Hawke knocked the dirt off her boots against the feet of the bench in her foyer, vowing never to venture near anything remotely named "sela petrae" or "drakestone" again, Maker take Anders. She eased the staff off the sling on her back and sighed in relief as she was released from the tight leather straps. Later she'd have to ask Bodahn to punch another hole so the sling wouldn't cinch her so tightly. After she gave the mabari by the fire a brisk scratch behind the ears, Hawke made it over to her writing desk, and found another parcel from the tailor Lady Elegant had recommended. The man did exceptional work - her favorite padded coat came back with another small pocket for a rune, and the extra panels gave her more room in the chest, waist and hips. It had been her father's once, and was nothing compared to what she could get at the Emporium or a traveling merchant from Orlais, but it was Malcolm's and that was more important than anything. Grinning, Hawke whirled it around her shoulders, slipping her arms through in one swift movement. The feathers in the pauldrons tickled her nose, but when she buried her face in them and closed her eyes and breathed deeply, she could still smell his shaving oil.

And then there was the smell of something else. Something warm, and buttery, and baked. Hawke's eyes fluttered open. She'd have to talk to Orana about her baking habits if she wanted at least a few weeks before she had to send the coat to the tailor to be let out again.

But oh, it smelled like Lothering on Satinalia. Just this once, she amended, as she made her way to the kitchen. "Whatever you're doing, Orana, it smells delightful. Has Sandal left me any?" Hawke looked down and smiled to herself, pushing the door open. The younger dwarf was sitting at the kitchen table, happy as a clam, with a crumbly golden treat in his hands, crumbs all over his skin, and smiling. "Hello," his voice sang, and Sandal took another bite.

A strong chuckle came out from the pantry. "That's your second one, laddie. Fool me once, shame on me, but fool me twice-" Sebastian was packing something into a basket when he looked up at her and smiled. "Hawke. You're home."

Hawke had been leaning against the doorframe, but the surprise of seeing the archer sent her standing straight and she suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. Though, given how much time Sebastian had been spending there, she thought she would have gotten used to the sight of him by now-maybe it was the lack of armor. His shirt looked impossibly soft, and the dark material of his breeches made his legs look like they went on forever.

Sebastian glanced out the window and squinted, thinking. "You're just in time."

"For what?"

He smiled warmly, and Hawke felt her chest tighten a little. "You'll see." He crossed the kitchen over to her side and took her hand in his (his skin was so warm), and his eyes were bright and unmoving, the smile on his face almost permanently etched. "But it's a nice surprise, I assure you." Sebastian stepped back, leading her towards the door, and even if she had just come in and felt tired the moment she leaned against the door, she suddenly had a second wind of energy as he offered her his arm.

They stopped in front of a ladder propped against the side of a building in the alienage, the sun setting and bathing everything in a warm gold. "Ladies first," Sebastian bowed and gestured towards the rickety ladder.

"What?" Hawke balked. "It's barely held together!"

"I've climbed them just this morning, in my armor, and it's fine." Sebastian deftly whirled around to stand behind her, placing a foot firmly on the lowest rung and holding the ladder in place. "And I'll be right behind you to catch you just in case."

Hawke opened her mouth to protest further, but couldn't say anything.

"Besides, I've got the basket." He lifted it up. "Wouldn't want this to fall on you."

"What is in there, anyway?" Hawke's eyebrows lifted as she tried to peer into the wicker, but Sebastian pulled away before she could make anything of it.

"You won't know until you reach the top, will you?" He chuckled quietly.

She was frustrated. "Oh, alright." And she started climbing, slowly but surely.

Sebastian watched her take the first steps up the ladder, and swallowed the gasp that built up in his throat as he was treated to an exquisite view of the round curves of her backside, moving slowly and rhythmically upwards, and his grip around the basket handle tightened as he fought against the urge to reach up and grab her hips and thrust into her.

Hawke kept telling herself not to look down, not to look down, not to look down as she carefully stepped onto another rung. The sun was setting, and they were losing the light, and she had no idea where their final destination was. All her visits to the elven alienage were either at ground level or in the Fade, and she wondered what could possibly be so interesting on a rooftop. "I've hidden from templars in a great many places before, Sebastian, but not usually this high up."

"We're almost there, dearl-" A sudden gasp of air cut his sentence short, and for a second Hawke paused to reconsider what she thought she heard. But then the ladder creaked with their weight, and the small jolt of fear sent her scurrying up the last steps and onto the roof.

She looked around, surveying Lowtown and the alienage below. "So are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to keep guessing?" Hawke focused on her breathing, calming down more now that she was on solid ground again.

Sebastian walked closer to the edge and knelt down, pulling a blanket from the basket and spreading it out on the roof before sitting down on it, and looked up at the mage, smiling and patting the blanket, beckoning her to sit down beside him.

"Not much longer now. But you might want to take a seat." She hesitated, but relented, and sat down a little further away from where he had suggested, and the archer produced a bottle and three bundles of cloth from the basket next to him. Hawke could smell the same butter from the kitchen, and that gave away his plan.

"Ohhh, Sebastian." In the fading light, she could almost make out the color that rose in his cheeks as he unwrapped the first parcel, revealing a pile of small cookies.

"Shortbread," he explained, holding one up to her. "My grandda always had boxes of these waiting for me when I went to see him. Go ahead," he urged, "have one-but I guarantee you won't be able to stop at one."

Hawke closed her eyes at the light buttery cookie as it almost melted on her tongue, and it was possibly the best thing she had ever tasted. When she looked down to reach for another, though, she couldn't help but fumble in the darkness, and she didn't know that her fingers were grazing against the inside of his wrist until she heard him inhale sharply, and she pulled back quickly. "I'll probably stop at just one if I can't see a bloody thing," she smiled. "Shall I light something small on fire for light?"

"No, please, wait for it." Sebastian's voice was warm and rich, like the shortbread, and Hawke instinctively turned towards it. She could follow that voice anywhere, she pondered, and she was surprised when he managed to lift another cookie to her lips even in the poor light.

And then a light started to glow below, the vhenadahl tree lit up with candles and magical flares, a soft hummed song rising up as the elves came together to celebrate. A few stars blinked in above them, and Hawke let out a small gasp in surprise, her face glowing with light from below. Sebastian bit his lip to keep himself from lunging forward and kissing her.

"This is what you had planned?"

"The elves also celebrate the Festival of Light, in their own way. The Chantry's songs are much more ... decadent, I guess, but after so many years of that, I thought it was time for a change." He chanced a glance up to her to see if she caught his other meaning, but she was enraptured by the radiance below.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful."

"Neither have I," he replied, without a pause, his gaze still on her, and this one she caught, her eyes darting up to meet his.

Sebastian leaned back, eager for even the slightest bit more space between them for just a moment, and looked up at the stars. Hawke followed suit shortly afterward, and smiled to herself. "What else do you have in there?" Sebastian's hands were busy with another bundle of cloth, and when the knots were untied there was a pile of strawberries, large and plump and dark in the starlight and candles from the tree below them. "Oh, my. Those. Those are my favorite."

Sebastian recollected his courage and looked back up at her, smiling again. "I know." He held a berry up to her mouth, and she hesitated, but soon she leaned forward and bit into the ripe berry's flesh, and it drove him insane as he watched her. "I think . . . I know everything about you."

Hawke's eyebrows crinkled at him, and she swallowed before she spoke. "That sounds more than a little disconcerting, Sebastian." She looked down at the berries and picked out a few, but did not meet his eyes again, and she shifted in her place on the blanket.

The archer buried his face in his hand, and wanted the roof to collapse and swallow him whole. After a moment, he managed to murmur from between his fingers. "I mean," he might as well say it, "I mean to say that I . . . we've spent quite some time together, Hawke, and," when did he get so tongue-tied? "I've come to care for you. A great deal, actually. And I've learned so many things about you."

Hawke still couldn't meet his eyes, but she could feel him looking at her. "Such as?"

Sebastian put the rest of the berries down in between them-maybe it was a sort of peace offering to bridge all kinds of gaps-and straightened his back, his shoulders back. "You have an insatiable sweet tooth, for one," that remark managed to get a small smile. "And you have the most amazing heart."

She looked up at him, but said nothing.

He had to continue. "You spend so much coin equipping us, making sure we have what we need, and you've never turned down any of us when we ask for help. But yet, this coat," he reached out and ran the back of his finger down her sleeve, "makes me wonder when was the last time you did anything for yourself, when you'll ask us for help."

Hawke eked out a whisper. "It's my father's coat. Guess I'm a bit of a sentimentalist. His coat, his staff, like your grandfather's bow, your sister's locket."

Sebastian took her hand and placed the third cloth bundle in her palm, and watched her unwrap it. "I found it in a stubborn drawer while I was looking for that blasted lyrium when you were sick," he carefully told her. "It needed a little care, but I think, now, you could wear it again?"

Her eyebrows crinkled again as she turned her mother's locket in her hands. When Leandra had died, she found it in the dirt in that godforsaken place, and then she was so paralyzed grief that it slipped away. But now ...

Sebastian nearly fell onto his back with the force of Hawke's arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tightly. And nothing could compare to how well she fit within his embrace.

For some reason, even after all the years of his misspent youth, Sebastian's back tensed up against the large roof tiles beneath him. He had delighted in the curves of Hawke's hips, and spent many nights dreaming of drowning in between her soft breasts, but he wasn't planning to be pinned underneath her on a rooftop in the alienage. And yet, despite countless hours of devoted prayers and fervent vows to the Maker and his Bride, Sebastian's hands instinctively shot up, one at the small of her back and holding her to him, the other lacing its fingers through the dark ringlets of her hair, and he pulled her lips to his like it was the most natural act in the world.

She was warm-incredibly warm, almost scorching hot-and he could taste the lingering sweetness of the strawberries on her lips as he gently teased at them with his tongue. The noise Hawke made started as a gasp, but quickly melted into a sigh of content, and the sound in his throat mimicked hers. Years of tension instantly fell off their shoulders, and Sebastian could feel the shiver race up her back as the fingers in her hair crept to the nape of her neck.

After an impossibly perfect eternity, Hawke pressed herself up and away from him. He kept his eyes closed for a second longer, memorizing the taste of berries and sugar and butter and her, and he was afraid to open his eyes and see what would come next.

"Oh, Maker, Sebastian, I'm so sorry."

He reached up to grasp her arms, hoping to coax her back down to him, and managed to draw her close enough to cup her round cheek in his hand, holding back so that the calluses on his index and middle fingers wouldn't scratch her. "Mmm," he had to warm up to his newly regained power of speech, "Don't be. I want this."

"But your vows."

"I want you, Marian." Sebastian couldn't take his eyes off her, her pale skin cloaked in the curtain of her hair, like it was hidden from the rest of world and saved just for him, only him. He let out a low chuckle that he hoped would ease her tension. "I prayed all those nights for guidance, but it was you all along." Her fingers slowly grazed a hard seam in his armor. "Your compassion, your bravery, your strength, Hawke, you are what will lead me to take back Starkhaven. You are the sign I've been waiting for."

He tried to pull her back down again, but instead Hawke bolted upright and scrambled off of him, and before Sebastian could get to his feet she had reached the ground and started running back to Hightown.

It felt like an anvil had firmly lodged itself in his heart, and it pulled him back down to sit on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling over the edge. Sebastian couldn't hear the music below, and all the lights couldn't illuminate his vision, but he could see far enough to reach for the bottle of mead and uncork it, and take a long pull of the sweet liquid.