A/N: So, no aunt visit for now. Delayed. =/ But then there was a death in the Japanese family, so updates for this and Arrowhead are going to be irregular for a bit, I think. Funerals here are a huge, multi-month ordeal for the immediate family, and I'm not sure what, as an in-law and a foreigner, I'll be doing.
Thanks for sticking with me!
Sebastian awoke to the rustling of leather sliding against metal.
He groaned lightly as he sat up, the rhythmic pounding in his head preventing him from appreciating the midmorning birdsong flooding in through the open windows. Daylight pricked at his eyes, and as he opened them, he immediately turned to the place in the bed beside him. Though he was initially disappointed to find it empty, he soon noticed the telltale dent in the pillow and sheets in disarray from having been slept in fitfully.
A part of him suddenly came to understand why this was important to Hawke. Though he neither saw her come to bed nor leave it, it was a comfort to know that she had been there.
A scratching noise coming from the far wall caught his attention, and he rubbed one eye with the heel of his palm.
"Hawke?"
She turned and stilled her hand, which held an ink-laden quill feather. She'd been scribbling something on a piece of parchment atop the wooden writing desk, but abandoned it, replacing the implement in its inkwell. "You're awake," she said. "So early?"
He peeled back the thick blankets, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. "I could ask the same of you," he replied, his accent coloring his words more so than usual with the grogginess.
"Morning training with Gryphon," she explained. "Eoin promised to teach me some new commands and you should stay in bed longer." She was at his side shortly, and he could smell the cleaning oil still strong on her leathers. "How's your head?"
"Spinning," he said, "though better than I admit to expecting."
"Enough to eat? I can have the cook send up breakfast."
He moved to stand, and she firmly pushed him back to sitting.
"I can make my way down the stairs," he told her, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't broken anything."
"Not yet, you haven't. And we're going to make sure it stays that way. You were told to get bed rest."
"Aye," he said, standing and avoiding her attempt to knock him back down, "that I was." He walked over to the shelf, scanning the spines of the bound volumes it contained. "Will you deny me a book?"
"No," she replied, watching him warily with arms crossed, "so long as it's a book in bed. Or a chair. Or some other sedentary activity."
He sat in the desk chair obediently, turning up at her with his best mollifying smile. It delighted him to see her posture sink in surrender, and he made a mental note to thank Varric when they returned to Kirkwall – the dwarf was the one who'd told him that one of his best natural defenses against Hawke was to smile earnestly. It worked surprisingly well.
She glowered, uncrossing her arms. "That face won't work forever, you know."
"Aye," he said with a tilt of his head, a glint behind his eyes. "Though I believe I will have many occasions to smile at you yet."
He saw the gears turning behind her eyes as she struggled to stay cross, but she sighed in defeat, opting to pinch his nose in irritation as she turned to leave. When she reached the doorway, however, she paused and returned the way she came.
"Stay put," she issued firmly.
"I will."
Hawke made for the door again, but turned and this time strode back to the desk, crumpling the paper she'd been writing and tossing it into the wastebin.
"Going now."
"Yes."
A third time, she nearly made it to the exit before hesitation caught her steps. Stiffly, she fetched her bracers and slid them on, muttering something about "just in case." She then switched boots – twice – followed promptly by two or three other awkwardly useless things that seemed to do nothing but keep her occupied in the room.
He crossed one leg over the other, folded his hands in his lap, and observed her silently. There was obviously something bothering her, and he found himself wholly unable to keep the amusement out of his expression or voice.
"Hawke?" he called.
She faced him then, sheets in hand, her sudden impetus to make the bed halted. "Fine," she said after a moment, steeling her gray eyes and running over to the chair. She leaned over him, a hand on either upholstered armrest, and solidly covered his mouth with hers.
Sebastian's back arched away from the chair, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden warmth. He didn't even have time to close his eyes or reach for her before she was gone, just barely out of arm's reach.
"Don't read too much into it," she called over her shoulder as she headed out. "It just helps, is all. Like sharing a bed."
As she disappeared around the corner, the tapping of her boots getting more and more distant, the archer ran a few fingers over his lips. The corners tugged up into a half-smile, and he leaned back into the seat. Such stolen, flighty kisses were the things of fledglings, nervous and inexperienced at matters of love.
Though, he mused, wasn't that precisely what they were?
He had reached over to pull a book from its place on the shelf when the wastebin caught his eye. He knew it was emptied religiously every evening, yet it was near to half-full with scrunched sheets of parchment. Curious, he reached in and unfolded the first his hand came to. The ink was smudged, but the handwriting familiar.
Sebastian, it read, Hope you slept well. If you didn't, go back to sleep! Or ask one of the maids for the numbing tea the doctor recommended. Don't forget to eat something, even if you feel unwell, and -
It cut off abruptly, and he gingerly put it aside as he reached for another. This one was in a similar state, the penmanship messier. Sebastian – If you're reading this, WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF BED AFTER BEING TOLD EXPLICITLY NOT TO? Maker help me, I'm going to tell the maids to check on you to make sure you're listening, because I'll be out until the afternoon. But I'll know if you've gone against the doctor's orders, because these women gossip like a bunch of -
The third he pulled was her most recent, the one she'd crumpled in front of him. It was the shortest yet, and he could hear her voice in her head as his eyes traced the words.
Future husband: Stay in bed. Don't do anything stupid. Hawke.
He chuckled, re-reading it a few times before reaching for the bin itself, emptying it of its contents and finding at least two dozen abandoned drafts hastily shoved into the basket.
She must've spent at least an hour on these before he woke, he realized, smoothing them out individually. Some were long, some short, some in nicer tones than others, but all essentially tried to relay the same message.
Sebastian reclined in the upholstery as he read every single one.
And, unbeknownst to him, the scales in his heart started to tip.
Hawke wiped the sweat and dirt from her face as she rounded the curving path into the main hall of the keep, yanking off her boots and muddy leathers. She was thoroughly filthy, as last time. Eoin, however, was damn near spotless, and she cursed his unnatural ability to avoid dirt. She wondered briefly if there were such a thing as a cleanliness demon, and if so, knew that a contract had to have been made on the blonde man's soul. No one was that pretty after running around the field with horses two days after a rain.
She must've been quite the sight, she thought, judging from the maids' faces as she stood in the stone foyer. It was a busy thoroughfare for them, skittering back and forth from the kitchens and main rooms. They'd laid out towels and a change of clothes for her, and Hawke wasn't shy. She ducked casually behind a changing partition with an armor stand, clearly meant for a guardsman.
It rained a lot in Starkhaven, that much was obvious. But a small part of her wondered if the changing amenities were a reaction to the climate's sudden downpours... or a couple of the troublemaking maids deviously providing themselves with a method of peeping on handsome guardsmen.
Either way, Hawke didn't particularly care. She'd missed lunch by far, and the cook had yelled at her the last time she'd tracked mud into the kitchen. As she dipped one of the hand towels into a water-filled basin and set to the task of giving herself a quick cleansing, the champion caught snippets of the maids' idle chatter.
So-and-so was caught with such-and-such out back in one of the chestnut groves. Ser Eoin sneezed in the most dashing way this morning. Someone's cousin in Antiva was having a baby that wasn't her husband's, the scandal! Did you see the way Ser Eoin looked after forgetting to shave yesterday – so rugged! Cendre's baby. Fashion in Orlais. Eoin, Eoin, Eoin.
She was pulling on a linen shift and tea-colored overdress with a waist just below her breasts when a few maids walked by with laundry baskets, talking about a tragedy that had taken place the night before.
"Did you hear?" a younger woman asked. "In the village, there was a fire in the wee hours this morning."
"In the orchards?" asked her older companion, who grunted with effort as she shifted whatever it was she was carrying, likely laundered sheets.
"An old barn," the maid replied. "Hadn't seen use in years."
Hawke stiffened as she pulled the laces around her bust tighter.
"And the worst part," she continued, "was that the owner was inside as it blazed!"
The washerwoman cursed under her breath. "Anyone we know?"
"Jacob MacPhain. Found him surrounded by bottles – he'd been drinking all night."
Hawke heard a scoff. "Stolen, no doubt," came the older voice. "He was always shifty, that one. Good-for-nothing. Knew him when he was younger, too. Not to speak ill of the dead, but you reap what you sow."
"Mum always warned me about lighting fires when I wasn't planning on watching them," the younger maid agreed. "Leave it to a drunk to build a fire near hay and wood and then keep drinking until he knocked himself out."
"Lucky no one else was hurt, eh?"
"Poor sod, Maker rest him."
Smoothing out her skirts, Hawke stepped back out into the foyer...
...and crashed headlong right into an enormous barrel chest that stood patiently waiting for her.
"Guinn," she called as she rubbed her nose tenderly, "Didn't see you there."
"It's my keep," he said. "Can be anywhere I like."
"I meant–"
"Like here in th' entryway last night, long past when everyone had retired for th' evening."
Hawke snapped to attention then, masterfully schooling her features and sidestepping him, walking away as she busied her hands with tying up her unruly hair. "I doubt you'd see anything interesting at that time of night."
"Morning," he corrected. "And I didn't see aught but darkness. Strange, then, when your mount goes missing without a rider."
She stopped then, considering for a moment. The Bann was no fool. These were his lands, and she had been careless with her tracks.
"Was it just Jacob?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered carefully. "I drugged and released the horsemen."
"Why?"
"To bring a message back to their lord." She turned to him, making deliberate eye contact. "Touch Sebastian, and he literally won't know what hit him."
The giant of a bann stared down at her silently, deep in thought.
"Lady," he said slowly, "ye are frightening."
"You don't get lose everything important to you without getting a little protective."
He raised his hands in defense. "No," he replied, "ye did the necessary thing. Though," he asked, "why wait and come back?"
"Sebastian abhors bloodshed," she said with a shrug, tugging her sleeves into obedience. "The less he knows, the better. His hands need to be clean."
"Agreed," the bann murmured. "He'll hear nothing from me."
She nodded in appreciation, and he regarded her carefully before speaking.
"You will make th' prince a fine lioness, Hawke."
She smiled despite herself. "So I've been told."
The tension broke with the bann's booming laughter. "So ye know about the shield maidens, then?"
"Not at all, just that being called a lioness is a compliment, thanks to Cendre."
"And coming from my daughter," he told her, "it's a compliment indeed."
At that moment, Sebastian appeared in the archway leading from the kitchens. "Hawke!" he greeted, and when she saw his bright smile, that voice in her head confirmed that the previous night's events had been for the best. Ignorance was bliss.
"How was your lesson this morning?" he asked, walking over.
"Wonderfully exhausting," she replied dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. "How was your willful disobedience of the doctor's orders?"
He looked a little sheepish, and MacDougall offered him no support. "I could not sit idle," he explained, "and the stairs proved no difficulty."
"I'll have to bar them next time." Her stomach growled, and she mentally cursed her innards for betraying her when she was trying to be stern. As it was, a knowing smirk wound its way onto the prince's face, and he motioned for her to follow him.
"I told you that I could not sit idle," he said.
Hawke glanced to the Bann, who gave her a meaningful look and a dismissive wave of his hand. She straightened her shoulders then, and walked behind her friend as they made their way to the kitchens.
Something smelled wonderful.
It was long enough past lunch that the kitchens were functionally deserted, and the champion found herself thankful that the cook who had taken an instant disliking to her wasn't present.
Sebastian pulled out a tall stool at the counter for her, and Hawke humored him because of the head wound. This once. She tucked in her skirts behind her, sitting neatly on the wooden surface. "I thought the head of the kitchen hated me. How'd you convince him to keep something aside?"
"I didn't," he said.
When the meaning of his words sank in, Hawke leaned forward on her elbows. "You cooked for me?"
He tied the apron around his waist, the warm smile on his face and ladle in hand making him look more attractive to her by the second.
"You said you wanted a man who could cook," he reminded her gently, "and after your daring rescue last night, it was the least I could do to remind you that I am not completely inadequate, despite evidence to the contrary."
She snickered, watching him pull a bowl from the cabinets. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "it occurs to me that I'm not actually getting a husband out of this arrangement of ours."
"No?"
"You cook," she said, ticking off each point on her fingers, "blush prettily when hearing some of the filthier things I say, and were recently in need of rescue. And I was the one who proposed, if I recall correctly." She pointed to the apron smugly. "I think I'm getting a bride."
At that, Sebastian laughed – an honest-to-goodness, deep-in-his-chest laugh – and Hawke couldn't remember the last time she'd heard him do so outright.
"I feel as though some demonstration of my masculinity is in order," he said as he slid the bowl toward her, "if I am to retain anything of my pride as a man."
She sighed theatrically, resting her chin on one hand. "If only you would."
The prince chuckled, low and rumbling. He reached out to brush a smudge of dirt from her face, the skin of his thumb leaving warmth in its wake. "Do not tempt me."
The tone in his voice and heat in his bright blue eyes made something in her body tighten, and Hawke cleared her throat. That had been a surprise.
"Lamb stew?" she asked, fidgeting a bit with her skirts.
"Aye," he said, a tinge of pride edging into his voice. "My grandda taught me how to make it as a boy. The recipe has been in the Vael family for generations." He sat on the stool next to hers as she raised the spoon to her lips.
Hawke fought down a moan as she took the first bite. "This is incredible," she said, feeling her body melt into nothingness as the spices on her tongue slid down her throat. "I can't believe you can cook like this! You never should have let me know," she half-joked, "now I'll demand it far too often."
"You have only to ask, Hawke," he told her, watching her eat contentedly. "I am happy to provide for you in whatever small way I can."
She nearly choked on the spoon in her mouth as he spoke. There it was again, that misleading but completely earnest manner of his. It was a wonder that the maids around here were still able to do their jobs without swooning into a dead faint while he was in the keep.
He crinkled his nose a bit, leaning in closer and inhaling deeply. Hawke turned to him in confusion, and he backed away, embarrassed. "I – My apologies, I meant nothing by it. You smell oddly of smoke."
Her blood flashed ice-cold before her instincts kicked in and she flashed a smile. "I camped out in front of the fire for too long last night reading up on Starkhaven. Nearly fell asleep. Though..." She pursed her lips. "Did you know that the Second Blight was ended here?"
"Of course," he replied, and Hawke relaxed as his curiosity was successfully derailed. "Though I wasn't in line for the crown, I was educated alongside my siblings so as not to be an embarrassment."
"All the education in Thedas," she said, pinching his nose as she was wont to do, "wouldn't have saved you from that face of yours."
He plucked her hand away gently, looking somewhat abashed. "I still became an embarrassment."
Upon seeing his face, Hawke backpedaled. "Hey now," she said, ruffling his hair. "You've spent so much time devoted to the Maker and changing the things you hated. I, on the other hand, am an unrepentant embarrassment."
He stared in disbelief. "Hawke, you are the Champion of Kirkwall. How is that something a parent could not be insurmountably proud of?"
She wagged a finger at him. "You forget, Highness, that before I was a champion, I was a daughter. A daughter who drank like a fish, swore like a sailor, and jumped into bed with other women. My poor mother was beside herself every other day – the rows we used to get into! - and when we finally reclaimed the Amell estate and titles, I had no interest in them whatsoever. And still drank and swore." She sighed, fondly, remembering her mother's fury. "I fought slavers instead of attending formal dinners. I ignored the countless marriages she tried to arrange with wealthy noblemen and completely disregarded the need for an heir, instead falling madly in love with the antithesis of her idea of civilized society."
Playfully, she shoved him in the shoulder. "You might have been a thorn in your parents' side from the time your voice dropped, but I was a disappointment much earlier. And with far fewer attempts at penance."
He leaned away from her shove with a smirk as an entertaining thought very obviously crossed his mind. "You speak too soon," he said. "I think that Leandra may have had the last laugh after all."
"How so?"
He folded his hands on the counter in front of him. "When the marriage takes place, the Amell family will be tied to the Starkhaven royal line." His lilting brogue rolled over the name of his homeland comfortably, but didn't disguise his amusement in the least. "The political marriage that you devised will elevate the same title you so disliked to the highest degree possible in these lands, and her grandchildren will have royal blood." At Hawke's absolutely dumbfounded expression, his smirk only broadened. "And as fate would have it, at this very moment," he pointed out, "you are wearing a dress for no occasion at all."
"This wasn't by choice!" she exclaimed, gesturing to the linen billowing out from under her bust and flowing to her toes. "This is what the maids put out! It was either this or go without."
"You look lovely."
Hawke slumped against the counter in exasperation, burying her face in her folded arms as she realized that the archer was, in fact, absolutely right. Leandra was up there probably telling the damn Maker about how well her daughter had turned out. She turned her face to look at him, smug self-satisfaction written across his infuriatingly handsome face. "Next time," she said gruffly, "I'll choose to go without." As he opened his mouth to speak, she sent the empty bowl skittering his way petulantly.
"Hey," she issued from her position half-laying on the counter, "wife. Feed me."
He offered no protest as he stood, but she could hear the smile in his voice as he took her bowl and refilled it.
"As you wish, Princess."
Hawke's spoon hit him squarely in the ribs.
"We leave for th' city tomorrow at daybreak," the Bann announced as he dismissed his steward. "Shouldn't take more'n half a day. My city estate is prepared."
"Do we know who we're up against?" Hawke prodded, looking at the satchels draped over one of the armchairs in MacDougall's study.
"Just about." The Bann handed her a few papers that reeked of sandalwood oil.
"Fancy," she said disdainfully as she sniffed. "Someone has an expensive writing desk."
"Already thought it was a city noble," he said. "One with a lot invested in that simpleton they call a prince."
Hawke's eyes scanned the letters, which turned out to be standard destroy-after-completion instructions. One was accompanied by a hastily-drawn map, and the only signature on any of the documents was a flourishing "L" on their orders.
"A single initial doesn't give us much."
"True," the Bann agreed, "but with that and th' map, we know they rode southward. Only one noble landowner between here and th' Minanter River."
"L," Sebastian ventured, "as in Loudain?"
As the Bann nodded, Hawke looked back and forth between them. "Someone you know?"
"Horace Loudain," Sebastian said soberly, "Bann of Estonborough, one of the smaller territories. He and his wife have been at odds with the Harimanns for years, and now that they're gone..." He turned to her as he explained the most relevant circumstance. "His daughter, Cora, is one of the strong candidates for Goran's bride."
"So he has a lot at stake," Hawke murmured. "At least we know, then."
"We can't be sure," MacDougall said quickly, "so we'll need to keep a keen eye out in th' city and at th' banquet. If we find any stronger evidence, then we can plan more clearly. But until then, we're amiable and downright social and there t' congratulate Goran on not being dead another year."
Hawke snickered. "Between the three of us, I'm sure we'll be the model of inconspicuousness."
"Four," the Bann corrected. "Aeryn's coming along."
"What for?"
"She is yet unmarried," the prince clarified, "and of age, and born of Starkhaven nobility. She is required to attend, at least implied if not in words."
"And even though she's not interested in th' crown," the Bann added. "I've just got t' keep her from going off th' handle at some lord or other." He frowned. "Or me."
"She and I can suffer together," Mairead reassured him. "Like bonding. It'll be girlish and fun."
Guinn did not look reassured.
Not one bit.
