A/N: I want to make these chapters longer, but they just seem to end so well. D: Phooey. The enemy in this chapter is completely made up, by the way. And I feel like this story is getting progressively worse? xD PS I am not completely familiar with the development of small children, but since my 1 year old neice can almost walk and says sorta-kinda-words, I will assume Percival can walk somewhat and say simple words when he comes around later in the chapter.

T.I.M. – Don't feel bad, I really enjoy your comments—I look forward to them when I put a new chapter up, in fact! It's nice to hear an opinion from someone I know isn't just trying to please my silly obsessions. XP

Chapter 6

Sebastian awoke to an unfamiliar place. He remembered falling asleep in front of Anders' hideout, but he did not recall coming anywhere else. This place had molding walls and a dripping ceiling. His arms and ankles were chained to the wall. There was an almost debilitating ache in his neck. The room smelled worse than Darktown, if that was even possible.

"Awake, your highness?" an unrecognizable voice said, its masculine tone piercing the air. Standing in front of him was an imposing man dressed in tight leather armor and a heavy blade hanging at his hip. Sebastian was too weary to feel threatened or afraid. He felt drained of energy and uncharacteristically reserved. His blue eyes simply stared at the man, making no effort to show defiance. "Too scared to talk, eh? Usually you noble types run your mouths off when captured, asking for mercy and offering money… Well, even if you did offer it to us, it's not what we want."

The man walked to the wall where a shield hung on a hook. On it was the familiar heraldry of the Amell family. He took it off and slammed it on the ground in front of the rogue's feet, crushing it with his foot into the ground. "Your bitch of a leader should learn her place. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it."

"And who exactly are you?" Vael asked him. He did not recognize the man's face, though that did not mean much in the ways of Hawke as she had been in this town at least a year before he met her. He knew the stories of how she worked for Meeran the mercenary. This challenger could be anyone she had somehow wronged while under his employ. The man sneered. "It doesn't matter to you. You're just bait."

The man left and did not come back. There was no natural light in the room, making it hard to judge how much time had passed. He determined roughly what time it was by the increasing ache in his empty stomach. At first it was breakfast that he had missed. Then he became very agitated as noon tea and lunch clawed more emptiness into him. He passed out for an immeasurable amount of time as the nap he liked to have with Hawke was nowhere to be had. When he woke up he felt terrible and decided that it was well past supper. His captors made no attempt to keep him alive. He considered praying to the Maker, but many times he reminded himself that it was useless. However, when all seemed lost, he broke down and spoke out to the invisible entity that he had believed in once so completely.

In the middle of his chant, he heard the splintering of wood, the rushing sound of fire, the screams of men dying, and the clinking of metal. It echoed through the labyrinth of rooms and hallways. Time dragged on like a slug in the night air. Sebastian had forgotten how to breathe. Was this some sign from the Maker?

Suddenly, the man from before ran into the room with several others behind him. There was a mixture of anger and fear in their eyes. One of them tried to bar the door, others stood with weapons ready, and their leader drew his sword and held it to his throat. Loud steps continued to get stronger. In an instant, the heavy wooden door was ripped from its hinges and laid shattered on the ground. The armored figure stepped over it, making its strides deliberate as it crushed the man trying to escape from beneath it. Its strong arm ran the sword through the planks. A cry was heard before silence filled the room. Blood slowly pooled on the floor.

"What are you standing around for? Kill him!" the leader yelled. Like caged rats the men charged the suit of armor and like stalks of wheat they fell by the sharp blade. The thug's armor clattered from where his legs were shaking. Sebastian felt as if he was watching from outside of the room. Slowly the blade started to prick his neck but he did not notice. He barely heard the man threaten his life while he watched the figure take a smudge of blood on its finger and paint a symbol on its breastplate.

He knew what that meant. That circle, the emptiest circle he had ever seen. It was so perfectly round without the aid of a compass. Every time she drew it, and he had watched her draw it so much, it was as if she was born to draw it. It was her sign for emptiness. The sign of silence. The sign of the Circle. The sign for Death. As his mind turned, recalling how he had found the sign drawn on papers that littered her floor, smeared on the walls in wax, berry juice, animals' blood, encompassing seemingly random objects, he remembered how perfectly round the mound of wood she lied on was. Memory turned to horror as he realized who was standing there in black armor, holding in that steel grip a sword made for mindless killing.

"Lucienda." The name turned his tongue to ice; his throat lit on fire, and stopped the movement of his thoughts. He imagined those blue eyes not even blinking as the man threatening him out of pure fear was hacked at the waist with that dreadful blade. Blood splattered his face, stung his eyes, but he still stared at her. Why no magic? Why this unbearable image standing in front of him?

He could not begin to speak before three men; first Fenris, then Anders, lastly Varric, rushed into the room. The elf was unsurprised, Anders looked ready to hide, and Varric looked from Hawke to Sebastian, giving him a pitying glance. While the dwarf picked the locks on his chains, he whispered softly, "surely that is not her?"

"We all wish it wasn't, I suppose. Sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear," the man replied, removing the last shackle with an unceremonious clink. Vael gave his joints an opportunity to realign before he insisted that he really wanted to go home. They passed through Darktown, where Anders quietly slipped away to his clinic. In Lowtown they had to convince Varric that he should go to the Hanged Man, get a drink, write the story down, and then go to bed. Fenris' house was beyond Hawke's and so he gave the two a restrained good night before walking off. Sebastian was about to follow him, to go to the Chantry, but he remembered that it wasn't where he belonged. Just because he had prayed for the Maker to rescue him, this devil in black armor was not his love even if she was his savior. Not once on the way home did she remove her helmet, leaving those judging empty eyes to stare into his heart.

"Are you coming or not?" he heard a voice ask. Turning, he saw her standing in the open doorway, the helmet removed to reveal a face weary with battle, scabbed from her self-inflicted fire, and eyes too empty for comfort but filled with enough life to tell him she was still with them. His feet moved towards her before he could think to refuse. She let him inside first, stepped in after him, and locked the door behind her.

Inside was dimly lit, with no dwarf servants in sight. He looked at the clock and felt more tired when he saw that it read one o'clock. With unregistering eyes he watched as she peeled the pieces of armor off of her body while going up the stairs. His silent feet took him to the room he felt that he had no right to enter. He watched as she set the pieces on their stand, the helmet staring at him from the table. In the corner he could see her staves discarded in a pile, along with most of her robes. On the bed were her remaining two favorite robes that could be passed as just nice clothing if needed. There were boxes sitting in front of the four-poster, emblazoned with the names of well-known tailors in the city. A new pair of boots sat next to them.

"What's all of this?" he asked, his tone more curious than accusing. She waited until she was done setting up her armor to reply. Her face feigned amusement, but her voice was still devoid of emotions while she talked. "Anders insisted I get out and do something to cheer myself up. I decided to buy some new clothes. Why? Did you want to see them?"

"Not right now. Why the armor? Why are all of your things over there?" he jerked his head in the direction of the sad pile. She nodded in understanding.

"I will never do magic again." The words slipped from her mouth in the darkest voice he had heard. It sounded as if she were berating herself. He watched as she picked up her best staff, examined it carefully, and set it aside her robes lying on the bed. She then carefully folded the robes, took the clothes out of one box, and placed the old clothes inside it. Sealing it with a ribbon, she scribbled a note on a scrap of scroll, slipped it under the bindings, and shoved the box under the bed. The staff soon followed, being handled like a live snake.

"I'm afraid to ask, but why?" He was too curious for his own good. So many questions filled his head that he could only grab one as it passed by. She didn't seem upset as much as empty. It was as if he were talking to a Tranquil. When the thought came to him, he mentally beat himself for thinking it. The thought made him worry; not because he would miss her magic, but because he didn't want to lose her colorful personality.

"It went away. Along with our son." Hawke sat on the now cleared bed and began cleaning her nails with an intricately carved bone. Her hands were stained red from blood, but all she did was get the dirt out. Sebastian figured she planned on taking a bath when he went to bed. He was looking forward to the warm bed with its conforming pillows and mattress, but also to cleaning himself after the day's wear. Now what worried him was her complacency. He quickly blamed it on shock and stress.

"You can talk fine now." It was a statement, not a question, but she felt compelled to answer him as she looked into his bright eyes. No false smile covered her face. A deep frown broke her face's smooth complexion. "It felt as if I was sick. When I lied there yesterday, waiting for time to pass, I thought about how easy life would have been if I had known how to talk. I woke up from Anders' magic and it felt as if something had been dislodged. Like when I lost my magic when Percy was born, it was like I was suddenly disconnected from something I did not know was there."

So she barely knew herself. He sighed. The only thing that concerned him now was a question he wished to never ask. He nodded to her, picked up the night clothes – neatly folded beside the wardrobe he normally kept them in – and made for the bath silently. In the warm water he watched blood swirl on the surface. Beneath him he saw the dirt falling slowly to the bottom. A quick scrub got rid of the grime, a mixture of herbs that Hawke made washed out anything in his hair, making it silky smooth while also giving it a faint pleasant smell. It reminded him of the countryside in Starkhaven, minus the animal stench. He reached over and took the vial that housed her favored scent and sniffed it. It was like fresh flowers and mountain air. Replacing it on the small table he got out, dried himself off, put on his clothes, and got the bath ready for her.

"You are so kind, considering the circumstances," he heard her voice say from behind him. He filled the porcelain tub up with warm water and turned to meet her gaze. Normally he would have looked away from her half naked form—only a towel draped around her waist – but he was mesmerized by the pattern of scars and scabs covering her body. Anders had done a miraculous job of healing them quickly and had probably given her a salve to continue helping the skin heal naturally. She looked as if she had just fallen down a short rocky hillside, not set herself on fire. Finally he looked away.

"There is no real reason to be upset. You did what you had to. I do not blame you for the magic running in your veins." He picked up his used towel and shyly squeezed himself past her. The door shut behind him, giving him space to breathe a sigh of relief. He needed some good rest before he could face her any further.

At some point during the night he was roused by a warm body pressing up against his. It was flat so he assumed she had pressed her back upon his chest. He could smell the flowers and fresh air. His hand unconsciously wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her close. They had often slept like this when she was with child. He stifled a whimper when it reminded him that his son would not see him ever again. Faintly he could hear that she was crying too, but she tried her best to hide it. In the still darkness, they interlocked and connected in a bond neither wanted. The bond of knowing they had lost the same things; family and faith.

A year passed. The Qunari had started their fight and had been felled by Hawke's new blade. She gained the title of Champion of Kirkwall, but the name was not tossed around so much as was the names of Meredith and Orsino. With the Viscount gone, the two were always in heated debate. In one ear, the friends of mages and the mages themselves whispered the need for freedom. In the other ear, supporters of Meredith's firm hand encouraged her to keep the mages in their place. Many people began to forget that she was once an apostate herself. Only Orsino brought it up, sending her letters to talk about her son. She was not allowed to see him, par Circle rules, but he insisted that she needed to know since the boy was taken much younger than was usual. The old elf told her of the kind woman who nursed and raised him. He described how he showed magical talent well before other children, saying he would be a very powerful mage—may even become a first enchanter himself. However, Lucienda avoided the Gallows almost religiously.

Everyone in the Hawke Company knew that Anders still smuggled mages out of the Gallows. One day, he came to Sebastian and told him that he could arrange for Percival's care-taker to bring him out into the courtyard so that he and Hawke could see him. When the rogue went to tell her the good news, he caught a glimpse of her hiding something in the wardrobe. He dismissed it in his flurry of happiness and shared the information. She smiled, nodded her head, said that sounded great, and made herself scarce for the rest of the day. When it came time for them to head to the Gallows the next day, he found her drunk at the Hanged Man in Varric's back room. The dwarf had stepped out for the week, claiming he had something urgent but manageable to deal with, and so it gave her full access to his stores and room.

"Why do you insist on not seeing him?" Vael asked angrily. She continued to wallow on Tethras' bed, an empty bottle of Antivan brandy in her hand. He plucked it up, slammed it down next to the other bottles, and picked her up by the shoulders. A quick shake had her squealing in fear. He would have been startled if he wasn't so upset. "He's your own damn son!"

"If I see him, I will want him back," she said, sounding ashamed. He let her down gently, allowing her to sway on the bed. Sitting next to her, he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and held her close. She cried a little and his calloused hands wiped them away as they came down. "I wanted to do the right thing, Sebastian, but now it feels like I've ruined everything. If I never see him again… then I won't know it was a bad decision."

He had assured her on many occasions that what she had done was right, at least according to the law. Anders would argue with him for a while, but when she broke into tears, even he himself admitted it was probably best. The boy had a better chance than most mages of not becoming an abomination, even though they were positive he now harbored Justice. It however had been contemplated that it really was Justice, and not the spirit of Vengeance that Anders had turned him into. There was no hate in the child to twist the pure feelings of a spirit intent on making the world better. At least it had quelled the mage's need to put himself into extreme danger for a cause that now every day felt like fighting thin air and talking to a wall.

In silence they sat until it was almost time to go to the gallows. She refused to move, saying she would see him when she wasn't so drunk, and curled up on Varric's bed to sleep off the alcohol. Sebastian was left to solemnly walk through Lowtown to get to the Docks. There Anders was waiting by a boat, watching the water lick the stone walls. He was about to ask where Lucy was, but the archer simply shook his head and moved to sit in the boat.

His heart felt like it was lodged in his throat as they walked through the gates. Desperately he looked around for anyone who might be the woman they came to see. Gently Anders tugged him towards the small corner in the back. Sadly Sebastian remembered this corner as the one where he watched his love's pain become real. But this time there stood a pretty young woman holding a squirming child in her arms. Without prompting she set the child down on his two feet and they watched as he waddled towards Anders. The mage laughed and lifted the small child into his arms.

"This is your father, Percy, do you want to see your father?" he asked the boy, letting him look at Sebastian. He looked like him when he was but a small child. His hair was a chestnut brown and his eyes a startling blue like his mother's. He had a look of curiosity in his face but it was mixed with a little fear. It was natural, he supposed, since he was a stranger. He wondered if anyone had talked to the boy about his parents, how his father was a noble prince of a nearby province and how his mother was the Champion of Kirkwall. He reached out his arms towards his son and was actually surprised that he reached towards him in return. Gently he took him into arms and gave him a wide smile. Little hands ran over his face.

"Papa?" It was the simplest word the prince knew, yet it made him want to break into tears.

"Yes, I'm your papa," he choked out, nodding his head. He could hear the young girl sniffled nearby. People were staring at the scene, but Anders gave them dirty looks to get them to move on. If no one made a big deal of this, then the Templars wouldn't have to get involved. No one wanted to have the boy get in trouble for meeting his parents at least once before he grew up into a secluded mage. Unlike most children that came to the Circle, Percival had not had the chance to grow up in a family. Even if he met his parents now, if he never saw them again, he would one day forget this meeting. Anders assured him that at least someone could be persuaded to let this go if they were caught.

"Mama?"

"Mama… Mama will see you soon, I promise. She loves you, you know? She really loves you," Sebastian replied sadly. The boy gave an exaggerated nod. He went quiet in his arms.

"He doesn't talk much. He's still young though. He's a good kid, messere," the young woman said. Percival yawned and fell asleep on the prince's shoulder. He gave the boy a kiss on his head and returned him to his caretaker.

"Thank you… Thank you so much for being there for him. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I can't imagine what it feels like, to have a child taken at so young. Most mages are six or so when taken to the Circle… not little babies like him. I assure you, I will take great care of him," she said. With that, Sebastian watched as she walked back towards the Circle, Percy's little head bobbing on her shoulder. He wiped away the tears still on his cheek. Anders gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before they made their way back to Lowtown. In the Hanged Man they found Hawke at least a little bit sober but no less sad than before. They made their way to Hightown together and parted ways with Anders at the basement door where he snuck off to his clinic. During the night, Sebastian held her close as she peacefully slept in her alcohol haze.

"He was beautiful. You should have seen him. The perfect mixture of you and me. I wonder who he'll look like when he grows up? I wonder if… one day we can take him back? I would like that. He would be happy here. I think you would like that too," he whispered into her deaf ears. She sighed in her sleep and he took it as the cue to go to sleep himself.