew back slightly, tilted her chin up to look at him. "No longer, sîe criedhen, no longer. Everything I am, is yours." He leaned down and gently captured her lips with his own, feeling himself sink into her taste.
All around them, the bees sang their discordant, beautiful song, the only noise in the quiet afternoon.
The rest of their stay—which was to be two weeks, Sebastian was finally told—went by too quickly for the Prince's taste. Two days before they were to leave, Sebastian called them all out to the courtyard. Reginald greeted Hawke, Varric, and Fenris in Sebastian's place, informing them his highness would be along shortly. When he did come out, all three let out noises of surprise. He couldn't help but grin, as his traditional choice of outfit had the desired effect on the desired person. Hawke's face and neck flushed as he watched her eyes sweep over him—and he knew what a striking figure he cut. His wool kilt in dark blues and subdued reds, with thin lines of green bisecting the plaids, fell to the proper length just above his knees. Tall, wool kilt hose with intricate knotwork weaving up the sides rose from his worn dancing boots to stop a few inches below the knees. He wore a thick cream shirt with a thinner one beneath it, the undershirt hugging his frame more snugly. Held in place over his right shoulder with the falcon crest pin of the Vaels was a swath of his plaid, crossing to the opposite hip, both in the front and back. A wide belt held a leather sporran in front, its only contents his grandmother's ring.
"Well, hel-lo your Princeliness," Varric said with a whistle. "I never thought I'd catch you in a skirt!"
"It's a kilt, Varric, and were you to try one yourself, you'd understand why Starkhaven men like them so much."
"I think I can guess," Hawke said, still flush. He certainly hoped all sorts of salacious thoughts concerning his kilt rant through her mind like a stampeding herd.
Sebastian held two swords, which he placed parallel to one another on the ground. Reginald handed him two more, and he crossed the first two with those, creating an open-ended grid of sorts with the four blades. He stood next to them as a piper came out.
"Sebastian," Hawke began reproachfully, "what in the name of Andraste's holy ass are you doing?"
A grin swept over his face, broad and brilliant. "A Starkhaven tradition," was his only reply.
As the piper inflated the bag and opened his drones, Sebastian drew in a breath, focusing his thoughts to a single point. He was not nervous. He knew all these steps, knew every beat like his own heart. He would not make a mistake.
"It's a question," he told them—one last, enigmatic titbit before the melody of the tune started from the pipes.
Both piper and Sebastian kept beat with their heels tapping on the ground as Sebastian put his fists firmly on his hips, strong and still. He bowed to his audience, and then straightened. In the next beat, one arm went into the air, fingers bent and raised to mimic a stag's antlers, and he stepped and spun expertly over and around the sword grid, and easy expression floating on his face.
All he heard were the pipes; all he saw was Hawke.
His feet and arms moved and switched as his orientations and rotations dictated, the movements so ingrained into his muscles from practicing that he barely had to think about them. His feet drifted only a few inches above the swords, perilously close to kicking them, but not once did he even graze one as he danced above the crossed blades.
It felt as if no time at all had passed before the tune ended, him standing straight and tall in the opposite corner to where he began. He lowered his raised arm to hip again, bowing one last time before the pipes cut entirely. His heart pounded in his chest not out of any exorbitant exertion, though the sword dance was no easy one, but more for Hawke's reaction. All three of his friends clapped, Varric grinning, Hawke's face full of delight.
"So," she asked him, walking closer. "What's the question?"
He went up to her, drawing the small box out of his sporran. Sebastian dared not take his eyes from her face; he feared she might vanish if he were to do so.
"Maebh Hawke," he began reverently. "Could you ever find it in yourself to wake every morning to these mountains, to fall asleep every night in my arms, to take on Vael as your own?" He opened the box to her, revealing the ring inside, the moonstone filling with fire in the sunlight.
All time seemed to stop, and the very wind felt as if it held its breath, awaiting her answer. He watched, heart in his throat, as her eyes filled with tears that would never spill over. Then she threw her arms around his neck, and he knew.
"Maebh Vael," she whispered thickly in his ear. "Has a nice ring to it."
A/N: For Sebastian's dance, look up Highland Sword Dance and enjoy.
Many sundry thanks for Zevgirl, who beta'd this for me!