A/N: I just watched "How to Train Your Dragon" for the first time, and I absolutely loved it. But I couldn't help but jump at seeing Stoick and thinking "OMG BANN MACDOUGALL" xD Just make his hair/beard redder, and there's my mental image of that man. Burly. Burly, burly, burly.

Anyway, time for Hawke to draw on her Kirkwall skills.

...and there may or may not be a tiny Batman reference in here.

Updates might be a bit irregular over the next few weeks, as I have family visiting and we're likely headed to Hong Kong and/or Singapore at some point.


Hawke had thought the name 'The Trouserless Shepherd' was a joke.

But no, she had found it all the same, tethering Gryphon outside and appreciating the din that trickled out of the windows. If Sebastian were here, she thought to herself, she'd have to decide whether she'd join him for a drink or deck him clear across the face.

The door swung open easily at her touch, and she made her way through the packed tables, scanning faces as she went. She didn't get more than a few second looks, and she figured it was due to the town being a frequent stopover for travelers to the main city. Still, the anonymity was a relief, and she managed to make it to the bar without being accosted. Too much.

She waved down the woman fussing about with tankards, who trotted over quickly.

"Well," she said brightly, "here's a new face!" She looked Hawke up and down, giving her a quick nod. "You can call me Aunt Fern so long's you need something. What can I get you?"

Hawke leaned her elbows on the counter, glancing quickly over her shoulder once before speaking. "Actually," she said, "I'm looking for someone. Have you seen Sebastian Vael here at all?"

The proprietress snickered, sighing a little. "Pretty girl asking after Sebastian? Feels like the old days."

At that, Hawke raised an eyebrow, wondering just how many times exactly Sebastian had been caught pressed up against a tree with one of the village girls.

"He was here earlier," Fern said thoughtfully as she rinsed a tankard in the soapy basin, "but it was daylight, so it must've been hours ago."

"So he's not here now." Interesting. "Any idea where he went?"

"He showed up out of the blue!" exclaimed the older woman. "Don't know where the wind blew that lad to, but he did leave from the back, if it helps."

Hawke thanked her and turned to leave, but a hand on her arm stayed her.

"Don't give him too hard a time when you find him," Fern said with a wink.

Smirking, the Champion shrugged. "He'll live," she replied, which earned her a laugh.

The kitchen door wasn't hard to find. The alleyway it opened into ran alongside the back of several houses, parallel to the cobblestone path out front. It was largely unremarkable, and Hawke wasn't sure what she had been hoping to find. She was turning to leave when the glint of metal shimmering in the dust at the inn's stoop caught her eye. She pressed herself against the wall to pass around the barrels, leaning over to pick up the object and dust it off. When she'd shaken the two items roughly clean, she would've recognized them anywhere.

Sebastian's gloves.

A chilly unease sank into her stomach and her senses prickled as she surveyed her immediate surroundings. Back alley, obvious cover, intermittent drag marks that stopped a few dozen feet away.

She bit back a curse as her feet took off, tucking the gloves into one of her pockets. She had agreed to marry an idiot who apparently hadn't learned a damn thing from years living in Kirkwall.

When she found him, he was in for a lecture. And a harsh introduction to basic self-preservation. Things like 'don't go out alone in a town next to where you've just announced you're launching a coup for the throne.'

Moron, she thought. Naïve fool. Huge, incomprehensible idiot.

But he'd better not have a scratch on him when she got there, or there would be hell to pay.

As she followed the uneven lines in the dirt, she noted the distinct lack of blood. Good, she thought. Eight hours was more than enough to bleed out if he'd been stabbed. It did, however, present the problem of not having a distinct trail set to follow.

Though having a trail didn't ensure that it would end well, Hawke knew, a hard lesson learned.

The adrenaline started hitting her hard by that point, and her chest tightened as she endeavored to keep a clear head. Sebastian was not her mother. Naïve as he may be, he was still armed and well-trained and sturdy. He could withstand a beating if needed.

Her stomach lurched at the thought, but she kept focus. The marks stopped where she stood, meaning that Sebastian would have had to have been carried. Not exactly something commonplace, and it would have gathered unwanted attention. She studied the alley ahead quickly, and no doors nor windows led into any of the adjacent houses. Which meant that his attacker would've had to find a path out of the alley where he wouldn't be visible.

She noticed splinters stuck in the cobblestone where the street began, and a handful of moldy-looking hay was scattered around them. A hay cart would be perfect, she realized, and from the state of the hay and the wood in the wheels, she was looking for something old and worn.

And old and worn equipment meant either a home (which no kidnapper would risk) or an overly-neglected plot. She was looking for a run-down stable, barn, or mill, then – likely abandoned and a perfect place to hide a hostage.

The rickety-looking roof ladder lay sideways in the dirt, and Hawke pulled it up against the side of the inn, scaling it despite several rotten rungs threatening to send her careening downward. She'd used roofs for vantage points and escape routes dozens of times before – height was no issue. It was an advantage.

Once perched on the ridge, she rounded the massive chimney and looked out at the surrounding area. Most of the homes were dark, their inhabitants likely below her feet. The larger barns out in the fields seemed to be in good repair, but as she scanned further, a long stretch of untended high grass caught her attention. Something had crushed a haphazard path through it recently, leading to...

...a dilapidated two-level barn whose shabby shutters cast light on the surrounding ground. Someone had covered the windows in a hurry, she observed. Someone with something to hide and very likely a rotting hay wagon.

She leapt down to the squat roof of the adjacent house, then hit the ground running, feet silent over the stones and flattened weeds. Everything about this screamed 'amateur,' which scared her. She knew firsthand that inexperienced captors were more easily spooked and prone to making mistakes.

And ten times more likely to kill their hostages out of panic.

She tightened the straps on her armor, lighting-fast out of reflex, before scaling the enormous tree that passed the one uncovered window: the loft. Some of the limbs had spread to grow through cracks in the wood of the barn, their branches piercing the walls and providing her with an excellent bridge. She ran silently across, creeping onto the loft and clinging to the inner walls of the angled roof like a shadow. She took a deep, steadying breath as she lay flat back against the edge on the floor planks and pulled out a hand mirror, tilting it so that she could see the floor below without betraying her presence.

Her heart lifted when she saw Sebastian, kneeling with his hands bound behind his back but looking largely unharmed. Opposite him was a thin, black-haired man drinking and scowling, unarmed but surrounded by broken tools, which made for excellent impromptu weapons.

She pressed her palms over her eyes and dragged them down her face, fighting down the flood of relief that threatened to break her composure. The prince was fine for now – that the black-haired man was waiting for someone was clear – but the tricky part would be getting him out safely without startling his captor into violence.

As she ran scenarios in her mind, she looked up to the ceiling and frowned. Scattered across the beams were initials carved into the wood, marking this place as a popular hideaway for particularly amorous young couples.

A sizable chunk of them had 'SV' as half of the pair. She fought down the urge to sigh.

Really, Sebastian?

She moved effortlessly back to the tree and slid down, only to climb back up when she heard hoofbeats approaching. Two horses, she guessed, though it was hard to tell at such a slow pace. She edged around the trunk to see two riders in black approaching, the cowls of their hoods drawn. Immaculately groomed horses, jet black from the nose to tail, shimmered prettily as they trotted down the roads.

Trying to be nondescript and instead looking wholly conspicuous? The nobility were the same shade of gauche everywhere.

Hawke waited until they had tied up their horses beneath her before dropping down from overhead, knocking their heads together and silently rendering them blissfully unconscious. She stripped one of his outer raiments, tucking the contents of their purses and pockets away into her own before tying their hands and feet and gagging them for good measure.

The long cloak was around her shoulders, the hood over her head and clasped tightly. She tucked a finger-small blade into her wrist for good measure, and she popped the cork of a vial filled with smoky-smelling powder she'd picked up in Lowtown. A pinch on her tongue, and the taste of ash spread through her mouth and down her throat.

"Should do it," she tested aloud, the dose rendering her voice hoarse and raspy beyond even her own recognition, precisely what she'd aimed for. Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the front door and knocked firmly. "Open up."

"Bout time," came a gruff voice from beyond the wall, and the door opened a crack, a face peering out from the gap.

"Heard you have a... parcel for us," she said meaningfully. She jingled her coin pouch beneath the black fabric to emphasize her point, and the man's expression relaxed into a self-content sneer as he stepped aside, closing the door behind her.

"This him?" she asked, staring down at Sebastian, who didn't turn to look up. Good boy, she thought as she circled him to assess his bindings. Twine, not shackles. Much easier. "You're sure?"

"It's him, alright." The abductor crossed his arms. "What're you planning on doing with him?"

"That is none of your concern," she snapped, and he recoiled. "But it won't do to have him conscious for where he's going." Slowly, she walked behind the bound prince and crouched, grabbing him roughly by the fur at his collar.

"Just drop," she whispered, feeling him tense beneath her fingers. She raised her hand, connecting a shallow but dramatic-looking blow to the side of his head, and he obediently crumpled to the floor.

The black-haired man was none the wiser. "And my coin?" he called.

Hawke stood, reaching for her purse, and the clink of metal drew him over. As he passed by Sebastian's limp form, however, he paused to spit on the prince. "Good riddance," he muttered.

The Champion smiled dryly, her patience for this farce entirely exhausted with that last gesture. "Loyal citizen," she said, punching him squarely in the face. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell into the dirt.

"Starkhaven thanks you for your cooperation," she finished, wringing her smarting hand. She had to stop punching people barehanded like that.

She spun, yanking back her cowl. "All clear," she called, reaching over Sebastian to cut him free. He staggered to his feet, leaning against a pole to gather his bearings.

"Hawke," he said, her name off his lips like a prayer. "You... your voice, what... how did you know?"

"Chimney Powder filched from the Carta. And you're both idiots," she grumbled as she bound and gagged his would-be captor. "Didn't take much. You know this man?"

"In boyhood." He rubbed the back of his head gingerly. "Please, let him live. I am yet unharmed."

Hawke busied herself with the knots, deliberately not looking at him. Now that she knew he was safe, she was furious with His Royal Hostage.

"You're not injured, then?" she asked in a clipped, tense tone.

"Aside from the initial blow to my head, I cannot find any other injuries." He hesitated. "Hawke, I -"

"Can you ride?"

"I should think so."

"Good. Come on." She extinguished the candles and small fire, taking long strides to the still-unconscious riders from earlier. Irritation burned behind her eyes like a migraine, and she might have been rougher with them than necessary as she shoved them through a side door to join her most recent casualty. After making sure that Sebastian mounted one of the noble's horses properly, she took to the other, stopping by the Trouserless Shepherd to gather Gryphon and bring him to trot alongside the thoroughbreds.

They rode back to the keep in tense silence, Hawke feeling Sebastian's eyes flicking on and off her the whole while.

He tried to talk once, and only the once. "About the– "

She held up a hand to stop him, voice normalizing along the return route. "We get back to the keep, get your head seen to, and then we can talk."

He spoke cautiously, slowly. "I have your word that we will speak?"

"Yes," she said. "At length."

There were guardsmen keeping a lookout at the main gate of the keep, and shouts could be heard as she and Sebastian approached. A dozen more rushed to the front, Eoin among them.

Hawke dismounted, handing him the reins as one of the stablehands tended to Gryphon. "Here," she said to the blonde man. "I brought you presents."

Eoin gaped at what must have been incredibly expensive animals, judging by his expression. "Lady," he said, "do you have any idea what kind of horses these are?"

"Black ones," she said, ending that conversation right there, "and yours, now. Sebastian needs a meal and his head seen to."

"I'll call the physician and the Bann," he assured her. Sure enough, not five minutes later, the lot of them were in the main sitting room, Hawke briefing MacDougall on what had taken place and the prince sipping an enormous mug of broth while being fussed over.

"This," Hawke said as she dumped the collection of pilfered items onto the desk, "is what the men had on them. I didn't touch the saddles, but you might want to check them."

The Bann nodded, eyes narrowed as he did a quick sweep of the objects. "Didn't think this sort of thing would start so quickly," he said. "You've not been here three days."

"It was a personal grudge," Sebastian interjected, wincing at the fingers probing the back of his skull. "The political motivation was opportunistic, at most."

"Nevertheless," she said, ignoring him, "we should look more into it tomorrow. There might be an identifier we can use to bring our buyer to light."

As Sebastian put his soup down, the Bann lifted his chin to the physician. "What say ye?"

"Nothing external except a few splinters," he replied, gesturing to a small metal plate littered with tiny, bloody shards of wood. "And those have been removed. But bed rest for at least a day is still advisable, as he was unconscious for some time."

Hawke stared down at the pouch on the desk, fighting to sound flippant. "So he'll live?"

"Yes, my lady."

She marched toward the door. "Sebastian," she called, "your – our room. Now."

The prince took a deep, shuddering breath as he stood, and the look of dread on his face earned him a moment of sympathy from the Bann.

"I'd give ye an earful on how t' keep out of troubles like that in th' future," he said, "but I think you're about t' have it thrown at ye."


"What in seven hells were you thinking?!"

Sebastian winced. She'd barely waited until the door was closed behind them to begin shouting. He'd known he was in for it, but the ringing in his head made it worse tenfold.

"I understand that you are angry," he said, attempting to continue, but Hawke was not having any of it.

"Angry doesn't even begin to cover it," she hissed. "How did you survive all those years in Kirkwall with that kind of attitude? And now you're a prince, looking to displace a man on the throne that a lot of people with power and money have worked hard to place there. And you just wander around alone and unguarded!" She threw up her arms in exasperation. "You're like a target! A big, shiny white target."

He watched her chew at her bottom lip as she furrowed her brow, shoulders tense as ironbark. "You can't afford to be this naïve," she said, the yelling in her voice replaced with something darker, more urgent. "Now that you've begun this, there are more lives tied into yours, more that will suffer if something happens to you. As a ruler," she continued solemnly, "as a man, you have to be mindful of that."

She was leaning against the stones of the fireplace now, turned away from him as she stared into the flames. Her words had hit him harder than the blow to the head had, and he wondered at how he was still standing. He knew firsthand the extent of her wrath, and if he didn't know any better, this was Hawke restraining herself.

"I desperately want to lecture you until dawn," she said, not bothering to turn, "but as your advisor here, that's the Bann's responsibility. I'm sure he'll discuss personal safety concerns with you tomorrow."

As she spoke in quiet, controlled tones, Sebastian felt all of his anxiety from anticipating her anger leave him and come back redoubled as something else entirely. She was shutting down, he realized, and closing herself off, which was far worse than any argument that could have taken place. His thoughts from when he was held captive rang in his ears, and her back seemed further and further away with each passing moment.

"Hawke," he called, moving closer. "Speak to me."

"I'm angry at you," she said.

"I know."

"You did something incredibly stupid and put yourself at risk."

"Yes."

She turned then, glaring. "It makes me want to scream at you until my throat bleeds!"

"Then do so!" He strode forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and locking eyes with hers. "Let yourself be angry with me," he insisted, "and show me. Lose your temper with me, I will endure it. I have well earned it, haven't I?"

She blinked owlishly at him as though he were crazy. As he watched, her features rearranged from fury to concern, and she frowned. "Sebastian," she said slowly, "your head. Are you... sure your mind's right?"

The prince felt frustration gnaw at his patience. He would force his heart out of his throat, even if she wouldn't. After all, he was more practiced at honesty than the long-hardened Champion.

"When I was bound," he said, loosening his grip on her somewhat, "I thought of you, and what I may miss, and I ached, Hawke." She opened her mouth, but he continued. "Though we are the way we are now," he said, "can I not hope for change?"

Looking almost frightened, she schooled her features quickly. "How did this go from being about your stupidity to my emotional shortcomings?"

"You yourself said last night that you would endeavor to make this betrothal work beyond the crown," he told her. "And I do not take my vows before the Maker lightly. Should I bind myself to you in His sight, I will be your husband."

She hesitated, then gave a tense nod.

A smile warmed the corners of his mouth, and he lowered his eye level to hers. "Then roll away your stone," he said softly, "and I will roll away mine."

He released her entirely, and she simply stared at him, unmoving. His pulse pounded as the seconds ticked by, and the wait was maddening. He expected a litany of curses, the lecture she'd threatened him with, or – Maker forbid – for her to take off running like a bolt. If she would just react some way, any way to indicate how she felt, if his words had affected her at all.

The last time he had let his emotion take control of him like this was the day he had sworn to avenge his family. It had led to the longest and most difficult period of doubt he'd ever experienced, and now that he'd found his path again, it seemed the Divine hand was not yet done obscuring it from view.

Andraste, he prayed silently as he searched Hawke's face, I beg of you. Please, give me a sign that I haven't committed an unfathomable mistake.

And as if on cue, he got his answer.

Hawke closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face in his chest. She hit him with such force that he stumbled back a bit, but he couldn't find it within himself to mind. He was thankful that he had shed his armor upon his examination by the physician, as it allowed him to bring his arms around her and return the embrace without hindrance. One hand busied itself in her hair, running through the waves in long, comforting strokes.

Thank you, he said silently. This would do.

"I was worried," the Champion finally admitted.

"Not more so than I," he chuckled.

She pulled back, the glare in her eyes infinitely less harsh than before. "You scared me," she said firmly. "Don't make it a habit."

"I don't intend to." He shook his head a bit. "I never hoped to become prince," he said, "and so never thought to learn such things. For so long, everything important to me lay within the Chantry's walls. I was entirely unprepared, and I promise," he moved the hand in her hair to her cheek, "I will heed every lesson. I swear it."

The skin under his hand was warm and soft, and he was hit with the desperate urge to run his thumb over her lips, to part them and claim them with his own, holding her against the wall with his body and testing the newly-stretched limits of just how much she was willing to give.

He shuddered ever so slightly, biting down on the tip of his tongue. Hard. Even if she had said she was willing, he couldn't do this. Not yet. Though they may not have still been binding, he honored his vows to the Chantry, and would continue to do so until his vows to Hawke took their place.

He foresaw a lot of long, frustrated hours spent in fervent prayer until then.

She finally offered him the smallest twitch of a smile, and it gave him the confidence he needed for a small, albeit bold, gesture.

"If I may," he said, bringing his other hand up to match the first on the other side of her face. He tilted her head upward, leaning in for a delicate, very chaste and very brief kiss.

"Thank you, Hawke," he said as he drew back, "for coming after me."

She quickly laughed and studied his face carefully before stepping away, a light flush threatening the base of her throat.

"I, ah," she said, stepping back further, "should go. For a bit. I have other things to finish before I go to bed for the night and..." The look on her face was unreadable as she paused. "I'm glad you're safe."

With that, she turned and quickly ducked out the door, and her loss hit Sebastian with something cold. As he exhaled slowly, he laid his forearms against the stone wall next to the fire, leaning into them. He couldn't get his body to calm down. He had been lost in his childhood memories, kidnapped, forced to relive old wrongdoings, and rescued all in the same day. If that hadn't left him completely vulnerable and bare, that last conversation had.

And then he had coaxed Hawke back from her walls only to have her practically run from his display of affection, as though all progress he thought they had made that morning was for nothing.

Cursing his stupidity and impatience as he mentally searched the Chant for a relevant passage, he almost missed the creak of the door opening again. He turned, only to see the object of his thoughts returned in the doorway. He watched as she silently regarded him for a moment, then walked with deliberate steps over to where he stood.

"Hawke?"

She wrapped her hands in the fur of his collar, and before he had a chance to react, she yanked him down to kiss him properly.

And hard.

Sebastian's mind reeled as the feel of her mouth covering his overwhelmed all other senses. That, and the complete emotional turnaround from the previous moment left him with whiplash. The heady rush was intoxicating, and when he pulled himself together enough to close his bright blue eyes, he desperately prayed that he hadn't forgotten how to do this. It had been some years, after all.

Relax, he told himself. This was Hawke, his closest friend. And this was hardly the first time she'd turned his world upside down. Though this once, he found himself welcoming it readily.

When her lips opened and her tongue darted out to seek his, he felt himself sway, and one hand flew to the wall to brace himself, the other deftly snaking around her waist, pulling her body tight to his in a motion all too familiar in his muscle memory.

Her hands released his collar and her arms wound around his neck, Hawke moaning against his mouth and quickening his pulse. He drew a sharp, ragged breath as he deepened the kiss, feeling every inch of his body stir at her touch. It had been so long since he'd felt this in anything but dreams and memories at night, alone in the darkness.

Acting of their own accord, his fingers hooked themselves into her belt, tugging her hips harder against his and ridding them of any remaining space between their bodies. The way she let herself be pulled to him was encouraging, and he was about to lift her clear off the floor...

...when a voice came at the door.

"Your highness," the maid called as she walked closer, "the doctor sends this tea to relieve any pain you might – oh!" She froze as she looked up from the tray, then blushed beet red to her ears as she quickly turned. "I – Forgive me! The door was open, and so I thought..."

Hawke laughed a little, clearing her throat. "It's all right," she said, "just leave it on the desk."

The maid scrambled to do so, murmuring embarrassed apologies before scurrying away, no doubt to feed the keep's rumor mill.

Sebastian noted as he looked down, heartbeat slowly trying to return to its normal pace, that neither of them had moved when they were interrupted. Her face was delightfully flushed and her lips slightly swollen, and he noted a hint of self-satisfaction in her expression.

Though that might have been from embarrassing the maid, he admitted. Hawke did enjoy flustering people.

"I actually do have things I needed to do tonight," she told him, sliding her hands down to his chest. "The sooner I finish, the sooner I can sleep."

"I will wait for you, then."

She shook her head, poking him solidly in the sternum as she stepped out of the embrace. "Don't. You need your rest, after two blows to the head."

He frowned, his left temple throbbing in remembrance. "You enjoyed that too much, I suspect."

"It's entirely possible." She smiled, finally, and turned to leave. "Drink your tea," she said, "and sleep well. I'll come to bed, I promise."

"Good night," Sebastian called quietly as she walked out, finally collapsing into a chair and staring up at the ceiling.

He wondered at how he was expected to sleep after that.


Hawke closed the door behind her as she left the room, willing her heart to calm down and unable to keep from feeling more than a little smug at the expression she'd gotten from the prince's face.

How was that, she mused, for opening up?

His words had surprised her, though, and she considered them as she walked down the hall. He always had to be so damn honest, and there was no denying that he'd had an effect. The man was, after all, one of the most intense people she'd ever known.

No wonder he got along so well with Fenris.

She had known Sebastian for years, though they had gotten off to a rocky start. Now she admired his faith, even if she didn't always agree with it, counted him among her closest confidantes, and had caught herself imagining delightfully perverse things with the handsome archer more times than she cared to admit. Would it be so bad to let herself get just a little more emotionally involved with such a man?

No, she thought, it would not. And she had the sinking feeling that she already was.

She straightened her armor, anticipating the welcome, calming rush of cool air as she rode Gryphon back to the village.

She had unfinished business at the barn.