A/N: Okay, I felt bad about leaving it on a cliffhanger. Have another chapter.
I am such a wuss. ;_;
"Bann MacDougall?"
The man in question was a giant, roughly as tall as a qunari and similarly built, but with a full, thick beard, blazing red hair, and a fair bit more paunch. His armor bore a pair of golden ram's horns emblazoned on the chestpiece, and as she took a second look, the men who had wiped the road with the bandits all wore the same sigil.
Hawke lowered her hands, but didn't relax quite yet. Not everyone you recognize is a friend.
"You know him?" she asked.
"I should say so," Sebastian said, tucking his bow away. "He and my father were inseparable."
The bann frowned, blinked twice, and leaned in to get a better look. When understanding dawned on him, he laughed a loud, booming laugh that could have woken the dead.
"As I live and breathe!" he exclaimed. "Sebastian Vael! It's been what, five years?"
"At least that," the archer said with a smile, turning to Hawke. "This is Bann MacDougall," he explained, "who was head of my father's guardsmen. He saw me grow from a wee thing to a young man!"
Hawke saw the smile fade, and her friend's face pale. It was then that she understood: Oh no, that look said. He remembers my old self.
Hawke smirked, easing back her shoulders. Ah, this had the potential to be absolutely hilarious.
"Mairead," she introduced herself to the Bann, holding out her hand.
He gripped her forearm and shook it firmly, a broad smile under his bushy moustache. "Guinn MacDougall," he replied. "Bann of Shallervale of Starkhaven."
"Bann?" She raised an eyebrow. "Starkhaven is big enough to have its own bannorn?"
"Mostly fields and hillside," Sebastian explained, "and not nearly as large as, say, Ferelden. Did you not know?"
"No, not at all."
"Then," the Bann asked, "what do ye know about our fair lands?"
"Well," she started, ticking them off on her fingers, "It's large, borders Antiva, built on a river, and its men all have accents that drive Kirkwall women into a frenzy."
The bear-man had a glint in his eye as he heard that last part. "Women like yourself, then?"
She smiled up at him placidly. "I'm Fereldan," she clarified. "We're not that easy."
He bellowed a laugh again, clapping her on the shoulder and almost knocking the breath from her lungs. "I like this one! Your taste's manage t'improve, whelp!"
Hawke glimpsed Sebastian's face in her peripheral vision, and she fought down a snicker. She'd never seen him this uncomfortable when it didn't involve vulgarity. This was fascinating.
"Bann." A well-muscled man with green eyes and dirty blonde hair pulled back into a plait at the nape of his neck dragged over one of the now-bound bandits. "One of them's awake."
"Ah, good." He squatted down to the captive's eye level, then cursed under his breath. "Where're my manners today?" he exclaimed, roughly tossing the half-conscious man aside. "We've a lady present. This is Eoin Dunaidh, my second."
Hawke bit back a laugh as she clasped the blonde man's wrist, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. "Mairead," she said.
"Eoin," he replied. "A pleasure, my lady."
"Now that th' formalities are over," the Bann said, grabbing a fistful of rope and propping the bandit up against a tree, "it's in your best interest t'speak."
The bandit coughed, then looked up with wide eyes at the behemoth of a man in front of him.
"W-we been out here for near a fortnight," he stammered. "Lorran said it was a way to make coin where we just sat around an' jumped passersby."
"How many's 'we?'"
"Maybe a hundred fifty? We... wasn't very orderly," he admitted. "Just kind of swarmed people in groups." He looked to Hawke and Sebastian, who stood a short distance away. "Thought we could sell their armor and horses for a good price. So we followed 'em for a while and then... you know."
Hawke frowned at his story. "So if you'd seen us so early on, why wait to attack?"
He shrugged. "Men liked the stories you was telling. Something about girls kissing other girls."
The Bann snorted and turned to Sebastian. "Seems ye haven't changed much."
Hawke snickered, and the archer sighed. Ignoring him, she continued to question the captured thug. "You're lucky I'd been asked not to kill unless necessary," she said, hands on her hips. "If I'd lit up my daggers, you and your men would be in a lot of trouble. And a lot of pieces. Is that worth a few horses and bags of other people's junk?"
The company turned to her almost all at once, staring.
"You took down twenty bandits with your bare hands?" Eoin asked in disbelief.
"Not by choice," she said, glaring at Sebastian pointedly. "But we do what we must."
After a pause, the Bann leaned over towards her a bit, querying politely, "Pardon my asking, lady, but are ye yet married?"
"No," she said, crossing her arms. "Are you proposing? Because I've always wondered what it was like to be wife to an enormous orange grizzly bear."
He and his men burst out laughing, and he straightened up with a nod of approval in her direction. "No need t' get so defensive; I'd've just liked to congratulate th' man! Though I do like th' fire ye've got in ye."
"Hawke," Sebastian warned gently from beside her, "be nice."
"Hawke?" The Bann suddenly wasn't smiling as he held up a hand to silence the others. "Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall?"
Ah, there it was. As always.
"One and the same," she said slowly, gauging their reactions, "though right now, it's Champion of Dirt Highway in the Middle of Damn Nowhere."
That did earn her a chuckle, though the Bann swept her form with an appraising look. "Explains it," he said. "Thought ye'd be taller."
"Everyone always does."
He motioned to his followers, who started gathering the bandits up into a barred wagon. "Well, my lady, ye're most welcome in my lands, and seeing as ye're traveling with th' whelp, th' keep'd be honored t' have guests."
"I'm not sure," she replied, slightly uncomfortable. "That's far too generous of you. I have to admit, I'm not accustomed to accepting -"
" 'Course," he continued, scratching his beard, "could always return th' favor by helping clear th' rest of th' bandits."
He winked, and she beamed up at him. Those were terms she was happy to accept.
"Sebastian?" she asked, turning to look up at the archer. "Any objections?"
He turned to MacDougall. "Do you plan on executing the bandits?"
The Bann stared at him, confusion plainly written across his face. "Not if we can help it. Rather lock them up or put them t' work."
"Then if Hawke has no further objections, neither do I. We thank you for your hospitality."
He turned to collect the horses, and Hawke saw a deeply puzzled frown cross the Bann's face.
"What in th' Maker's name," he murmured, "was that boy on about?"
"Years in the Chantry will do that to you," she said.
He looked at her, eyes wide, then back to Sebastian, then back to her.
"What," he exclaimed, "ye mean it actually took?!"
She burst out laughing.
The Shallervale keep was two days out, and they still had something in the area of fifty bandits to arrest along the way.
"We'd heard reports," Eoin explained to Hawke as they walked, their mounts in tow. "The Bann set out immediately to investigate."
"A man of action," she nodded. "He's a good Bann, then, one that looks after his people."
"Aye," Sebastian said. "I remembered him as such. I would often travel to the keep as a child when my father and brothers had business in Shallervale." His mind flooded with disjointed images of long stretches of pasture and halls filled with tapestries, the smell of cedar suddenly as strong in his nose as if he was there.
"Is it a big territory?"
"The largest, if the borders remain the same."
He watched as her expression disappeared into deep thought, and she looked to the Bann as he led the march. "A strong ally, then."
Her tone caught him by surprise, but it occurred to him that she was right. If he were to stake his claim to the throne, he'd need supporters. For that, the most powerful, most recognizable Bann would prove to be a very commanding presence alongside him.
Eoin regarded him carefully, and Sebastian got the distinct impression that he was being assessed. "The prince intends to campaign for the throne, then?" he asked.
"My cousin Goran is a puppet," Sebastian said firmly, bolstered at the conviction that came from having his feet on his homeland's soil. "Starkhaven needs a firm guide with his own mind. She always has."
Eoin looked pleasantly taken aback. "Well spoken, highness." He glanced toward the Bann. "The Bann feels the same, as do we all. I'd expect you to have his full endorsement if he heard you with talk like that."
The archer laughed nervously. "I cannot claim to share your confidence. I was not always as I am now."
A sly smile crossed the guardsman's face. "Ah, yes. He's mentioned you in stories from the old days."
Sebastian sighed, but Hawke patted him reassuringly on the back. "They could have been good stories," she offered. "At least the Bann didn't have any daughters your age when you were your more dangerous self, right?"
Sebastian's face fell, and Eoin turned away to stifle his laughter. Hawke paled. "Oh, no."
"Two," Sebastian revealed, remembering their faces well. "One three seasons older and one two years my junior."
"Please tell me you didn't."
He waved his hands frantically. "Maker, no! But the Bann is overprotective to the point of legend."
"He once caught a village boy reading the younger daughter poetry from outside her window," Eoin leaned in, whispering, "and the boy woke up the next morning stark naked save for a sheepskin wrapped around him, on all fours and tied to a fence without any memory of how he got there."
Hawke covered her mouth as her shoulders shook, and the laughter in the guardsman's eyes was the easy kind of comfortable of people who were taken with her, Sebastian recognized. He suddenly found himself feeling oddly defensive of his relationship with the Champion, though he could think of no reason to be other than this easygoing interloper who had caught her attention.
She called his name, and he turned to her, leaning down a bit. "Yes, Hawke?"
She smiled, and the knots around his stomach eased.
"I like Starkhaven so far."
They had fought (and counted) another pack of thugs before reaching a village at nightfall. The inn was expecting them, and had set up the disused back stables accordingly.
As the men shed the bulkier parts of their armor and the inn's workers brought supper, Hawke sat herself next to the Bann as he looked over a map.
"Twenty," she said. "Meaning that there's another group out there."
His rich accent made him nearly incomprehensible when he wasn't bothering to enunciate. "Probably in th' hillside a few miles aught the keep. High traffic."
She studied the map markers closely. "If we'll be so close to your home, it'll be easier to clean the blood off later."
He stared at her for a moment, but cracked a smile. "Ye don't try t' impress with cordiality and etiquette," he observed. "Thought ye were high-born."
"I was born in the dirt," she said plainly. "Blood counts for nothing when the darkspawn come, and they won't spare you no matter how much coin you throw at them." She fought down the image of Carver's corpse as she'd taken his bracers. She'd later had them commissioned into cuffs for herself and Bethany, and they stared up at her from her wrists. "I reclaimed our title for my mother, when we'd lost all other family to the blight and templars. Maker knows I didn't want it, but it was the last thing that held ties to the kin she missed so badly."
She gestured to the crest on her pendant, and he took a closer look.
"About as much as I feel like showing it around," she said, almost sheepishly. "Rather stab my way up a mountain of spiders than sit through formal dinners and audiences."
He laughed, and took the platter of food offered to him. "I've a daughter your age," he said, cracking a roll in half. "Can castrate a sheep with her teeth. Think ye'd get on well."
Hawke tucked her necklace back in with a broad grin. "I'm sure we will."
A flash of white to her left caught her attention, and she looked up to see Sebastian standing over her with two plates.
"You brought me food?"
"I know you too well," he replied, bending gracefully to place one in her lap. "Though I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Not at all." She patted the space next to her invitingly. "The Bann was just telling me about his daughters."
"Cendre and Aeryn," he said as he sat cross-legged by her side. "Are they well?"
"Aye," MacDougall said, eyeing him warily. "My Cendre's recently married and expecting her first."
"My heartfelt congratulations," Sebastian said, smiling warmly. "She'll make an excellent mother. I remember she used to chase me around the keep with kitchen implements, perfect practice for energetic toddlers."
"And Aeryn's taken up swordplay."
"At which I'm sure she excels. And it's a very prudent thing for a young woman to do."
There was a moment of tense silence between the two men, and Hawke did her best to eat quietly, half-convinced that this was some kind of test.
"Wait, you say that Aeryn is yet unmarried?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean you'll be taking her to Goran's banquet?"
The bear-man stared at him in disbelief. "Planning on going yourself?"
"I was as surprised to receive an invitation as you are to hear of it." He frowned. "I take this to mean that you know nothing about my receiving one."
"Other than it smells like a trap," Hawke added.
MacDougall sat back. "Ye thought I might've heard aught about it."
"Have you?"
"Course not. Though coming back might be seen as a sign that ye're campaigning for th' prince's seat."
"I am," Sebastian declared matter-of-factly. "And will make my bid after assessing the situation in the city."
Hawke turned at his straightforward declaration, completely caught off guard. Upon seeing her face, the Bann turned to her with the same calculating gaze. "And what's your part in all this, lady champion?"
The archer spoke before she did, gripping one of her hands. "Hawke is here out of her concern for my well-being, and she has stood by my side throughout the years following my parents' death where I fell victim to indecision and weakness." He turned to her briefly, and she was struck by the intensity with which he met her blank stare. The fact that she normally hit people who spoke for her went magically and momentarily adrift in response. "She has sworn to support whichever decision I make, whether it be to remain a brother in the chantry or to leave all that I know and take my father's throne." He turned back to MacDougall, still holding her hand in his, and not a tremble nor hesitation in his fingers.
"And I have decided that I cannot sit idly by while a simpleton has his strings pulled by whichever puppeteer has jostled for power, placing Starkhaven and her people in a state of chaos. I have been away too long. The responsibility is mine, and thus the solution must be as well."
Staring down at the intersection of their hands was all Hawke could manage at that point. The way he spoke and the conviction in his words was enough to stir her blood into pounding in her ears. Since when, she wondered, did he have that kind of passion for ruling? And as much as she hated to admit it, she was more than a little turned on at the moment. By Sebastian, Patron Saint of Unsolicited Lectures, of all people.
The Bann watched him in silence for a time, scratching his beard and giving the prince a long, hard stare.
"Starkhaven needs a strong leader," he said finally.
"I agree."
More silence, and Hawke nearly jumped in her skin when the bear cleared his throat loudly.
"Not saying I'm convinced yet," he said thoughtfully, "but you've got her," he pointed to Hawke, "and those that change th' world don't pledge allegiances t' fools." With a grunt, he stood and took his plate to join Eoin and his men. "Eat well," he called. "I intend t' see what ye can do tomorrow!"
He wasn't kidding.
It took most of the morning to march to the hillside roads, another few hours to track down the last remaining bandit group, all of ten minutes to subdue them, then the rest of the afternoon to wrangle the stragglers. By then, Hawke had had just about enough of the thugs, not that she'd ever been particularly fond of bandits in the first place.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Eoin teased Hawke as she grumbled a complaint about it being faster to just knock the lot of captives out rather than have to listen to them yammer on for however long it took to get back to the keep.
"But," she protested, "It would be so simple. Just stop the cart, let me call up a tremor, and they'll be blissfully unconscious until they wake up behind bars."
The guardsman started. "You're a mage?"
"No," she said, drawing a dagger and running her hands along the blade, the spiderweb-like veins throbbing blue under her fingertips. "Lyrium in the steel. I had one of my men back home craft runes that let me augment it a bit, including tremors and ice and whatever he comes up with. And look!" She held it up. "It's already drawn and awake and if you would just let me-"
"No," Sebastian said firmly, his hand on her head mollifying her somewhat. "We do not torture prisoners."
"A good stance for a prince to have," she said. "But you're not prince yet, and now they're singing sea shanties and can I please-"
"No."
The walls of the keep rose up quickly after one particularly white-dotted hill, the green and gold banners flapping lazily in the eastern wind.
"That," she said, scanning the hills, "is a lot of sheep."
"Starkhaven is famous for her wool," Sebastian said. "It's best to brace against cold weather, and it's used for a lot of the clothing here."
Hawke's eyes lit up. "Like the skirts!"
This elicited a round of snickers from the men around her, and she looked to her left and right. "Yes, I noticed them. What of it?"
"It's called a kilt," Sebastian explained patiently, "and they're not skirts."
"Well, whatever they are, they look comfortable. I want one."
More snickering, but this time, Hawke ignored it.
"I'm afraid, lady," the brown-haired soldier next to her said with a smile, "that they're menswear."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do I look particularly girlish to you?"
He looked to Eoin, worried, and Hawke laughed at the horsemaster's answer.
"Don't say anything, lad. It's a trick."
"I've no qualms about wearing men's clothes," she said, "and I don't see why these are any different. Unless..." A wicked grin spread across her face. "Would I be expected to not wear anything beneath?"
"Oh, Maker," Sebastian sighed, burying his face in his hands as the men exploded into laughter. "Hawke."
"I want one even more now," she proclaimed. "A garment that you needn't wear smalls under?"
"What's all this commotion," came a booming voice, and the Bann came around to the section that seemed to be the source of the uproar.
Hawke stared up at him with the most deadpan face she could muster. "Ser," she said flatly, "I want a kilt, but I'm being met with some opposition."
"Wouldn't be able t' find one that fits ye," he said, crossing his massive arms. "'Cept maybe one of my son's old ones."
"They still laying around?"
She looked at him with what she hoped were wide, hopeful eyes.
"Don't know," he said.
"Could you be convinced to check?" She smiled innocently. "Or I could drink you for it - unless there's no ale in Starkhaven."
He laughed a genuine, hearty laugh, and it rumbled like a thunderclap.
"Tell ye what," he said. "Manage two glasses of whatever I put in front of ye, and you'll have your bloody pick."
"Deal," she said, shaking his hand.
A few drops of water hit her skin, and she looked up. "Rain?"
The Bann turned and called to the group. "Pick it up, men! Inside, now!"
As they ran to escape the downpour, Eoin turned to Sebastian with a smirk.
"Your lady is suited to Starkhaven," he observed. "She may never want to leave."
"Well," Sebastian said under his breath, "that needn't be a bad thing."
The rain came down in sheets outside the windows of the keep's great hall, where the residents had gathered for the night's entertainment. Hawke had checked on Gryphon before entering, the maids putting out fresh, dry clothes for her. As she unlaced her sopping wet armor and laid it on the stand, she smiled at the folded, gloriously plaid prize waiting for her.
She walked into the hall, still toweling off her hair. The drawstring blouse hung loosely off of her shoulders and strung doeskin slippers covered her feet, but neither piece of finery appealed to her nearly as much as the fabric around her waist. She hung her towel on the drying rack by the central fireplace, letting her hair fall in telltale waves around her face and warming her hands by the flames.
"Hard won, Hawke?"
Sebastian's voice rang in her ears, and she turned to see him with an amused smile on his face.
"Yes," she replied enthusiastically, twirling a little. "Do I have it on right?"
"Nearly. You've missed a button." He took a knee in front of her, fastening one of the carved toggles midway down the kilt. "These keep it shut when you haven't got a pin, you see."
"Good to know." She wrapped her hands in the wool. "Does it suit me?"
He chuckled, pulling the front flat. "In attitude, if nothing else." Satisfied, he stood and admired the green, gold, and white thatching. "It is a handsome tartan."
Hawke agreed, stretching. When Sebastian cleared his throat, though, she paused. "What?"
Gingerly, he reached for the neckline of her blouse and pulled it up so that it covered her shoulders, tightening the drawstring. "Modesty in all things," he said, the hint of a scolding in his voice.
"Thank you," she said with a patronizing smile, "now go socialize among the men for a while. The Bann sits alone, and I plan to take the chance to talk to him now."
"Talk to him? What about?"
"Your campaign. His support would be invaluable." She looked over to the chair by the bookshelf that the Bann reclined in. "And if I can just convince him, tell him what kind of man I know you are, there's no way in Thedas he could say no."
He hesitated, and she saw his expression flicker into something emotional, almost as if there was something he wanted to say. However, his normal smile soon took its place, and he gave a curt bow as he excused himself. "My lady."
"Go."
She watched him beeline for the company's archers, rolling her eyes. He seamlessly slipped into their conversation, and she saw the enthusiasm spread like a cold.
For her part, she made her way to the armchair next to MacDougall's, making a show of fanning out her kilt as she sat, grinning smugly.
He turned from watching the rest of the room and instead looked over at her with a spark in his eyes. "It fits, then. And ye yet walk!"
She frowned, biting the tip of her tongue. "I may walk," she said, "but I don't taste. I think whatever you had me drink burned everything else away. And it tasted like brimstone, to boot!"
"That's how y'know it's aged enough," he said, patting her head like a dog. A dog he'd just fed hard liquor.
"Poison aside," she said, shaking her head, "I can still talk. Which is what I came here to do."
"Thought as much," he said, shifting to be more comfortable. "And I'll hear ye, though I make no promises."
"That's all I ask."
She adjusted her posture, only to realize that she didn't know where to start.
Her eyes sought the subject of her as-of-yet-unwritten speech out in the cavernous hall, and fell on him talking to Eoin and the other commanders with hand gestures that she could only guess described Kirkwall. That, and the horrified looks on their faces at some of the things he was saying.
Yes, definitely Kirkwall.
"I didn't know Sebastian before the Chantry changed him," she began, "though he admits freely to the kind of lifestyle he had before."
The Bann leaned back. "How'd the two of you come t'your fellowship?"
"He swore himself to my service after I helped him avenge the murder of his family," she said, putting it as plainly as possible. "I'd lost family recently as well, so I was sympathetic. That was, what? Four, five years ago now. He'd been sworn to the Chantry for several years by then." She smiled, remembering the first few months of their acquaintance. "He killed only when necessary, spoke up vehemently about anything that violated his moral compass, and always had a fast answer involving Andraste or the Maker. He was a damn boulder in my shoe. Insufferable."
He crinkled his brow. "Pardon, but I'm finding it a bit difficult t'picture."
"His vow of chastity was another button to press," she added, enjoying the incredulous look on her audience's face. "We teased him endlessly, but he suffered through it admirably."
"That's where I'll stop ye," the Bann interrupted, raising a hand. "Th' Sebastian I knew -"
"But he's not that boy any longer," she said. "Would you like a demonstration?"
She stood, indicating for him to watch. With a smile, she made her way over to Sebastian's circle of conversation and edged her way in, excusing him and pulling him slightly aside.
"Humor me for a second or two," she said, beckoning him closer. He leaned down obligingly, and a wolfish grin tugged at her lips as she whispered into his ear. It took only moments for color to flood his face, and he pulled back to frown at her, clearly flustered.
"What," he managed, wringing his hands. "What in Andraste's name gave you the idea that I needed that information?"
"To prove a point."
He sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Hawke," he said, "you are hopelessly filthy."
"I know."
She returned nonchalantly to the Bann's side, and they watched together as Sebastian tried in vain to regain his composure.
"I'll be damned," MacDougall murmured. "Never seen him make a face like that before. What'd ye tell him?"
"That I'm following tradition and not wearing smalls beneath the kilt. A lie, of course, and I might have used some colorful language."
He snorted, still focused on the archer in white as he excused himself to get some air. Sebastian disappeared behind the door, and the Bann scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"Th' man has pluck, I'll give him that," he said, "and a stronger blood claim. And he's a clear shot above that ninny Goran."
"I've known him for years," Hawke added. "As I got to know him, I understood the kind of man he was. Human, like the rest of us, with his faults, but he seeks to be fair and understanding. He was the one who asked me to spare the bandits. He even showed no bias against the Qunari while they were stranded in Kirkwall, and his tolerance is far above that of your average chantry brother. He's not just the better of two choices," she said, her honest thoughts spilling out like a river in a flood. "He'll be an excellent prince in his own right."
"And," the Bann offered, "he has th' support of a hero of the age."
"I make no such claims," Hawke said grimly. "But I am supporting him, yes."
MacDougall considered her for a moment, making a throaty noise as his mind settled itself.
"It's still hard t' reconcile," he said. "That lad was self-centered, spoiled, and never cared for aught but himself. You may be Champion, but I won't throw my lot in with him until I see with my own eyes a sign from th' Maker himself that th' whelp's changed."
Hawke was about to let loose another missive extolling her friend's virtues when the man himself jogged in the door dripping wet, a canvas parcel wrapped in his arms.
"Bann," Sebastian called, stopping a few feet away, "I hate to interrupt, but are you in need of a barn cat?"
The Bann stared. "Might be. Why?"
Sebastian unwrapped a few layers of the bundle, and a tiny, furry head poked out.
"I found a kitten in the rain," he explained, "and couldn't abandon him. I thought I might find him a home here."
Hawke almost lost it, shoulders vibrating from the effort it took to hold in raucous laughter.
Clearly, the Maker didn't believe in being subtle.
It was far too perfect, like the Divine Hand himself had sent Andraste's own Sacrosanct Ball of Fluff to vilify Sebastian's compassionate disposition. She had a sudden urge to check its underside for the Chantry sigil.
And it was an overwhelmingly ridiculous image, to see the dripping wet princeling and trembling pouf of fur looking at this enormous man hopefully.
Then again, hadn't 'ridiculous' always been the theme of her life?
MacDougall arched a thick eyebrow, apparently sharing her same train of thought. He looked at the kitten, then back at Sebastian - back to the kitten, back to Sebastian - his expression furrowed in deep thought, as though trying to decide what in Thedas he should do with this.
Hawke cleared her throat discreetly, a wide smile across her lips.
The Bann turned to her, his face clearly reading defeat, before sighing and standing. He reached forward, taking the mewing herald of the Creator from the prince.
"I'll bring him t' my steward." He moved to leave, but hesitated. "Find me in my study in th' morning," he said, the corners of his mouth turned upward. "We'll need t' form a strategy for Goran's banquet if we're t' get this coup off th' ground."
