A/N: I have been asked about pronunciation for some of the names and words, so I'm going to do my best, courtesy of the fam.
Also, there's art for this story now! A sketch of Hawke and Sebastian in non-blood-spattered clothes (miracle of miracles!)
bit DOT ly/x8HZ7j
Again, replace an actual dot, as FFnet hates links.
Sebastian stirred as bright rays of light fell through the gap between the curtains and crept across his eyelids. As he moved to stretch, inhaling deeply, he felt something feather-light graze his cheek. His eyes slowly opened to a sea of copper-tinted mahogany waves flooding the pillow in front of him.
For a moment, he couldn't explain how Hawke had ended up in his arms, and his heart sped up in alarm. Then, as the memories of the previous night came back to him, his breathing evened and he relaxed back against the pillows.
"I'm exhausted," Hawke said, the contented smile on her face betraying her feet. "I cannot wait to get to bed and sleep for the next three days."
Sebastian agreed, and turned to their host, extending a hand. "Words cannot express the way this night unfolded. Your hospitality and warmth put all others to shame."
"Glad t' be of service," the Bann replied, clasping the prince's wrist firmly. "Makes me feel like th' old days with your father. You're a good man now – would warm his heart t' see it."
Pulling the Bann down by the shoulder, Hawke stretched up to lay a kiss on his cheek, mindful of the beard. "Thank you, Bann."
"Call me Guinn, lady princess."
She kissed him again for that – on the nose, this time – and turned down the hall.
"Lady," he called after her, "where ye headed?"
Confused, she pointed a few doors down. "My room? For sleeping?"
MacDougall gave the two a knowing smile, laying a hand on both their shoulders. "Now that it's announced, ye've no need t' keep up pretenses around here! We've already moved your things t' his room."
The color drained from Sebastian's face, and Hawke was so entertained that she forgot to protest. Luckily, the archer did so for her. At length.
"...and not yet married, Bann. For an unwed man and woman to share a bed in your home is–"
"You're no longer in th' Chantry, lad," he was reassured, "and this is my keep! I decide what is and is not proper. Now go, and take comfort in your woman."
The look that crossed Sebastian's handsome features nearly sent Hawke into hysterics. She was determined to end his suffering, though, and so rolled up her sleeves as she closed the distance between them.
"Excuse us," she said with a nod to their towering host, then lowered her head to catch her now-intended at the waist, hoisting him up over one shoulder.
"Hawke!" he protested, trying to turn to look at her. "What–"
"Stop fussing, darling," she said, slapping him lightly on the backside, "let's just go to sleep."
She kicked the door closed behind them, the Bann roaring with laughter outside in the hall.
He was unable to keep himself from smiling a little as she shifted next to him, and he bent the arm under her head, catching a few curls in his fingers. The other arm rested across his stomach, and he stared up at the canopy stretched over the bed, wondering how best not to wake her.
She'd been adamant that they share the bed, despite his repeated arguments to the contrary.
"...the floor, even. Please."
Hawke stood before him in defiance, hands on her hips. "The floor is cold and hard. And the floor, for the love of – just sleep in the bed!"
"You know not what you ask," he said slowly, meaningfully.
"It's not like I sleep naked!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "And this is important to me!"
He blinked in surprise, most of his anxiety diverted by that last sentence. He'd never heard her use that particular phrase before, and most certainly not directed at him. "How so?"
She sat on the chest at the foot of the bed heavily, her exhaustion seeping through. "You said that you wanted a wife, a person rather than a partner in politics. Right?"
"Aye," he replied, leaning against a bedpost to stare down at her curiously, "I do."
"I don't know how to be that. But I'm willing to learn, at least what I can. And if there's one thing that I do know, it's that sharing a bed will help. For me, anyways." She fidgeted with her hands. "For what that's worth."
Sebastian watched her hands for a time, lost in his own thoughts. She tested his restraint. She must have known, but still – it wasn't out of malice, nor was it for her entertainment. She was asking him for something to help establish this change in their relationship to one another, and she had put genuine thought into it.
If stubborn, unpredictable Hawke could make an effort, why couldn't he?
He would just stay on his own side of the bed, he told himself. Keep his hands as far away from her as possible, and recite the Chant over and over again in his mind as many times as necessary.
"I won't attack you," she said. "You have my word. I just want to try this."
The prince sighed a little, acknowledging his defeat. He sat on the side of the bed and started to remove his boots, catching her earnest smile out of the corner of his eye.
"Not because you demanded it," he clarified, eyes on the fastenings, "but because you were wholly honest with me."
He heard the rustle of fabric behind him and swallowed hard, fingers fumbling over a buckle. After he felt the mattress sink, he knew she was under the blankets and he donned his nightclothes. As he lifted the heavy blankets to slide into his side of the bed, he saw Hawke tucked in up to her shoulders, smiling at him with eyes gleaming in the firelight. She looked so truly pleased that he knew he had made the right decision, despite the hours he would have to lay awake in nervousness before he could sleep. Though living with her would be dangerous, he thought as he lay on his back, if all she had to do was smile like that.
"It is a poor precedent to set," he said, chuckling despite himself, "that the prince should be unable to say 'no' to his wife."
She laughed and burrowed further into the sheets.
"You'll get used to it."
Looking over at her now, Sebastian knew that he was quite doomed. Her sleeping face, couched in messy hair, looked entirely peaceful and a far cry from the tornado of instability he knew her to be.
Still, he felt privileged to see this rare wonder, the furious leader of their band completely at rest. Her soft breaths grazed the crook of his arm, her head firmly pinning him in place. Not that he would have moved; he simply wanted to take in the sight of her for a few more minutes.
When a stray lock of hair drifted across her face, he watched a frown tug at her mouth and her nose crinkle. Ah, there it was. The irritated look he knew so well. He chuckled quietly as he brushed the offending hair back, and was rewarded with a contented noise and a hand sliding around his chest, pulling her closer.
Maker, Sebastian thought at the flood of these simple intimacies, another week of this and he'd never want to sleep alone again.
A noise outside the window caught his attention, and he strained to hear the bells of the chapel tolling the hour. Far too late, as he expected.
"Hawke," he prodded gently, "we ought to wake."
He received an unintelligible grumble as his response, as well as what he guessed might have been an obscene gesture from her hand under the sheets.
"It's noon," he continued, "and I believe we are expected downstairs. For which..." he tugged gently at the limb she had claimed, "...I will need my arm."
She frowned, pushing her face into it possessively. "No," she declared groggily. "This is my bride price. This arm, right now."
He paused his end of the tug-of-war to consider that statement for a moment. "I hadn't even considered your bride price," he said. She opened her mouth, smiling, and he spoke before she could. "Not my arm," he interrupted.
She bit the skin of his arm lightly in retaliation, and his breath caught in his throat. Biting had never been a particular pleasure of his, but there was no denying the effect that her teeth had had on his body.
He was going to be in trouble if she intended to bite him whenever he made her cross.
She pulled the hair away from the back of her neck, turning to inadvertently display what lay beneath. At the junction of her shoulder and neck, a series of raised scars lay in a perfect, evenly-spaced pattern alongside the back. Teethmarks, he realized. The Arishok's.
He felt as though he'd been stabbed in the gut with something very small and very cold. He didn't know if it was the initial stirrings of jealousy or a visceral reminder of exactly what his friend had gone through, the fact that there was something physical that tied her to the qunari warlord meant she would never be truly free of him.
She caught him staring before he could look away, and her hand crept to the place his eyes had lain. When she felt the familiar bumps, a worried expression crossed her face.
"Does it bother you?" she asked.
He shook his head, resisting the urge to close the gap and wrap his arms around her. "I am sad for you," he said, "and angry for what you had to withstand."
She rolled onto her stomach, propping her torso up with her elbows and freeing his arm. "I'm no longer angry," she said as he stretched the stiffness out of the borrowed limb, "so you don't have to be for my sake. I mean, it still smarts like a burn, but I constantly remind myself that it couldn't have been easy for him, either." She leaned her chin on one hand, turning to look at him. "You were a major part of my recovery, you know."
"You hardly spoke to me for weeks."
"I hardly spoke to anyone. But there was something you said to me once – that someone with the life I lived was someone the divine hand was guiding. And that the reason the divine saw to part us was that he knew, as we did, that trying to forcibly stitch our paths together would be too painful. Saving us from further suffering." She smiled dryly. "It seemed like a hollow platitude at the time, but I almost feel like it applies now, too. To you."
Interested, he sat up and encouraged her to continue. She rarely spoke of matters of her own faith. "How so?"
"Well," she started, "it's as though the Maker knows something we don't. That's the whole point of faith, seems like. So, I suppose..." she turned up to him. "If you believe that the Maker set you on this path, then he wouldn't have done it if there wasn't a reason, right?"
Sebastian's mouth ran dry, and Elthina's words rang in his head. For someone who professed to have no interest in the Chantry or its doings, Hawke echoed the Grand Cleric far too well.
At his silence, Hawke ducked her head with a snort. "I know. I should keep my mouth shut about my deep thoughts and the Chantry."
"No," he said quietly. "Not at all, Hawke." He reached for one hand, bringing it to his face and pressing his lips against the fingers curled around his.
It was a warm atmosphere, and it would have been wonderful for the pair's much-needed bonding if there wasn't a loud, insistent knock at the door.
Groaning, Hawke flung herself upright. "We're awake," she called to whoever it was.
"Good!" came the response, and the door swung open.
In strode a very pregnant redhead, her face still as recognizable to Sebastian now, years later, as it had been when he was a boy.
She was the stuff of nightmares.
"Cendre," he choked out.
"Sebastian!" She grinned wickedly, hands pressed against her lower back. "You insolent prat."
Sebastian didn't need to look over at Hawke to know the expression of amusement on her face. "I understand congratulations are in order," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Though we were not told you would be returning to the Keep."
"Father wants me to have this baby behind the safety of stone walls and a full guard. You know how he is."
He swallowed hard at remembering the legends of the Bann's monstrous overprotective streak. "Aye," he replied, "I believe I do."
"Besides," she said, tossing an embroidered cushion at him, "I wasn't told you were coming back, either! If I'd known, I would've gotten here sooner! Got a lot of lost time to make up for, you pompous sod."
The snicker of his companion brought her fierce hazel gaze to the other side of the bed. "Oh, you've got company. Suppose some things never change."
"Actually," he started, putting the plush projectile aside, "This–"
"Sorry for ruining the romance," she said, ignoring the prince. "But he's had it coming for years."
"Oh, no," Hawke said, waving her hands in dismissal, "by all means. I love seeing him suffer."
A light caught in Cendre's eye, and she smiled warmly at Hawke. "Please," she pleaded, "tell me you're the one he's marrying."
"In theory." She crawled to the end of the bed, reaching out one hand. "Mairead Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, and that would be much more impressive if I weren't currently in my nightgown."
The Bann's daughter took it with a laugh, clasping her wrist firmly. "Cendre Bànach, formerly MacDougall, charmed anyway." She cocked her head. "Did the prince here tell you about me?"
"No, just heard about you from your father."
Cendre smiled beatifically, shooting a quick look for Sebastian, who had already disappeared behind the changing partition.
"We were childhood friends," she began, "and though I was a few years his senior, I never took advantage of it to bully him as some might."
"I beg to differ," Sebastian called from behind the divider.
"And what makes you think your memory's any better than mine?" she snapped back before returning to Hawke with that same angelic look. "Where was I? Oh, right. Fast friends, he and I. We explored every inch of this keep together."
"And by that," he interrupted as he stepped out, clad in his bottom layer of clothes and mail, "she means that she chased me about the place with hand-axes and riding crops."
Cendre beamed at him. "It builds character."
"The Chantry builds character," he corrected her. "You, on the other hand, build a lingering fear of hand-axes and riding crops."
As he settled his armor, Hawke slid off the bed and moved to assist, absentmindedly reaching to fasten the sides of his breastplate and mail toggles.
"Thank you," he said, sliding on his gloves and enjoying the feeling of her hands on the latches. Hawke had always made it a point to know the intricacies of her fellows' armor, and only in recent times had begun to aid him with his. It was yet another intimacy that he relished, and there was no small part of him that wanted to regale Hawke with tales from his boyhood of the peerless Starkhaven shield maidens.
Cendre seemed to arrive at the same train of thought, watching from her position on the other side of the room.
"You've found yourself a fine lioness," she said with a note of approval in her voice. "She'll do you well."
"Lioness?" Hawke asked, tightening the straps on his bracers.
"Aye," he explained with a hint of pride in his voice, "the remarkable wives of the best legendary Starkhaven warriors, often formidable themselves." He mounted his quiver on his back. "It's quite the compliment." He looked over at the pregnant woman. "And strange that such a compliment should come from Cendre."
"I'm extremely pleasant!" Cendre protested.
"My lady," he said, unable to keep from smirking, "you are a hurricane."
She looked about ready to launch something at him, but calmed down and placed a hand on her enormous stomach, glaring at him. "Thank this wee one," she said, "that you haven't a split lip."
The paths leading from the keep to the village, though weathered and with new trees lining their edges, were familiar under Sebastian's feet as he walked them.
He had needed time away from the keep. Between spending the night beside someone for the first time in years (and Hawke to boot!) and Cendre's presence, he found his mind in far too many places at once to have a single moment to spare to actually think.
It had become a common occurrence in the past few days.
A fox darted across the dirt road in front of him, disappearing into the roots of an enormous, gnarled tree, and he smiled at the sound of yipping kits. It was early in the season, but he knew that the flood of offspring would reach its peak soon. He and his brothers had often chosen hunting dog pups from the various litters this time of year, as well as surveyed the sheep populations across the different farmholds.
An interesting coincidence, then, that Cendre should be due now. He toyed with the idea of sharing the thought that she had something in common with the animals of their lands, but quickly remembered her proficiency with weapons of the stabbing type. He had hoped her imminent motherhood would have tempered her, but if anything, she was even more volatile, and less predictably so.
He wondered if all women with weapon training became more violent during their pregnancies, and suddenly he had an image of Hawke sneaking out at night, hunting down muggers and thieves because no one in the castle would let her fight in her delicate condition.
He chuckled, warmth coloring his tanned cheeks at the thought of Hawke bearing children. His children. The idea seemed so far-fetched still, so unreal, yet he could not keep himself from imagining the weight of a child in his arms and the patter of a small heartbeat against his chest as he held his sleeping son or daughter. Yes, he thought to himself, he would give her as many children as she wanted.
That is, if he ever gathered the courage to lay a hand on her.
She had told him outright that she found him physically attractive. But sex and love were two very different, separate things, some both he and Hawke knew all too well, and his life and emotions were far too unsteady to hazard his hand at either at the moment, especially now that he had a real appreciation for their value.
He just needed to remind himself of that whenever he began to falter, which was proving to be far too often of late.
An icy wind sent a chill down his spine, and cobblestones started to pepper the path. Slowly, their packing became more and more organized, and soon he saw the road leading directly through the town proper. He hadn't been there in years, but his legs knew the way.
He passed chestnut tree groves and small fenced-in vegetable patches, recently tilled. Houses had been built in his absence, and the little village, while still not large by any means, had grown. It was a strange kind of nostalgia, and memories long since forgotten were suddenly as vivid as if they'd happened the day before.
There was a bittersweet feeling to his reminiscence, as he could still hear his siblings' and father's voices carrying along the streets and in his mind. His eyes stung.
A voice calling to him snapped him out of his reverie, and he was surprised to see an elderly woodcutter waving him over. He greeted him warmly, happily chatting about what a glorious spring it was going to be this year and how tall he'd grown and was he an archer, that it? Sebastian engaged him with the same enthusiasm, smiling earnestly at the villager's recollections.
As he strolled leisurely about, a dozen or so similar encounters dotted his walk, and countless more whispers hovered around him as he passed by, people peering out of their doors to catch a glimpse of the returned prince.
He'd forgotten how fast news traveled in a small town.
At the town signpost, he paused to consider where he was. As he thought to find a warm fire and and meal, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Of course.
The prince strode purposefully down one split road, barely having to think about direction. He'd known this place since he first came to Shallervale. It was the best place in the village to hear stories, have a drink at night, or even see the occasional dancing girl as troupes traveled.
Sure enough, the thick wooden doors were still the same, and the plaque out front was painted with an ever-fading image of a sheep eating a pair of britches. He walked in, feeling the cold leave him like a dropped coat as soon as the door shut behind him.
The inn was blessedly empty, not uncommon for midday. An enormous fire burned in the hearth, and the wood creaked beneath his boots as he walked over to the tap counter, clearing his throat quietly so as not to surprise the stocky, apron-clad woman busying herself with crates. She spun at the noise, wiping her hands on her skirts. "What'll it b–"
As her eyes fell on his face, they widened in surprise, an enormous smile cracking across her round face. "It can't be!"
He was about to speak, but the wind was nearly knocked out of him as she reached over the counter to pull him into a tight hug. Chuckling, he patted her back. "'S fhada bho nach fhaca mi sibh*, Aunt Fern."
"Seoras!" she bellowed into the kitchen. "Get out here!"
The taller, thinner man muttered something gruffly as he put down a burlap sack. "What is it, woman?" Then, as the recognition sparked behind his eyes, he laughed and extended a hand. "Strap horns to my head and call me a goat! Sebastian Vael!"
The prince shook it, the hand in his bonier than he remembered it being. "Halò, Master Seoras. It's been far too long."
"Years! Last I heard, you were living in the Chantry in Kirkwall!"
"Aye, I have been," he replied, "but am here as Bann MacDougall's guest for a short time. I thought to visit. And perhaps eat, if there is something– "
He didn't get to finish, as Fern was flapping a washrag at him, ushering him to a table. "We've a stew on," she said. "You sit tight."
He pulled the chair out and sat, knowing enough of the woman to simply follow instruction. Everyone called her "aunt" upon her own insistence, and it was only when he was older that he understood that she and Seoras couldn't have children of their own. She was instead aunt to the entire village, feeding and lecturing them accordingly.
As he looked down at the worn table, he noted with a smile that he recognized a carving on its surface. He moved his hand to see it more clearly – the initials "SV" and "LH" sat encased in the center of an arrow, the handwriting poor and messy. Young.
"You remember Leah, then," Fern said as she placed a steaming hot bowl in front of him. "Couldn't have been more'n fifteen when she carved that. Absolutely besotted with you." She snickered to herself at the memory, pulling a spoon from her apron pocket. "She's married now, with three boys rowdy as they come." As she handed him the cutlery, she raised an eyebrow. "Don't go starting your nonsense again," she warned. "You've caused enough trouble with that face of yours."
His smile broadened as he folded his hands in his lap. "Even should I have wanted to," he said, "I am recently spoken for."
She relaxed, giving him a nod of approval. "That's good then. She's a lady who'll put you in your place, I take it?"
"Very much so." He looked up at her, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. "The Maker's vengeance has been terrible. Now I find myself the one smitten."
"Serves you right!" she laughed, ruffling his hair. "Now be a good lad and eat the lot."
He ate heartily, and the master laughed to see him wash his own dish in the basin.
When Fern refused his coin, Sebastian offered to do something, anything else to help out. Again, she refused, but he saw the back door propped open and the crates sitting outside, waiting to be loaded into the larder. Ignoring her protests, he pulled off his archer's gloves and set to work, lifting the heavy boxes and stacking them neatly against the wall.
"Show-off," she muttered, but let him kiss her on the cheek anyway.
He left from the kitchen door, making sure the latch caught when he closed it behind him. The alleyway was hardly a main route of travel, but he knew from experience that it was a favorite pastime for children to sneak in the back and try to sample the ale without getting caught. He turned in the direction of the main road, pulling his gloves out of his belt.
Then something solid connected with the back of his head, and the world went black.
Hawke frowned as she looked out the window. The sun had dipped below the trees over an hour ago, making Sebastian's claim that he was just going out for a stroll seem like a major understatement. She'd asked the men if they'd heard anything, but no one had seen him since he left that afternoon.
She didn't like it.
She knew that the events of the last day or two had been more than enough to send any normal man into a meltdown, but she had a feeling that instead of wandering the woods, Sebastian would compulsively shine his armor or make a thousand arrows or scrub the keep's chantry by hand. Not disappear.
"What'd you expect from Sebastian," Cendre said, sitting by the fire as she read and Hawke tended her blades. "Every time he was here, he'd always end up in town, and we'd have to drag him back drunk off his arse and mostly naked." She sighed, clucking her tongue. "You think he'd be grateful, the little twit."
Aeryn looked up from her book, frowning. "There were an awful lot of angry brothers and fathers back in those days. Though enduring the mothers was the worst of it. Oddly enough, the girls themselves didn't seem to mind too terribly much."
"Probably liked the attention," Cendre snickered. "And I hear he was a damn good tumble." She turned to Hawke, who offered an enigmatic smile in return.
"Wouldn't know," she said innocently, "we're waiting until the wedding."
The sisters laughed, and Hawke let them. They wouldn't have believed the truth, anyway. And she may have been correct to begin with – she and her newly-betrothed hadn't exactly talked extensively on the subject.
She rested her chin on one hand as she stared into the fire. Though, she thought, she didn't know how long it would be before her curiosity and impatience got the better of her and she made a serious attempt at bedding the man. She'd only been half joking when she told him she'd take him in a heartbeat; she'd seen the toned body beneath the armor, and the way he spoke to and touched her showed a respect and restraint that she wanted to tear apart at the seams. His quick temper and bursts of conviction belied the fire that lay dormant under his placid veneer, and the more she saw that side of him, the more she respected that same self-control that she wanted to dash to bits.
And he was an archer. Archers had wonderful hands.
She smirked into her palm, realizing how absolutely filthy her mind was. And, she mused, this marriage might not be as difficult as she'd thought. In one respect, at least.
She'd need a cold bath before he came to bed tonight.
That was, if he came to bed. She looked out the window again, watching the moon ascend the skyline. "That's it," she said, wiping her daggers down and sheathing them. "I'm done waiting."
Cendre chuckled as the Champion stood. "Check the tavern – the Trouserless Shepherd. Big, noisy. Can't miss it. Oh," she added as the thought struck her, "bring your horse. Easier to carry an unconscious man on horseback."
Hawke excused herself and jogged to the stables, slightly cheered by seeing Gryphon's face.
"Come on, boy," she said, pulling his tack from the walls. "Time to see what our friend got himself into."
Sebastian stirred, groaning slightly as the throbbing in the back of his skull blurred his vision. He gave an experimental tug at his hands, finding them bound behind his back with what felt like scratchy twine.
As his head cleared, he thought to look around. Broken crates. Sacks. Stalls and beams in disrepair, a pile of broken tools in one corner. If not for the derelict state it was in, he'd have thought he was in a barn.
And then he saw the ladder leading up to a very familiar-looking loft. Now he knew he was in a barn. He even knew which particular one, because it had been one of his favorite places to bring the village girls when he...
Maker, he thought bitterly, his past really was coming back to haunt him.
"Looks like we're awake," came a voice from his left, "aren't we, Highness?"
Sebastian strained to make out the speaker's features through his haze, which wasn't clearing fast enough for his liking.
"Have we met?"
The man laughed a harsh, condescending laugh and flicked a pebble at his face. "So cruel of you, Highness. We used to be such bosom buddies, you an' me. Had a lot of friends in common, matter of fact. You remember Cecelia Arrol, don't you?"
Cecelia. Images came to mind as the sting on his cheek subsided, but only vague ones; there had been so many women. A mass of thick, golden-blonde hair, bright brown eyes and a habit of chewing her thumb. And always following after her, a boy at her heels, doe-eyed and sullen.
He knew that boy.
"Jacob?" he asked. "Jacob MacPhain?"
His captor laughed again, and Sebastian's eyes finally snapped into focus. That same black hair and sunken features stared down at him now, older and more hateful.
"Pleased to re-make your acquaintance," he said with a grandiose, mocking bow. "Don't suppose you've given a thought to this place or its folk over the years, not with your convenient streak of piety."
"It wasn't convenient," Sebastian said calmly, feeling his temper flare at the tone in the man's voice. "I was a troubled young man. The Chantry gave me the chance to–"
"Get nice and far away?" the man finished snidely. "Left a pretty mess in your wake you didn't want to have to clean up."
Shame bit at the prince's conscience despite the crudeness of his attacker's words. He knew that there was truth to them. But by the time that he had come to realize the error of his ways, the time for reparations had been long over. Lives had moved on, and dredging up old wounds would have been crueler than letting the past lie.
"I am truly ashamed of my behavior as a young man," he said, staring at the dirt floor, "and would have offered anything it was in my power to give to make amends."
Jacob gave a derisive snort in reply, and Sebastian continued. "But if you fear that I will resume my old ways, I assure you that there is no danger of it ever happening again. I have had years to reflect on my deeds and selfishness, and have sought to change myself into a different man." He let a hint of light into his voice. "I am even to be married, if you would believe it."
A flash of anger crossed his captor's face, and he closed the distance between them. "Married, eh? Must be nice for you." He kicked him solidly in the gut, grabbing Sebastian by the hair when he doubled over and forcing him to look up. "I wanted to be married once. Know who I dreamed of as my bride?" He leaned in close, glaring venomously, and Sebastian flinched at the strong smell of ale on his breath. "Cecelia Arrol. But you had to walk by, with your princely charms and your pretty words and any simple girl would be infatuated." He released his hold, stepping back. "But she was a nobody, and you were a whoring lout with a title. Couldn't have that, could they? So they sent her off before she could fall prey to his precious Highness. And wouldn't tell a soul where." He kicked a line of dirt, showering Sebastian's armor in rough pebbles. "Wouldn't have killed you just for breaking my boyish heart, mind, but it does make this a whole lot sweeter."
Sebastian's stomach churned, and not from the impact. He hadn't known, and back then, he wouldn't have cared. But one thing the Chantry had taught him was that lives were interconnected, and acts taken upon one man inevitably affected others. As would broken hearts.
"I am so," he started quietly, "truly, so sorry. I know that there are no words–"
Another kick interrupted him. "Then shut your damn mouth or I'll cut out your tongue. They probably won't care if you're missing a few bits."
His blood ran cold, but he struggled to maintain his composure. Jacob's words implied that he was to be traded, not killed. "They?"
Jacob sprouted a cocky, malicious smirk. "You thought you could just swagger back in here, flash a few smiles, and no one would notice? There's those that'd pay good coin to ensure that the heir doesn't see the throne." He walked to the far wall, sitting on a stool with a good vantage point of both the window and the captive, picking up a nearby bottle of wine. "Soon as the purse's in my hand, they can do what they want with you. I don't care, so long as I'm rewarded fairly."
Sebastian kept his shoulders back, body upright, and closed his eyes. The world was still spinning, and he needed to focus. He'd been in worse situations. True, he would have likely given in to panic and despair five years ago, but that was before he'd met Hawke.
Hawke.
She was back at the keep, but Maker only knew if she'd think to look for him in enough time. The Bann knew that he would get pulled into conversation and reminiscing and likely told Hawke not to worry. Which might convince her until morning, but he didn't know when the men that Jacob mentioned were coming. It could be an hour or otherwise well before daybreak.
In which case, there was a very real chance that he would never see her again.
A kind of hopeless heaviness settled over his heart, and he drew a deep breath. He and the Champion had made a bargain, and if he died here, he wouldn't be able to keep his end of it. Hawke would never have the second chance at the family she wanted, and Starkhaven would fall into the corrupt politics of a shadow government led by a puppet prince.
They would never find out if their marriage would have worked. He would never have the privilege of raising a child.
And he wouldn't have given himself the chance to give in to his heart.
If he somehow escaped this, he vowed as he tested his bindings, he would take that risk. And he would not die before asking her to do the same. If they would jump, they would jump together, Maker guide their hearts to find each other.
Silently, he bowed his head and began reciting the Chant of Light in his mind, immediately drifting to the Canticle of Trials.
Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,
I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.
I shall endure.
And Sebastian prayed.
Translation note: "'S fhada bho nach fhaca mi sibh" - It's been a while/long time. (I may have spelled this wrong. Blame my aunt.)
Aunt Sara's Pronunciation Corner! (happy magical funtime yay!)
Seoras – "sho-rus."
Cendre – "sen-druh" (though she swears she's heard it as 'ken-druh" once.)
