Hawke barely stumbled into the foyer, exhausted. What she thought was going to be a simple round-up at an estranged Carta base turned out to be . . . completely different, and she was thoroughly unprepared, and it was by sheer luck they survived. All she wanted now was a hot bath and a good meal.
A clang of what sounded like iron against steel came from the kitchen. And the smell was incredible. Potatoes and meat, oh, Maker, a stew would hit the spot right now.
She staggered into the kitchen, leaning heavily on her new staff, and made a noise as she saw Sebastian staring intently at a cast iron pot bubbling over the fire, spoon in hand. He smiled at her voice, and turned to face her.
"Hawke, you're home."
"And . . . so are you. In my home." Her eyes darted to the bubbling brown contents of the pot and back at the archer. He looked so different, so warm without his bright white armor and mail. "What are you doing here?" Not that we're complaining. The kitchen fire was warm, and the patch of brown tanned skin exposed underneath the lacings of his shirt was glowing in a light sweat. How long has he been here?
"I heard you were sighted coming back from the Carta base this morn," his cerulean eyes lowered as he poured wine into two goblets, one significantly more than the other, and he crossed the room to her and offered her his arm. "So I thought I'd cook you dinner, if you don't mind."
Hawke was speechless, and her legs barely had the will to object as Sebastian guided her to a chair at the kitchen table. He kneeled down beside her, deftly pulling at the laces of her boots and easing them off before she even realized what he was doing. A basin of water appeared out of nowhere, and he fetched kettle from the fire, and poured the hot water into the basin, keeping a finger in the water to gauge the temperature.
"I wish I had come with you. I'm sorry I couldn't abandon my tasks at the Chantry to come with you, and from the pigeon Varric sent, I-" he was interrupted by the soft moan from the mage as he eased her bare feet into the hot water. He rubbed lightly at a callus on the ball of one foot, and he spoke again, barely a whisper, thick with his brogue. "At least you are a good healer, and Anders was with you. The thought of you in pain, I - I wish I was there with you, Hawke."
She swallowed hard, a reflex against the flutter of her heart as Sebastian's hands smoothed over her skin, massaging at her aching feet. She tried to form sounds into words, and words into a sentence, "It's alright, Sebastian. You had to stay here." And the truth? "And you're here now."
Sebastian looked up and smiled at her. "Aye, I am." His eyes roamed down her sides, almost dismayed to see the curves he had quietly encouraged almost gone from the trials of her travels. No matter, they'll be back soon.
A low rumble bubbled from the stew pot. Sebastian darted back to the fire and stirring its contents. "Rabbit stew. Not much, but it's a Vael favorite." He lifted a spoonful to taste, and smiled again before he returned to the table with the goblets of wine, handing her the fuller one before adding water to his.
"Smells fantastic," Hawke sighed, absentmindedly running a hand up and under the collar of her robes and rubbing at a sore spot in her shoulder. She could smell the thyme and garlic, and it made her mouth water. "I didn't know you could cook," she rumbled from her goblet, eager for the dry red wine.
"My grandda made sure my brothers and I knew how to eat well when we hunted," Sebastian moved around the table and gently pulled her arm away, replacing her hand with his, rubbing at her shoulders. "Maker, you're tense. Lean back and relax, Hawke, you're home now . . . there. I remember being tasked with cutting up the carrots and practicing my aim throwing them into the pot from several feet away." He chuckled quietly as he felt a moan curl up in Hawke's throat, the mage finally relaxing under his hands. She felt so soft under his fingers.
"Mm. I could melt, die happy, right here." Hawke's head tipped back, her eyes closed, and Sebastian stilled for a fraction of a second, fighting the impulse to lean down and kiss her.
Sebastian lifted the lid and took a deep breath. The soup was ready, and he took great care in ladling just the right amounts into the large bowl, and covered it with a plate to keep it warm. This had to be perfect. For her.
He batted off stray clouds of flour from his shirt (he shouldn't have worn black), ran his fingers through his hair, picked up the tray, and slowly made his way up the stairs, careful not to slosh any of the hot soup or dislodge the parcel tucked into his waistband.
He gingerly tapped at the bottom of the door with his boot, knocking. A single cough, and thankfully it sounded leagues better than it did last night when she came into the Hanged Man and out of the rain. "Yes?" Sebastian slowly nudged the door open with his foot and made it into Hawke's bedroom. With a deft turn of his ankle, he pulled the nearby side table closer to him and set the tray down, relieved of the small care, and lifted the plate covering the bowl with a daft flourish.
She was turned away from him, and when he made a small noise in his throat she wiped at her reddened nose, slowly sat up and turned to face him, and her eyes widened at the tray he laid beside her.
Sebastian felt his heart flip. "Soup and dumplings," he announced. "It always made me feel better when I caught a cold. Though," he unconsciously raised a hand to run at the nape of his neck, "I never had the strength to make the dumplings. Just the broth."
"Oh, Sebastian." Hawke took a deep breath as she took in the mug of wildflowers next to the bowl, but the breath turned into a sharp cough that groaned through her chest, and the sound of it made Sebastian wince and turn towards the chest of drawers, where he knew she had a bottle of lyrium, if she would just take it and heal herself-
"It's gone. Used it last week at the clinic helping Anders."
"I'll go get you another. You're sick, Hawke, and I've seen you heal this so many times."
"It's just a cold." A wet sniffle. "This too shall pass."
He forced himself to look at her, wrapped in swathes of silk sheets, her cheeks and nose rosy from agitation. "Please." He couldn't bear to see her like this.
"Please don't, Sebastian. I'll get more when I'm better." She blew her nose violently. "Plus, well, it's been a long time since I slept in." A sheepish smile, and she looked up at him, and he couldn't say no when she looked at him like that.
He perched himself on the side of the bed, and brought up the tray. "I'll stay only if you agree to finish the whole bowl."
"It smells divine, I'll give you that." Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she held the bowl up to her face. "Even through all this congestion." Her green eyes closed at the first bite. "Oh, Maker." Another spoonful, larger than the last. "How did you learn to cook like this?"
Sebastian was lost in the fuller curve of her cheeks, but he had enough sense of mind to hear the question. "Lots of time spent in the kitchen hiding from my nurse's switch," a small grin crept up his lips. "I got into a lot of trouble then, and the cook always made this when one of us got sick. I even threw my windows wide open in winter so I'd catch cold and ask for it when I was very wee."
Hawke was halfway through her bowl, trying desperately not to drop the spoon altogether and lift it right up to her lips and start slurping. And she could not help smiling at the idea of a small boy running through the kitchen, deftly sidestepping stools and sacks of potatoes, a head full of thick red hair and eyes so blue that the sky could look to them for guidance. Would their children have the same eyes, and maybe her black hair? She quickly shook the thought away.
Sebastian made to lean back against the bedpost, but quickly sat upright again as the parcel almost crushed behind him. "Ah. And here," he reached around for it, and brought it out, peeling away the paper wrapping, "is your medication." He held out a small box she instantly recognized.
She gasped with delight. "Ohhh. You shouldn't have!" Her eyes get just the smallest sparkle when something makes her happy, he thought. They enraptured him. I'll make them light up every day for the rest of my life.